Heat swamped her, making her stomach simmer, her breasts tingle and her heart rate quadruple, and dampening her between her legs. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she parted her lips enough to allow him to tuck one finger inside. She tasted the champagne then, along with the faint essence of Marcus. And Marcus was, by far, the most intoxicating.
Quickly, she drew her head back and licked the remnants of his touch from her lips. Not that that did anything to quell her arousal. What had come over her? How could she be this attracted to a man this quickly? She knew almost nothing about him, save his name and the fact that he loved opera and good champagne and had bought a rose for someone earlier in the evening who—
The rose. How could she have forgotten about that? She might very well be sitting here enjoying the advances of a married man! Or, at the very least, one who belonged to someone else. And the last thing she wanted to be was part of a triangle.
Where was the rose now? Had he thrown it resentfully into the trash or pressed it between the pages of the neglected opera program as a keepsake? Involuntarily, she scanned the other tables in the club until she saw an empty one not far away with a rose and opera program lying atop it. And another martini glass—though this time it was empty. Had the woman he was expecting finally caught up with him? Had he only moments ago been sharing a moment like this with someone else? Could he really be that big a heel?
“Who were you expecting tonight?”
The question was out of her mouth before Della even realized it had formed in her brain. It obviously surprised Marcus as much as it had her, because his dark eyebrows shot up again.
“No one,” he told her. And then, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, he added, “Not even you. I could never have anticipated someone like you.”
“But the rose … The pink drink …”
He turned to follow the track of her gaze, saw the table where he must have been sitting when she came in. His shoulders drooped a little, and his head dipped forward, as if in defeat. Or perhaps melancholy? When he looked at her, the shadows she’d noted before were back in his eyes. Definitely the latter.
“I did buy the rose and order the drink for someone else,” he said. “And yes, she was someone special.”
“Was?” Della echoed. “Then you and she aren’t …”
“What?”
“Together?”
His expression revealed nothing of what he might be feeling or thinking. “No.”
She wanted to ask more about the woman, but something in his demeanor told her not to. It was none of her business, she reminded herself. It was bad enough she’d brought up memories for him that clearly weren’t happy. Whoever the woman was, it was obvious she wasn’t a part of his life anymore. Even if it was likewise obvious that he still wanted her to be.
And why did that realization prick her insides so much? Della wouldn’t even see Marcus again after tonight. It didn’t matter if he cared deeply for someone else, and the less she knew about him, the better. That way, he would be easier to forget.
Even if he was the kind of man a woman never forgot.
In spite of her relinquishing the subject, he added, “I knew she wouldn’t be coming tonight, but it felt strange not to buy the rose and order her a drink the way I always did before. She always ran late,” he added parenthetically and, Della couldn’t help but note, affectionately. “It felt almost as if I were betraying her somehow not ordering for her, when really she was the one who—” He halted abruptly and met Della’s gaze again. But now he didn’t look quite so grim. “An uncharacteristic bout of sentimentality on my part, I guess. But no, Della. I’m not with anyone.” He hesitated a telling moment before asking, “Are you?”
Well, now, there was a loaded question if ever there was one. Della wasn’t with anyone—not the way Marcus meant it, anyway. She hadn’t been with anyone that way for nearly a year. And that one had been someone she never should have been with in the first place. Not just because of the sort of man Egan Collingwood turned out to be, either. But Della was indeed with someone—in a different way. She was with Geoffrey. For now, anyway. And as long as she was with Geoffrey, there was no way she could be with anyone else.
She didn’t want to tell Marcus that, though, so she only lifted her champagne to her lips for another sip. When he continued to study her in that inquisitive way, she enjoyed another sip. And another. And another. Until—would you look at that?—the glass was completely empty. The moment she set it on the table, however, Marcus poured her a refill, allowing the champagne to almost reach to the brim before lowering the bottle.
She grinned at the ridiculously full glass. “Marcus, are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately.
His frankness surprised her, and she laughed. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much in one evening. Even before Egan, she hadn’t been so prone to jollity. She’d never even used a word like jollity before.
“Well, it won’t work,” she said, even as she carefully lifted the glass to her mouth. “I have a remarkable metabolism.”
Now his smile turned faintly predatory. “I’m counting on that, actually.”
Yikes.
Well, the joke was on him. Because Mr. Marcus Notorious might think he had the evening mapped out with the quickest route from chance dinner meeting to white-hot marathon of sex, but there was no way that was going to happen. Della had to have her rented clothes back tomorrow when Talk of the Town opened at noon or she’d lose her deposit. Even the promise of a white-hot marathon of sex with a maddeningly irresistible guy wasn’t going to keep her from forgetting that.
She looked at Marcus, at his smoldering eyes and sizzling grin. At the brutally strong jaw and ruthless cheekbones. As if trying to counter the ruggedness of his features, an unruly lock of dark hair had tumbled carelessly over his forehead, begging for the gentling of a woman’s fingers.
Well. Probably that wasn’t going to keep her from getting her deposit. Hmm. Actually, that was kind of a tough call …
But then, Della couldn’t spend the night doing anything anywhere, anyway. As it was, if Geoffrey called the house tonight and she didn’t answer, he’d be hopping mad. Of course, he’d only have to call her on her cell phone to know she was okay, but he’d be furious that she wasn’t cloistered where she was supposed to be. She’d been lucky enough so far that he hadn’t ever called the house when she’d snuck out on those handful of occasions when she became bored to the point of lunacy. But she wasn’t sure how much longer her luck would hold. If Geoffrey ever got wind of her excursions, he’d want to wring her neck. Then he’d become even more determined to keep her hidden.
Still looking at Marcus, but trying not to think about the way he was making her feel, she leaned back in her chair and said, “So you get women drunk and then take advantage of them. Now I know the kinds of things you’ve done to make yourself so notorious.”
“Oh, I never have to get women drunk to take advantage, Della,” he said with complete confidence and without an ounce of arrogance. “In fact, I never have to take advantage.”
She
