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Mine, he thought. It wasn’t a conscious thought. It was far more primitive than that. It was a basic claiming that resounded in the most atavistic parts of him. Lizard brain, gut, testes.
While everyone was exchanging looks and straining to hear whatever was passing between the women, Rafael strolled over to them, eating up all those well-displayed curves and the way her aloof expression narrowed to interest in him.
“Hello, darling. I was waiting for you.” He loved using phrases like that. They suggested he’d been invited and caused people like the older woman to trip into courtesy as they tried to welcome him while also trying to place him.
His accent always threw them, too. His mother had been Romanian and he had spoken Greek since childhood, then was taught English by an Australian-Indian, so there were subtle undertones that always had people blinking in confusion.
“You look beautiful. Shall we dance?” he asked his new obsession.
The blonde used her thick lashes to screen, then reveal aquamarine eyes that were likely contacts, but he found her whole package of unapologetic sexuality irresistible.
“The dancing starts after dinner, sir,” the older woman said in a corrective tone.
Rafael immediately despised her for it. He would not be thwarted.
Fortunately, the blonde seemed to feel the same. She offered him fingers that were taloned with long, dark purple nails. “I thought you’d never ask.”
If Rafael had been a man who believed in such things, he would have called this love at first sight. In reality, it was animal attraction and like finding like, but it was heady. This woman not only knew how to command attention, she wielded her influence with fascinating ruthlessness.
He steered her through the formally set tables and the murmuring crowd until they reached the dance floor. It was occupied by a raised dais and a podium that would presumably be removed after the speeches. Behind it, the orchestra was working through a mix-and-mingle set with a subdued, lazy tempo that didn’t require proper steps.
Rafael slid his hand from the woman’s hip to her lower back, liking that she wore such tall heels because it put her nearly at eye level with him. She pressed closer and twined her arms around his neck, allowing him to fold his arms all the way around her narrow waist, securing her pelvis to his. She offered an amused smile at the stir they provoked.
“Your gown is making an impression.”
“On you?” She arched a hairbreadth closer, well aware she was causing a specific stir in him.
“On everyone,” he clarified. But yes. Absolutely on him. She was pure nitroglycerin. He would have to be very careful, but he wanted to bottle her and keep her forever.
“It’s not just the gown. It’s who’s wearing it.” Her fingertips traced a line along the back of his collar. Her tickling touch caused his scalp to tighten along with every muscle in his body.
“Are you not supposed to be here?” he asked idly. “Welcome to the club, angel.”
“Did you crash this party?” she asked, pretending to be scandalized. “I think I just fell in love.” She knew how to use her lashes to best effect, sweeping them down so her gaze traversed his shoulders and chest in a way that felt like a caress. A claiming.
He firmed his hold on her, enjoying the small hitch in her breath and the way her gaze flashed back to his, filled with startled heat.
She didn’t know what to do with the fact that he was having the same effect on her that she was having on him. He liked that. He liked it very much.
“You don’t know who I am?” She seemed skeptical of that.
“A goddess, I presume.”
“A demon, more like. But I was not only invited, I was given strict orders to wear something appropriate, since I’m expected to stand with my mother behind my stepfather as he accepts his participation ribbon for being a good political donor.” The corners of her mouth curled with bitter satisfaction at how mercilessly she’d clapped back.
Her rebellious spirit was both a draw and a warning, one he didn’t let deter him.
“And who is the man looking like he wishes he was holding dueling pistols instead of champagne glasses?” Rafael had been a target from his earliest years. He clocked any threat, even lightweights like that privileged crash test dummy glaring daggers at them. The man was roughly Rafael’s age, approaching thirty, well-dressed. Rafael was certain the man was richer and better connected, but Rafael could take him if it came to it.
“Do we call him a man if he agrees to marry the woman his father picks out for him?” She tilted her head in mock curiosity. “His mother still buys his underwear.”
“You’re his fiancée?” That was news he didn’t care for. His hands unconsciously tightened on her.
“Not yet.” Her fingertips moved to the hollow at the base of his skull. She caressed and explored. Pressed with invitation. “You should kiss me now, while I’m still unattached.”
She was toying with him for her own purpose—he knew that, but he was willing to take the kiss she offered purely for the thrill of it.
It was more than thrilling. As he met her parted lips with his own, electric heat shot through him. He would typically be a gentleman and allow her to set the pace, but with her, he tilted his head to capture her soft lips more thoroughly. He stopped dancing and cupped her head and took. He learned the shape of her pouted lips and the texture of her tongue and the erotic taste of her mouth.
