Dance with the Devil (4 page)

He bracketed her face, then ran his fingers through her hair to muss it up. She stood still beneath his hands, her eyes hard, her soft mouth grim. When they'd done this before it had been part of the fun of the game. Now it was purely business.

“Not even a spark?” Jack asked, keeping his hands on either side of her face.

“Not a glimmer.”

“Liar.”

She snorted. “I'm not the one carrying a rifle in my pocket.”

He grinned. “Wanna see if it's loaded?”

She kept her expression impassive and shrugged. “Open the door and let's wrap this up.”

He opened the door. The noise of the party washed over them, an assault to his senses after being alone in the library with her. They weren't going to be able to emerge from the library and immediately go upstairs. People probably assumed they'd just had wild monkey sex on good old Johannes's desk.

“Dance?” Jack suggested when they reached the reception room.

It would get them across the large space and closer to the stairs. But Mia didn't want to be held by him. Not again. She might be able to fool herself a while longer, but she'd never be able to convince Jack that she wasn't turned on and raring to go—not if he was holding her close on a dance floor.

Mia didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be anywhere near Jack Ryan. He was temptation in a suit. The devil incarnate. The serpent with the apple.

Just call me Eve,
she thought, stepping into his arms.

J
ACK FOLDED HER
into his arms. Her hair smelled of orange blossoms and nostalgic summer nights. The crowded dance floor worked to his advantage.

He smiled secretly, knowing she wasn't going anywhere. He felt the press of her slender body and the brush of her long legs against his, sanctioned by their status as a hot couple.

She used her elbow, strategically pressed to his midriff, to put a few millimeters of space between them. Their faces were close enough for him to count individual eyelashes. Close enough for him to feel the soft caress of her breath against his throat. His eyes tracked from the small wedge of a frown between her brows to the soft curve of her bare mouth. He'd nibbled off her lipstick and, atypically, she'd forgotten to reapply it.

Tuned into every sensuous move of her body, he tucked her much smaller hand into his and held it between them where he could feel the brush of her breasts against the back of his hand and she could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“God, this feels great,” he said easily. He'd danced with her before, countless times. Both in public and in private. The memory of dancing naked with Mia in his arms forced him to bite back a groan.

“Maybe you should cozy up to the notion that I'm not interested,” she said with asperity. “It should give the expression ‘talk to the hand' new meaning for you.”

“Christ, Mia, when did you become so tough?”

She tossed her hair back and smiled up at him, keeping up the pretense of cozy lovebirds even while her tone sharpened to a sword's edge. “Gee, let me think. Could it've been when you refused to make any kind of commitment?”

“I told you—”

“And I told you I didn't care. Don't waste any more of my time rehashing the past Jack. Those days are long gone. I'm here under false pretenses, so don't make it harder than it has to be.”

The live band and sensuous music beckoned everyone onto the dance floor, crowding them even closer together. Her thigh brushed his as he turned her out of the way of an exuberant couple. His hand dipped into her cleavage and she shot him a fulminating glance.

Shafts of desire shot through him causing pleasure, causing pain. How the hell had they gone so horribly wrong?

She'd loved who she'd
believed
he was. Enough said. If he'd told her the truth, he'd have been a different Jack Ryan in her eyes altogether. He hadn't been willing to take the chance. By the time Jack had known it was time to tell her the truth, it had been too late. Each day had found him falling a little more in love with her, and each day had made the lie harder to admit.

Hell, he'd been too scared to take the risk of losing her.

Yet he'd lost her in the end anyway.

While he'd been trying to figure out a way to tell her the truth, while maintaining their relationship,
she'd
read it as a refusal to make a commitment. While Jack had used his nonverbal skills to hold her, Mia had read those messages all wrong.

The truth hadn't hit him until months after she'd told him to go to hell. Mia Rossi hadn't
cared
about his money, his status or his acquisitions. By the time
that
penny had dropped she'd refused to talk to him. Tonight was his shot at making restitution.

