gave him a haughty look. ‘Of course I have,’ she said, and then, as if to prove the point, she drained her glass.
‘Time for another, I think,’ Rico said, and summoned a waiter with one imperious gesture. This woman, this Lina, was fascinating. Gate-crasher, definitely. Gold-digger as well, he was quite sure. He didn’t mind, though; as long as women were upfront about what they wanted—as he was about what he didn’t—the arrangement was usually satisfactory. He felt the tingle through his body of attraction and, yes, desire as he looked at her. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be very satisfactory.
She was certainly lovely, and unabashedly sexual with her tight dress and tumbled hair. She hadn’t bothered with make-up or jewellery, as if she had no need for extra frippery for what was, after all, a very basic transaction. She’d come to this party looking for fun, and quite possibly a protector. Rico intended it to be him, at least for a short while.
He took another flute of champagne from the proffered tray and handed it to her. ‘Cin cin,’ he murmured, and she smiled.
‘Cin cin.’ They’d been speaking Italian, and hers was flawless, although Rico suspected it was not her first language. He wondered what was. There was a faintly exotic cast to her features, her slightly tilted eyes and golden skin. He had no intention of or interest in asking her such questions or learning more about her. He’d long ago found that women started expecting things, emotional things, when he asked them even the most basic of questions. So he didn’t. And he made sure they didn’t ask any of him, either.
‘Lina,’ he said. ‘This party bores me. Do you want to go upstairs?’
Surprise flashed through her eyes and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, causing another painful arrow of desire to knife through him. ‘Upstairs?’
‘Yes, upstairs. I have the penthouse suite.’ He let his mouth curve in a lazy smile. ‘I think it would be a great deal more comfortable up there, and the champagne is of a far better vintage.’
‘I don’t even know your name,’ she protested, her cheeks flushing. She looked uncertain but also excited. Perhaps he’d been a bit too abrupt. He was getting tired of the same old niceties.
‘Rico,’ he said, although he was quite sure she knew who he was. Everyone here did. ‘I’m the CEO of Falcone Enterprises.’
‘Falcone...’ Recognition flashed in her eyes.
‘You’ve heard of me, then.’
‘Yes, in the bathroom just now.’ Lina bit her lip, looking both guilty and amused. ‘Two women were talking about you.’
‘Were they?’ Rico arched an eyebrow. ‘Women’s gossip in a bathroom—I can imagine what they said, and I assure you, it’s all true.’
Her eyes rounded. ‘All of it?’
Rico didn’t even hesitate. ‘All of it,’ he drawled, and Lina let out a hiccupping laugh. She had, he noticed, already finished her second glass of champagne.
‘They said you were cold. A heart of ice...’
‘Pejorative, but essentially true.’
‘Oh?’ Lina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling, a small smile curving her lush mouth. ‘How are you so cold, then?’
Rico took a sip of champagne, considering. ‘I’m matter-of-fact,’ he stated, deciding as always that bold honesty was by far the best policy. ‘I don’t dress up what is essentially a physical and very satisfying transaction.’ He met her curious and impish gaze with a direct challenge in his own eyes, and he watched with pleasure as colour flared in her cheeks and her lips parted soundlessly.
‘Do you mean...?’ she began, and Rico cut her off.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do mean.’
She shook her head slowly, her pupils dilated, her cheeks still wonderfully pink. ‘They said something else in the bathroom.’
‘Did they?’ Although he affected a bored drawl he realised he was interested. He wanted to know what Lina had heard, what preconceptions she might have of him.
‘They said...they said...’ She licked her lips, making his libido take a little leap. ‘They said you were fabulous at sex.’ She let out a little laugh, seeming almost incredulous that she’d admitted such a thing. Rico’s mouth curved into a wicked smile.
‘Also true.’
She laughed again, shaking her head, seeming embarrassed, almost shy. Was it an act, a rather obvious and unneeded attempt to snag his interest? A woman didn’t pour herself into a sexy dress and try to gate-crash the party of the year without having some brash confidence and bold hopes.
‘So?’ Rico demanded in a low, sensual voice. He was tired of chitchat, of waiting. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’
‘Upstairs...’
‘To my suite. A bottle of champagne is waiting.’ It always was.
‘I... I don’t...’
Annoyance flickered through him. He didn’t have time for this. Rico stretched out one hand and slid his fingers through hers, enjoying the shower of sparks that fired through him at that slight touch. He’d made the right choice, he was sure of it. ‘Well?’ he murmured. ‘Are you coming...or not?’
HALINA COULDN’T THINK. From the moment Rico Falcone had rescued her from the box-ticking bouncer, she’d been ensnared. Bound body and mind by the sensual charisma of the man standing in front of her, so arrogant and self-assured and so very, very attractive.
She had limited experience of the opposite sex, and she had no experience whatsoever of the kind of man who stood in front of her now, one dark slash of an eyebrow arched, his mobile mouth curved into a smile of supreme self-confidence, his body radiating pure, muscular, sensual power.
‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked, and there was a note of challenge in his voice, as well as a hint of impatience. Halina hesitated. She shouldn’t go with him, of course, this man whom she knew, from both gossip and his own gorgeous mouth, was a cold womaniser. A man who was fabulous at sex.
Not that she had any intention of having sex with him, of course. Her virginity was a point of honour, as well as a prized asset. As a princess of a desert kingdom, her chastity was of utmost importance. She’d never even touched a man before tonight.
But why did this have to be about sex? All she wanted was to drink champagne, perhaps even be kissed...
It was hard to resist such a beguiling invitation. And he was quite the most perfect specimen of a man she’d ever seen—dark hair cut close, silvery grey eyes that flashed like sunlight on metal as he remained with his hand outstretched, fingertips gliding along hers, his tall and powerfully built body encased in a top-end tuxedo, the crisp white shirt and black fitted jacket the perfect foil for his dark hair and grey eyes, his swarthy skin.
From the corner of her eye Halina
