he conceded more honestly, still dancing with one of her many conquests. They were with a large, boisterous group of acquaintances after all. Still, he couldn’t drive off and leave her there. He needed to go back up and fetch her. First, he’d have the valet bring his car around so his mystery woman could wait inside safely. Shereen would be furious, of course, but even she would see that they couldn’t just leave her at this hour of the night.
Where was her coat? Still upstairs? He could bring it down with Shereen. But before he could voice these thoughts, the two of them reached the expansive lobby. The woman stepped forward briskly, turned and slid out of the heavy fur. Lifting up on tiptoes, she placed a chaste kiss on his chin.
Once more, she’d caught him unprepared. Roderick wasn’t used to being surprised. Things generally went as he planned them. At least they had until she’d waltzed into his life. As she drew away he realized there was no artificial odor of perfume or other fragrance on her skin.
“Thanks again, hero. I’m not what you think I am, but I did need rescuing. Happy New Year.”
“Wait!”
But she didn’t wait. She dropped the heavy coat and stepped away. Automatically, Roderick caught the fur before it hit the ground. She hurried off without a backward glance, heels clattering against the marbled floor.
Roderick had every intention of pursuing her, but stunned, he found his brain still focused on the absurd bit of material she called a dress. There wasn’t much fabric involved. The high mandarin collar and long sleeves were the garment’s deceptive concession to modesty. The key-hole effect in front was so low she looked in immediate danger of disaster.
And she was built perfectly for disaster. For such a petite woman, she was incredibly full and lush. The bodice snugged her body like a layer of glittery green skin before it flared out from her waist to swirl about slender, well-shaped calves. It appeared she wasn’t wearing a thing under that dress because in back, the fabric was missing clear down to her coccyx.
“I’m not what you think I am.”
He wasn’t sure what he thought she was, but the word stripper boldly came to mind. Certainly that clingy, sparkly material begged to be stripped from her enticing form.
Roderick was irritated to find himself aroused. He curbed the impulse to chase after her and demand answers. The lady was a mass of contradictions. That sweetly innocent smile did not go with that dress.
But the body did.
He muttered a low oath. One hand returned to massage his temple as he watched her step outside. He’d managed to forget his headache while he’d been with her, but now it returned with a vengeance. Beyond the plate-glass windows of the lobby, snow billowed in the wind. It wasn’t merely snowing, it was snowing hard. And all he could think was that there was very little of anything covering all that soft bare skin.
With a curse, he strode after her. He reached the double glass doors just in time to see the bellman shut the door of a taxicab.
Roderick paused. The cab would have a heater. She wouldn’t freeze. Obviously she had somewhere to go—someplace private, no doubt—and he did not want to think about watching her strip away that clingy bit of fabric.
Roderick shook his head at the disquieting train of thought. Who cared what the woman did with her nights? Hooker, stripper, paid companion…there were plenty of lost souls in Washington, D.C.
With a growl, he started back across the concourse to the escalator. He wasn’t sure why he was angry, or why her departure left him feeling so dejected. It made no difference who she was running away from. He had problems of his own, not the least of which was getting Shereen to agree to leave the party before midnight so he could go home and relax.
Going up the escalator, he attempted to push the stranger from his thoughts. The unsettling imp would have to fend for herself. She’d already demonstrated an uncanny ability to do just that. There was no reason for concern to jab at him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help comparing the past few minutes to the ridiculous fairy tale his sister had been so fond of as a child.
So this was how the prince had felt when the clock had struck twelve. And while Roderick would hardly consider himself a prince, the only thing missing had been the glass slipper.
Chapter Two
Melanie Andrews waited for the driver to repeat the address in heavily accented English before she settled back against the seat of the smelly cab with a hard shiver. The vehicle would have been plenty warm if she’d been wearing a coat, or even decent clothing, but she wasn’t. She thought longingly of her warm cloth coat, still inside the luxury suite on the top floor of the hotel. The coat was old, but still serviceable. Too bad she’d never see it again.
She met the driver’s expression in the rearview mirror. He smiled broadly and winked. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hostile glare. If he had any perverted ideas about taking her someplace besides the address she’d just given him, he’d find out exactly how valuable these stiletto heels could be. He needed to pay closer attention to the worsening road conditions.
No doubt he thought she was a hooker. That’s probably what her rescuer had thought, too. This dress was enough to give anyone that impression. It was exactly the impression she’d been trying to create.
Mel sighed. She looked down at the objects in her hand and a jolt of panic tingled down her spine. She’d shoved the dead man’s keys and plastic card in the deep pocket of the fur coat, but she’d only been able to palm the card before she dropped the fur because she’d also had her rescuer’s wallet and keys in her hand. She was going to need those keys.
She stared at the garish club card and tried to fight the panic clawing at her. She’d taken the wrong bit of plastic. This was not the key card she’d removed from the dead man’s wallet. The card to get into his office building must be still inside the fur coat. Her prints were all over that bit of plastic.
Mel forced her breathing to steady. Panic was the fast road to disaster. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere and the model wouldn’t know what the card was or where it had come from when she did discover the thing. She’d probably toss it out without a second thought. Besides, there was nothing Mel could do about the situation at the moment. She didn’t even have a last name for the woman her rescuer had called Shereen.
Ignoring the driver’s covert glances at the front of her dress, Mel opened the well-tooled leather wallet she’d palmed. Her fingers shook, and not from the cold. She hated that she’d repaid his kindness by lifting his wallet, but she’d needed to pay for the cab ride somehow. It was galling to realize that she hadn’t planned as well as she should have. She should have pinned money inside her dress, or at least grabbed her purse when she fled. Not that there had been time for that. Getting away had been far more important than searching for her purse on the bed filled with coats and a dead man.
Mel knew her thoughts were darting about in a ridiculous manner, but thinking of other things was better than thinking about that horrible dead body and the fact that the D.C. police would soon be scouring the city for her.
She shook her head and stared at the driver’s license in her hands. Roderick Anthony Laughlin III. There was a mouthful, yet somehow the stuffy name suited him, even if it was at odds with that kiss.
She touched a finger lightly to her lips, remembering the hot press of his mouth and the answering heat that had stirred within her. The man had almost swept her off her spiked heels. For a split
