by Day Leclaire
"Care to sit with me for a minute?"
Afraid that if she didn't sit down, she'd fall down, Nikki sank into one of the clutches of seats lining the outer fringes of the ballroom. "Thanks," she murmured, dropping her purse onto the small table in front of her.
"I'm Wynne Sommers," the woman introduced herself.
"Nikki Ashton."
Bright green eyes peeked at her from beneath wisps of white blond hair. "Scared?" Wynne asked sympathetically.
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Nikki answered with the truth. "Terrified." She twisted her fingers together. "I'm not sure I can do this."
"But you have to, right? People are counting on you and this is the only option left."
Nikki stared at her companion in amazement. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I thought I recognized a familiar air of determination mixed with desperation." Wynne laughed. "It's the same for me."
"You have to marry?"
"I have two kids counting on me. If I don't marry, I lose them."
"I have relatives counting on me, too," Nikki found herself confessing. "Only I'm trying to lose them."
Wynne nodded sagely. "Some birds won't fly as long as Momma's there to feed them."
Nikki smiled in relief at the woman's instant understanding. "Something like that." She glanced around the crowded ballroom, pleased she could breathe again. "Have you been here long?"
"A couple of hours. The Montagues sure have a beautiful place. Have you met them yet?"
"When I first came in. They're a sweet couple."
"And their story is so romantic. Imagine being introduced to a complete stranger at a ball, falling madly in love and marrying that same night." Wynne sighed. "And here it is fifty years later and they're still every bit as much in love with each other as the day they met."
"I don't expect that to happen to me," Nikki insisted firmly. "I mean it's lovely of them to throw a Cinderella Ball every five years so others will have the same opportunity they did. And I'm sure there are plenty of people who find real love thanks to them. But it won't happen to me. I'm here for practical reasons. I have to get married."
"So do I. Still..." Wynne cupped her chin in her hand. "I don't know why we can't have it all. I'm sure going to try. And did you know there's also an Anniversary Ball?"
"A what?"
"An Anniversary Ball. The Montagues throw a one-year Anniversary Ball for everyone who marries tonight." She sighed. "I'd sure like to go to that."
"We have to get married first," Nikki reminded her. She gazed out at the glittering array of chattering men and women and fought the resurgence of her former panic. "I don't even know where to begin."
Wynne offered an encouraging smile. "The first few conversations are the hardest," she said gently. "After that, it gets easier. Honest."
"Have you had any luck finding someone?" Nikki asked hesitantly, glancing at her newfound friend.
"Oh, I have my future husband all picked out. That's him over there." She inclined her head toward a tall, fierce-looking man chatting to a hard-eyed brunette. "Nice, huh?"
Nikki shivered. "Not really."
"Don't let the tough exterior fool you," Wynne said with a quick laugh. "He wouldn't be much of a man if he didn't carry a bit of armor. He's a fighter, that one. Do you need a fighter?"
"He can't be a pushover, that's for sure," Nikki said, thinking of Eric.
"I'll tell you what. How about if you practice on my warrior? He won't mind. All I ask is that if it looks like he might be the one you want, give me the chance to talk him out of it. Okay?"
Nikki stared in astonishment. "Let me get this straight. You want to marry him, but you'll let me—"
"Have a go at him first. Sure." Wynne gave a careless shrug. "I don't think he's the man for you or I probably wouldn't offer. But he's a great icebreaker. He doesn't bother with a lot of social chitchat, just gets right to the point. Once he teaches you how to do it, the rest of the night will be a snap."
"I don't know...."
Wynne reached out and touched Nikki's arm. "Is marrying important to you?" she asked seriously. "Is it the most important decision you've ever made? Because if it isn't, go home."
"I can't," Nikki whispered. "I don't have any other choice."
"Then focus on that. It'll help get you through the evening. Look. The brunette is leaving. This is your chance. Go introduce yourself."
Nikki took a deep breath and stood. She couldn't say how or why, but in the past few moments, she'd regained control. She glanced down at Wynne. "Thanks," she said. "I owe you more than you'll ever know."
