“I could kiss you all night. Come home with me,” he urged.
She leaned closer, so that more of her weight was against him, and slid her fingers into his hair. She forgot everything except the urgency running through her. Breaking off another kiss to take a breath, she gasped, “No way.”
“Jesus,” he breathed. “That’s so mean.”
Regina pulled back, smiling a little. “You knew that was a long shot.” He shook his head, looking so woebegone that she laughed again, patting his cheek. “You’re hot, and you’re a little crazy, but I have to get back to my table. Let me down.”
He did, stepping back with a small shudder and letting her slide down the length of him while her skirt rode up between them. She left it that way for a moment, enjoying how his hard, rough hands covered the cheeks of her ass. She shimmied, rubbing herself against him, and he groaned again.
“I have to see you again. When can I see you again?”
Regina swallowed. She didn’t know. Was he talking a date or fucking? Fucking sounded good, but she didn’t really know anything about him other than that he liked to play magician and he worked with creepy Russians.
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. She needed to clear her head, to think. “You’ll be at the hospital next Friday, right?”
“I was hoping for tomorrow,” he murmured, smoothing her dress down over her hips, “but I’ll settle for Friday, I guess.”
“Big of you,” she said sarcastically.
He looked down his rather large nose at her. “You have no idea.” He took one step away and said, “See you soon, Dr. Burke.”
ANDREI WAS NOWHERE to be seen when Regina returned to the table, but Celeste was eating her dinner and talking to Corbin, who seemed thrilled at the turn of events.
Regina took a deep breath and straightened her dress, hoping she didn’t look as disheveled as she felt.
“Sorry to take so long,” she murmured. “I’m not feeling well.” She took her seat, hoping the flush didn’t show on her cheeks.
Corbin looked concerned, whereas Celeste just seemed relieved. “Andrei said he had to leave, a business meeting.”
Reminded of that asshole, Regina frowned and turned on Celeste. “You won’t be agreeing to see him again, right? He’s dangerous, Celeste.”
Celeste looked faintly mutinous, but then her attention was caught by someone behind Regina, someone coming from the direction of the bathroom. She grinned broadly. “Oh, hell yeah. No one told me he was coming in tonight.”
Regina turned to look, and the magician caught her eye. Regina didn’t remember breathing. Time seemed to slow as he stalked past, his gaze never leaving her, his obvious desire blazing on his face.
Next to her, Celeste said, “Well, well. Looks like someone’s caught Mr. Shaw’s eye.”
Hearing the faint irritation in Celeste’s voice, Regina turned to her. “Mr. Shaw?”
Celeste glanced at Corbin, who was studiously cutting his steak. “The billionaire. Milton Shaw. He and his two college friends started Accendo, that software company.”
Regina had heard of Accendo; the company had just donated a new medical record and security system to the hospital. They would be installing it next week. Milton Shaw . . . Shaw the Magician. She’d just let a billionaire with strong ties to the hospital make out with her in a restaurant. Shit. This was a nightmare. She wasn’t about to get involved with someone like that, someone who could damage her career, drag her into the public eye, and basically fuck her life six ways to Sunday. She’d worked too hard to get where she was to throw it away because some guy was hot.
It figured that the first time she behaved irresponsibly in years it would bite her in the ass.
By the time Milton returned to his table, Michelle was tapping her manicured nails on the tablecloth. He couldn’t help but compare her to Regina Burke, whose nails had been clean and smoothly rounded, but not manicured.
“I’m sorry, Michelle.” He sat down again, and signaled the waiter. He thought he’d better end the date before it got any worse.
Michelle shifted in her chair. “That’s all right. Are you feeling okay?” She seemed to be searching for some excuse to forgive him.
Once again, this had never happened before he had money; women in college hadn’t given him one chance to prove he was a good date, much less three. The waiter arrived with the check, and Milton handed him his card without looking at it.
As soon as the waiter left, Milton spent a few moments fiddling with the coins in his pocket before making a decision.
“I’m sorry, Michelle,” he said, “but I don’t think this date is going well. You’re great, but I’m afraid I’m not interested.”
She blinked for a full three seconds before she regained her composure. She sat back with an unsteady laugh. “Well, that was direct.”
Milton shifted. He’d been told this before. He didn’t know how to be any other way. “It seems better than pretending.”
She took a sip of her wine. “Well, I can always get a taxi.” She gathered her purse, and Milton stood just as their waiter returned to the table.
“Can you get the lady’s coat for her, please?” he asked as he took the receipt out of the man’s hands.
“Of course, Mr. Shaw,” the young man replied. He returned in a few minutes holding a black cashmere coat with a satin lining.
Milton left the signed tab on the table and accepted the coat, helping Michelle into it.
“Well,” she said, turning around, “thank you for dinner, I suppose.”
Milton nodded.
She left with her head held high, her high heels clicking on the floor. Milton stood with his hands in his pockets and watched her go until Alexis approached him with his own coat.
“Date didn’t go well?”
Milton accepted his coat and gave her a half smile. “What gave you that idea?”
She smiled. “Have a good evening, Mr. Shaw.”
