by Maya Blake
Unease at her shameless eavesdropping almost forced her away but desperation held her in place.
‘How do you know? He didn’t attend the last two events.’ The blonde looked decidedly pouty at that outcome.
‘I told you, I overheard the guy he was with this evening talking about it. They’re both going this time. If I can get a job as a Petit Q hostess, this could be my chance,’ her red-headed friend replied.
‘What? To dress in a clown costume in the hope of catching his eye?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘Well, hell will freeze over before I do that to hook a guy,’ the blonde huffed.
Statuesque Redhead’s lips pursed. ‘Don’t knock it till you try it. It pays extremely well. And if Narciso Valentino falls in my lap, well, let’s just say I won’t let that life-changing opportunity pass me by.’
‘Okay, you have my attention. Give me the name of the website. And where the hell is Macau anyway?’ the blonde asked.
‘Umm...Europe, I think?’
Ruby barely suppressed a snort. Heart thumping, she took her phone from her tiny clutch and keyed in the website address.
An hour and a half later, she sent another Hail Mary and pressed send on the online forms she’d filled out on her return home.
It might come to nothing. She could fail whatever test or interview she had to pass to get this gig. Heck, after discovering that she was applying to hostess for Q Virtus, one of the world’s most exclusive and secretive private clubs, she wondered if she didn’t need her head examined. She could be wasting money and precious time chasing an elusive man. But she had to try. Each day she waited was another day her goal slipped from her fingers.
The alternative—bowing to the pressure from her mother to join the family business—was unthinkable. At best she would once again become the pawn her parents used to antagonise each other. At worst, they would try and drag her down into their celebrity-hungry lifestyle.
They’d made her childhood a living hell. And she only had to pass a billboard in New York City to see they were still making each other’s lives just as miserable but taking pleasure in documenting the whole thing for the world to feast on.
The Ricardo & Paloma Trevelli Show was prime-time viewing. The fly-on-the-wall documentary had been running for as long as Ruby could remember.
When she was growing up, her daily routine had included at least two sets of camera crews documenting her every move along with her parents’.
TV crews had become extended family members. For a very short time when it’d made her the most popular girl at school, she’d told herself she was okay with it.
Until her father’s affairs began. His very public admission of infidelity when she was nine years old had made ratings soar. Her mother publicly admitting her heartbreak had made worldwide news. Almost overnight, the TV show had been syndicated worldwide and brought her parents even more notoriety.
The subsequent reunion and vow renewal had thrilled the world.
After her father’s second admission of infidelity, millions of viewers had been given the opportunity to weigh in on the outcome of Ruby’s life.
Strangers had accosted her on the street, alternatively pitying and shaming her for being a Trevelli.
Escaping to college at the opposite end of the country had been a blessing. But even then she hadn’t been able to avoid her roots.
It’d quickly become apparent that she had no other talent than cooking.
The realisation that the Trevelli gene was truly stamped into her DNA was a deep fear she secretly harboured. It was the reason she’d cut Simon out of her life without a backward glance. It was also the reason she’d vowed never to let her parents influence her life.
Which was why she needed a ten-minute conversation with Narciso Valentino. A tingle of awareness shot through her as she replayed the scene outside Riga.
With a spiky foreboding, she recalled the dark, dangerously sensual waves vibrating off him; those bronzed, sure fingers drifting over the blonde’s bottom, causing unwelcome heat to drag through Ruby’s belly.
God, what was she doing lying in bed thinking of some stranger’s hand on his girlfriend’s ass?
She punched her pillow into shape and flipped off her bedside lamp. She couldn’t control the future but she could control the choice between mooning over elegant hands that looked as if they could bring a woman great pleasure or getting a good night’s sleep.
She was almost asleep when her phone pinged an incoming message.
Exhaling in frustration, she grabbed the phone.
The brightness in the dark room hurt her eyes, but, even half blinded, Ruby could see the words clearly. Her CV had impressed the powers that be.
She’d been granted an interview to become a Petit Q.
CHAPTER TWO
Macau, China, One Week Later
THE RED FLOOR-LENGTH gown sat a little too snugly against Ruby’s skin, and the off-the-shoulder design exposed more cleavage and general flesh than she was comfortable with. But after two gruelling interviews, one of which she’d almost blown by turning up late due to another delayed train, the last thing she could complain about was the expensive designer outfit that spelt her out as a Petit Q.
She was careful now to avoid it getting snagged on her heels as she walked across the marble floor of her hotel towards the meeting place, from where they’d be chauffeured to their final destination. In her small case were two carefully folded, equally expensive outfits the management had provided.
An examination had shown that they, too, like the dress she wore, would be tight...everywhere. It was clear that someone, somewhere in the management food chain had got her measurements very wrong.
