FOUR

“Ian.” She accepted his hand as she drew closer. “I’m so glad you and Kira could

make it tonight.”

“We wouldn’t miss it.” He grinned as he turned back to John. “I’d like you’d to

meet a friend of mine.” The introduction was done smoothly, casually, but Bailey

could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rising in alarm.

She was being watched, closely. Someone was much too interested in this

meeting.

“Mr. Vincent.” Her gaze was held by his as he took her hand and brought it

smoothly to his lips.

A chill raced up her spine to explode at the back of her neck as electricity

seemed to charge her entire body. She could feel her breasts swelling as his lips

touched the sensitive flesh over her knuckles and brushed against them. Her

nipples were hard, sensitive, and between her thighs she was growing heated and

wet. Her reaction to this man was immediate, blazing and confusing.

“Miss Serborne,” he murmured as he lowered her hand. “It’s definitely a pleasure

to meet you.”

She bet it was.

A smile curled her lips as she felt adrenaline pierce the haze of dark

emotionlessness that had held her in its grip for too many months now. Suddenly

she felt alive, she felt dangerous, she felt a thrill racing through her body that she

couldn’t control.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she assured him, and it was. He was here for a reason,

an operation. He was here, and she was laying money on the fact, to interfere in

what she had begun just as he and his team had interfered in Atlanta. She was

beginning to grow sick of all the noses continually poking into her business.

She was playing on her home ground now. No one was taking this from her, least

of all a man who had already stolen the pleasure of Orion’s death.

“Ian, you didn’t tell me the scenery here was this exceptional,” John murmured

aside to his friend as he kept his gaze on hers. “I would have visited sooner.”

“The scenery only acquired certain additions recently,” Ian assured him.

Bailey kept her smile pleasant as she glanced at Ian and his wife. “Ian’s being

overly kind,” she stated lightly. “So tell me, Mr. Vincent, are you here for business

or pleasure?”

“Well, I’m a businessman.” He grinned. “I like to combine the two whenever

possible, but at the moment it’s definitely pleasure.”

It was definitely an operation. For a second, regret shimmered inside her before

she pushed it back, ignoring it. She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her,

evidently. She had to remember that; to remember anything else only threatened

her control.

Her suspicions couldn’t be proved, no matter the time and effort she had put into

that investigation. It was wishful thinking, she continued to assure herself. She’d

lost the man she loved and now she wanted nothing more than to find a way to

bring him back when she needed him the most. There was no bringing back the

dead.

“Would you like to dance?” Still retaining her hand, he stepped back from Ian

and Kira.

Bailey allowed him to draw her onto the dance floor, holding her silence until

she was in his arms, their bodies moving together to the slow, easy strains of the

orchestra.

“What are you doing here?” She kept her lips against his shoulder to hide the

words, her voice low enough that only he could hear her.

“We need to talk.” He didn’t answer her question, but she hadn’t really expected

him to.

“Too bad,” she drawled. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, even

with the clothing that separated them. There was something about him that she

couldn’t ignore, couldn’t forget. Something that drew her like a moth to a flame. It

was a very dangerous position to be in.

“Come on, Bailey.” His lips brushed against her ear. “Just a few minutes of your

time. I promise, you won’t regret it.” His hand stroked from her hip up, along her

back, then back again.

“I regret meeting you to begin with,” she told him softly, noting the tension that

tightened his body. “Why would tonight be any different?”

His hand tightened at her hip. “You never know, I could surprise you.”

She almost laughed at that statement. There was no surprise in store for her. The

best he could do was manage to amaze her with the delivery of whatever he wanted

from her. She had no doubt why he was here.

“You’re on my turf now,” she warned him. “I doubt there’s anything that you

could do here that would surprise me, John.”

She surprised herself sometimes, though. Now was one of those times. She was

amazed at her reaction to him, at the excitement that filled her. He had taken the

prize from her hands last time, and he was no doubt determined to do the same

thing this time. She should be outraged rather than aroused.

“It’s important, Bailey,” he told her. “We need to talk, after the party.”

“After the party I’m going to be incredibly tired.” The song drew to a close as

she stepped back from his hold. “Maybe later. Leave your number with the

doorman, I’m sure he’ll make certain I get it.”

He didn’t let her go. Surprising her, he caught her arm, as he drew her from the

dance floor and to the wide double doors leading out of the ballroom.

She had a feeling he wouldn’t let this go so easily.

“I cannot leave my own party,” she protested with feigned lightness, her temper

beginning to burn.

