Her perfume was filling his senses, dulling his brain, making him unable to think of anything else but her. “You might bring it back, single-handedly.”
Her back to the wall, Cheyenne raised her eyes to look at him. “Are you always this charming?”
What would she do if he kissed her here, he wondered, without any warning? Would she be annoyed? Or kiss back? “That all depends.”
There was something in his eyes, something thrilling that sent tiny, urgent shock waves all through her. “On what?”
“On what you want to hear.”
“The truth.” Always, the truth. She could only hope it was a truth that would make her happy. Oh God, where was she going with this? She knew it was hopeless.
He toyed with the long, pearl-drop earring that hung from her ear, sending it swaying. He wanted to slip it from her ear with his teeth and then lightly nibble on the naked lobe. “The truth is that I don’t want to go to this function.”
In one easy maneuver, he cornered her with his body, one hand against the wall on either side of her. His breath caressed her as warmly as his eyes did. She could only stare up into his face, mesmerized.
“The truth is that I want to take you back to your hotel room, or my hotel room, or stay in the elevator, or go anywhere you want—and make love to you slowly, all night long, until I’m dead.”
She felt as if he’d already started. It was hard to catch her breath. She could feel her pulse racing, knowing she was so outmatched it was laughable. How could she ever have thought she could “handle” this man?
But she tried. It was a matter of survival. “I would think that someone with your ambition would have more long-range plans than that.”
A smile curved his mouth, slowly, like brandy being poured into a glass. “I do. I’m planning on being resurrected and doing it all over again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”
She lay a finger against his lips to make him stop. When he kissed it lightly, it was all she could manage not to sigh. “Sounds like you’d have a very busy schedule ahead of you if I said ‘yes.’”
“Do you?” His question danced along her skin, slowly shredding her resolve, her will to resist. “Do you say ‘yes’?”
She fought valiantly to piece herself together. It was hard mounting a resistance when there was next to none. “No. I have a job assignment to fulfill and you have a communications empire to run. Neither one of us has time for this.” But she wanted to, heaven help her, she wanted to have time.
Time wasn’t the problem, she reminded herself. But she was scarcely listening.
His body was almost touching hers, and making it burn, chafing at the tiny bit of space between them.
“You know what they say about all work and no play,” he said softly.
Why hadn’t they reached the first floor yet? How was it that they had managed to get on the slowest elevator ever created? “How about ‘gather yee nuggets while yee may’?” she asked, desperation setting in.
He lowered his mouth to hers. “Just what I was thinking.”
“What are you doing?” she cried, panic and delight mingling together.
“Harvesting.” The word whispered along her lips.
A second before his lips could brush against hers, the elevator doors finally opened. Several people, waiting to get on, stood and openly stared at them.
Cheyenne jumped, embarrassed. Slanting a look at Grant, she saw that he was completely unfazed.
“Good evening,” Grant said pleasantly, nodding at the amused group. As if being caught in a romantic clinch were an everyday occurrence, he casually took Cheyenne’s arm and escorted her from the elevator.
The man was incredible. “Smooth,” she commented.
He inclined his head, ushering her before him at the entrance. “I try.”
He did more than try. He radiated charm all evening, effortlessly, as if it came to him as naturally as breathing. It probably did.
Most of the time, Cheyenne noted, Grant used his considerable charm to persuade the women at the gathering to part with more money than they had initially intended.
She discovered that this wasn’t just an ordinary fundraiser; it was a dinner that culminated in an auction. A bachelor auction, with Grant as auctioneer. After getting over her initial surprise, Cheyenne had gone to work, capturing some very telling shots of more than a score of society’s upper-crust ladies as they became caught up in bidding for an evening with some of New Orleans’s best-looking, and most eligible bachelors.
Taking a short break, Grant moved away from the podium and crossed to where Cheyenne was standing. With the ease of a lifelong friend rather than a man she had only recently met, he slipped his hand along her waist and brought her close enough to him to arouse them both.
“Having a good time?” He’d watched her, even while he presided over the bidding. She’d worked the crowd, weaving in and out like a ribbon of smoke before even being noticed, and had recorded practically everything.
The women in the audience might have forgotten about her presence, but he never did. Not once throughout the bidding did he stop being aware that she was there, in her body-hugging gown, making his blood heat and his body yearn.
“Very,” she confessed without qualm. “You didn’t tell me this was an auction.” She wouldn’t have bothered dressing to the teeth if she’d known. She could just have come in a simple black dress and saved herself the expense.
His hand trailed up her spine slowly. “It slipped my mind.”
She doubted anything slipped his mind. She fished out another roll of film and began reloading. “Did it also ‘slip your mind’ that you were the auctioneer?”
He smiled into her eyes, noting, with pleasure, that she had stopped loading. At least he had some effect on her.
“You made everything slip my mind.” He saw Millie, the Children’s Foundation treasurer, beckoning to him. “Looks like I have to get back to work. Wait for me.” He winked before leaving her.
As if she had a choice, she mused, taking another photograph.