She’d already attracted the attention of an aging rock star in the lift on the way to the ground floor of her Macau hotel. It didn’t matter that he’d seemed half blind when he’d leered at her; attracting any attention at all made her stomach knot with acid anxiety.
She’d let her guard down with Simon, had believed his interest to be pure and genuine, only to discover he wanted nothing more than a bit on the side. The idea that he’d assumed because she was a Trevelli she would condone his indecent proposal, just as her mother continued to accept her father’s, had shredded the self-esteem she’d fought so hard to attain when she’d removed herself from her parents’ sphere.
She wasn’t a coward, but the fear that she might never be able to judge another man’s true character sent a cold shiver through her.
Pushing the thought away, she straightened her shoulders, but another troubling thought immediately took its place.
What if she’d made a huge mistake in coming here?
What if Narciso didn’t show? What if he showed and she missed him again?
No, she had to find him. Especially in light of the phone call she’d received the morning after she’d signed on to be a Petit Q.
The voice had been calm but menacing. Simon had sold his twenty-five-per-cent share of her business to a third party. ‘We will be in touch shortly about interest and payment terms,’ the accented voice had warned.
‘I won’t be able to discuss any payment terms until the business is up and running,’ she’d replied, her hands growing clammy as anxiety dredged her stomach.
‘Then it is in your interest to make that happen sooner rather than later, Miss Trevelli.’
The line had gone dead before she could say anything more. For a moment, she’d believed she’d dreamt the whole thing, but she’d lived in New York long enough to know loan sharks were a real and credible threat. And Simon had sold his share in her business to one of them.
Panicked and angry with Simon, she’d been halfway across the Indian Ocean before she’d read her Petit Q guidelines and experienced a bolt of shock.
Masked, as in incognito. Where the chances of picking out Narciso Valentino would be hugely diminished.
The memory of broad shoulders and elegant fingers flashed across her mind. Yeah, sure, as if she were an expert in male shoulders enough to distinguish one from the other.
Her fingers clenched around her tiny red clutch. She’d come all this way. She refused to admit defeat.
The redhead from Riga turned towards her and Ruby fought not to grit her teeth as the other woman dismissed her instantly.
As the door to the Humvee limo slid shut behind them another jagged stab of warning pierced her. Every cell in her body screamed at her to abandon this line of pursuit and hightail it back home.
She could use the app to find out when Narciso returned to New York. She could confront him on home turf where she was more at ease, not here in this sultry, exotic part of the world where the very air held a touch of opulent magic.
But what if this was her last chance? A man who would fly thousands of miles for a highly secretive event could disappear just as easily given half a chance. She’d been lucky to be in the right place to find out where he’d be at this point in time.
Fate had handed her the opportunity. She wasn’t going to blow it.
The limo hit a bump, bringing her back to reality.
Despite the glitzy lights and Vegas-style atmosphere, the tiny island of Macau held a charisma and steeped-in-history feel that had spilled over from mainland China. She held her breath as they crossed over the Lotus Bridge into Cotai, their final destination.
Bicycles raced alongside sports cars and nineteen-fifties buses in a spectacular blend of ancient and modern.
Less than ten minutes later, they rolled to a stop. Exiting, she looked around and her trepidation escalated. The underground car park was well lit enough to showcase top-of-the-line luxury sports cars and blinged-out four-by-fours next to stretch limos. The net worth in the car park alone was enough to fund the annual gross domestic product of a small country.
The buzz of excitement in her group fractured her thoughts and she hurried forward into waiting lifts. Like her, the other nineteen hostesses were dressed in red gowns for the first evening, and the ten male hosts dressed in red jackets.
Six bodyguards accompanied them into the lifts and Ruby stemmed the urge to bolt as the doors started to close. Five seconds later it was too late.
The doors opened to gleaming parquet floors with red and gold welcoming carpet running through the middle of the vast, suspended foyer.
On the walls, exquisite tapestries of dragons flirting with maidens were embellished with multihued glass beads. Red and gold Chinese-silk cloth hung in swathes from the tapered ceiling to the floor, discreetly blacking out the outside world.
Two winged staircases led to the floor below where a sunken section in the middle had been divided into twelve gaming tables, each with its own private bar and seating area.
All around her, masked men in bespoke tuxedos mingled with exquisitely clad women dripping with stunning jewellery that complemented their breathtaking masks. Granted, the number of women was marginally less than men, but from the way they carried themselves Ruby suspected these women wielded more than enough power to hold their own against their male counterparts.
A tall, masked, jet-haired woman wearing a sophisticated-looking earpiece glided forward and introduced herself as Head Hostess. In succinct tones, she briefed them on their roles.
Ruby tried to calm her jangling nerves as she descended the stairs and headed for the bar of the fourth poker table.
A bar she could handle.
Nevertheless, she held her breath as the first group of men took their places at the table. They all wore masks in varying degrees of camouflage and design. As she mixed her first round of drinks and delivered it to the table, Ruby tried to glean if any of them resembled her quarry.
