by Riser, Mimi
Which made it all the more ironic to consider that he was the one married now, and she was still searching for her soul mate.
Sigh.
Sophia had arrived at the resort that evening, only a short while ago, in order to attend Danny’s wedding ceremony, a huge colorful event planned by their grandmother for the day after the morrow. Except Danny and his bride Mona had escaped the plan via one of their own that afternoon.
Amazing. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. But she had to admit he and Mona had certainly looked happy when she’d seen them in the lobby and heard the story. They’d been checking out of the hotel just as she’d been checking in – off to honeymoon somewhere other than the “crackpot” Elysian Fields.
Where, exactly, Sophia hadn’t inquired and didn’t much care. She’d been too busy basking in the glow of their newfound love and wishing some of it would rub off on her.
“Is Gran still here?” was all she’d asked.
“Yep, and expecting you. She’s waiting up in the suite. And still planning on a big party this Saturday, whether there’s a wedding with it or not. Says it’s too late to cancel with so many guests on the way. Watch your step, Sophie,” Danny had teased as he’d hugged her goodbye. “Now that Gran’s got me married, she’ll be looking for someone for you.”
One could only hope.
Sophia and Danny’s grandmother, Angelica, was wonderfully wealthy and wonderfully psychic. She heard spirit voices and saw visions of the future, but for some reason she hadn’t seen Sophia’s yet – or if she had, Angelica was keeping it to herself.
“I wish she would,” Sophia had answered her cousin. “But only if she can find me Lord Byron.”
Or a man like him. A passionate poet with dreamy eyes and lofty ideals, someone as lyrically romantic as herself. That’s who Sophia wanted, and she refused to settle for less. That’s why she was still a virgin.
Double sigh.
Danny had laughed at her answer – he’d thought she’d been joking – but Mona had looked sympathetic. Women understood these things.
“All I can tell you,” she’d whispered, “is that love has no logic and no shame. It hits when you least expect it, and tosses you the last person you think you want – but the exact one you need.”
The voice of experience, apparently. That’s how love had hit Mona. Some girls had all the luck.
With a wistful smile, Sophia had watched the couple walk off into a bright future together. Then she’d turned and followed the hotel desk clerk’s directions up to the Karma Suite, where she found her grandmother waiting.
With a man?
-------
His spine stiffened as she stepped through the door. So did something south of his belt.
Down, boy!
She wasn’t what he’d expected.
Not that he was complaining.
Sophia D’Leon.
The name had conjured images of a tall, haughty brunette, full of herself and her family’s money. But he could’ve worked with that – he knew how to handle rich bitches.
The reality was a delicate blonde who looked like she’d just fallen off the top of a Christmas tree – golden perfection – a real angel. The kind to bring out the devil in a man.
He’d have to change his game plan, but he could handle that, too. He knew lots of games and how to play them. Professional con artists usually did. Well, okay, technically he was a professional PI who specialized in undercover work, but to him the two vocations went together. Both required ace acting ability and street smarts. He didn’t have much formal education, but he’d graduated with honors from the School of Hard Knocks. He was wise in the ways of the world. And he could tell at a glance that Sophia wasn’t.
Oh yeah, he could handle her. Real good. The innocent angel wouldn’t know what hit her.
“Sophia dear, I’m so glad you made it.” Angelica D’Leon wrapped her granddaughter in a warm hug – lucky grandma – then led her over to him. “I want you to meet Byron Sharpe. He’s staying in the room across the hall. Byron is a PI. Isn’t that exciting? I’ve hired him to be your bodyguard while you’re here. It simply occurred to me you might need…his services. Call it one of my little whims.” She chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Byron sure didn’t. Privately, he’d thought Angelica was being overly protective of her granddaughter when she’d hired him, but the job suited his own plans too well to question it.
Big plans.
Byron Sharpe had been born in the gutter and been scrambling ever since to climb out of it. But not high enough or fast enough for him. It seemed that when you started life hungry, you never felt full, could never relax. The ghost of poverty haunted you always. Nothing chased it away but money. Lots of money, more than he could ever make (unless he won the lottery, and he wasn’t holding his breath on that). He wasn’t lazy, wasn’t a coward. He’d worked hard, risked his neck, taken on plenty of dangerous jobs purely for the pay – but none of them paid the kind of cash he wanted. Needed. He’d finally decided the only way he was ever going to get a fortune would be to marry one.
“I’m worried she’ll attract too many lascivious advances in a place like this… I want you to stay close by her side and keep the wolves at bay,” Angelica had said – conveniently.
Just a short-term job, from now till Saturday evening – forty-eight hours max – but he knew if he worked it right it could lead to something more permanent. That’s what he wanted, that was the plan. And he had two days to make it happen. Two days to make Sophia D’Leon fall in love with him.
Two days to catch a wealthy wife.
If she happened to be beautiful, too, that was just icing on the wedding cake. He’d have pursued her regardless, but he’d have more fun doing it now. The climax of the chase would be so much more satisfying. Yes, he was greedy, and he’d be the first to admit it, greedy and aggressive. Hungry and hot. Before, he’d only wanted her financial assets. Now he wanted her fine ass and everything it was connected to.