And right now Mia's verbal thrashing wasn't making it easy to keep up the cover of being adoring lovers. And she was being just as uncooperative physically. It wasn't possible for Mia to pull her body any farther away, so she'd gathered herself inside her own skin. Her eyes telegraphed her displeasure while her nipples were hard and peaked against the back of his hand. She was a neon flash of mixed signals. If he was reading her correctly, her brain was resisting, but her body was reacting to his touch as if it was as natural to her as breathing. He hoped the desire he sensed could obliterate her brain's convictions.

He wanted to cup the familiar weight of her breasts in his hands, to feel her bare skin against his fingertips. He wanted to taste her again. Wanted the remembered heat of burying himself deep inside her—

She tugged at their joined hands, drawing his away from where it had been happily nestled against the sweet curve of her breasts. “Spoilsport.”

“Opportunist.” She smiled, all teeth. “How long do we have to do this?”

“Almost there.” He easily replaced their joined hands where his would be happiest and steered her expertly through the throng. They moved well together, in bed and out. Dangerously well.

The slip-slide of silk over Mia's smooth skin made him ache. He was definitely aroused by her familiar fragrance, the feel of her in his arms. Jack felt sweat in the small of his back from the effort not to grab her into his arms and kiss her with all the feelings he'd been suppressing for the past eight months.

He danced her across the crowded ballroom with the ease and nonchalant grace of Fred Astaire. Mia's jaw ached. Other places ached as well, but she willed herself to ignore all her body parts from the chin down.

He was using the back of his hand and wrist to devastating effect, and the devious devil knew it. His eyes sparkled with the knowledge and with the flash of fire she remembered so well. Just feeling his touch burning into her skin was enough to make her knees weak and her brain forget all about the need for self-preservation. Mia felt like a ripe peach about to burst from her skin. Through the fine Egyptian cotton of his shirt she felt his hot skin beneath her palm. His heart beat a steady, heavy pulse in his broad chest as he manipulated them across the dance floor with sublime confidence and ease.

She had no problem maintaining the rhythm of the dance. Nope. Her failure was in maintaining her hard-won conviction that Jack was part of her past. It seemed cruel that the acceptance that had taken months of tears and tirades to achieve was draining from her as if there was a leak in her spine. She needed to be strong. She needed to be levelheaded and realistic.

Jack could not give her what she wanted. That was the simple truth. It didn't matter how badly she wanted it. Her leopard was never going to change his spots.

So much for her conviction that she was over him! Perhaps a few more decades might make that a reality.

He kept her hand captured between then as he negotiated the other couples dancing around them. Jack was an excellent dancer. As good on the dance floor as he'd been in the bedroom—Damn. Mia closed her eyes to block out her view of his strong jaw and mouth made for sin. But the slide of their bodies, the memory of other dances, other close encounters when their naked skin had been pressed together made her eyes pop open again. Lord, it was hot in here. Hot and close and dangerous as hell.

She wanted to be home with her cat, her three dead houseplants and a large apple-tini, in the worst way.

Honestly, she wanted Jack Ryan all to herself. She wanted cool sheets in a dimly lit room. She wanted to rub herself over his body like a purring cat—

Mia shut off the carnal thoughts as they approached the foot of the stairs leading to the private rooms above.

The last time they'd been here, they'd found a secluded and dark balcony overlooking the grounds. And while a party had gone on two stories beneath them, she and Jack had discovered a whole new use for balcony railings.

“Last time we were here it was summer.” He released her with one arm, but kept her tethered to him with the other. “Remember?”

“No.”

“Liar.” He glanced around casually, and Mia knew he, like herself, was marking everyone's location in the room, possible exits, security personnel and camera locations.

She faked a furtive glance around, then grabbed his hand and started up the stairs. Just pretending to be unbearably hot for Jack made her hot. Actually, hotter was more accurate. If someone shoved a thermometer in her mouth right now, she'd blow the end off. Trying to suppress it was useless. The best she could do was make sure
Jack
wasn't aware of how she felt.

At the top of the stairs, she dropped his hand like a hot potato and preceded him into the west bedroom wing. Her pace was almost as fast as her erratic heart. She didn't care; she was hoping to walk off some of her need for Jack.

