Читать книгу Courting Disaster - Kathleen O'Reilly, Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 9

The late-afternoon sun provided a fitting setting for the couple, poking gilded holes through the clouds sending yellow sunbeams playing on the lawn, until it finally settled down low over the horizon. After that, the air turned a little cooler, and people filtered inside the house, where there was plenty of room. The wedding rehearsal was all through, nothing left to be done but have a good time.

A lively band played in the corner, and bubbles frothed from a silver champagne fountain in the center of the room. However, Elizabeth was too nervy to dance or drink. She had thought she had managed to escape the spider’s web, but exactly when she felt most safe, she bumped into a long, hard thigh, and the temperature notched up three hundred degrees. She didn’t even have to turn around. She knew. She hadn’t planned on giving Mr. Demetri Lucas the satisfaction, but then he laughed at her, deep, with a huskiness that was best described as criminally sexy.

Curious as a cat bent on suicide, she turned, not quite managing to stop the moonstruck sigh.

Dang.

“Imagine that,” he said. “Crashing into me again? It’s becoming a habit. Or fate?”

Elizabeth cocked her head, staring up at him, locking her knees so she wouldn’t embarrass herself and swoon. This was silly. He was a man. A mere man. She frowned, at the moment not caring what her stylist said about premature wrinkles. If ever there was a time for forbidding frowns, this was it.

When he grinned at her like that, a momentary flash of teeth, she felt something stop inside her, and she hoped it wasn’t her heart. That would be bad.

For the devil, he sure had a nice mouth. A nice, firm mouth. A kissing mouth, she thought, and then quickly tamped the image back down. None of that, Elizabeth.

If only he wouldn’t look at her, the dark eyes trapping her, hot waves of want spiraling inside her. She’d had men look at her with desire before, but this felt personal. Way too personal. She could feel that look in places that he had no business affecting.

Elizabeth summoned up the forbidding frown once again. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I see someone I need to talk to,” she muttered, completely lacking in manners. She didn’t think he’d mind.

“But not me?” he asked, obviously minding.

She stopped and gave in to temptation, looking her fill, as she’d been wanting to do all night. Not surprisingly, that only made things worse.

Truth be told, this was the most dangerous-looking man she’d ever met in her entire life. The boldness in his dark gaze, the wicked twinkle that said, “what the hell,” better than words ever could. That same devilish twinkle fired her blood, and the phrase “what the hell” tumbled from her own mind, too.

There was danger in him, and she knew it. He was fairly humming with it, like a live wire destined to burn the living daylights out of anyone that dared to touch. But oh, she wanted to touch. Her body ached with that want. Words that she’d never even known were suddenly haunting her lips. Pictures she’d never dreamed of before flashed behind her eyes, tempting her with sins that she’d never ached to commit. It would be easier if she couldn’t see those same pictures of those very same sins reflected in the warm russet depths of his eyes.

Sweet mercy, those were fascinating eyes.

It took her a second to breathe again. “No. Definitely not you,” she answered, trying to put as much certainty as possible in her voice, but it didn’t sound certain enough.

“What a shame,” he said, still watching her with that bold gaze, and something inside her started to melt. Slowly, treacherously…and stupidly.

“Isn’t it, just?” she answered, and without another word— which was a true testament to her fears—she ran.

After that, Demetri had actually planned on leaving her alone. He sat through endless toasts, and didn’t even glance in her direction. It wasn’t easy because one heated look from her had shot straight to his groin, and made him ache ever since. However, trying to be on his best behavior, he had counted and recounted the hundred and one reasons he should stay away. First and foremost, Hugh was his friend. A man he owed a tremendous debt. A man he was here to help—not hurt by tangling with a lamb. He normally didn’t mix with “lambs”; they were too complicated, and Demetri didn’t have time for complicated. His life was too fast, the racing circuit too demanding a mistress.

And then there was that dreamy light in those bright blue eyes that scared the hell out of him.

Everything was going along well, until after dinner, and he saw her dancing with Oliver—the junior driver formerly known as his friend.

Demetri couldn’t help himself.

She’d changed from the virginal white dress she’d worn earlier, and this new one killed off brain cells left and right. It was green, a short jade green silk that was cut low in the front and back, flowing around her hips like water. It was a dress meant to be pulled off inch by luscious inch, and his fingers flexed, greedy and more than up to the task.

