A Private Affair. A.C. Arthur

eyes. “Oh no, I think I’ve had enough partying for one evening,” she told him.

      “Nonsense,” a deep voice said from behind her. “You have to make time for just one more dance.”

      Riley’s shoulders instantly stiffened at the familiar voice.

      “You don’t mind, do you, Perry?” he asked as he shook Perry’s hand.

      “Of course not,” Perry replied. “As long as she continues to have a good time. We should all be on the dance floor at midnight. I’ll be talking to you soon, Riley.”

      She managed a quiet good-night to Perry, her genuine smile already shifting to the cool, aloof one she’d grown famous for.

      This time, the band did begin playing a slower tune, and to her dismay, Chadwick Warren stepped closer and asked, “Shall we dance?”

      Riley didn’t like how close he was.

      Nor did she like how well he wore that single-button charcoal-gray tuxedo. Chaz, as everybody called him, was too tall, standing beyond even her older brother RJ’s six feet two inches. His face was too chiseled, eyebrows too thick and beard cut too precisely. There were waves in his close-cropped ebony hair, too many of them, and he smelled... Well, the cologne he wore smelled too damn good.

      There was no way Riley would ever let on that she was bothered by any of the above. She nodded and took the final step to close the distance between them.

      “You look stunning tonight,” he said the moment his arms slipped around her waist, his hands flattening at the small of her back.

      For the second time tonight, Riley lifted her arms to let her hands rest on a man’s shoulders. The first time had been for business. This time, she prayed, would not overshadow the work she’d just completed.

      “Thank you,” she replied. “You’re wearing the Crew, from King Designs’s winter collection. It’s an excellent cut that wears well, even if a modern cut would have worked better.”

      The color of the tux also added to the intense look in his deep brown eyes.

      He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

      For a split second Riley thought she could become lost in his soulful eyes. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers over his rich mocha-hued skin. That was ridiculous. She didn’t shake her head to clear the thoughts and remind herself of who and what he was, but she did shift her gaze to a woman across the room wearing a blue sequin gown. Again, they were most certainly surrounded by reporters, bloggers and photographers, so Riley’s smile stayed in place as she concentrated on moving with the music, instead of the fact that she was dancing with the enemy.

      “Seeing you like this is a pleasant surprise,” Chaz said after a few moments of silence.

      “I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve in Milan for the last three years,” she responded before snapping her lips shut. He did not need to know anything that personal about her.

      Chaz looked down at her seriously.

      “You don’t usually dance at parties was what I meant,” he said.

      He was right. She did not dance at parties. Whatever events Riley attended were carefully selected and always related to RGF business in some way. She would not admit that the last thing she’d wanted to do tonight was attend this party. If she’d been able to do exactly as she’d wanted, Riley would be upstairs in her room with a cup of hot chocolate and a tray of Oreo cookies—her favorite guilty pleasure. She would be in bed wearing her pajamas and watching some old holiday movie. That would have been the perfect way to bring in the New Year.

      And if she’d been able to do that, instead of attending this party, she would have missed seeing him. Riley was definitely okay with that. She’d first met Chaz when she was seventeen at a fashion show in Miami. Years went by where she only caught stories about him either via office gossip or the media. And then last year he moved back to New York.

      “I had a meeting with Perry,” she told him, and took a step back, letting her hands slide down his chest and torso until they were once again at her sides.

      He looked at her quizzically this time. “The song’s not over.”

      “But I’m done,” she replied.

      He released his hold on her and gave a slight nod. “Like Cinderella running from the ball before the stroke of midnight.”

      Riley lifted her chin. “I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      DAMN.

      That woman could wear a bedsheet and she’d still be the sexiest lady he’d ever set eyes on. Too bad she was public enemy number one. Or rather, her family—the Golds—were the archenemy of Chaz’s uncle, Tobias King. Chaz had been inducted into the feud via his parents’ deaths when he was nine years old. And again a year ago when family loyalty insisted he take a leave of absence from his thriving social media consultation business to help rebrand and boost sales for the men’s line at King Designs.

      All of that came second to the fact that each time he’d been in the company of Riley Gold this past year, she’d treated him like he was part of the Republic and she was a high-ranking official with the Resistance. The thought made Chaz smile, even when his body had already begun to react to seeing her in that tight black dress.

      She looked dangerous, desirable and just a little bit frightening. Like a badass goddess in five-inch heels.

      Chaz brought the glass to his lips and took a sip of aged whiskey while keeping his gaze leveled on her. She stood across the room, near a highboy table decorated to match the room’s gold-and-black decor. Her hair, which Chaz preferred loose and dancing over her shoulders, was pulled up so that the slender line of her neck was visible. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and matched the triple-tier bracelet on her left wrist. The skewed-neck design of the dress left one delectable tawny-hued shoulder bared, its tight fit outlining the perfection of her curves. Chaz took another swallow from his glass and convinced himself that the fixation he’d had on Riley Gold, for longer than he cared to admit, wasn’t at all foolish or immature.

      The man she was speaking to offered her a drink and she accepted, but she would not sip from that glass. If he was correct, and Chaz was ninety-eight percent certain he was, the glass was filled with scotch. Riley did not drink hard liquor. Champagne and red wine were her preference, as were desserts over any other portion of a meal. The fact that he knew those things and too many more to count was probably a little obsessive, but nobody had to know that but him.

      “See something you like?”

      Chaz didn’t blink at the heavily Italian-accented voice. He did spare a glance to his right, where Franco Vitali now stood.

      “I see several things of interest,” Chaz replied.

      Franco chuckled. “Even if you were not their biggest competitor in the US, she would not give you the time of day. Her heart has been frozen since the scandal years ago.”

      “Not my concern,” Chaz told him. “I like variety.”

      He did—normally. Chaz had a general affection for women and gave them his time as the need arose. Which, for the last ten years, seemed to be quite often. Starting with a simple bachelor blog, Chaz had quickly built a social media following that consisted mainly of women trying their best to end his lone-star status. He’d parlayed that success into Conversation Media, a multimillion-dollar social media consulting firm that Chaz was extremely proud to own. Riley, on the other hand, occupied another space in his mind. One he had yet to figure out.

      “Me, too,” Franco continued. “Listen, there are dozens of models in my suite. They could not come down as they were not invited. You, my friend, are invited to join me upstairs to bring in the New Year