How could she focus when, with every step, her aching center pulsed with new need, reminding her that release was only an arm's reach away?
No,
she thought.
Be strong. Be brave. Don't give into the dark side.

Luck was with them and they didn't pass anyone else on the upstairs landing. They slipped into the master suite and closed the door.

“Safe's probably in her closet.” Mia strode toward one of the half-closed doors on the far side of the spacious bedroom, Jack right behind her.

“Bathroom. Wrong door.” Mia opened the next louvered mahogany door. “Jackpot. Oh, man,” she said reverently, “look at her shoes.”

“Hard to pack a pair of those under that dress.”

“I can afford my own shoes,” she told him mildly, listening to her own tone to be sure she didn't sound defensive. Forget the spoon. Jack had been born with a silver serving tray in his mouth. All that nonsense he'd been sprouting to gain her sympathy was garbage. No, Jack came from a wealthy family. And he spent money like it would dry up tomorrow if every dime wasn't blown today.

She'd
been born with a plastic spoon in hers. Disposable. Sallye never had liked doing dishes. They hadn't been poor, exactly, but Sallye's paycheck had only covered the basics, no extras.

Mia had hated watching her mother work two jobs to make ends meet. Hated seeing her mom bent over the bills every month trying to figure out which to pay first. Mia had vowed she and her mom and sister would never have to worry about money again. No more living from paycheck to paycheck.

Mia had money now. Hell, she had fifty percent of every paycheck she'd ever earned stashed in a money market account, slowly multiplying at a pretty decent rate. She hoarded her money, saved and invested it prudently and wisely. She made every penny beg for mercy before she reluctantly spent it. And now that she could, she made sure her mom had a few of those “extras” she'd always lacked before.

Well, up until now. Now that Sallye had sold out her oldest daughter to the man who could tear her heart in two with a flick of his wrist, there was no more Godiva for her.

“I was kidding about the shoes.”

“I wasn't,” Mia said shortly. “Just look for the safe.”

The closet smelled of Chanel and cigarette smoke. Carpeted in the same thick plush ecru-colored carpeting as the bedroom, it felt close and claustrophobic with the sartorial ghosts of past events hanging from their padded satin hangers. Furs brushed Mia's head as she crouched down low and reached to the back to feel along the wall while Jack did the same on the other side.

Their legs brushed several times, sending electrical charges along each of Mia's nerve endings. She worked faster. Where the hell was the damn safe? Somewhere reasonably convenient because the lady of the house would want easy access to her jewels.

“Got it,” Jack said, already standing to push aside the pantsuits hanging in front of the safe.

Mia rose to her feet, keeping a foot of space between them. It was still far too close for comfort. Who knew a walk-in closet could feel so tiny?

She checked out the safe. “It won't take me a moment.” She inspected the safe and recognized it wasn't half as secure as the safes in all the convenience stores on all the corners of the world. “Hell, you could've done this by yourself. You didn't need me.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“Would you mind giving me a little room here?” She shoved him back a step with her elbow. “You're breathing down my neck.”

In deference to their hostess's silks, the lighting in the closet was soft and muted. There was plenty of light coming through the double doors leading from the bedroom, however. The walk-in closet was a small room with racks of designer clothing, from ceiling to floor and two rods deep, with an automated dry-cleaner-type mechanical rack for finding things quickly. Mia had serious closet envy.

One entire wall was made up of a rainbow of shoes organized by color. It was more than the sight of those hundreds of pairs of Manolo Blahnik's that had Mia's heart picking up speed. Ignoring the effect of Jack's proximity as best she could, she slipped on the thin rubber gloves he handed her and got to work.

Unlike the safe downstairs, this was a Conex. On the safecracking scale of one-to-ten, this was about a three. She concentrated on the far-too-loud sound of the tumblers rotating behind the steel door. That was the chink in the Conex—the tumblers made so much noise that the safe might as well have shouted out the combination.

“How's your love life?”

“Hotter than a pistol thank you very much.”

“Is that so?” He looked suspiciously happy about it.

Mia frowned. “You're pleased I'm having hot sex with someone else?”