Road to Destiny (Scorpio Stinger MC Book 5) (35 page)

Exactly what I need.

I didn’t want to look sexy tonight. I wanted my boss to get the message that it was hands off—I was taken.

The assistant helped me into the dress. “It fits like a glove.” For once it wasn’t just sales talk.

No cleavage on display.

Ticks box number one.

The sheer fabric on the sleeve was scattered with crystals, it was beautiful and feminine. I grinned when I turned to appraise the other side. It was edgy, studded in a rock chick way and not showing much leg either.

Ticks box number two
.

I’d found the perfect dress.

I had to rush to get to the hairdresser on time for my appointment. I decided to go for a simple look so I simply had my hair straightened. It made me look very different to when my hair was in soft waves—it was more severe, in keeping with the image I wanted to portray to my boss tonight.

I’d melted my credit card enough for one day, so I headed off to the nail parlor as my final treat and sat back, relaxing while I had my hands and feet manicured. I opted for something different to my usual French tips, having my fingernails squared off and painted in midnight black.

Fierce.

Relaxed and pleased with the afternoon’s shopping spree, I headed back to the hotel.

As I entered the hotel, Kevin, the friendly doorman, helped me with my parcels. Matilda, the beautiful ragdoll cat and the hotel’s most famous resident, stretched herself out before strolling over to inspect my purchases. Usually she lazily observed the comings and goings of hotel guests from a luggage trolley, so Kevin assured me I was special when she rubbed up against my leg. 

“Matilda has the run of the house.” Kevin laughed. “A resident cat at Algonquin is an old tradition—since 1930, when a scraggy-looking cat wandered into the hotel searching for shelter and food. The owner, Frank Case, being a very hospitable man, welcomed the feline traveler into the hotel.”

I loved how the history of the early twentieth century had been preserved throughout the hotel. The Gatsby-styled rooms reminded me of a bygone era, when this had been the center of the literary and theatrical way of life in New York, welcoming actors and writers alike.

Pictures on the walls were testament that a few famous women flocked to the hotel as well, including Gertrude Stein and Maya Angelou. Thrilled to be staying in one of America’s great historic hotels and a New York landmark, Kevin assured me that I was in good company. The Algonquin had accommodated single female guests long before it was conventional to do so.

I
was ready at 7.05 p.m.  Even my makeup matched my fierce mood—dark smoky eyes and nude lips. I grabbed my clutch purse and headed to the hotel lobby.

Maxwell stood close to the elevator, looking somewhat irritable.

Is he thinking I’ll stand him up again?

I suppressed a chuckle, wondering if he would have the guts to come knocking at my door again. 

My boss cut a fine picture dressed in a suave black evening suit, even if I didn’t want to admit it.  Again, his sandy-blond hair reminded me more of a surfer dude’s hair than that of the illustrious CEO of Grant Industries. The modern short cut with the flicked up front, looked great on him.

He took a step forward and held out his arm, grinning like a schoolboy. My breath hitched as I hooked into his arm gracefully, feeling the raw power in his taught muscles beneath my fingertips. His sapphire eyes were beaming. I put it down to the fact that he was nominated for an award at the ceremony. 

His head dipped to the soft skin below my ear. With his lips barely touching, his warm breath skimmed over my skin. I suppressed a shiver.

“Can I ask a huge favor? Can we call a truce tonight? Please?” His voice was husky and sincere. How could I refuse his request tonight of all nights?

I nodded. 

I didn’t trust myself to speak. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I might have been a bit harsh on him in the past. Maybe I’d cut him some slack tonight.

“Hope I’m not being too forward. You look...breathtaking.”

That wasn’t the reaction I wanted from him
.

Or was it?

A little voice nagged in my head, and in spite of my best intentions, I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Completely taken aback when I realized how much I enjoyed his compliment, and the feeling of pleasure that had just washed over me, I snorted, quite loudly.

Remember he’s married, Rebecca. Don’t go there.

Besides, I had a red-hot lover waiting for my return to France
.

Pretending he didn’t just witness my unladylike behavior, he held open the door of a black Maserati. The sexy little sports car suited Maxwell. I sank into the soft leather seat, thankful there wasn’t any bum slapping—Americans weren’t into that like European guys.