As they danced around the floor, Demetri could see she was light on her feet, the green fabric catching the candlelight and reflecting its glow. He tried to tell himself that of course she could dance well, every move was probably professionally choreographed. Somehow it didn’t help. All he wanted to do was touch her, and see if she was real, or some vision that had stepped out of his boyhood fantasies. And that was the biggest part of the problem. She wasn’t some X-rated goddess that a man tumbled into bed with one night and then forgot the next.

Elizabeth Innis was Hugh Preston’s niece.

But even with all the alarms flashing inside him, he couldn’t help it. She was irresistible.

Once more, damning the fates, Demetri tapped on Oliver’s shoulder. “You don’t mind if I cut in,” asked Demetri, more of an order than a request. Seniority had its privileges after all.

His teammate released Elizabeth—reluctantly. Suck it up, Oliver. “Not at all,” Oliver answered.

“Excuse me. Did anybody here think that I might mind?”

Demetri took Elizabeth in his arms, and swept her up in the lilting strains of the “Tennessee Waltz.” “No,” he said, getting used to the way her eyes lit up when she was mad. “One dance for running into my car. It’s the least you can do.”

“I absolve myself of all responsibility, because your sort of driving— Well, it’s a train wreck waiting to happen.”

When she talked, it was like warm honey, and he could all too easily imagine what that voice would sound like, whispering in bed. His arms tightened around her, his fingers sliding over the smooth skin of her shoulder, just once, just to know.

“I told myself I was going to stay away,” he admitted, willing himself to remember how to dance. “Hugh told me to stay away.”

“Are you waiting for me to tell you to stay away, too?” she asked, never missing a step.

“Would you?”

She paused. One second. One momentary hesitation, before answering, “Of course.” However, she didn’t pull away, and they danced together, Demetri expertly leading her around the other dancers. One hand memorized the curve of her hip, the warm clasp of her fingers in his other hand fitting as if it were custom-made. Something was making him dizzy, the tempo of the music, the snap of her eyes, the full pout to her lips, he wasn’t sure what. In the blur of that moment, the hundred and one reasons to stay away from her—reasons that he had carefully recited to himself all evening—faded into nothing. There was no way in hell he was walking away. Not tonight.

When the song came to a close, the crowds drifted one way, and Demetri lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Then he guided her through the tall glass doors that led out to the sanctity of the veranda, his hand pressed firmly against the soft skin of her back, shamefully taking advantage of another chance to touch her.

Outside, the moonlight flickered through the trees, bathing the veranda in a soft glow. Demetri handed her a glass, then clinked it once, toasting to absolutely nothing.

“What are you afraid of?” he said, as if he didn’t know. The dreamy eyes narrowed to sapphire slits of death. He didn’t even mind.

“You don’t have one single move that hasn’t been tried before. Don’t think I can’t take care of myself.”

But he could do such a better job, Demetri thought to himself, studying the full upper lip, and the tiny depression there that was made to be savored. “You’re Hugh’s niece?”

“Great-niece, but not by blood. My aunt Jenna married into the Preston family, but he doesn’t mind when I call him uncle, and I protect him just like he was my own,” she answered, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. There was suspicion and disdain, but there was a flicker of other things in those eyes, too. Things that gave a man hope.

“I’ve been trying to help them,” he told her, hoping to erase some of the suspicion. “Just like you.”

“But they turned you down. Smart of them,” she answered, suspicion still the emotion du jour.

“Do you always make up your mind so fast?” he asked, as if he didn’t live and die by snap judgments as a race-car driver.

“Not normally, no, but your track record isn’t so stellar, Mr. Lucas.”

“You know?”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging carelessly.

“Why didn’t Thomas and Hugh accept your offer?” he asked, needing to talk about her, not his past indiscretions. His past wasn’t interesting. She, on the other hand, was fascinating.

“They don’t want my help,” she answered quietly, the perpetually smiling mouth pulled into a frown. Demetri wanted the smile back in place.

“Ah…”

“And you don’t need to be ahhing here, like you understand everything, because you don’t.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he invited, because he wanted to understand everything about her.

She studied him for a minute, and he must have passed some test, because she shook her head, resigned. “Do you really want to know why I’m mad?”

“I’m dying to know.”