"Just remember our deal."
With a nod of agreement, Nikki headed toward Wynne's future husband.
Jonah glanced again at the card he'd confiscated from Nikki Ashton's desk, then at the cabdriver. "You sure this is the place?" he asked doubtfully.
"The Montagues' Cinderella Ball, right?" the cabby said in a bored voice. "That's where you wanted to go and that's where I've brung you. Just follow all those people. So's long as you stay on the walkway, you can't get lost."
Jonah gritted his teeth and tossed some bills onto the front seat before climbing out. Walkway or not, it would have been impossible to get lost. The damn place was the only building for miles around. It sat in the middle of the Nevada desert, outlined against the nighttime sky by colored floodlights and looking like some sort of giant platter stacked high with white-frosted cupcakes. He stared at the ridiculous architectural confection, then shrugged. What the hell did it matter? If it allowed him to get his hands on Nikki Ashton, he didn't care if it was built to resemble a bowl of whipped cream and cherries.
He worked his way through the crowd and into the mansion, pausing in the white marble foyer to get his bearings. A huge chandelier hung overhead, its soft light magnified by thousands of tiny prisms. Pine garlands embellished with twinkling fairy lights and white satin bows graced the massive Doric pillars that supported the thirty-foot ceiling. The flow of people continued around him and up twin, heart-shaped staircases. Taking a deep breath, he followed.
At the top of the steps he joined a reception line filing into the ballroom and only then realized that this ball required tickets for entry. He felt for his wallet, wondering if they took credit cards. Or perhaps he could bluff his way in. The throng moved steadily forward and within a few minutes he'd reached the head of the line. In front of him stood one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. She was tall and slender, her dark hair styled severely off her face. She held a basket of gold, waferlike tickets and offered a smile of greeting.
"I'm Jonah Alexander," he began. "Listen, I have a small problem—" But before he could utter another word of explanation, she suddenly focused on the next person in line. Her rich amber eyes widened in shock.
"Hello, Ella," a man's voice rumbled from behind.
Her face turned ashen. "Rafe," she whispered, and the basket of tickets tumbled to the floor.
Dropping to one knee, Jonah scooped handfuls of the heavy metal wafers back into the velvet-lined basket. With a muffled exclamation, Ella crouched beside him to help. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
"Fine," she insisted, though her trembling hands betrayed her. Gathering up the last ticket, she stood. "Thanks for your help."
"My pleasure."
He rose, too, and glanced pointedly at the man she'd called Rafe. He hadn't budged, but remained rooted in place as though he had all of eternity to wait. His cold gray eyes met Jonah's, leaving no doubt whatsoever that the situation with Ella was a highly personal matter. Still, Jonah wasn't one to back down from a fight. Using his height and breadth to secure his position in front of the woman, he turned his back on Rafe.
"Anything else I can do for you?" he offered deliberately, folding his arms across his chest. Unless she asked him to move, it would take a bulldozer to shift him from his stance.
Despair filled Ella's eyes. "I'm afraid not. Welcome to the Cinderella Ball.
Enjoy your visit and we wish you a..." Her voice wavered, but she recovered swiftly. "We wish you a joyous future."
She'd as good as handed him his walking papers. And as much as he wanted to remain and help her out of whatever predicament Rafe represented, he didn't dare. He'd managed to gain entrance through sheer luck. He'd be a fool to push it. To his private disgust, he lingered anyway. Old habits, it would seem, died hard. "You're sure?" he asked softly.
Rafe stirred behind him. "Tell him to go, Ella. You know this is a private matter."
She gave Jonah a reassuring smile. "Rafe and I are old..." She hesitated, her smile turning bittersweet. "We're old associates. But thanks for your concern."
Jonah inclined his head. Sparing Rafe a final look of warning—and secretly amused at himself for bothering—he exited the reception line and plunged into the crowded ballroom. Despite the urgency of his own mission, if Ella had asked for his help, he'd have given it. He didn't have it in him to desert a woman in need. But since she hadn't asked... it was time to get down to business.