One by one, she dismissed them. Eventually, they drifted off and another group took their place.
A grey-haired man—the oldest in her group—immediately drew her attention. He carried himself with command and control, but he was too old to be Narciso Valentino and his frame was slightly stooped with age.
He snapped his fingers and threw out an order for a glass of Sicilian red. Ruby pursed her lips and admonished herself not to react to the rudeness. Five men took their places around the table, leaving only one other space to be filled.
Safely behind the bar after delivering their drinks order, she watched their bets grow larger and bolder.
Music pumped from discreet loud speakers, and through a set of double doors guests took to the dance floor. It wasn’t deafening by any means but Ruby felt the pulse of the provocative music through the soles of her feet.
She swallowed down the mingled distaste and latent fear as she noticed things were beginning to get hot and heavy as guests began to loosen their inhibitions.
She could do this. Just because she was a Trevelli didn’t mean she would lose sight of her goals. Decadence and excess were her parents’ thing. They needn’t be hers...
The lights overhead dimmed.
A door to one side of the lift labelled The Black Room swung open and two men stepped onto the gangway.
One wore a gold half-mask that covered him from forehead to nose. The aura of power that radiated from him raised the very temperature of the room.
But the moment Ruby’s eyes encountered the second man, her belly clenched.
The head hostess drifted towards him but he raised a hand and waved her away. At the sight of those slim fingers, recognition slammed into her. She watched, dry-mouthed, as he sauntered down the steps and headed for her side of the room.
He stopped in front of her bar.
Silver eyes bore into hers, drilling down hard as if he wanted to know her every last secret. The smile slowly left his face as he continued to stare at her, one eyebrow gradually lifting in silent query.
His silver and black onyx mask was artistically and visually stunning. It revealed his forehead and the lower part of his face and against its brilliance his olive skin glowed in a way that made her want to touch that chiselled jaw.
Piercing eyes drifted over her in a lazy sweep, pausing for a long second at her breasts. Her breath hitched in her throat as her body reacted to his probing gaze.
Narciso Valentino. If she’d had two dollars to rub together she’d have bet on it.
Her mouth dried as she looked into his eyes and lost every last sensible thought in her head.
‘Serve me, cara mia. I’m dying of thirst.’ His voice was raw, unadulterated sin, oozing what Ruby could only conclude was sex appeal.
At least she thought so because the sound of it had transmitted a tingling to parts of her body she hadn’t known could tingle just from hearing a man’s voice. And why on earth had her hands grown so clammy?
When his brow arched higher at her inactivity, she scrambled to think straight. ‘W-what would you like?’
His eyes moved down again, paused at her throat, where her pulse jumped like a frenzied rabbit.
‘Surprise me.’
He turned abruptly and all signs of mirth leached from his face.
Across the small space between the bar and the poker table, he speared the silver-haired man with an unforgiving gaze.
The man stared back, the part of his face visible beneath his mask taut despite his whole body bristling with disdain.
Animosity arced through the air, snapping coils of dangerous electricity that made Ruby’s pulse leap higher. Her gaze slid back to the younger man as if drawn by magnets. She told herself she was trying to decipher what sort of drink to make him but, encountering those broad s
houlders again, her mind drifted into impure territory, as it had outside the nightclub in New York.
Focus!
The older man had requested a Sicilian red but instinctively she didn’t think the man she’d concluded was Narciso would go for wine.
Casting her gaze over the bottles of spirits and liqueurs, she quickly measured the required shots, mixed a cocktail and placed it on a tray.
Willing her fingers not to shake, she approached the poker table and placed his drink at his elbow.
He dragged his gaze from the older man long enough to glance from the pale golden drink to her face. ‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘It’s a...Macau Bombshell,’ she blurted out the name she’d come up with seconds ago.
One smooth brow spiked as he leaned back in his seat. ‘Bombshell?’ Once again, his gaze drifted over her, lingered at the place where her dress parted mid-thigh in a long slit. ‘Would you place yourself in that category, too? Because you certainly have the potential.’
Right, so really he was one of those. A Playboy with a capital P.
A man who saw something he coveted and went for it, regardless of who got hurt. The clear image of his hand on another woman made her spine stiffen in negative reaction, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged her disappointment.
Irritated with herself, she pushed the feeling away.
Now she knew what sort of man she was dealing with, things would proceed much smoother.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s all about the drink.’
‘I’ve never heard such a name.’
‘It’s my own creation.’
‘Ah.’ He sipped the champagne, falernum, lemon and pineapple mix. Then he slowly tasted the cocktail without taking his eyes off her. ‘I like it. Bring me one every half-hour on the button until I say otherwise.’
The implication that she could be here for hours caused her teeth to grind. She looked from the dealer to the other players at the table, wondered if she could ask to speak to Narciso privately now.