She handed the hostess her coat and let Nick lead her into the packed ballroom. “I’m assuming you have a general plan of attack?” she asked. “Who are the two players you need to concentrate on?”
He motioned toward a thick cloud of cigar smoke. A tight circle of conservative businessmen surrounded a man impeccably dressed in a gray suit and silk tie. “Hyoshi Komo is building the Japanese restaurant. His vote is key to gain the third partner in the waterfront deal.”
“So, why don’t you go over there and give your pitch?” She plucked a salmon tart from the tray of a tuxedo-clad waiter and grabbed a glass of champagne from another.
“Because I don’t want to be one of the crowd. I have a different plan in mind.” She sipped the bubbly and sighed with pleasure. “Don’t get drunk.”
She huffed out a breath. “I never knew husbands were so controlling. Okay, who’s the final guy you need to impress?”
A flash of calculation crossed his face. “Count Michael Conte. He owns a successful pastry business in Italy, and decided to try his luck in the States. He’s focused on the first bakery opening at the waterfront.”
She lusted after the tray of crab cakes on her left and tried to pay attention. Nick let out a huff, grabbed two from the waiter, and slid them on the plate. “Eat.”
“Right.” For once, she agreed with his order. She popped the cake into her mouth and groaned with delight. His brows snapped together and she realized she’d made him cranky. Again.
He stared at her mouth as if he wanted the crab cake for himself. “Alexa, are you listening?”
“Yes. Conte. Bakery. I guess you expect me to mingle while do your business?”
He gave a tight smile. “I’ll work on Hyoshi for now. Why don’t you keep your eyes open for the Count? He’s tall, Italian accent, dark hair and eyes. Engage him in some conversation—it will keep you occupied.”
A small nibble of warning teased the edges of her consciousness but she was still too focused on the array of delicious appetizers. “You want me to talk to him?”
He shrugged in controlled carelessness. “Sure. Be nice. If you find out anything interesting, let me know.”
A chill skated down her spine and suddenly the scene crystallized. “You want me to spy for you?”
Impatience flicked in his voice. “You’re being ridiculous. Just relax and enjoy the party.”
“Easy for you to say. Your boobs aren’t hanging out of your dress.”
Nick cleared his throat and shifted. “If you weren’t comfortable, you shouldn’t have worn the dress.”
She stiffened. “I borrowed it from Maggie. I didn’t have an expensive dress.”
“I would have given you the money.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“Somehow, I doubt it. You didn’t sign the contract for any lofty reasons. Might as well take as much as you can get.”
A short silence settled between them. Coldness seeped through her. “You’re right. I was an idiot. Next time I’ll buy out Macy’s and send you the bill.” She turned on her heel and tossed her head. “After all, the only benefit to this marriage is your money.”
She walked away and left him staring at her back.
Jerk.
Alexa sipped a second glass of champagne and settled herself by the picture window overlooking the balcony. Nick Ryan belonged in this world—one of money and supermodels and refined dialogue. Clouds of Shalimar and Obsession blended with the heavy scent of cigar smoke. Her sight was blinded by an array of silks and satins, mostly in black or neutral; non-showy colors to set off the diamonds and pearls and sapphires she knew were all real. Everyone had tans, and she bet there wasn’t a tan line in the lot.
Alexa heaved a deep sigh. She’d dressed with care for the party and held her breath as she walked down the stairs to await Nick’s opinion. Even she knew she looked damn good in Maggie’s dress. The thought that she actually wanted to please him pissed her off.
He’d given her a thorough once over. Instead of a compliment, he’d mumbled about her choice of wardrobe and walked away. Didn’t even help her with her coat, or spare her a second glance until they got to the party. Hurt sliced deep but she punished herself for the emotion. She retained a polite aura and pretended she dressed like this every Saturday night.
Yet, as soon as he spoke about his plan for the waterfront, his face shimmered with such raw emotion her body clenched in response.
Passion. Fierce need burned in golden brown eyes. She fantasized about being the woman who incited such wanting. Once again, she was reminded Nick only experienced strong emotions for his buildings. Never women.
And never her.
She took a deep breath and finished her drink. Then launched herself through the double doors of the balcony and approached a group of women who seemed to be commenting on the sculpture. Within moments, she neatly entwined her way into the discussion, secured introductions, and delved into the world of social chatter.
…
Nick watched her stalk across the room and cursed under his breath. Hell, he’d done it again. He should’ve complimented her on the damn dress. But nothing had prepared him for her entrance as she walked down the stairs, ready for the party.
The electric blue dress dipped low in the front, clung to the edge of her shoulders, and fell down to the floor in magnificent, flowing folds of shimmering material shot with silver thread. Strappy silver sandals encased her feet, her hot pink toenails peeking out and playing hide and seek as she walked. Her hair was pinned high on her head, with corkscrew curls tumbling around her ears and caressing the back of her neck. Her lips were painted red. When she blinked, her silver shadow threw sparkles over her lashes and caught the light. He bet she’d also catch the attention of every man in the place.
He’d almost ordered her to change. This was no cool sophisticate he could control. This was a full-blown Eve, who dared a man to Hell and made a poison apple seem as sweet as candy. Instead, he’d muttered some remark under his breath and let the subject matter drop. He wondered if that was a flash of hurt in her eyes, but when he looked again, she was the same troublesome, sarcastic woman he’d married.
Anger cut through him at her constant ability to make him feel like shit. He hadn’t said anything wrong. She married for money, and freely admitted it. Why did she have to pretend to play the innocent victim in this whole mess?