Dangerous Lovers (115 page)

Six months
, I reminded myself.
Do this job and then you can get the hell out of here
.

A waiter in a perfectly tailored suit walked by and I snagged a flute of champagne from his golden tray and took a long drink. What I wouldn’t give to just drain the glass and then another. But I had to restrain myself. Appearances were everything. And while it might not seem that anyone was paying any attention to me, they could be.

An Escort could never afford to forget his place. His job.

A job was why I was here.

I looked around the room—servers with trays, a man at a piano playing some boring ballad, and people dressed in gowns and tuxedos. The women dripped in jewels and perfume, laughing their fake laughs and sipping champagne without a care in the world. Security was placed discreetly at all the exits, the windows, and near the staircase at the far end of the room.

I knew the senator must be here already and it wasn’t hard to spot him in the crowd. People surrounded him, laughing and talking. I gazed through his friends, his followers, and the wannabe’s looking for Rosalyn, his daughter. I didn’t see her and I figured perhaps she wasn’t here yet, waiting for a time to walk in and be fashionably late to draw the stares of everyone already in the room.

I suppressed a sigh at the thought. Dealing with a diva was never fun.

I set down my empty glass and snagged another from a passing tray and then worked the room, introducing myself and pretending to be interested in the charity.

As far as events went this one was pretty good. Over my many years of being an Escort, I had grown accustomed to nice things. I liked money. I liked being in places where everyone around me had money too.

Across the room there were a few paintings on display, and I went and stood in front of one and stared at it. It was a decent piece, especially considering the art scene here must be dismal.

Someone came up beside me, stopping to stare at the same painting. I turned my head just a fraction to see who it was.

It was her. Rosalyn.

I turned back to the painting, pretending to study it some more while sipping the champagne. I could feel her eyes on me, but I still didn’t acknowledge her.

“It’s a beautiful painting,” she said finally.

I glanced at her. She was wearing a black gown, the fabric close to her tall, willowy frame. Her dark hair was pulled up away from her face and she wore a necklace that probably cost three million dollars. Vaguely, my mind started running scenarios of how I could snatch it without being caught. If sold on the right market, I could make quite a little profit on a piece like that.

I met her eyes—they were brown—and saw she was waiting for my reply. She expected me to say something vague and non-committal about the art. She thought I was just another one of these rich airheads here tonight to throw around my excessive money.

I looked back at the painting, taking another slow sip of my drink. “I think it’s very sorrowful,” I said. “The lines seem heavy. The shadows there”—I pointed—“behind the man seem to come forward as if to consume him, surround him.” Then I looked back at her. She was watching me with interest and I held back my smile.
Gotcha.
“But you’re right; it is a beautiful piece of art. Sometimes there is beauty in sorrow.”

And then I walked away.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t pause.

I stopped beside the piano and dropped a twenty into the glass fishbowl sitting on the top and asked him to play something a little less monotonous.

I felt her eyes follow me as I moved around the room. She watched me with interest. I was the man who gave her an unexpected answer. The man who didn’t seem to care or even know who she was. And then I just walked away without so much as a backward glance.

I knew her type.

I was driving her crazy.

Good. Let her think it was her idea to come to me. Let her think she was the cat who got the mouse.

When really… it was exactly what I wanted.

* * *

I was speaking with the mayor when she approached. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. The mayor, of course, stopped talking the minute she arrived and he turned to her and smiled. “Rosalyn, you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you, Mayor Hayes,” she said, her eyes sliding to me.

“Rosalyn, this is…” He began to introduce me only to realize he never bothered to learn my name.

I smiled. “I could bore you with all four of my stodgy names or you could just call me what my friends do.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” the mayor said, already pulling away.

“Of course,” Rosalyn said and I shook his hand before he walked off to no doubt try to secure another sizeable donation.

“You were saying?” Rosalyn asked when he was gone.

“Charming. Everyone calls me Charming.”

She lifted a delicately shaped brow.

I grinned my best devilish grin. “I left my white horse with the valet.”

She laughed. “That’s probably for the best. Whatever would they say if you brought a horse into the ballroom?”

“Want to find out?” I grinned again.

“Funny and art savvy,” she mused. “I haven’t seen you at any of these functions before.”

“I just arrived in town not too long ago. I’m in real estate. Thought I would come and see if there were any opportunities to grow my business here in Fairbanks.”

“And what do you think of Fairbanks so far?”

“It’s very cold.”

She laughed again. I noticed she hadn’t sipped her drink once since arriving at my side. I caught the eye of a nearby waiter and he came over, clearing his throat. I gently took her half-empty glass from her fingers and then slid a fresh one in place.

“How did you know I wanted a new one?” she asked.

“You just seemed like the kind of woman who enjoyed her champagne chilled.”

She smiled and took a sip, stepping just a fraction closer to me than before.

Got her.

Maybe getting this job done in six months wouldn’t be so hard after all.

I smiled down at the Target when a flash of red caught my eye. I looked up and saw a woman in a red silk dress enter the room.

Red was my color.

