Читать книгу The Rogue's Fortune - Cat Schield - Страница 10

Three

A brisk November wind snatched at Elizabeth’s breath as she exited the town car and stared up at the Fifth Avenue apartment building. She shivered in her wool coat. Nine hours ago she’d agreed to Roark’s mad scheme, proving once again that whenever she was in the presence of a bad boy, she and common sense took divergent paths.

Roark lifted her hand and brushed warm lips across her chilly fingers. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

Several times. “Are you sure everyone is going to believe we’re a couple?”

“They will if we seem smitten with each other.”

“Smitten.” The old-fashioned word struck her as odd coming from someone as masculine as Roark.

“Can you do smitten?”

Given the way her pulse fluttered in giddy delight every time he flashed his wolfish grin, she was pretty sure all she had to do was let nature take its course. “I guess.”

“Just follow my lead.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led the way into the building.

The urge to gape at the building’s opulent entry almost overpowered her nervousness about the dinner party. It wouldn’t do for her to act like some rustic just off the farm. She’d been in New York City since graduating from high school and had planned parties for many wealthy people. But she was about to step up to the big time. Any false move and she would have wasted her chance.

“How exactly are we going to break up?”

Roark shot her a wry glance. “We just started going out and you’re already thinking about how things are going to end?”

“A girl has to be practical.” So she claimed. Too bad she’d never been able to behave sensibly when it came to her love life.

“Why don’t you forget about being practical for a while?”

“Tempting.” She offered him a counterfeit smile. “But unrealistic. This is a business deal, remember?”

“I doubt I could forget with you reminding me every ten minutes,” he mused. They’d stopped before a door. “Can we discuss the demise of our relationship on the way home?”

“Of course.”

A woman in her early forties, wearing a maid’s uniform, opened the door for them. Elizabeth stepped through and slipped out of her best winter coat. Because Roark was using her to tone down his reputation as a ladies’ man, she wore a conservative wrap dress the color of claret.

With her hair’s natural wave flattened by a straight iron and her grandmother’s simple garnet drops dangling from her ears, Elizabeth knew she presented a classic, elegant picture.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Roark murmured as he placed his hand in the small of her back and escorted her toward the living room where the rest of the guests had gathered.

Their engagement might be a sham, but there was nothing phony about Roark’s flattering words or his affectionate tone. The chemistry between them was real. She felt the tug of it every time he took her hand or caressed her with his gaze.

Man, oh man, she was in trouble.

“Good evening, Roark. And this must be the woman who captured your heart. I can understand why. I’m George Cromwell.”

Elizabeth recognized the man from the wine auction, but doubted he’d remember her. She worked hard to be a ghost at the events she planned. Always around, but invisible to the guests.

“Elizabeth Minerva,” she said. “You have a lovely home.”

“My wife has exceptional taste. She picked me after all.” He laughed at his own joke. “Let me introduce you.”

By the time dinner was announced, Elizabeth had become way too conscious of her tall, handsome companion. He wouldn’t stop touching her. Simple brushes of his fingertips at her waist, his palm against the small of her back, his lips across her temple. Grazing contact that demonstrated his adoration for the benefit of all onlookers. If it had been any other man, Elizabeth would have endured it without a blip in her heart rate.

But Roark Black wasn’t any other man. He was dangerous, charismatic and intelligent. A lethal combination where her common sense was concerned.

“I just love the way you two can’t keep your eyes off each other,” murmured Elizabeth’s dinner companion. An elegant woman in her mid-fifties, she was on the board of several charities and had promised to call Elizabeth about upcoming events. “Roark is such a favorite of mine. I’m glad he found someone who makes him happy.”

Elizabeth smiled to hide her dismay. It was way too easy to act like a woman in love with Roark. Before tonight she’d believed him to be nothing more than a bad boy who charmed women and left a trail of loneliness behind him. But she’d watched him impress everyone with his wit and wry humor and realized there was more to Roark than what the papers printed. Had she taken on more than she could handle?

* * *

“That went well,” Roark commented as he handed her into the back of his black town car. “I think we managed to convince everyone that you’ve tamed me.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re mad if you think anyone believes you tamed.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Upon entering the car, he’d let his head fall back against the rich leather. Now, he glanced her way, his eyes sparkling. “But they all can see that I’ve been leashed by the power of my feelings for you.”

Despite the fact that his words were completely untrue, Elizabeth couldn’t stop the thrill they awakened. Her proclivity for bad boys had its roots in the fantasy that one day she’d meet one she could tame. It was a frustrating dilemma because she wasn’t at all attracted to the good guys. They were boring. So what happened if she tamed a bad boy? Would she grow bored?

Elizabeth knew she’d never find out.

“Now can we discuss what happens when those feelings end?”

“You’re like a terrier with a rat, aren’t you? Pursuing the thing past the point of exhaustion.”

She regarded him, unaffected by his mockery. “Something like that.”

“Do you want me to be the villain?”

She wasn’t completely sure if he was the hero, but he’d been placed in the role of bad guy far too often.

“Since the engagement is supposed to repair your reputation,” she said, “that would be counterproductive. Can’t we mutually decide it’s not going to work?”

“I really think it would be better if you broke my heart.” Roark took her hand and placed it on his chest.

Her emotions tumbled as his heart thumped hypnotically against her palm. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to ever hurt you.”

The tone of the conversation had gone from flirtatious to serious so fast it took her brain a second to catch up.

“That’s chivalrous of you.” She tugged to free her hand, but not hard enough to break his grip.

