Maisey Yates - Rising Stars

“Sure,” she said faintly.

Leaving her in the wings, he walked to the microphone at the center of the stage. A hush fell across the ballroom, and Alessandro waited for the hearty cheer of the crowd which quickly followed. He was accustomed to being the center of attention, and far from being nervous, he was bored by it—all of it. There was only one thing that did not bore him right now, one thing that made his blood hum and his body come alive. One thing he wanted.

And he could not let himself have her.

Gripping the podium with his hands, he gave a speech, hardly knowing what he was saying. He could feel Lilley watching from the wings. His heartbeat was quick, his body hot with repressed desire.

“… and so I thank you, my friends,” he finished. “Drink champagne, dance and bid high. Remember every penny raised tonight goes to help children in need!”

The cheer across the ballroom was even louder. With an absentminded wave, he left the podium and went straight back to Lilley, who looked as if she’d recovered her senses and was now staring at her watch, keeping time.

“Six minutes.” She looked up at him with quirked lips. “I’m impressed. Usually speeches given by important men last for at least an hour. You’re fast.”

He gave her a lazy smile, then leaned forward to whisper, “I’m slow where it counts.”

Alessandro had the satisfaction of seeing her shiver. That was some solace, at least—knowing she was as aware of him as he was of her. It amazed him, how Lilley hid nothing of her feelings. So young, he thought in wonder, so reckless and unrestrained. It reminded him of what he’d once been like himself, before he’d been betrayed. Like her, he’d once been young and hopeful, poor and driven to succeed …

Poor? The sparkle of Lilley’s watch caught his eye, and he grabbed her wrist. “What’s this?”

She tried to pull her wrist from his grasp. “Nothing.”

In the background, he could hear the orchestra start a waltz. He was dimly aware of guests going out to the dance floor. “It’s platinum. Diamonds. I don’t recognize the brand.”

“Hainsbury,” she said in a small voice.

Hainsbury’s. The damned discount jewelry chain that had recently tried—and failed—to execute a hostile takeover of Caetani Worldwide, solely in order to acquire the cachet of his luxury jewelry brand, Preziosi di Caetani. His eyes narrowed. “Who gave it to you?”

She swallowed. “My mother.”

He told himself it was entirely reasonable that someone from the Midwest might own a Hainsbury watch. It was a coincidence, nothing more. His endless battles with the Count of Castelnau, his crafty, vicious French rival, were making him paranoid. He looked at Lilley’s face. Clearly he was losing his mind to be suspicious of a girl like this.

“Nice,” he said casually, dropping her wrist. “I wouldn’t have recognized it. It looks nothing like their usual factory-made junk.”

Looking away, she wrapped her hand around her wrist. Her voice was awkward. “My mother had it specially made.”

He’d embarrassed her, Alessandro thought. Drawing attention to her Hainsbury-brand watch at a ball sponsored by the far more prestigious Preziosi di Caetani. “Whoever made it, your watch is truly exquisite.” He smiled down at her and changed the subject. “Had enough of the ball? Ready to leave?”

“Leave?” Her lips parted. “We just got here!”

“So?” he said impatiently.

She glanced uneasily towards the dance floor. “People are waiting to talk to you.”

“They already have my money.”

“It’s not just a question of money. They clearly want you. Your time and attention.” She gave him a sudden crooked smile. “Though heaven knows why. I’ve yet to see your charm myself.”

He gave her a sensual smile. “Do you want me to try harder?”

Her eyes widened and he heard her intake of breath. She muttered, “I’m no good at this.”

“To the contrary.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. Just don’t try to charm me, all right? There’s no point, and it might … I mean … we’re just using each other tonight. Leave it at that.”

Alessandro’s gaze fell to her trembling lips. “Right. You’re here for revenge. You haven’t seen him yet, have you?”

“No.” Her voice was quiet.

“He will fall on his knees when he sees you,” Alessandro said roughly. “Come.”

Grabbing her hand, he led her off the stage and across the dance floor, tracing through the crowds of swaying, laughing couples. Once, Alessandro would have been the first man on the dance floor. He would have pulled Lilley into his arms and moved her against his body in the music’s seductive rhythm. But he hadn’t danced for sixteen years now. Crossing the floor, he didn’t even pause.

The charity director waited for him on the other edge of the dance floor. She beamed at him, gushing thanks and praise, and Alessandro accepted her gratitude with as much grace as he could manage. He was glad to help the charity, but the long line of guests that instantly formed, people waiting to thank him and shake his hand, seemed endless. Almost beyond endurance. He wanted to grab Lilley’s hand and jump into his car, and not stop until they were completely alone, away from the crowds of reaching hands and yearning eyes.

But there were some duties from which neither royalty nor wealth excused a man. Standing on the edge of the dance floor like a king holding court, he endured the long queue of wealthy donors and powerful people as best as he could. As solace, he pulled Lilley to stand in front of him, wrapping his arms around her as if he were a child with a comforting blanket.

Except he was no longer a child, and Alessandro had a grown man’s idea of comfort. Throughout the endless small talk he found himself distracted by the way her full breasts felt, pressed against his arms. He allowed himself one glance down, and saw that her low neckline barely covered the indecent swell of her breasts. He could see the shape of pebbled nipples though the red knit fabric. It was just as he’d suspected—she wasn’t wearing a bra. And he wasn’t the only man to notice. All the eyes of the male guests waiting to talk to him lingered long upon her, and Alessandro felt an urge to growl at them.

He was long past hard. He had the sudden bright idea of writing the charity a ten-million-dollar check, if it meant he could leave this ball and take her straight to bed.

He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Sex with Lilley was a bad idea on every level. She was his employee, possibly in love with another man, and she was right—they were using each other tonight for mutual gain. He’d told her that straight out. A cheap one-night stand would only end in her recriminations, tears and perhaps a sexual-harassment lawsuit.

But with every passing moment, his self-restraint was growing frayed. Feeling her in his arms right now he felt oddly alive in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. She made him feel … young again. As if he still had a beating heart.

And that was her biggest danger of all. He couldn’t seduce her. He had to send her away. Had to—

Lilley glanced back at him, her lips parted. He saw the tip of her pink tongue dart out to the edge of her mouth and he nearly groaned. He wanted to taste those lips. Plunder her mouth with his. He wanted to rip the clingy red dress off her body, to spread her across his bed, to push himself inside her, to fill her hard and deep—

Basta. He broke out into a hot sweat. As the ambassador droned on to him about the fluidity of Asian exchange rates, all Alessandro could think was that it was a good thing Lilley was standing in front of him, blocking others’ view of his trousers. Where was his self-control?