The Agent

by Ellen Lane

  “Oh?” Alice arched a brow. “And you just happened to think that your agent was my type and brought him over to meet me?”

  “Not precisely,” Amelia teased, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “He wanted to meet you. After requesting your gown designs so often I’m sure he was eager to put a name to a face.”

  Alice smirked at her friend’s mischief. “And you were just ever so helpful.”

  “Oh, stop it, Alice.” Amelia tapped her shoulder playfully a moment before her smile faded somewhat. “Honestly, I thought it was best that he caught a glimpse of you. You’re impressive enough to intimidate any man with adverse intentions.”

  At that, Alice gazed at her friend skeptically. They were at a fashion show she had planned, surrounded by those who marveled at her success, and Amelia thought her agent might have some sort of ill-will towards her? She couldn’t imagine the man being so miffed just because she was hard to reach during awards season.

  “You think he has some sort of grudge against me?”

  Immediately, Amelia’s face pinched in disbelief. “Oh God, no. Nothing like that. It’s just…well…I didn’t bring him over for any attempt to get the two of you together. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  Now Alice was genuinely confused. She had known Amelia for most of her life, and in that time, her friend had been instrumental in searching for eligible men with her. Though Alice wasn’t often impressed by men, if she was, it was more than likely that Amelia had introduced her to them.

  But now she was saying she didn’t suggest Russell as a potential interest. “Is he really that dangerous?” She smiled craftily at the redhead. “I’m afraid you’re only further intriguing me.” And, indeed, she was. Alice had a penchant for chasing after bad boys that, while very cliché, could sometimes prove a welcome distraction from the every day.

  Amelia merely sighed, fluffing her already impeccable curls. “You’re welcome to him, my dear, if that’s what you truly want – but I should warn you not to expect more than a one-night stand from the man.”

  “Oh?” Alice straightened the neckline of her own dress – a gorgeous Armani frock that had been lent to her especially for this event. “Heartbreaker, is he?”

  Amelia laughed softly, amused by her blatant curiosity. “Indeed not. I don’t think Russell could break a heart if he tried. He’s far too bloody polite.”

  “Then what is it then?” Alice pressed her, gazing through the crowd in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man who had gone to get their drinks. “Don’t bait me, Amelia. I’m dying to know.”

  “It’s nothing all that earth shattering.” The red-head returned, her blue eyes gleaming in the low light of the gallery. “Simply that I don’t want you to be disappointed. When it comes to Russell…there’s just not that much there. He’s reluctant to open up to anyone – at least anyone I know of. The man has been my agent for almost a decade and I don’t know a terribly huge amount about him.”

  A mystery man, was he?

  In Alice’s experience, mystery men maintained their allure for one of two reasons: they really had nothing to hide and merely kept to themselves to lure women closer or they were hopelessly socially inept. Interestingly enough, Russell didn’t seem like he fit into either one of those molds. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance to inquire further, as at that moment, Russell reappeared with two flutes of champagne in hand.

  “Ladies.” He really was incredibly dapper. Alice wondered where he got his suits tailored and – funnily enough – exactly what family he had in London. She had never before wondered about someone’s lineage upon first meeting them. Rather, questions of family were those she tended to avoid.

  After all, men didn’t tend to stay in her life for very long. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Not at all.” Amelia cast him another charming grin. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Nothing terribly bad, I hope.” When Russell handed her the sparkling flute, his hand lingered on hers for perhaps a minute more than required, and Alice caught his vivid blue gaze.

  Now she was definitely intrigued. Amelia giggled at his comment, taking a sip of her own drink. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I daresay I would, ladies, but, unfortunately, I’ve seen someone I must say hello to. I’ll be back in a moment.” Just as quickly as he had appeared, he left – leaving Alice more than a little perplexed in his wake.

  She hadn’t even gotten a chance to make a general assessment, leaving her with little more than Amelia’s character description to go on.

  And that left her feeling more than a little putout.

  Thankfully, that was not the end of Alice’s observation of the mysterious Russell Darwell. As she shared another flute of champagne with Amelia, catching up and promising to come to her next performance, she kept one eye on the object of her curiosity.

  Darwell was indeed a wonder – there didn’t seem to be anyone he didn’t know. He flitted from group to group, talking to people who obviously knew his clients, to a few members of the British gentry, and some of the elite from Britain’s artistic community. Not only that, but he treated everyone with an astounding amount of respect and deference, never mind that he was probably one of the wealthiest and most influential people in the room.

  When Alice thought it was impossible for her to be more interested in a single man, she happened to overhear Russell speaking French to one of her favorite Parisian models. Her name was Madeline, and though Alice adored having her in her shows, the young woman turned up her nose at anyone who spoke less than perfect French.

  Though, Russell she didn’t seem to mind, tossing her raven hair and batting large brown eyes at him as they conversed fluently. Less than twenty minutes later, he had a conversation with a group of Spanish film critics without batting an eye. While Alice could attest to speaking a fair amount of both French and Spanish, she couldn’t switch back and forth with the effortlessness that Darwell managed. He either came from a family of incredibly high breeding or he was merely that intelligent.