Grant continued to verbally beat the drum, until the last bachelor on his list had been bid for and claimed. The entire auction had taken a little more than ninety minutes and he felt tired, but well pleased. They’d managed to raise quite a bit of money for his favorite charity.
Because it had gotten considerably warmer under the lights, he undid his tie and opened the first button at his throat,. There, he thought, that felt better.
“Thank you, ladies, it’s been a pleasure. The Children’s Foundation thanks you from the bottom of its needy, but worthy, heart.”
He began to step off the podium when someone in the audience called out, “What about you?”
The question stopped him in his tracks. Grant turned, looking for the source of the voice. “Excuse me?”
“What about you?” the woman dressed in a royal blue gown repeated. She exchanged glances with some of her friends at the table, and a wave of laughter followed.
Cheyenne lowered her camera, looking at the woman. She didn’t like the sound of this.
“Aren’t you going to be auctioned off?” the lady asked.
Grant laughed, shaking his head. “No, I—”
“Why not?” Someone else wanted to know. “It’s for charity, right?”
“Yes,” Grant agreed, “but—” It had never been his intention to be put on the block. That was the main reason he’d agreed to be auctioneer.
The woman in the royal blue dress was on her feet, declaring, “I start the bidding at three hundred dollars.”
Grant looked toward Cheyenne helplessly, for once his charm momentarily seeming to fail him. Reflexes had her snapping the photograph quickly, knowing she would never get another opportunity to capture him this way. And then she lowered the camera. She couldn’t concentrate on what was going on if she was busy taking photographs.
Cheyenne moved into the center of the audience, listening to the bids. Lis
tening and feeling herself growing just the slightest bit uneasy. And jealous. Yes, she examined it in wonder, that was definitely jealousy spreading its wings inside her. The idea would’ve horrified her if she hadn’t been so intent on the proceedings.
She’d thought that seeing Grant here tonight, with women throwing themselves at him, would permanently uproot any buds of desire growing within her. Instead, it nurtured them.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Not when a nubile-looking brunette had put in her bid and Grant had smiled in reply.
“Seven hundred,” Cheyenne heard herself calling out as she raised her hand.
Surprise gave way to pleasure when Grant looked in her direction. “It seems that the lady with the camera—”
“Eight hundred,” the brunette proclaimed loudly.
Cheyenne could have scratched that confident look off the woman’s face with her newly done nails. “Eightfifty.”
The brunette spared her one look, her eyes narrowing into dark green slits. “One thousand dollars,” she announced haughtily.
Cheyenne paused, doing a quick calculation in her head. If she managed to put the tags back on the dress she had on, she could afford to go a little higher. She’d watched her mother do that more than once when she was growing up, on the rare occasions that a new dress was called for. Rather than spend money they didn’t have, Anita Tarantino would drive to the next town, buy a dress, wear it, then return it with all the tags neatly restored.
It looked as if the trick that haunted her youth would actually come in handy for her, Cheyenne mused.
She raised her hand. “Fifteen hundred.”
A gasp undulated through the crowd. Grant looked a little stunned himself, Cheyenne noted with some satisfaction. Her satisfaction grew when she saw the brunette, frowning, shake her head and withdraw.
“It seems I go to the lady with the camera for fifteen hundred. And that,” Grant said as he quickly hit his gavel against the podium, “really concludes our bidding for the evening.” He offered to the audience the stunning smile that Cheyenne found to be her undoing. “Once again, thank you ladies for your participation and your generosity. I hope you each get exactly what you were hoping for.”
Briskly, he pointed toward the matronly looking woman sitting at the end of the stage. “Please don’t forget to leave your checks with Millie.”
Stepping back from the podium, Grant quickly made his way toward Cheyenne. He noticed that she looked a little uneasy. Buyer’s remorse, he suspected.
Joining her, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “You never cease to amaze me, Cheyenne.”
She blew out a breath. She’d just spent fifteen-hundred dollars for an evening with him when it was already hers for free. Now he was going to be impossible.
“That makes two of us.” She tried to downplay it. “I guess I just got caught up in the excitement of the bidding.”
Liar, Grant thought, stroking her cheek with the crook of his finger. “If you say so,” he murmured.
She moved her head aside. “Don’t get any ideas, O’Hara. I thought this just might enhance the feature for the magazine.”
She might want to hide behind that excuse, but he knew better. And so, he thought, did she.
“I don’t mind giving my ‘all’ to the magazine if you don’t. You own me, Cheyenne—lock, stock and barrel—for the duration of one night. You get to pick which evening.” He tried not to stare at her breasts, which rose and fell above the deep neckline every time she took a breath. “We might even discuss turning this into a longterm arrangement.”
To him, long term probably meant a weekend, she thought. “Don’t let this go to your head, O’Hara.” She searched desperately for a graceful way to save face. “I just...”
She was adorable when she was flustered, he thought. “Just what?” he prodded.
“Just didn’t like the look in that woman’s eyes.” It was more of a matter of not liking the way the woman looked, period. As if she wanted to pour herself all over Grant.