Then she started to pace around the space, high heels clicking on the stones, green skirts twirling, exposing a long length of leg. His attention was torn between watching the sway of her hips and the restless way she circled the champagne flute in the air. “I have tried every which way to get my family to take money, ever since I heard about the problems with Leopold’s Legacy, but nobody will listen. A few years back I had…some financial issues, and the Prestons wanted to help. I told them all no, that I didn’t need it. I could take care of myself. I wasn’t some poor cousin looking for charity handouts. And now, well, who knew that they’d listen to my own words so well. I have money, but oh, no, I’m not in the horsey business, I’m in the ‘music’ business. Elizabeth, she’s just a simple little thing.” She downed her glass in one gulp, and he handed her his.

“They turned me down, too. That should make you feel better.” She polished off his glass, too. “And that’s the only reason I’m still dancing with you, Mr. Lucas.”

“Technically, we’re not still dancing.”

“Don’t get all particular on me. I get enough of that when I’m working, thank you very much.” She lifted herself up on the edge of one of the wooden railings, crossing one delectable leg over the other, exposing more thigh than he thought she realized. Wisely he didn’t say a word.

“Sorry,” he answered, trying to keep his gaze firmly fixed on her face.

“Apology accepted,” she said, her mind still firmly fixed on helping her family.

“Do you know your way around Louisville?” he asked, his mind firmly fixed on other things.

“Some.”

“Enough to show me around?”

She shook her head once. “I bet there’re a lot of women that would be interested in showing you around, Mr. Lucas. Fast women who aren’t a thing like me. I’m not your type.”

He crossed his arms across his chest, sensing a depressing change in the infamous Lucas luck with women. “Why does everyone keep telling me I have a type?”

“If the shoe fits….” she answered, one heel bobbing up and down.

“I’m trying to reform,” he said. It was not quite the truth, but if he thought it’d earn him a dinner, drinks and long hours in her bed, he’d be willing to try.

“Ha!” Her arms crossed her chest, plumping her breasts nicely.

“Don’t be so skeptical,” he answered, his eyes glued to her face as if his life depended on it. Currently he thought it might.

She watched him, noticed that his gaze kept dipping down. “Sorry. Skeptical is my nature.”

Reluctantly, he looked up from her cleavage. “No, that’s not even close to your nature. You don’t have a skeptical bone in that luscious body—excuse me, that slipped out, but it’s true. The nonskeptical part. Actually, the luscious part is, too.” Demetri stopped. “Sorry.”

She started to smile. “That’s all right. I liked you better, then.”

Humility seemed to work with her. He would remember that. “Why can’t I take you to dinner?”

“I don’t think that’d be wise.”

“Why not?” he answered, although he knew there were one hundred and one reasons that it wouldn’t be wise. That wouldn’t stop him from trying.

“Trust me,” she replied, and he knew people did. Contrary to trusting him, people would trust her with their life.

“You crash into my life, and one dance is all I’m going to get?” he asked, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.

She nodded.

From the distance, he could hear the sounds of music once again, but he didn’t want to go back to the crowd. He could stay here forever. Alone with her, listening to the soft music of her voice, drowning in the teasing light of her eyes. Forever wasn’t normally a word in Demetri’s vocabulary. He drove fast cars for a reason. When the world went by in a blur, you never knew what you missed, and Demetri had a feeling that he missed a lot. Yet sitting here, doing nothing more than talking with this woman, made him want to slow down.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive with only one dance,” he told her, the words harmless enough, but deep down, he wondered if it was the truth. He’d never felt this before. This obsessive need to do nothing more than sit in her presence and breathe.

“You certainly turn a lady’s head.”

“But not yours?”

The teasing light in her eyes dimmed. “Not enough,” she said. There was some imaginary line in the room, some piece of rope between them, and she was determined not to cross it.

“What if I made you a deal?” he asked softly.

“I don’t make deals with the devil,” she said, obviously seeing temptation for what it was.

“There you go again with the name-calling.”

“If the shoe fits…”

He glared, and she had the grace to look ashamed—a little. “Tell me what you’re proposing, and it had better be aboveboard.”

He wanted her across the line, and there was an easy way to get what he wanted, and he wasn’t above using it. “You want to help your family?”

She angled her head, watching him carefully. “Yes.”

“So do I. We should team up.”

“I already have some ideas of my own,” she said haughtily. “What sort of ideas?” he asked, because his mind was brimming with ideas. Glorious, detailed, mostly pornographic ideas.