Milton put on his coat but paused, wanting to at least stop by Regina Burke’s table one more time. He took a step in that direction and realized the staff was surreptitiously watching him. If he showed interest in her, one of them might, even as well trained as they were, snap a photograph that would be plastered in the society section of the Boston Globe by tomorrow.
Turning on his heel, he left the restaurant quickly, texting Shane as he walked to meet him out front. Shane, responsive as always, pulled up to the curb as Milton stepped outside.
“That was fast,” Milton commented as he slid into the backseat.
Shane made a noise that could have been agreement and pulled away, heading back to Milton’s house.
Sitting in the backseat, Milton looked up Regina Burke again, just to see a picture of her, just to make sure the image he had of her in his head even came close to reality. It did, and it didn’t. The photograph failed to capture the subtle glow of her skin, the flash of her dark eyes, the delicate peak of her top lip. He pictured her dressed in a beaded and spangled costume, her perfect mouth painted a deep crimson red.
He hadn’t thought she would be willing to do something like that—not at first, not when she was so straitlaced—but then, she’d let him kiss her in the restaurant. She might be willing. Thoughts of how willing she might be entertained him on the way home, so much so that he was startled when the limo came to a stop in front of his home.
Milton thanked Shane as he left the car, tugging his coat a little closer as he jogged up the steps. The doors unlocked automatically as he approached, and he hurried inside.
Only one dim light glowed in the hallway—he’d forgotten to turn on the rest, but he ignored the dark, stripping off his coat and scarf and tossing them carelessly over the balustrade. His housekeeper would put them away, shaking her head at his carelessness.
Instead of going upstairs to his bedroom, however, he headed
to the left, through a large formal dining room and into the kitchen, which was dominated by an enormous stone fireplace. He grabbed an apple and some cheese from the Sub-Zero refrigerator and headed upstairs. He hadn’t eaten much at the restaurant, in between dealing with Russian a-holes and that gorgeous woman.
The third floor had been servants’ quarters at one point, but he’d had the rooms made into one large workshop. It was here that he, Nick, and occasionally Roland would design and build new tricks, new illusions, usually just for their own amusement, or for some project of Milton’s.
He had an idea now that would keep him up if he didn’t at least start working on it, a version of the disappearing lady, a version that required Regina Burke to be tied up and helpless in front of him.
THE STAGE WAS COMPLETELY DARK except for a single spotlight overhead. Regina stood trembling in a red negligee, her arms tied in front of her. She could feel every slight movement of his body next to her, stirring the air against her overheated, too-sensitive flesh. He hadn’t blindfolded her, but it didn’t matter; she couldn’t see beyond the range of the spotlight, couldn’t see out into the dark. He was speaking, but not to her.
“Isn’t she beautiful, ladies and gentlemen? She’s my newest assistant.”
Regina squeezed her eyes shut, aghast at the idea that she was tied nearly naked in front of a crowd. Aghast . . . and yet her breasts felt heavy and tight. She pressed her legs together.
He turned to her and trailed a finger along her cheek. “You are so lovely. It’s almost a shame to make you disappear.”
Regina swallowed. She wanted to be alone with him. She wanted him to touch her while she stood there tied and exposed. She looked down and saw that she stood in an old-fashioned steamer trunk. He was going to make her sit inside it, tied and helpless, and make her vanish.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, and his fingers trailed along her lips.
“No?”
She shook her head, feeling like her breasts were begging him, reaching out for him. “Please let me stay.”
He came closer, and she could see the color of his eyes behind his mask. Blue. As blue as the depths of the ocean, dark and mysterious.
He bent to kiss her, but paused before their lips met. His breath smelled of peppermint and something herbal, like rosemary, but the scent of burnt matches remained as well, as if the work that went into his tricks had made a permanent impression.
“I want to take you here, like this,” he told her, and slid two fingers along the satiny straps over her shoulders. The straps fell, exposing the tops of her breasts.
Everything went dark, shifted, and she was tied naked inside the trunk. The lid was open and he was touching her, gently parting her legs until the edges of the trunk dug into her thighs. He slid one finger inside her and she gasped, trying to lift herself up, but he just chuckled and held her down.
“You’ll like this,” he promised, and worked a second finger inside her, stretching her. Her body tightened around his fingers, tightened, and she woke up with a gasp as she came, shuddering, weak morning light from the window brightening the room and making her realize that she was in her bed and that she’d been dreaming.
“God.” She curled up around the sensation and her body clenched as if the fingers were still there, gripping him.
After a moment, Regina groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. She was dreaming about him, about Milton Shaw. Next to her, the cat stirred and tried to stick his nose under her ear. She ignored him, hoping he’d go back to sleep.
She hadn’t had fantasies like this since she was sixteen and her grandmother had made her watch an old Ingrid Bergman movie about a magician. She couldn’t remember the name of it, but she remembered dreaming about being on stage, about someone touching her.