“Just for a moment, Miss Serborne,” he promised as they passed the wide doors

and he headed unerringly to the back of the house.

Their progress was being noted. The tingling at the base of her spine was

building, assuring her that whoever had been watching her for most of the night

still had their eyes on her. She’d tried to pinpoint the sensation all evening and had

yet to assign it to one particular guest, though she had her suspicions.

Whoever it was, they were good, better than she would have expected,

considering the people she knew she was dealing with. Of course, they had been

skating by for years now, they would have grown adept at hiding, she assured

herself as John drew her straight to her own personal office.

The door had been locked earlier, but it wasn’t locked now. Her brows arched as

he opened it and drew her inside before closing and locking it.

“Thank you for making such a spectacle of me.” She rounded him furiously.

“You dragged me through my own party like a disobedient pet.”

“And you were growling at me every step of the way,” he glowered back at her.

“What part of We need to talk didn’t you want to understand?”

“The needing to talk part?” She opened her eyes wide in false amazement. “Did

you somehow manage to misunderstand me?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts as she lifted her brow in curiosity. “You

don’t take no for an answer at all well, do you, Mr. Vincent?”

His lips twitched in amusement. Now, didn’t it just make her day to know she

amused him in some small part?

“I must admit, I have problems with that word,” he finally replied. “Perhaps my

mother said it too often when I was a child.”

She gave a short little snort at that. She doubted any woman had ever told him

no.

“So what was so important that you felt the need to make a spectacle of me at

my own party?” she asked coldly. “I hope it’s a matter of life or death, because

really, there could be no other excuse for it.”

His brow lifted. The dark blond color against his sun-bronzed flesh was

incredibly alluring. He could have been a fallen angel, too ruggedly handsome for

words, and too charming for his own good.

“You play the part of the society princess very well,” he mused. “I wouldn’t

have expected it of you.”

She gave a little shrug of her bare shoulders. “You could say it’s in the blood,”

she retorted mockingly.

At least, that was what her mother had always assured her. That she had the

blood of American royalty running through her veins and she should always

remember it. There hadn’t been a single member of her mother’s or her father’s

families who hadn’t married well, who hadn’t married into true blood, if not blue

blood.

“It’s easy to forget when you’re trussed up, blindfolded, and gagged,” he

murmured with a wealth of amusement now. “The society princess gets pushed

behind by the gutter fighter then.” He rubbed at his jaw where she had managed to

head-butt him months before in Atlanta.

“Back any animal into a corner and it’s going to come out biting,” she promised

him. “Now, are you going to tell me what the hell you want or do I have to start

guessing? I really don’t have time to guess, John.”

His lips pursed thoughtfully. “You’re still pissed over Atlanta, aren’t you?”

“And why would I be pissed over Atlanta?” she asked him. “You just kidnapped

me and nearly drugged me. You were directly responsible for my release from the

agency and you refused to help me in any way while I was there. So what reason

would I have to be pissed?”

John nodded. “As I assumed, you really have no reason not to help me then.”

His grin was confident and way too arrogant.

“And you live in a dream world that I can only envy, big boy. Someone should

be kind and awaken you.”

His eyes narrowed warningly. “We have a situation, Bailey, a very delicate one.”

Now why didn’t that surprise her?

“Sucks to be you.” She wasn’t about to admit that she was blazingly curious

about his situation. No doubt, knowing him, the men he worked with, and Milburn

Rushmore, she could count on the fact that they wanted nothing more than to use

her. Forget working with her, or her working with them. It just didn’t happen that

way.

“You like pushing, don’t you?” he asked softly, dangerously.

“I like wasting my time as well,” she informed him haughtily. “Now why don’t

you get the hell out of my way and let me get back to my party? I was rather

enjoying it before you decided to intrude.”

She moved to grip the doorknob and slide the lock open when he shifted, turned

—and before she knew it she found herself with her back against the panel, his

large body pressing against hers, heating it further.

A sharp breath exhaled from Bailey’s lungs at the sensation of suddenly being

flush against him, almost surrounded by him. It had obviously been too long since

a man had touched her, too long since she had felt the warmth and hard thickness

of an erection pressing against her, because her senses were rioting with it.

Bailey felt her knees weakening, her heart racing, her breath coming hard and

fast.

God she wanted him. As though she knew him, as though suspicion were indeed

fact rather than wishful thinking. Maybe she just needed an excuse. Maybe her

brain just needed a reason to take what her body was demanding.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, her hands pressing against his chest as his head

lowered, his lips coming much too close to hers.

