A Night of Living Dangerously. Jennie Lucas

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?

      In front of him, Lilley stiffened. For a moment, Alessandro wondered if she’d felt his desire for her—how could she not? Then he saw she was looking over the crowd.

      “Jeremy,” she said in a low voice.

      For a moment, Alessandro couldn’t remember what she was talking about. Then his insides burned. He felt envious of this employee in his jewelry-design department, this man who’d had her at his command and let her go.

      “Excuse us,” he said to the people surrounding them. Ignoring their protests, he pulled Lilley to a quiet corner next to a window.

      “Where is he?” he said, keeping his expression impassive.

      “Over there.”

      He followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed in the desire to see this paragon but no one stood out to him at all. He felt irritated. Irritated wasn’t a strong enough word. Jealous? No, impossible. Jealousy was for the weak, for sad, vulnerable men who served their hearts on platters to be shredded and devoured.

      So he didn’t feel jealous. He felt … annoyed. Sì. Annoyed.

      He’d said he would help Lilley get the man back. Now he regretted his promise. Why should he help another, less-deserving man get what he himself wanted—Lilley in his bed?

      But if Lilley truly loved this Jeremy, Alessandro would do the honorable thing. He would step aside with the noble self-sacrifice of a damned saint.

      “Va bene,” he ground out. “If you still want this idiot, this imbecile without a shred of sense or loyalty, I will help you win him.”

      Lilley flashed him a grin. “Um. You’re too kind?”

      “Just tell me one thing,” he demanded.

      “Only one?”

      His fingers moved down her shoulders, stroking down the warm, bare skin of her back. He saw her eyes widen, felt her shiver and he fought back the urge to yank her body hot and hard against his own. “Why would you want him back, after he made you weep?”

      Her smile fell. She took a deep breath, then lifted her left wrist. “Look at this.”

      A change of subject? He looked down at the bracelet on her wrist. He’d noticed it earlier, a pastiche of welded materials—colorful crystals on a brass chain, interspersed with rusty-looking numbers and held together with a tarnished buckle. “What about it?”

      “I made it.”

      He grabbed her wrist, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head as he tried to make sense of the bracelet. He pointed to the metal number dangling off the chain. “What’s that?”

      “A room number from an eighteenth-century Parisian hotel.”

      It seemed strange to him, an artistic hodgepodge of junk. “How do you source the materials?”

      “At flea markets and vintage shops, mostly. I create jewelry using old things I find.” She swallowed. “I met Jeremy at San Francisco’s trade show a few months ago, when my employer thought I was visiting my family. Jeremy loved my jewelry. We decided to be partners and open a boutique together. He was going to handle the financials. I would create the inventory.” She blinked fast, and looked away. “When he chose my roommate over me, I lost that dream.”

      He could see her eyes were shiny with tears, and his insides gave a little twist. “The man’s a damned fool,” he said roughly. He tried to think of how to comfort her. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” he tried. “Running a business is a huge risk. You might have lost your investment. People don’t want old trinkets. They want their jewelry shiny and new.”

      Her lips trembled, curving as she looked up. Her eyes