He tried hard to keep the smile from his lips, but failed rather miserably. “You saw that all the way over here?”
“Telephoto lens,” she muttered darkly.
“I love technology,” he quipped, then laughed softly. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, feeling his pockets for his checkbook. “I’ll let you off the hook. I’ll cover the check. I wasn’t supposed to be on the list, anyway.”
She pushed his checkbook back toward his pocket. “I did the bidding, I’ll do the covering.”
He was about to argue with her about it, then instinctively stopped. She wouldn’t take intervention the right way.
“Pride.” He nodded, looking at her as he thought it over. “I like pride in a woman. It’s sexy. Everything about you is sexy, Cheyenne.” He lowered his voice until it was a mere whisper against her ear. “And exciting. So damn exciting. Why don’t we go back to the hotel and—”
She wouldn’t let him finish. She didn’t want his suggestions clouding up her thoughts, messing with her mind. Very carefully, she moved aside, her hand against his chest to maintain a glimmer of space between them. It was her only hope.
“Hold it,” she said. “I bought you, I get to do what I want with you.”
The smile that wafted to her was sensual and seductive. “Sounds interesting.”
She would have to have been made of stone to ignore the effect it had on her, but she managed to pretend. “Take me on a tour of New Orleans.”
The request surprised him. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
She grinned, relieved at the reprieve. Now if she could only learn how to duck and weave. “I know.”
But there was a lot to be said, Grant mused, for the unexpected. It had such possibilities.
Cheyenne couldn’t remember when she had felt so exhausted. And so contented. Probably never. The hours after the auction had concluded were a blur of activity, of laughter and sensuality, of faces and music. And more colors than there were in the rainbow. A blur, except for the fact that Grant was at the center of it all. Always at the center.
Grant had taken her, just as she asked, on a tour of the city. More specifically, on a tour of the best that the city had to offer. The word “nightlife” took on a whole new meaning when applied to New Orleans, especially to a woman who had been raised on the outskirts of Cheyenne.
At night, New Orleans seemed even more alive than it was during the day. All its proper inhibitions fell away. She and Grant had frequented several of the hotter night clubs, then stopped to eat at a tiny, out-of-the-way bistro where the customers had been lined up all the way down the block. Grant had managed to sneak her and himself in way ahead of the crowd. He’d been surprised to hear that she had never sampled Cajun food before, and she had been surprised to discover that she had been missing something wonderful.
“You might feel that way about a lot of things,” he assured her, his message drumming a tattoo in her head. It didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to know what he was referring to.
And the more they were together, the more she’d entertained the idea.
They’d stumbled across a funeral celebration in the French Quarter that was finally winding down after two days, and had listened to the participants, musicians all, jam as they lay one of their own to rest.
The music still filled her head when she got off the elevator at the hotel. Cheyenne hummed, moving her body in time with the beat in her brain, trying to hang on to the last strains of the music.
Amused, Grant took her hand and literally danced her to her door. Surprised, Cheyenne could only manage a quick glance to see if there was anyone else in the hall. Satisfied there were no witnesses, she gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of the moment and of being in his arms.
Laughing breathlessly, feeling as giddy, as happy as a child, she leaned against her door. The evening had cost her fifteen-hundred dollars, and it had been money well spent.
She struggled to catch her bre
ath as she looked down at her watch. It was a little after four in the morning. “I guess I’ve gotten my money’s worth.”
Taking her purse from her, Grant raised an eyebrow as he hunted for the card to open her door. He found it and slid it in.
“That was just a down payment.” She was flushed and radiant and he could have devoured her where she stood—wanted to devour her. Grant turned the knob, opening the door. He stepped aside to let her enter first. “The evening doesn’t have to end just yet.”
Cheyenne glanced toward the window. It was still dark outside, but dawn would be arriving soon. “I’d say the evening officially ended several hours ago. It’s morning.”
She was weakening. He could hear it in her voice. Grant took her into his arms. She seemed to fit so well there, better than any woman he had ever held. The thought was scaring him less and less.
He nuzzled her. “It doesn’t have to be if we don’t want it to.”
Her heart was racing again, threatening to leap out of her chest. And straight into his hands.
“I didn’t have anything to drink,” she murmured, struggling with herself. “So why do I feel so drunk?”
He laughed and his breath tickled her neck. “I was wondering the same thing.”
Her body was pressed up against his and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. Anything she wanted to do about it.
“Come to any conclusions?” she asked thickly.
“One.” He kissed the side of her throat and felt her yield. He’d never felt anything more compellingly sensual in his life. “Want to hear it?”
“Maybe.” The word felt as if it had to be forcibly drawn from her mouth.
“We’re drunk on happiness.” At least, he knew he was. He skimmed the other side of her throat, feeling her moan vibrate against his lips. The knot in his gut tightened dangerously. “On each other.”
“Sounds right.” Eagerness spurred her on as she felt his mouth graze the outline of her chin. She moved her head so her mouth met his. Sealed against it. Ignited it.
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