  Alice liked to entertain the latter possibility, though she considered it vastly less probable than the former.

  He was, she acquiesced, a highly impressive individual. There wasn’t anyone he spoke with who wasn’t dazzled by him – quite the feat at a party she hosted.

  Eventually, Amelia hurried away to entertain the group of men that trailed after her like a crowd of ducklings, leaving Alice to entertain her guests. The dark-haired woman, however, found her mind lingering on Darwell as she checked on Michael and Rose – and even as she dispensed her beloved samples to those who had won the high bids.

  She was convinced that she might have to wonder about the man forever by the time the fundraiser began dying down. Alice was on her sixth drink and feeling very fine as she talked shop with one of her assistants when the younger woman looked over her shoulder in inquiry.

  When Alice turned around, there he was.

  Russell Bloody Darwell.

  Perhaps it was the drink, but she thought he might have gotten more handsome as the night progressed.

  “Mr. Darwell. I thought you might have left.” It was quite the fib, but it sounded lovely. “Enjoying your evening?”

  Elysia seemed to sense that she should find need of her conversation elsewhere and left them alone near the stage – and for the first time the entire evening, Alice had the object of her attentions to herself.

  Whatever would she do with him?

  Chapter 2: Fighting the Tide

  Russell had his eye on Alice Tate all night.

  Of course, he wasn’t usually so instantly taken with women, so he made sure that he avoided her while his intrigue was still fresh. This was, of course, no easy task.

  The woman was easily one of the most beautiful he’d ever laid eyes on.

  The moment Amelia introduced her, a heated spark of attraction planted itself in his lower belly, and he fought a physical reaction that would be all too apparent in his very fitt
ed suit.

  While most people might think Amelia outshone most of the women in the room with her wholesome, clean beauty, Alice Tate was a siren in her own right. She was short in stature – no more than five and a half feet tall – with dark hair that fell in gorgeous, gleaming waves down her back. Her dress certainly did her curvaceous, lithe form justice, the pale color bringing out the startling blue of her eyes and the neckline plunging to reveal a mouthwatering amount of cleavage. If men flocked to Amelia because she was a breath of fresh air, they wanted Alice Tate because she was a siren – seduction incarnate.

  He instantly wondered why she didn’t star in any of the ads for her own brand. She would have been an immediate hit.

  “I had an enchanting evening, Miss Tate.” At her question, he inclined his head politely, his eyes lowering to a full mouth painted deep red. He wondered, quite suddenly, what that mouth tasted like. Champagne, sweet and bubbly? Or something darker and richer? “You throw quite the party.”

  “Well, one can always afford to be extravagant when the cause is for those who need it most.” She said the words with a remarkable amount of conviction – such that he found himself believing that she truly meant well with her cause.

  “Are you in the habit of much charitable work, Miss Tate?”

  “Alice, please.” She corrected him with a slow, sexy pull of her lips that stirred something deep in him.

  Something that hadn’t been touched in a long while.

  It made him instantly wary.

  “It’s not my forte, but my future sister-in-law, Rose, has a knack for it. I thought I’d take advantage of both her expertise and mine tonight.”

  “Well, your combined efforts were stunning.” He replied truthfully. As long as they kept the conversation light, he might be able to keep from thinking less than clandestine thoughts about the stunning woman before him. It wouldn’t do to betray less-than-gentlemanly intentions. Not when he’d only just met the elusive designer. “Some of those gowns would be at home on American movie sets. They’re absolutely breathtaking.”

  “You have an eye for fashion, Mr. Darwell?”

  Her coy intrigue made his stomach clench in interest. “Russell, please.” If she wasn’t going to stand on formality, neither was he. “I like to think I can speak to my clients’ stylists about what does and doesn’t work for them.” He replied succinctly. “Women, after all, come in many shapes and sizes. Part of what I do is make sure each one of them is appreciated.”

  Alice arched a brow. “You’re sure you’re not a designer? You sound like you’re in the business.”

  “If only.” He replied with a charming smile. “It would be easier to work with fabrics than people.”

  She was a clever conversationalist - more than interesting enough to keep his attention as the party continued to wind down. He spoke with Alice about fashion, the latest designs she was working on and the new studio that she had established in the past year. In return, he regaled her with stories of costuming fiascos on set and some of the more difficult instances he’d had with his clients. Over a bourbon on the rocks, he told her of his connections in American film and entertainment, enjoying the way her eyes lit up in intrigue.

  He would enjoy entertaining a woman like Alice Tate all night– and not only with conversation. She was, as Amelia had promised, singular. A woman with a noble background that cared nothing for it and had made her own way in the world. Not only that, but it was clear that she couldn’t give two whit’s what anyone thought of her commanding personality. When Alice Tate spoke, all eyes in the room were on her.

  He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when she started flirting with him. Despite what she’d told him about thinking he’d left, he sensed she’d been secretly watching him all night.

  Just as he’d been watching her.

  “Will you be in London long, Russell?” Her finger idly circled the mouth of her empty champagne glass and he tore his gaze from it.

  “Only a few weeks, I’m afraid. This is a rather short holiday for me before I get back to work.”