El Greco persisted, purring louder, until Regina groaned and tossed the pillow across the room. Sitting up, she fumbled for her glasses. She yawned and absently ran her hands over the silk tank top she’d worn to bed, feeling her tight nipples. She stroked one of them and eyed her nightstand. She thought maybe . . . maybe . . . she could come again. Dropping her hands, she shuffled into the bathroom. A good bike ride would burn more calories, and maybe get her mind off sex.
Ten minutes later, after brushing her teeth and washing her face, Regina changed into riding gear and strode into the kitchen. The cat followed close on her heels.
Celeste was asleep on the couch, Regina’s iPad in her lap. When they’d gotten back from the restaurant, she’d immediately wanted to show Regina everything there was to know about Milton Shaw. Celeste was apparently obsessed with him and his business partners. They were at the top of her rich husband target list.
Regina had sighed. Chasing after men for their money. Worse, her sister’s favorite targets were three unattached software billionaires who probably preferred German dungeon sex to making love. Celeste clearly hadn’t learned anything from what had happened with their father.
Still, she hadn’t been able to keep from listening as Celeste described the coverage the three men received in business and society news, software magazines, and from the local Boston charity events they attended. Celeste had searched for something about Milton’s childhood, but there was only one brief biography that said he’d grown up in South Boston and that his family had moved to the Mission Hill neighborhood when he was young. Mission Hill was a few blocks from Boston Children’s Hospital. Regina had found that interesting. In her experience, families who moved closer to hospitals usually had sick children.
You’re not interested in Milton Shaw, she reminded herself with a small curse, shaking her head and making her ponytail bounce.
I need coffee.
The cat yowled.
“All right, all right.” She grabbed his bowl and filled it with crunchies, setting it down in front of him on the tile and scratching behind his ear. His tail flicked from side to side as he ate, reminding her of how Milton Shaw’s fingers had twitched restlessly at his sides.
Shaw the Magician. Milton Shaw. What kind of crazy billionaire puts on a mask and performs at a children’s hospital every Friday afternoon? Does he just like the attention? Experience had taught her that people always, always, had ulterior motives, and would tell a lie even when the truth was simpler. But it was also clear that he was an excellent magician, even if he did it to get attention. Surely he garnered enough attention as a handsome bachelor billionaire. Women probably tried to stuff themselves in his pockets on an hourly basis. So why perform for sick kids?
She didn’t know, though it was clear that he didn’t want the public in general knowing about it or Celeste would have found something online. The head nurse, Jackie, might know, but Regina doubted that woman would tell her anything.
She stood and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Charles River; the sky was cloudy, but not dark enough to mean imminent rain. Good news. On rainy cold days, she couldn’t ride as far. Reaching overhead, she snagged a green mug by the handle and set it deftly on the white Corian countertop.
For the past year, her routine on Saturday mornings was always the same. She woke up, had a cup of coffee and a snack, and went for a ride around Boston. She loved the snap of the air on her face, the burn in her muscles as she pushed herself to go farther. Afterward she liked to sit in a different café and read, or go to a pub and have a pint and some fish and chips. She liked the feeling of being part of the hustle and bustle of people’s lives without the drama.
She couldn’t quite imagine Milton Shaw sitting quietly in a café reading. He attracted too much attention; he was too magnetic a presence. Anyone who spent time with him would be drawn into the energy that radiated from him. The idea nearly made her shudder. She didn’t want people looking at her, wondering about her, but she did miss the excitement she’d felt when he’d kissed her last night, the delicious tension that had tingled in her limbs and
made heat gather between her legs.
Regina rubbed one foot over the other, and slid a single-serve coffee pod into her machine. She hadn’t felt that attracted to anyone in a long time. Both Celeste and Rose-Lindsey had been suggesting she get out more, date someone she found interesting. Milton Shaw was interesting, but he had ties to the hospital—powerful ties. And women like Celeste pursued him like feral cats after a rat. And he built software for people like that Andrei, people like her father. The cons definitely outweighed the pros here.
She muttered to herself as she added milk to her coffee and carried it into the living room area. Sitting on the end of the couch, next to Celeste’s feet, she set her coffee on the end table and gathered her iPad in her lap.
The cat—finished with his breakfast—jumped up and made himself comfortable, pushing her iPad out of the way. She readjusted, moving him to the side, and pulled up her journal. She’d been keeping it since her father had disappeared and thrown her world into chaos. She’d written about her grandmother’s illness, her mom’s withdrawal into drugs, and the persecution she’d experienced as the daughter of the man who’d stolen so much from so many.
Shortly after his indictment, reporters had started following her around. People cursed her, spat at her when she went into a store. When it became clear that he’d fled the country, the hostility toward her and her family had only gotten worse. She been attacked leaving the courthouse by a man who’d apparently lost everything. He’d repeatedly slapped her on one side of her face and then the other, demanding to know where her father was, until finally the police had dragged him away from her, but not before he’d given her a split lip, a bloody nose, and two black eyes.
She’d been injured before playing field hockey in high school, but no one had ever deliberately hurt her before that day. Absently, she reached up and touched the scar on her upper lip, where she’d had to have three stitches. No, dating Milton Shaw wasn’t worth the risk of being catapulted into the spotlight again.
The Lady Vanishes Page 4