Fuck.

He thought he had passed the season of fantasizing about having sex with strangers.  He reaches for his whiskey and shoots it.  From the corner of his eyes he sees a waiter discreetly whisper something to Lothian.  The man rises with all the pomposity he can muster and leaves with the waiter.

Blake transfers his attention to the girl again.  She has collapsed backwards into the chair.  Her shoulders sag and her relief is obvious.  She stares moodily at the tablecloth and frowns.  Then, she seems to visibly force herself away from whatever thoughts troubled her, and lets her glance wander idly around the room until her truly amazing eyes—he has never seen anything like them before—collide with his unwavering stare.  And through the gently shifting black gauze his breath is punched out of his body, and he is seized by an unthinking, irresistible call to hunt.  To possess.

To own her.

Two

It can have been only seconds, but it seems like ages that Lana is held locked and hypnotized by the stranger’s insolent eyes.  When she recalls it later she will remember how startlingly white his shirt had been against his tanned throat, and swear that even the air between them had shimmered.  Strange too how all the background sounds of cutlery, voices and laughter had faded into nothing.  It was as if she had wandered into a strange and compelling universe where there was no one else but her and that devilishly handsome man.

But here she is prey.

The powerful spell is broken when he raises his glass in an ironic salute. Hurriedly, she tears her gaze away, but her thin façade of poise is completely shattered.  Hot blood is rushing up into her neck and cheeks; and her heart is racing like a mad thing.

What the hell just happened?

She feels his gaze like a burning tingle on her skin.  To hide she bends her head and lets her hair fall forward.  But the desire to dare another look is immense.  She has never experienced such an instant and physical attraction before.  With broad shoulders, a deep tan, smoldering eyes, a strong jaw, and straight-out-of-bed, vogue-cool, catwalk hair that flops onto his forehead, he looks like one of those totally hot and brooding Abercrombie and Fitch models, only more savage and fierce.

Devastatingly more.

But she is not here to flirt with drop dead gorgeous strangers, or to find a man for herself.  She presses her fingers against her flaming cheeks, and forces herself to calm down.  All her concentration must go into getting Rupert to agree to her proposal.  He is her last hope.  Her only hope.

Nothing could ever be more important than her reason for being there with such a man as him.  She looks miserably towards the tall doors where he has gone. This cold, pillared place of opulence is where rich people come to eat. A waiter wearing white gloves comes through the doors bearing a covered tray.  She feels out of her depth.  The orange dress is itchy and prickly and she longs to scratch several places on her body.  Then there are the butterflies flapping dementedly inside her stomach.

Don’t ruin this, she tells herself.  You’ve come this far.  Nervously, to regain her composure, she presses her lips together and firmly pushes the sarcastically curving mouth out of her mind.  She must concentrate on the horrible task ahead.  But those insolent eyes, they would not go.  She brings to mind her mother’s thin, sad face, and suddenly the stranger’s eyes are magically gone.  She straightens her back.  Prepares herself.

 She will not fail.

 Rupert, having met whomever he had gone to meet, is weaving his way back to her and when their eyes touch she flashes him a brilliant smile.  She will not fail.  He smiles back triumphantly.  He comes around to her side and drops her a quick kiss, before slumping heavily into his seat.  She has to stop herself from reaching up to wipe her mouth.

Rupert seems transformed.  Expansive, almost jolly.  ‘That’s one deal that came in the nick of time.  It’s almost as if the heavens have decided that I deserve a piece of you.’  The way he says it almost makes her flinch with horror.

 ‘Lucky me,’ she says softly, surprising herself.  She tells herself she is playing a part.  One that she can vanish into and emerge from unscathed, but she knows it is not true.  There will be repercussions and consequences.

 He smiles nastily.  He knows she does not fancy him, but that is part of the thrill.  Taking what does not want to be taken.  ‘Well then, don’t be coy, let’s hear it.  How much are you going to cost me?’

 Lana takes a deep breath.  A bull this large can only be taken by the horns.  ‘Fifty thousand pounds.’

His dirty blond eyebrows shoot upwards.  ‘Not exactly cheap.’ There is something spiteful in his voice.  ‘What do I get for my money?’

 They are both startled out of their conversation by a deep, curt voice.

‘Rupert.’

‘Mr. Barrington,’ Rupert gasps, and literally flies to his feet.  ‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ he croons obsequiously.  Lana drops her head with shame.  It is the stranger.  He has heard her sell herself.

‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your companion’s acquaintance.’

‘Blake Law Barrington, Lana Bloom, Lana Bloom, Blake Law Barrington.’

She looks up then, a long way up—he is definitely over six feet, maybe six two—to meet his stormy-grey stare.  They are the most mesmerizing eyes she has ever encountered.  She searches them for disgust, but they are veiled, impenetrable pits of mystery.  She begins to tremble.  Her body knows something she does not.  He is dangerous to her in a way she cannot yet conceive.

‘Hello, Lana.’

‘Hi,’ she says.  Her voice sounds small.  Like a child that has been told to greet an adult.  Perhaps, he has not heard her sell herself, after all.

He puts his hand out, and after a perceptible hesitation, she puts hers into it.  His hands are large and warm, and his clasp firm and safe, but she snatches hers away as if burnt.  He breaks his gaze briefly to glance at Rupert.  ‘There is a party tonight at Lord Jakie’s.’  Then those darkly fringed eyes return to her.  Inscrutable as ever.  ‘Would you like to come as my guests?’ His voice is an intriguing combination of velvet and husk.  It is as if he is addressing only her.  It sends delicious shivers up and down her spine.  Confused, by the unfamiliar sensations she tears her eyes away from him and looks at Rupert.

Rupert’s eyebrows are almost in his hairline.  ‘Lord Jakie?’ he repeats.  There is unconcealed delight in his face.  He seems a man who has found a bottle of rare wine in his own humble cellar.  ‘That’s terribly kind of you, Mr. Barrington.  Terribly kind.  Of course, we’d love to,’ he accepts quickly for both of them.

‘Good.  I’ll leave your names at the door.  See you there.’  He nods at Lana and she registers the impression that he is obsessively clean and controlled.  There is no mess in this man’s life.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  Then he is gone.  Rupert and she watch him walk away.  He has the walk of a supremely confident man.

Rupert turns to face her again; his face is mean and at odds to his words.  ‘Well, well,’ he drawls, ‘You must be my lucky charm.’

‘Why?’

‘First, I get the deal I’ve been after for the last year and a half, then the great man not only deigns to speak to me, but invites me to a party thrown by the crème de la crème of high society.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He, my dear, is the next generation of arguably the richest family in the world.’

‘The Barringtons,’ Lana whispers, shocked.

‘He even smells of old money and establishment, doesn’t he?’ Rupert says, and neighs loudly at his own joke.  Rupert himself smells like grated lemon peel.  The citrusy scent reminds her of Fairy washing up liquid.