“Don’t kiss you?” His lips quirked with sexy humor and dangerous intent and

an oddly familiar playfulness. “Afraid you might change your mind, Bailey?”

“You like messing with my head,” she accused him. “If you think you can use

my body against me, John, then you’d better think again. It’s not going to happen.”

“Bet me.”

The hard growl that left his lips was the only warning she had before his lips

were covering hers and reality began to recede. Wicked, driving hunger rose to the

forefront of her senses, a starving need for touch that she couldn’t fight against, that

her body had no desire to reject.

Need and knowledge warred inside her mind now. The need for this kiss that she

couldn’t seem to get enough of, and the knowledge that he was going to do exactly

what she had sworn she wasn’t going to allow him to do. He was going to use her

body against her. He was going to make her hungrier, he was going to fill her

senses with him and sap the strength to fight from her.

She’d known in that warehouse a year ago that he was dangerous for her. She

had known that her best course of action for her sanity and her heart was to stay as

far away from him as possible.

She’d run as far as she could run and here he was, exactly where he shouldn’t be.

Her arms twined around his neck as his hand gripped her hips, then slowly slid

to her thighs while he pressed a knee between them. The hard muscle of his upper

leg rode against the mound of her pussy, stroking the swollen bud of her clit as she

fought for breath. Her hands speared into the overly long strands of dark blond hair,

and she held on for dear life as her hips writhed against his leg.

The friction against that most sensitive part of her body was overwhelming. Lust

clamored inside her brain; the need for release drove sharpened spikes of sensation

racing over her nerve endings straight to her sex.

Her tongue rubbed against his, fought for dominance in the kiss, and finally

conceded as he wrapped his fingers around the mound of a breast.

Bailey froze, her breath stilling in her throat as his thumb stroked over her

nipple. She could feel the rioting pleasure rising inside her. She wanted to tear the

material of her dress out of the way, she wanted bare flesh to meet bare flesh and

she wanted to ride the wave of arousal surging through her.

In the arms of a stranger.

God, she had lost her mind. She had lost what little control she still had of

herself, and finding it again seemed a lost cause.

He may be some super-secret agent. It could all be a game. He could be just what

his background assured her he was: a killer, a terrorist, a monster. And here she was

surrendering to him without a shred of certainty either way.

She was so desperate for the past that she was creating her own fantasy and she

knew just how dangerous that was.

“No.”

She tore herself from his arms, stumbling away from him as she covered her lips

with the back of her hand and stared back at him in horror.

He even kissed like Trent. Just like Trent. With the same voracious hunger, the

same lustful intent.

“Get out!” she panted desperately. “Get out of my home before I have you

thrown out.”

He looked as shell-shocked as she felt. Staring back at her, his gray eyes

thunderous, his lips swollen from her kiss, he looked as though the pleasure had

punched him just as hard as it had her.

“This isn’t over,” he warned her. “We will talk, Bailey.”

“When hell freezes over,” she snapped, furious with herself as well as him.

His lips thinned. “Invest in plenty of heat then,” he warned her. “Because it’s

coming. And it’s coming fast, baby.”

He jerked the door open and stalked out. Every line of his body was tense and

hard, furious lust practically sizzling off his body as he stalked down the hall and

back to the front of the house.

Bailey followed behind him, her heels snapping against the marble floor as she

silently cursed him, as well as herself.

She’d be damned if she was going to allow him to manipulate her or to destroy

what she was working on here. She knew his kind and she knew him. He would take

over, he would insist on dominance, and she had no intentions of allowing anyone

to dominate her at this point.

He was too much like Trent. She had loved Trent, ached for him after his death,

but she had always known that eventually they would clash. She could have

handled it with Trent, but not with this man. She had loved Trent, she didnt love

John Vincent.

Stepping into the foyer, she watched as he stalked past the doors the doormen

pulled open for him. One hand pressed to her stomach, the other hanging at her

side, she fought to find her equilibrium once again.

Breathing in deeply, Bailey licked her lips, then looked around, only to find her

gaze caught and held by Raymond Greer’s. Her head lifted as her lips tightened.

Just what she needed, for the bastard to see a weakness in her.

He was watching her like a beady-eyed cobra waiting to strike. Calculating,

manipulating. That pretty much described Raymond to a T.

She nodded toward him sharply before moving quickly back to the ballroom

and the party she had organized so painstakingly. She was on a deadline. She

didn’t have time to be drawn into John Vincent’s games. She didn’t have time to

allow her heart to be broken again. She had a past to put to rest, and trying to

resurrect her lover in another man wasn’t part of the plan.