Let the games begin!
But not too fast. Yet. Angels required the kid glove treatment. He had to put her at ease before he put her anywhere else – like into his bed.
Pretend you’re a gentleman, Byron.
He pulled out his best set of manners – the ones he’d learned from watching old Errol Flynn movies – and dipped a courtly bow of greeting. He’d thought about kissing her hand, too, but decided against it, fearing he might not be able to stop until he’d nibbled his way up her arm to her neck.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, gazing into heavenly blue eyes.
-------
His look struck straight into her soul.
Sophia’s heart hitched. Her pulse raced.
“Likewise,” she answered – but only because Take me, I’m yours! might have sounded a bit presumptuous considering they’d just been introduced.
Byron?
He did look poetic. An attractive young man with dark hair and dreamy dark eyes. Very attractive. Very nicely put together. And such charming manners. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had bowed to her. Come to think of it, she didn’t think anyone ever had before. Most men didn’t do things like that anymore, only a special kind of man, the “old-fashioned romance” kind.
Her kind.
She slanted a quick glance at her grandmother, who gave her an innocent smile in return. Innocent as a cat with canary feathers sticking out of its mouth. Angelica knew of her desire for Lord Byron, of course; with good-natured indulgence she’d promised to keep a “psychic eye” out for the man of Sophia’s dreams. What a clever ploy to hire him as her bodyguard. Such a romantic notion. Gran was so good about things like that, so far-seeing, so sympathetic. So conniving. That’s probably where Sophia got it from.
“I found him, dear, now the ball’s in your court,” that cat-smile seemed to say.
Right. And Sophia had never actually played this game, but she felt certain she knew how. She might be a dreamer, but sh
e was a well-educated one with degrees in poetry and literature. She’d studied all the classic works of romance. Jane Austen, the Brontës, Mrs. Radcliffe’s books…even some Barbara Cartland. And to round out her research, she’d also studied the Kama Sutra – and experimented with cucumbers – but don’t tell Byron that.
In classic romance, the preferred heroine was an innocent blushing virgin with nary a clue how things worked in the sack. To be anything less – or more – might ruin the game. She had to play her part, but it shouldn’t be too big a stretch. Having never slept with a man, she was a virgin. Damn it. She could fake the rest.
She lowered her gaze – demurely – and waited for him to make the first move.
“Is this your first time here?” he asked. Casually.
“Yes.” The first of many firsts, she hoped. “But I’ve heard it’s an…interesting place.”
“Pretty, too. From what I’ve seen so far,” he offered. Ambiguously.
And the conversation hit a lull after that.
-------
Horse hockey.
Angelica glanced from one polite mask to the other. Frankly, she felt they were both playing it a bit too cool, too carefully cordial. This was like being stuck in a Jane Austen novel – which was no doubt where Sophia thought she was right now. Sophia, bless her heart, hadn’t yet discovered that books were no substitute for real life experience; with the hubris of youth, she thought she knew it all. So did Byron Sharpe, who wasn’t quite so sharp as he fancied himself.
Talk about books – hah – Angelica read him like one, and didn’t need her clairvoyance to do it, just a brief look downward. That bulge in his pants spoke volumes. She hadn’t been born yesterday. He was chomping at the bit like a hot-to-trot stallion, but holding himself on a tight rein – poor boy, that must be so uncomfortable.
Fortunately for him and Sophia both, Angelica had lived more years than the two of them put together. She had the wisdom and wiles of age reinforced by second sight.
She also had a delightfully garish wedding scheduled for Saturday and not much time to place a new bride and groom into position, her original lovebirds having flown the coop. The “Nuptials of Babylon” package was one of the resort’s special offerings, and quite a bargain, all things considered. She hated to see it go to waste simply because Danny and Mona no longer needed it.
“Byron, why don’t you show Sophia the resort’s rose garden,” she suggested as an icebreaker – because God knew someone had to break it. “It’s been such a busy day for me, I’m afraid I need to go to bed now” – she feigned a yawn – “but I’m sure Sophia isn’t tired yet. And she loves roses, don’t you, dear.”
-------
Only from a distance, Sophia thought, answering her grandmother’s smirk with a grim smile. Through narrowed eyes, she watched the woman disappear into a bedroom. Angelica had a wicked sense of humor sometimes; she probably thought this was funny.
Sophia didn’t.
She was allergic to roses! But couldn’t possibly let Byron know that, not this soon in the game. Romance heroines weren’t supposed to get red noses and sneeze their heads off anymore than they were supposed to read the Kama Sutra.
She’d just have to tank up on antihistamines and hope for the best. There was a full moon tonight, wasn’t there? A moonlit garden would be a romantic setting…
Sigh.
I’d enjoy a little walk,” she murmured, slapping her demure look back into place. “Just give me a minute to freshen up.”
“Take your time. I’ll meet you in the hall,” Byron said, heading out the door. “I, um, have to get something from my room.”
Like what, Sophia wondered. Condoms, did she dare hope?
Or would that be rushing things too much?
Nah.
She’d been waiting for her soul mate too long already. If he wanted to seduce her tonight, she was going to let him – demurely, of course.