It was powerful, unforgettable… and it stood out in this room among the people who were all dressed in black.

The woman wearing it didn’t look like anyone else here. She filled that dress out in a way that made every man in the room turn to look. The dress was low-cut and instead of just showing off her skin, she wore a very long strand of pearls that looped around her throat and then draped all the way to her navel.

Her throat…

There was something familiar about it.

I tore my eyes away from the gown and looked up. Blond hair. Curls. Blue eyes.

What the hell was she doing here?

Just as I was about to turn away, she caught my eye and I swear a sadistic smile curved her lips. Her steps picked up and before I knew it she was at my side, slipping her hand around my elbow and inserting herself into my job.

“There you are,” she said like she’d been searching the entire room for me. “I swear the ladies room must be half a mile away.” She batted her eyes at me and I thought about dumping my drink down her chest.

“Is this your girlfriend?” the Target asked, a closed look coming over her face.

No, no, no
. I didn’t have time for this!

I opened my mouth to vehemently deny that accusation, but she beat me to it.

“His girlfriend?!” she asked, horrified. “Good Lord, no.”

Rosalyn smiled and I breathed a sigh of relief.

But George wasn’t done talking. “I’m his sister.”

I choked on my champagne.

George started pounding on my back, like that would somehow help. “Go easy on the booze there, brother.”

Then she looked at Rosalyn and whispered conspiratorially. “This one likes the bottle.”

She. Was. Dead.

“Does he now?” Rosalyn said, glancing at me with a smile.

“Ignore her. She doesn’t get out much,” I replied.

“It’s true,” George sighed. “It’s why I tag along with Charming here”—she hitched her thumb at me—“to all his events.” She released me and turned to Rosalyn. “He told you we call him Charming, right?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, and I can certainly see why.”

Ha! Take that!
I thought smugly.

“When I saw him talking to you, I said to myself, Frankie get yourself over there and save that poor girl.”

“So your name is Frankie?” Rosalyn asked.

“Francesca,” she said and held out her hand.

Francesca.
She would take a name like that and butcher it all to hell.

“What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. Rosalyn is beautiful as well,” Frankie said and I took a long drink of champagne, wishing it were scotch. Neat.

When I got
Francesca
alone, I was going to ring her neck for real this time.

The two women stood there and ran their mouths about everything they could think of. It was annoying as hell and my patience was wearing very thin. I excused myself, ignoring the glint in Frankie’s eye, and went off in search of that scotch.

There was a bar near the front entrance and I got in the back of the line behind a bunch of men who were also no doubt looking for something that would help them put up with the women in the room.

After I collected my scotch in a crystal decanter, I moved off to the side and took a swallow. I was still feeling murderous so I figured I needed a few more minutes to chill.

I lifted the liquid to my lips again and through the clear glass someone caught my eye. I swallowed so quickly that the alcohol felt like a hard knot going down my throat. It was painful, but I didn’t notice.

I blinked, staring at the woman who practically glided by just feet away.

It couldn’t be.

I blinked and looked again. She was wearing a golden dress that caught the light when she walked. It was the kind of dress that women wore… a long time ago.
Back then
. The kind that hugged a woman’s chest but then flared out into a full skirt that went all the way to the floor. She was tall and thin, the natural kind of thin that no amount of eating would add any weight to her frame. Pale-blond hair fell perfectly straight over her shoulders and down her back.

My throat went dry. My vision seemed to blur.

It wasn’t her. I knew it wasn’t.

But, my God, she was so familiar.

The woman turned to go up the stairs, pausing as if she sensed my stare. She looked over her shoulder. Her green eyes met mine.

The glass in my hand slid to the floor and shattered on impact.

Chapter Eight

“
Ghost - the soul or spirit of a deceased person or animal that can appear, in visible form or other manifestation, to the living.”

Frankie

Priceless. The look on Charming’s face when he saw me in that ballroom was priceless. It took everything I had inside me not to laugh out loud at the horror on his face when I declared I was his sister.

Of course, horror wasn’t all I saw…

When he first looked up, when he saw me in this sinful red dress, he liked it. I could tell the way his eyes roamed over the silk, the way he took in every curve. It gave me a funny feeling in my stomach… one I couldn’t really describe. It wasn’t the first time; it was just the first time I actually acknowledged it was he that made me feel that way.

But then he looked at my face.

And that’s when the fun began.

I knew when he excused himself from our conversation that he was angry. A little warning bell went off in my head, telling me maybe I was pushing him too far. But it was too late to turn back. I was in this.

Rosalyn was actually a pretty down-to-earth girl for being a senator’s daughter. I actually liked talking to her. I saw the way she watched him as he walked away, her eyes following him until he was out of sight. He probably had, what, fifteen minutes tops with her? How in the hell did he manage to wrap her around his finger that fast?

Something had to be done about that.

Of course there were other people there vying for her attention. When her father called her name, she looked at me apologetically and I smiled. “Duty calls.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. I enjoyed talking with you tonight. I thought this event would be like every other one I get dragged to.” She stuck out her tongue. “But this one turned out to be pretty entertaining.”