His fingertips trailed along her cheek, setting her skin ablaze. “I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she assured him, pulling his hand from her face. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

* * *

Roark stood in the middle of his living room and marveled. Chased out at eight that morning by the phalanx of workers that had descended on the loft, he’d stayed away until he could no longer bear the curiosity.

In seven hours, Elizabeth had transformed the monochromatic, sterile space into a Moroccan dream. Using the room’s height, she’d fashioned a tent of sorts. Gold-shot, jewel-bright fabric, attached to the ceiling and walls, masked the room’s industrial feel. She’d removed his white couches and replaced them with chaise lounges. A hundred pillows, all different sizes and colors, covered the plush oriental rugs. Three large punched-metal lamps hung down the center of the room, spilling soft light over the décor.

At the center of all the decadent color and texture stood Elizabeth, classically elegant in a simple navy pantsuit, her hair smoothed into her signature French roll, as she directed last-minute touches of lavish flower arrangements and bowls of apples, dragon fruit, mangos and star fruit.

The urge to ease her down onto a spill of floor pillows and mess up her perfection overtook him. In fact, he took three steps in her direction before he awoke to the realization that they were not alone in his loft. His intention must have been written all over his face because a slim brunette in her mid-thirties stared at him with wide eyes.

“Hello,” he said, reeling in his lust. “I’m Roark Black.”

“S-Sara Martin. I’m helping Elizabeth with your event.”

At the sound of her name, Elizabeth turned and noticed him for the first time. Her serene satisfaction, so dissimilar to the chaotic emotions thundering through his body, increased his craving for her.

“What do you think?” Elizabeth questioned, obviously pleased by the results she’d achieved. “Hard to believe it’s a loft in Soho, isn’t it?”

The longing to feel a smidgeon of her delight caught him off guard. That whole stop-and-smell-the-roses thing had never been on his agenda. He’d jumped from one adventure to another without pause, almost as if he was running from something. What? Boredom? Loneliness?

What had he gained from his travels except for questions about his character and a bunch of trinkets?

“You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“I hope your friends think so.” The tiniest flicker of uncertainty clouded her deep blue eyes.

“They will love it.” And her. Conscious of their audience, he stepped into her space and felt her muscles tense. “Relax,” he murmured. “Everyone is going to know about us after tonight.”

“I know.” She lifted her chin and gave him a wobbly smile.

Her soft rosy lips practically demanded his attention, but he kissed her cheek instead, lingering over her fragrant skin, listening to the uneven cadence of her breath. He disturbed her. Good. That was only fair since she made him mad with wanting. He couldn’t wait to set her on fire and lose himself in the moist welcome of her body. With effort Roark mastered the urgent craving to sweep her into his arms and mark her as his.

Time enough for that later.

“Can you take a break?”

She nodded. “The caterers should be here any minute, but Sara can supervise their setup.”

“Wonderful. Let’s go talk in my study. I have something for you.”

He guided her into his favorite room in the loft, a cluttered space lined with overflowing bookshelves. It was here that he spent most of his time, surrounded by the ancient texts that helped him unlock secrets to treasures hidden for centuries.

Plucking a black box off a pile of photographs, he opened it to reveal her engagement ring. Her shocked silence lasted until he slid the three-carat diamond onto her finger.

“I’ve never worn anything so expensive.”

“It suits you.”

Her slender fingers appeared even more delicate weighted down with the thick band of diamonds. Roark rotated her hand and watched fire dance in the gems, enjoying the slight tremble of her fingers.

“It’ll take some getting used to.”

“The ring or me?”

Her lips quirked in a wry smile. “Both.”

Before either of them saw it coming, he brushed his lips against hers, capturing her amusement for himself. His heart hammered against his ribs at her sharp oh of surprise. The texture of her lips fascinated him. He explored the plump contours with the same focus he might use when evaluating a precious artifact. This woman deserved to be treated with all the reverence he reserved for the things he pursued with such single-minded determination.

“Roark.”

His name, whispered out of her, sparked his impatience. As lust sliced away at his control, he spread his fingers against the small of her back and drew her tight against his aching body. “Say it again.”

She pulled back at his command, her torso arching. Passion-drenched and dreamy, her eyes met his. “What?”

“My name.” He kissed her nose. “Just put a little more heat behind it.” It was a dangerous request. His passion might be simmering now, but it wouldn’t take much to push it into a roiling boil.

“Is this how you plan to be tonight?”

“And every night hereafter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Roark.” More a warning than a caress.

He hummed and shook his head. “No one’s going to believe you’re madly in love with me if you use that tone. Try again.”

“Roark.” Exasperated.

“They’ll believe we’re together if you sound impatient. But I had something more like this in mind.” He cupped her face, snared her gaze and held her immobile with his steely will. “Elizabeth.”

To his amusement, her eyes widened and her mouth popped open. He rarely spent time with women that couldn’t handle his brand of seduction. Sophisticated women knew the score. Understood that he might be in it for the short-term, but that he would make it worth their while.

Elizabeth possessed an innocence that both captivated and concerned him. She hadn’t signed up to be seduced. And it was all he could think about doing.

“Do women fall for that?”

Her question shattered the sensual mood.

He frowned. “What do you mean do women fall for that?”

“The sexy voice. The take-off-your-clothes look.”

No one had ever called him on it before. “I’ve never had any complaints.” He cocked his head and regarded her. “Why aren’t you falling for it?”

Her lashes lowered, concealing the secrets in her eyes. “Because I’m wise to your type.”

“My type?” Unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, he prompted, “What type is that?”