We didn’t bother making small talk as Maxwell weaved through the traffic. I’d never seen so many yellow taxis in one night. Every now and then, he cursed, before accelerating and slipping through the congestion. I held my breath, exhilaration coursing through my veins, watching how man and machine melded, enjoying the power of both.

With a sideways glace, I peered at Maxwell. He was in his element. He didn’t waiver for a second when he saw a gap. The man had killer instincts. Confidence oozed from him and I felt just a little turned on by it.

I shrugged it off. I’d always found confidence and intelligence a huge turn-on. There was even a word for it—I was sapiosexual.
One who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature.
And I did. Chloe had teased me about it when I had a crush on my professor at university. A tight ass and bulging biceps could only hold my interest for so long. If a guy were incapable of intelligent conversation, it would be a deal-breaker for me.

So. It wasn’t Maxwell himself that caused these feelings and the knot in my stomach. No, it was merely the characteristics he was portraying. Nothing more or less than my professor.

Yet I did avoid his eyes when he opened the car door and held his hand to help me out
.

Let’s not give him too much credit...

With his hand in the small of my back, Maxwell steered me toward a table near the stage. Placed with other CEOs, who were also nominated for business awards, I was glad I’d gone to the effort of shopping and splashing out on a striking outfit. I noticed that every other woman was dressed to the nines, dripping with expensive jewelry, and looking fine in designer frocks.

I chuckled. Women dressed as much for the approval of other women, as what they did to impress a man.

The mayor and his wife were seated at our table. Holding my elbow, Maxwell introduced me to everyone.

“Oh Max, where is your lovely wife?” enquired the mayor’s wife. “I hope she’s not sick?”

Max?

“No, unfortunately she’s out of town, on a consignment. That’s the life of a famous model. She’s always traveling the world,” Maxwell replied, irritation in his voice.

Was he annoyed that he had to bring me instead of her? My heart squeezed at the thought.

“I don’t know how your marriage can last under such circumstances. You young people always surprise me with your modern attitude to marriage,” she said.

Interesting comment.
Exactly how
did
Mr. and Mrs. Grant’s marriage work? Did they have an open marriage? I wouldn’t be surprised. That would explain a few things—like his actions in my hotel room.

Maxwell responded with a grunt, pulling at his collar, his lips drawn to a thin line.

My sixth sense kicked in. There was more to Mr. and Mrs. Grant than was obvious and the mayor’s wife had just hit a nerve. I enjoyed watching him squirm. “Yes,
Max
? Please explain?” I couldn’t hide the bitchiness in my voice. The twinge of jealousy I felt completely unnerved me. It wasn’t an emotion I was used to feeling.

Maxwell’s brow knitted. His jaw was tightly set. “Rebecca. Don’t test me. You won’t win.”

“Want to bet on that?”

Totally disarming me, he laughed as if I’d just made a joke and rubbed my back. He leaned toward me and whispered in a softened tone. “Truce. Remember?”

Cocky Mr. Grant was back.

What was it he wanted to explain to me earlier at the office?
Damn it. I should have made him tell me.

“Ladies and gentleman, can I have your attention please?” Everyone turned to the podium.

The mayor of New York made a speech welcoming everyone. I was surrounded by the who’s who in the business world, rubbing shoulders with the movers and shakers of today.

Donald Trump, a proud New Yorker, was the next speaker. It was his job to honor Maxwell Grant’s achievements. The list was long and impressive. But, what I hadn’t known was how much of a humanitarian Maxwell was; his philanthropic deeds exceeded the norm.

A lump settled in my throat. Oddly, I was proud to be at his side and to be a part of this organization. I hoped I could live up to the expectations he had of me and also make a difference, just as he had.

Receiving hearty slaps on his back as he made his way back to our table, Maxwell grinned sheepishly as a few eager women hugged him or planted a kiss on his cheek. He took it all graciously in his stride, enjoying his moment.

As he reached our table, my heart felt swollen with pride, and lost in the moment, I leaned forward on tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. But, instead of presenting his cheek to me as he’d done to the other ladies, Maxwell turned his face so that my lips unintentionally landed on his.