He had to find Eric and Nikki before it was too late.
Staring out across the packed ballroom, he realized what a monumental task he'd set himself. Finding his brother would be near to impossible—Eric wouldn't stand ouf among the multitudes, despite his slim height and gold-streaked hair. Jonah's eyes narrowed. But perhaps by zeroing in on the redheads, he could shake Nikki Ashton loose from the pack. And wherever he found Nikki, undoubtedly he'd find Eric, as well. Unwilling to waste another moment, he fixed on a possible candidate and began his pursuit.
Jonah leaned a shoulder against the wall and glared at the dancers twirling by. Damn it all! In the past ninety minutes, he'd waded through dozens of redheads in every shape, size and shade. And not one of them was Nikki Ashton. He stifled a yawn, struggling to throw off the exhaustion that dogged him. He needed more coffee— and he needed it bad. Check that. What he really needed was a few hours' sleep. If his mission wasn't so urgent, he'd call it a night and find somewhere to crash.
But it was urgent, and tired or not, he had to get on with it.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself to chase after the next redhead who floated by, when a tantalizingly familiar scent snagged his attention. It came from a woman several feet away. She had her back to him and was conducting an earnest conversation with a small, bookish individual. He hesitated, eyeing her upswept, Gibson girl hairstyle. She wasn't a bona fide redhead— at least she didn't have the brilliant sun-streaked red from the photograph. In fact, it didn't even come close. This woman's hair reflected the opulent darkness of polished mahogany, the color awash with vivid ruby highlights.
He started to dismiss her, but she shifted her stance, and her scent drifted by once again. If it wasn't the same perfume he'd smelled in Nikki Ashton's office, it was damned similar. Regardless, it roused his hunter's instincts and driven to act, he resumed the hunt.
"Ah, there you are," he interrupted her conversation with a lazy smile. "Sorry to take so long."
The woman turned abruptly, her gaze clashing with his. He'd made a mistake, he decided in that instant. This couldn't be the Ashton woman. Not only was her hair color all wrong, her eyes didn't match the china blue of the photo, either. Instead they were a velvety pansy blue, almost violet in their intensity. He'd accosted the wrong woman. Again. But this time he didn't give a damn. He was tired and angry and in desperate need of a ten-minute break—a break he intended to spend in the arms of a beautiful woman.
He slipped a hand around her waist. "You promised me the next waltz, remember?" he asked. Before she had a chance to argue, he inclined his head toward her companion. "Excuse us," he said without a trace of apology, and swung her onto the dance floor.
To his amusement, she didn't say a word, simply stepped into his arms as though she belonged. He was a tall man, but with her in high heels, the top of her head nestled just beneath his chin. Her scent wrapped around him and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment. She didn't pull away, but allowed him to mold her close, her lush curves settling into his as though they'd been specially made to fit. They danced in silence for several long minutes before curiosity drove him to look down at her.
Lord, she was a gorgeous woman. Her bone structure was exquisite, her creamy complexion bare of any freckles. She'd dressed all in ivory, the tailored jacket decorated with tiny seed pearls and crystal beads, and cut to accommodate her full breasts. She moved with ease, despite her short fitted skirt. But it was the glimpse of her long, shapely legs that caused a momentary qualm as he recalled Loren's description of Nikki Ashton. She's a stunning woman, one of those leggy redheads. Jonah frowned, eyeing his dancing companion speculatively. If he hadn't seen Nikki's picture, the woman he held in his arms could fit that description.
Then he caught sight of the wedding ring decorating her left hand and his gut clenched. Nikki was supposed to be married, too.
"This might be a good time to introduce ourselves," he suggested.
She shot him a wry look. "I assume that means we haven't met before, despite what you told Morey?" Her voice was as dark and rich as her hair, humor adding a musical note to her question.
"You caught me," he admitted, his mouth relaxing into a smile. "But it's an oversight I'm happy to correct."
"And I suppose that also means that I didn't promise you this or any other dance?" She glanced at him, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Did I?"
