so hard to get your hands on it.”
He was insulting her at her own party! Calling her a gold digger! And the fact that it was partially true…
She fought back tears at the slight to Giovanni’s memory then looked at the stranger with every ounce of haughtiness she possessed. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Soon I’ll know everything.” Reaching forward, he gently ran a finger along the edge of her jawline and whispered, “Soon I’ll have you in my bed.”
Men had said such ridiculous things to her before, but this time she couldn’t scorn the arrogance of his words. Not when the brief touch of his fingertip against her skin caused a riot of sensation to sear her whole body.
“I’m not for sale,” she whispered.
He lifted her chin. “You’ll be mine, Countess. You’ll want me, as I want you.”
She’d heard about sexual attraction, but thought she’d lost her chance to experience it. Thought herself too cold, too grief stricken, too…numb.
Feeling his hand on her was like a burst of hot sunlight, causing warmth and light to sparkle prisms of diamonds across her frozen body. Warmth unfurled in her. Melted her.
Against her will, she moved closer.
“Want you? That’s ridiculous,” she said hoarsely, her heart pounding. “I don’t even know you.”
“You will.”
He took her hand in his own, and she felt the strange warmth racing up her fingertips and her arm. To her breasts and the core of her body.
She’d been so cold for so long. Outside, the streets of New York were sweltering in the first real heat wave of the summer. Back at her adopted home in Tuscany, the high mountains were warm and lush and green. But for Lia time had stopped in January, when she’d first learned of Giovanni’s illness. Since then, in her heart, the ice and snow had only risen higher and higher, burying her in its cold waves.
Now she felt the dark stranger’s heat almost painfully. Desire struck her with the sharpness of its heat, and blood rushed through her with a sudden burning intensity and throbbing pain, as frozen limbs came back to life.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He pulled her slowly into his arms and looked down at her, his face inches from her own.
“I’m the man who’s taking you home with me tonight.”
CHAPTER TWO
HAVING his larger hand wrapped around her own caused a seismic boom to spread shock waves through Lia’s body. As he pulled her into his arms, she felt his hands touch her back above her gown. Felt the brush of his sleek tuxedo against her bare skin, felt the hardness of his body against her own.
Her breath suddenly came in short, quick little gasps. She looked up at him, bewildered by her overwhelming sensation and need. Her lips parted, and…and…
And she wanted to go with him. Anywhere.
“Here’s your champagne, Countess.” Andrew’s sudden return broke the spell. Scowling at the dark stranger, he barged between them and gently placed a Baccarat flute into her hand.
Across the room Lia suddenly saw the other board members of the park trust trying to get her attention. Saw discreet little waves, donors heading her way. Realized that three hundred people were watching her, waiting to talk to her.
She could hardly believe she’d actually considered running off with a stranger to heaven knows where, and doing heaven knows what.
Clearly grief had taken a toll on her sanity!
“Excuse me.” She pulled away from the stranger, desperate to escape the intoxicating force of him. She raised her chin. “I must greet my guests. My invited guests,” she added pointedly.
“Don’t worry.” The sardonic heat in the man’s dark eyes caused a flush to spread down her body. “I’m here as the guest of someone you did invite.”
Meaning he was here with another woman? At the same moment he’d very nearly convinced Lia to leave with him? She tightened her hands into fists. “Your date won’t be pleased to see you here with me.”
He gave her a lazy, predatory smile. “I’m not here with a date. And I’ll be leaving with you.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she flashed defiantly.
“Countess?” Andrew Oppenheimer’s lip curled into a snarl as he glared at the other man. “May I escort you away from this…person?”
“Thank you.” Putting her hand on Andrew’s arm, Lia allowed him to steer her toward the many well-heeled, elegantly dressed socialites and stockbrokers.
But as Lia sipped Dom Perignon and pretended to smile and enjoy their chatter—recognizing every park trust donor, knowing every person, their income and their place in society—she couldn’t block out her awareness of the dark stranger. No matter where he was in the enormous hotel ballroom, she always felt his presence. Without looking around, she felt his gaze on her and knew exactly where he was.
Filled with a strange, humming tension, she felt her reason start to melt like an icicle dripping water in the sun.
She’d always heard that desire could be bewildering and destructive. That passion could destroy a woman’s sanity and cause her to make ridiculous choices that made no sense. But she’d never understood it.
Until now.
Her marriage had been one of friendship, not passion. At eighteen, she’d married a family friend she respected, a man who’d been kind to her. She’d never once been tempted to betray him with another.
At twenty-eight, Lia was still a virgin. And at this point in her life, she’d assumed she would stay a virgin till she died.
In some ways, it had been a blessing not to feel anything. After losing everyone she’d ever cared about, all she’d wanted was to remain numb for the rest of her life.
But now…
She felt the tall, dark stranger every instant. As she made her opening speech on the dais, thanking her donors and guests with a champagne toast while tuxedoed men hovered around her like sharks, all she could feel was the stranger’s hot glance throbbing through her veins.
Making her feel alive against her will.
He was handsome, but not with the dignified elegance that Andrew and the other New York blue bloods had. He didn’t have the milk-fed look of someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No.
In his midthirties, muscular and rough, he had the look of a hardened warrior. Ruthless, even cruel.
A shiver went through her. A liquid yearning in her veins that she fought with all her might, telling herself it was the result of exhaustion. Illusion. The trick of too much champagne, too many tears and not enough sleep.
But