His lips were soft yet strong and sensuous. His eyes widened a fraction as he stared down at me, both of us caught completely off guard. I giggled to hide my embarrassment and turned away, but not before seeing a glint in his eye that completely unsettled me.

I’d let my guard slip. Goddammit
.

For the duration of the meal, I chatted and joked with everyone at the table, mostly ignoring the man who sat by my side. I sensed that something had changed subtly between us, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Just thinking about it gave me a headache, so I avoided going there for the time being. Eventually I ran out of steam and stopped talking so much. It was damn hard work making conversation with strangers. 

After dessert, Maxwell leaned over and laid his hand my arm.  Still I refused to look at him.

“Tired, Rebecca? Shall I take you home? Want to go to bed?”

My head shot up, my gaze meeting with intense blue eyes. I couldn’t read them. I didn’t know if he was mocking me with his double entendre or if I saw something else in those dark eyes. Something I didn’t want to give a name to.

“Oh no, you can’t leave now,” said the mayor’s wife. “The band is just striking up now. Surely you are staying for a few dances?”

My heart did a flip.

No, please, I don’t want to be in Maxwell’s arms tonight.

Already confused, I didn’t know what was going on with me.

“Of course,” Maxwell conceded, and held out his hand as the band started playing their first song. “How remiss of me,” he said, with a wicked smile on his lips.

As if having an out-of-body experience, I placed my hand in his. I felt ill.

Where the hell has my fighting spirit gone?

Holding me close, we sashayed across the floor, aware that half of the room’s eyes were on us. A few times I nearly stumbled over my dress.

“Just relax and follow me, Rebecca,” he chided. I was as stiff as cardboard, every muscle in my body tense. “I’m not going to eat you in front of all these people.” He sighed. “It’s only a goddamn dance.”

My cheeks burned as he gazed down at me. He was right. I was completely overreacting. Trying to relax, my body followed his. My boss was a great dancer and once I just relaxed and let him lead, everything became less awkward.

The smell of his cologne drifted to my nostrils; I was acutely aware of every muscle in his hard body pressing against the softness of mine.

He whispered, “See, just relax and let go. I’m here to lead you...but also to catch you if you fall.”  He planted a soft kiss in my hair as the music ended, before stepping away.

I thought I’d be relieved that it was over. A pang in my heart told me otherwise. I’d felt safe in his arms in spite of myself.

What the hell was coming over me? I disliked this arrogant man.
Didn’t I?
Yet tonight, I yielded to him in ways I didn’t want to. Wordlessly, Maxwell steered me back to our table, his hand firmly on my back, burning through the fabric.

I had to make a quick getaway. I couldn’t let him drive me home.

As I picked up my purse, I let out a stifled yawn. “Good night. I’m very tired. Must be jetlag. Please excuse me, my taxi is waiting.” I turned to face a stunned Maxwell. “Thank you, Mr. Grant, for inviting me and once again congratulations on your wonderful award.”

Maxwell’s mouth moved to say something, but before he could utter a word, I’d spun on my heels and strode toward the door.

S
afely back in my hotel room, a long sigh of relief escaped my lips. Utterly exhausted, all I wanted was to crawl into bed and fall into a deep sleep. I certainly didn’t want to replay the evening in my mind. 

I’d hardy stripped, when my phone rang. Rolling my eyes, I guessed it was Maxwell and that I was in for another tirade.

Didn’t the man get the freaking hint?

Already formulating sarcastic responses in my head, I glanced at the screen. But to my surprise, I recognized Alain’s number. I let out a long sigh, momentarily disappointed that it wasn’t Maxwell. Damn. I could fight back a lot easier now there was a safe distance between us.

“Alain. What a lovely surprise.”

“Cherie, I miss you so much, you have no idea. My bed is empty without you in it. Come home to me soon?”

My heart melted. It was so nice to be wanted so much by a man. “I miss you, too. I’ll be back in Paris in two days. It’s not long to go.”

“Yes, but you will be in Paris while I am on the Estate. It’s a whole week before I see you or hold you again.”