“Not those sorts of ideas,” she answered, her eyes knowing.

Demetri willed his mind back to the issue at hand. “Pity. I want to hear more about your ideas. I’m staying in town for the race. You should come.”

“I don’t do car races, Mr. Lucas,” she told him, as if they were the lowest form of entertainment on the planet.

“Could you please call me Demetri?’

“Since you begged so nicely,” she teased, and she had no idea how much he’d be willing to beg for her.

“Demetri,” he added. “Demetri,” she complied, and he planned on hearing his name on her lips again. And again.

He smiled to himself. “So you’ll come?”

“I didn’t say that,” she answered, and his smile faded.

“You could sing. At the start of the race. Oliver says your voice is lovely. I’d love to hear you sing.”

“I’ll give you a CD. Truly, the quality is amazing. Can’t tell the difference.”

He took a chance, taking one step toward her. “You’re going to make this difficult,” he said, noticing that she didn’t run. Progress.

“No, Mr. Lucas. You’re making it difficult. I know what men like you are about, and I’m not going there, so you might as well give up.”

“I don’t give up, Elizabeth. Sorry.”

“You’re destined for bitter defeat.”

“I’m a race-car driver. I live for defeat.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Because you’re a lot smarter than you let people think.”

“Maybe.”

He took her palm in his, twining their fingers together. She had long, elegant fingers with perfectly polished nails. He could picture those fingers trailing down his chest, the polished nails digging into his back…. Demetri shook his head. “You’ll have dinner with me?” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.

“No,” she answered, obviously sensing the more explicit train of his thoughts.

“You’ll let me help you help your family?”

She looked down at their hands, staring for a moment. Eventually she looked back up at him. “Maybe.”

“You’ll sing at the race next weekend?”

“Don’t you think you need to check with somebody before you ask?”

“I can pull some strings.”

Regretfully she removed her hand from his, and for a second his fingers flexed, still feeling her warmth before it finally disappeared. “Yeah. And I bet she’s female and you just flutter those thick lashes of yours at her, and she doesn’t dare tell you no.”

Demetri looked at her, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone notice my lashes before.”

“It’s a weakness of mine. Don’t read too much into it.”

Immediately Demetri’s imagination shifted to high gear. “Are there any other weaknesses I should know about it?”

“None,” she answered promptly, hiding all sorts of delightful secrets.

“I guess I’ll have to discover them on my own,” he murmured, already dwelling on the infinite possibilities.

“Over my dead body.”

“Body, yes. Dead, no.”

“Is your mind always this immoral?” she asked, exposing a charming dimple in her left cheek.

“Not normally this immoral. Usually some other thoughts manage to crowd in there, but since the first moment I saw you, no, that’s pretty much it.”

Her lips curved up in an irrepressible smile. “You’re going to be honest about it?”

Demetri shrugged without remorse. “If I lied, you’d see through it, so why try?”

That kept her silent—for a minute. “Assuming my agent says okay, I’ll sing at the race,” she said at last.

“Was it all those immoral thoughts?” he asked, teasing, but still dying to know.

“No, it was the eyelashes,” she answered, dashing his more immoral expectations.

“There’s the qualifying lap next Friday. You should come and watch.”

“No, I don’t think I should.”

“We can talk afterward. I’ve got some ideas of my own.”

“I bet you do,” she answered.

“About the Prestons,” he said, wounded that she would think so low of him. Yes, it was true, but he still was wounded that she thought it.

“I bet.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me kiss you?”

“Not tonight,” she said primly, but he liked the sparkles in her bright eyes, sparkles that reflected the moonlight, the candlelight and the better part of a man’s dreams. No wonder the advertisers loved her. Driving a man wild with anticipation.

“Hope is a marvelous thing, Elizabeth.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she told him. “I think it’s time to return to the real world.”

“I won’t see you at the wedding tomorrow.”

“You don’t do weddings? Now there’s a surprise.”

“I have practice. Racing stuff.”

She gave him a long look, and he knew he didn’t measure up to her standards. He knew he never would, but Demetri had been chasing his tail for longer than most. She turned and left.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” he whispered after her. When all was said and done, Hugh Preston was going to hate him. But Demetri had always walked into the fire, no matter the price.

It was who he was. It was who he always would be.