Heart a-flutter, she dug her allergy pills out of her purse, popped one in her mouth, and swallowed it dry – gag – then realized she’d swallowed the wrong medication. These were the bedtime pills; they made her drowsy. Damn. She couldn’t be drowsy. Not tonight!
She rooted out another bottle – the daytime pills – and swallowed one of them, too. Maybe it would counteract the other one.
If it didn’t choke her to death first.
The second pill had caught in her throat.
Cough!
Water! She needed water—
She spotted an open bottle of wine instead. Danny and Mona must have been toasting their marriage before they left. Sophia grabbed it by the neck and drained it in one long guzzle.
Whew, that was better. Granted, romance heroines didn’t generally swig wine from the bottle, but Byron hadn’t been around to see, so she didn’t think it would hurt just this once. She didn’t think much, period. The floor was suddenly swaying, and her head felt full of cotton candy, all fluffy-wuffy and sweet. “Thinking” was highly overrated anyway. People should think with their hearts, not their heads!
So there.
Double-dosed and tilting toward tipsy, she tottered out of the suite.
And bumped into Byron.
-------
Whoa.
He caught her by the arm to steady her.
“Whoops. Fancy meeting you here, Lord Byron.” She giggled. Then lost her footing and stumbled into his chest.
Lord?
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was drunk.
Byron shifted his grip, holding her upright against himself with his left arm around her waist. His right hand held a big bouquet of velvety red romance he’d stolen from the resort’s garden earlier that day in preparation for stealing a girl’s heart.
“For me? How lovely!” Sophia buried her face in the blossoms.
“Ah-ah-choo!” An explosive sneeze scattered rose petals everywhere.
“Oh, I’m sooo sorry.” She blushed redder than the roses, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Damn pills haven’t kicked in yet,” she grumbled to herself.
Byron disagreed. Whatever she’d taken had kicked her into high orbit – also straight into his arms. Some men would take advantage of a situation like this. He was one of them.
“Ahhh-chooo!” More petals went flying.
“Merde,” she cursed, grabbing the bouquet out of his hand and flinging it over her shoulder. “That means shit, but it sounds more demure in French.”
He wasn’t sure who she was talking to, herself or him. She didn’t seem to know either.
“It’s not that I don’t like roses,” she muttered, “just that they don’t like me.”
Ah, now he understood. “You have allergies?”
“Shh” – she pressed a finger to her lips – “you’re not supposed to know. It’s not romantic. And you don’t know I’ve studied the Kama Sutra! Or that I’ve been practicing its lessons with cucumbers. Cucumbers aren’t romantic either. But I needed something to practice with. The Kama Sutra is all about shex,” she slurred.
So he’d heard – not that Byron had ever read it himself. His own shex education had been learned in the streets. And on the floor…in bed…on pool tables…
“It’s all right if you know I’m a virgin though.”
She was?
“Barring the cucumbers, of course. But they don’t count.”
He agreed with her on that one. Vegetables were no replacement for the real deal.
“The virginity part is supposed to be obvious.” She fluttered her lashes. “But you have to forget all the rest or it’ll screw up the game.”
Byron’s game was screwed already.
Sophia pressed in, sighing, leaning against him as though her legs were too weak to hold her – which was probably the truth at the moment. He stifled a groan. Her lips were too close; she felt too good in his arms – felt like a million bucks. But she was so much more than money.
He’d intended to take her tonight, tipsy or sober – be
en ready to charm the pants off her. Literally. But not now, not like this. The innocent angel was even more innocent than he’d thought. And he wasn’t that much of a devil. He did have a little bit of conscience, a few romantic notions of his own. A girl’s first time with a man ought to be something special, something she’d never forget. But with the state Sophia was in, he’d be lucky if she even remembered his name in the morning.
There was nothing to do but let her sleep it off and try again tomorrow. This wasn’t defeat, just delay. He still wanted to marry her – now more than ever. It wasn’t often you got a chance at a beautiful mother lode who’d never been mined. Tomorrow he’d tunnel in deep and strike gold.
Tonight he’d take a cold shower.
Sophia laid her head on his shoulder and started playing with his tie, hooking fingers over the knot and inching it downward, loosening it…
Make that a real cold shower. Real soon.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she murmured.
No, actually, and he doubted she did either; she was in no shape to know what she was saying. Byron didn’t believe in love much at all. Love was a fairytale illusion, and he’d lost his illusions early in life.
Lust was another matter. Lust was a heat wave rising around them. Lust sizzled the air and made his voice raspy.
“Sophia, I think you need to go to bed.” Before he ravished her right here in the hallway.
“Finally! I thought you’d never ask!”
With startling strength and agility, she tightened her grip on his tie and pulled him to the door of his room.
“Where’s your key? Here?” She dug a hand into his pants’ pocket.
Groan. Did she have any idea what that pocket was next to? Through thin fabric, her fingers grazed a growing bulge. An electric charge shot through him.
“There’s something in here. My, what a big key you have.” She giggled like Little Red Riding Hood.
And she was turning him into a big bad wolf.
Byron yanked his besieged willpower up by its bootstraps.