When would he kiss her?
Kiss her? What was she thinking? Clearly the tiara had constricted the blood flow to her brain!
Nervously she pulled away. She gulped down the rest of the expensive champagne as if chugging a can of soda, then pushed the tiara back crookedly on her head. “This thing isn’t real, is it? The tiara’s not real diamonds?”
He took a drink of champagne, his dark eyes resting on hers. “Set in platinum.”
She swallowed, thinking that she likely could pay off her mother’s whole mortgage with the sparkling tiara on her head.And maybe their neighbor’s house in the bargain!
“What if I break it?” She gave a weak laugh. “Do you have insurance?”
“Diamonds don’t break.” Finishing his champagne, he took both flutes and set them on the tray of a passing waiter. He took her in his arms. “The tiara suits you. You should keep it.” He slowly lowered his mouth toward hers. “You were born to wear jewels, Grace,” he whispered. “Born to be adored and pampered in a life of luxury.”
Someone turned out the side lights, leaving the loft lit only by the multicolored globes of the steel chandelier high above. Wide spotlights of red, green and blue shimmered in the semidarkness. In the wide space, she was aware of other people dancing, laughing, swaying to the music. She was in some strange fantastic world of stylish art, youth and limitless wealth.
But it wasn’t the luxury that lured her most.
It was Maksim.
“I won’t let you seduce me,” she whispered, trying to reassure herself. “I won’t.”
Every inch of her body, down to blood and bone, ached for him to kiss her. Her body arched toward his, taut with longing as her teal silk dress slid like a whisper against his tuxedo.
Pulling her against his hard body, too arrogant to care who might be watching, he lowered his mouth to hers.
He kissed her so deeply that their tongues intertwined, kissed her so hard that with one embrace he bruised and branded her forever as his own.
No! She sagged against his chest, her heart pounding wildly when he released her from the kiss. She couldn’t belong to Maksim. She couldn’t!
He straightened the diamond tiara, stroking the long hair that brushed her bare shoulders, making her shiver. He took two more flutes of champagne from a passing tray. Then, taking her hand, he led her to the dance floor.
For the next few hours they drank champagne and danced together, their bodies swaying to the music. Time moved strangely, sliding sideways so hours felt like minutes, and minutes felt like eternity. They danced to the soulful jazz music, to the poignant cry of the saxophone, until finally he pulled her gently to the furthest side of the loft.
There, alone in the shadows and away from the others, he pushed her against the wall. He gently bit at her neck, sucking on her ear. She gasped, breathless and desperate for more.
He finally kissed her mouth, his tongue stroking hers deeply, luring her. And suddenly she could barely remember Alan’s name, let alone why she should be loyal to him.
“Grace,” Maksim murmured between kisses. “It’s time to go.”
“Go? Already?” she faltered.
“It’s past midnight.”
“Oh.” And like Cinderella, that meant her time was up. The dream was over. She swallowed. “All right. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, anyway.”
“Then you’ll be tired.” He held her close, so close she could hear the beat of his heart. “I’m taking you to my hotel.”
Hotel? A hard shiver racked her body.
“Come with me now,” he whispered. “I can wait no longer. I want you in my bed.”
She sucked in her breath, staring up into his eyes, caught by his dark, commanding gaze. She’d somehow wandered into a fairy-tale world, a place beyond her comprehension. She’d been drawn from the real world to become a princess in diamonds and teal silk, enslaved by a fantasy prince who compelled her to follow her deepest desires.
He was so handsome, she thought in a daze. Brutally masculine, like a sixteenth-century barbarian warlord. A dark czar from a mist-shrouded medieval age.
“Can you walk,” he asked in a low voice, “or should I carry you?”
Walk? Her knees felt weak, whether from champagne or desire she wasn’t sure. She glanced down at feet, at the cheaply made silver pumps, scuffed up at the toes, that she’d bought for fifteen dollars at a discount warehouse in Los Angeles. The shoes threatened to break the spell.
He led her from the dance floor. As he said their farewells to Dariya and her friends, Grace could barely speak as she looked up at Maksim.
He intended to take her to his hotel.
Could she resist?
Did she still even want to?
Maksim put her coat over her shoulders, pulling her close to button it up. She felt every brush of his fingertips like an earthquake through her body. He led her back to the elevator. Suddenly they were alone, and she trembled.
“Do you swear,” she whispered, “seducing me isn’t some backhanded way to hurt Alan?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.
“I swear it to you.”
“On your honor?”
He looked away and his jaw clenched. Then he turned to face her.
“Yes,” he said tersely.
When she remembered to breathe, she nodded, believing him. He was a prince. He wouldn’t look her straight in the eye and lie.
“So why me?” she said. “Why be so nice—”
“Call me nice again and you’ll regret it.” His dark eyes gleamed as he pulled her from the elevator and out onto the street. “I am selfish. I take what I want. Any man would desire you, Grace. In his arms. In his bed. Any man would want you.”
“Alan didn’t.” As soon as the bitter words escaped her, she wished desperately she’d kept them to herself.
“Barrington is a fool.” He stopped on the sidewalk. His mouth curved into a sensual smile. “He lost his chance. Now you will be mine. Only mine.”
He slowly stroked up the inside of her bare arm beneath her coat, causing her to give an involuntary shudder of longing.
“Grace,” he whispered. “Let me show you how truly selfish I can be.”
DECEIT was part of the art of war.
The truth could be a flexible thing in Maksim’s opinion. Stretching it correctly was partly how he’d built a vast empire out of nothing. As a teenager, he’d gotten investors by pretending to already have them. He’d deceived competitors, making them believe deals were finished when they weren’t. He’d bought commodities cheap and sold them high because he knew information that others didn’t. Information he’d ruthlessly kept to himself.
It was not Maksim’s responsibility to do the due diligence of others and reveal any truth against his own best interests. He looked out for himself. He assumed others did the same. Only a fool would blindly trust the word of another.
But that was business. Lying in his personal life—that was something new.
And swearing on his honor…