Those eyes intrigued him, the color an unusual blend of lavender and blue, the lighter portion of the iris ringed by a band of indigo. "Would you have forgotten if you had?"
She shook her head, a husky laugh escaping. "I suspect you'd be a hard man to forget."
It wasn't said flirtatiously, but with the cool candor of someone stating an indisputable fact. If he weren't so suspicious of her identity, he'd find her frankness appealing. "I'm Joe Alexander," he said, using the abbreviated name he'd assumed for the evening.
"Nikki Ashton," she replied.
It took every ounce of self-possession not to react, not to haul her off the floor and level her with accusations. The music ended just then, but his arms tightened around her. He hoped to hell Eric wasn't anywhere nearby or there'd be hell to pay. "One more dance."
Again she subjected him to that calm, assessing stare. "You aren't asking, are you?"
"No."
She hesitated, but before she could respond, the lights dimmed and the orchestra slipped into the next song. It was a slow, romantic one, chosen to encourage physical and conversational intimacy. Jonah gritted his teeth and molded her close, struggling to remain unaffected now that he knew who she was. She brushed against him as they drifted across the floor and his entire body clenched in response.
He wasn't the only one affected, he realized in the next instant. Delicate color tinted Nikki's cheeks and her breathing quickened. She wouldn't react to him like this if she were in love with another man came the furious thought. Unless, of course, she wasn't really in love. Curious to test his theory, Jonah slid his hand down the length of her spine, his palm settling into the hollow above her backside. The slightest amount of pressure set her tight against him.
And then he slowed their dance until it was no more than a pretext, a subtle form of foreplay. In the space of a few steps, it went from subtle to searing as her movements aligned themselves with his. He was practically making love to her right there on the floor—and she to him. Each step became part of a mating dance, her breasts crushed against his chest, her hips and thighs melded to his. She moaned, the sound barely more than a breathless sigh. But he heard it. He heard it and knew what she wanted.
"You feel it, too. Don't you?" he murmured.
"Yes."
The admission seemed torn from her. As though stunned by her own daring, she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes darkening like the sky before a gathering storm. But she didn't pull away, which only confirmed what he'd suspected. If she was in love with Eric, she wouldn't be responding to him. N
ot like this.
Determined to have final confirmation, he maneuvered her toward a dark corner. Their movements slowed until the gentle rocking motion was no more than an excuse to maintain as intimate a contact as possible. Her attraction was undeniable and impossible to ignore. Everything about her appealed—her full, lush mouth, her sunset-hued eyes, the rich auburn of her hair, the low, confidential pitch of her voice.
A small part of him fought to retain a clinical detachment. But as hard as he struggled to remember whom he held, that knowledge didn't change the intensity of his reaction. Whether he'd finally succumbed to jet lag or her allure outweighed his common sense, he couldn't tell. He only knew that he was driven by an instinct born in the male of his species millennia ago—an instinct urging him to abandon caution and take the object of his desire, by force if necessary. -
Thrusting his hand into her hair, he tilted back her head and covered her mouth with his. He didn't ease into the kiss, didn't bother with preliminaries, but stamped his ownership in the most primitive way possible. She instantly yielded, offering sweet surrender in the face of his determined assault. It was that unexpected capitulation that almost sent him over the edge.
With an incoherent murmur, her lips softened, parted, encouraging him to plunder within. He didn't need a second invitation. He forged a union between them, mating his tongue with hers. She trembled in his arms, clinging to him as though he alone sustained her. And he, heaven help him, worshiped her with both hands and mouth. If they'd been anywhere but in such a public setting, he'd have taken what she offered with such unstinting passion. But he couldn't allow the burgeoning fire storm free rein.
Not here.
Not now.
Ultimately, it was that thought that restored his sanity.
With a muttered curse, he dragged his mouth from hers. He'd made a mistake touching her, he realized. Desire had given her beauty a wild edge and he couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like after a night of passion. Just the thought of her in his bed, her glorious hair spread across his pillows and her white, silken limbs entwined in his sheets almost destroyed his control.