  “I’m sure you miss it,” she replied, looking up at him from beneath long lashes. “You seem to me a man who takes pride in what he does.”

  “That I do.” He chuckled. “Much like yourself, I imagine.”

  “Well, I’m always pleased if my work catches the attention of the right people.” Setting her glass down on a nearby table, Alice ran hands through her long hair, draping it over an elegant shoulder. “I must say that I’m pleased that my gowns are in such high demand among your clients. I’ll be sure to answer the phone personally next time you call.”

  Russell sipped his bourbon, enjoying the slow burn and hoping it would be enough to counter the growing desire in his gut. “Are you sure you don’t make suits?” He inquired, enjoying the flirtation, even if he knew he shouldn’t entertain it. “I’d be more inclined to call sooner.”

  Alice laughed. “I might be persuaded to start if you’re my first customer. You seem like you’d be a dream to fit.” When she ran a hand over his shoulder, the warmth of her touch sizzled through every nerve ending in his body.

  “I’d be flattered,” he took her hand, raising it to his lips impulsively to brush his lips across it. When her gaze flared in obvious interest, he forced himself to release her. “Though no doubt I’d be monopolizing one of Britain’s greatest talents.”

  “You could monopolize me for the rest of the night.”

  Well, she certainly wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “We could have a late dinner, perhaps catch a midnight art exhibition if you’re feeling so inclined.”

  Russell didn’t usually encounter women who made the first move with such little hesitation, and he found he liked it. He liked Alice – which meant that she was quite dangerous. Thankfully, a prior commitment kept him from taking her up on her offer.

  And likely taking her to bed.

  Funnily enough, instead of being happy for his own self-preservation, Russell found himself lamenting his early morning flight.

  “Wish that I could, darling.” He provided her with an apologetic smile, taking her hand once more in earnest regret. “But I have an engagement in Scotland tomorrow that I really can’t miss.”

  Alice arched a skeptical brow immediately. “Scotland? Really? On such short notice?”

  “Such is a career lived at the whim of one’s clients.” When he kissed her hand again, he found himself delighted at the visible shiver that passed through her.

  He wanted to devour her on the spot. Alice Tate, so brash and demanding, would probably revel in a man who showed her the depths of her own depravity.

  “When you come back, then?”

  Ah. She wasn’t giving up. It pleased him on more levels than he cared to admit – even if Russell was far too intrigued with her to allow himself to safely give in. “I’m afraid I’ll find myself terribly busy with family, Alice. Though, if you like, I can contact you the next time I return to London.”

  When her lovely face fell, he felt like a complete and utter cad. Immediately, Russell wanted to take it back – to sweep her away to the most exclusive supper club in London and wine and dine her all night.

  “Well, that’s an awful shame.” Alice drew back from him, immediately closing herself off. “I should have liked to get to know you better if it weren’t for your…commitments.”

  Russell sighed. She was so lovely – so enchanting. It was heartbreaking how quickly she turned cold. “Commitments, unfortunately, supersede convenience in my line of work, my dear. Though I don’t hope you doubt my earnestness.”

  The smile Alice afforded him in reply was stiff-forced. And Russell knew he’d lost her that evening. “Of course not.” She dipped her head to him deferentially. “In fact, I appreciate your honesty. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party, Mr. Darwell.”

  And with that, she swept away from him, all fire and swinging hips as she set off in search of better company. Russell watched her go mournfully be
fore deciding that perhaps now would be the best time to take his leave.

  He found that he had soured his own evening.

  On the way home, Russell did his best to put himself in a fit state to deal with his client in a few hours. He told himself he would be lucky if he managed to sleep at all, considering all that he needed to arrange for the short trip, but when he returned to the hotel room, he found himself reluctant to open his laptop.

  Instead of his client, he found his mind full of Alice Tate.

  Frowning, he pulled off his tie and jacket, tossing them onto a nearby armchair as he considered.

  He hadn’t met a woman he was so immediately drawn to in a long while. It was a fact that Russell liked to be able to carefully control his emotions – and that included the women he pursued. When he was in control, he could avoid getting too attached to those who would only want a commitment from him.

  Something he found himself unable to give.

  That said, one-night stands were his encounter of preference. No-strings-attached intimate encounters in which both parties could immediately go their separate ways. He didn’t have to worry about breaking hearts or treading on toes – as he liked to do neither.

  Alice Tate might have been inviting him into just that – a one-night stand. And he certainly wouldn’t mind matching bodies and wits with a woman of her caliber.

  But he hadn’t.

  His prior commitment notwithstanding, he could have seen her anytime after he returned, but he’d made up a ridiculous excuse and turned her away.

  And why?

  Because Alice Tate intimidated him. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it – and that was far outside his realm of control.

  As Russell had accepted that the moment he realized he was attracted to her, one would think that now he could work undistracted, but instead, all he could think about was Alice’s bare shoulders and the gorgeous gown she wore. How he might like to kiss those shoulders and hear her sigh of pleasure as she inclined her neck, offering more to him. Then he might like to take her bloody dress off completely and worship the body only hinted at in the form-fitting garment. A body like Alice Tate’s deserved to be enjoyed leisurely – worshiped even.