The Billionaire Gets His Way (8 page)

Maybe that wasn't exactly a PC way of thinking these days, but there it was just the same. A lot of men were still attracted to the notion of virginity. And if that virgin happened to know a lot about sex and was an eager partner, all the better. No wonder Violet's memoir had so many chapters in it. God knew how many men had come before Gavin.

His thinking halted him in his tracks—literally, since he had been about to step forward to escort Violet into the room. How could he be thinking about how many men had come before him, unless he was thinking about becoming one of Violet's men?

He didn't have time to ponder that further, because her smile increased, revealing a small dimple on one cheek that was… Damn. The only word he could think to describe it was
enchanting,
even though that was a word he normally, manfully, avoided.

“After blackmailing me to come to this thing,” she said, “are you going to stand in the hallway all night?”

Well, no. Not when there were other rooms he'd much
rather make use of. He'd been to the Steepletons' house many times since meeting Richard a decade ago, and he knew for a fact that they had eight bedrooms in their Lakeshore Drive mansion. Gavin even had intimate knowledge of two of them, since he'd made use of them with his date during every party he'd attended here. He had intimate knowledge of the Steepletons' master bathroom, too. And one of the coat closets. And their gazebo. And a window seat in the dining room behind a pair of heavy drapes.

Good times. Good times.

“After you,” he said to Violet now.

He splayed his hand at the small of her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the soft fabric and into his fingers. The dress was so clingy, it was almost as if he were touching bare skin, which naturally made him wonder if Violet was as silky and creamy under her dress as the rest of her seemed to be.

The moment he touched her, however, she surged forward and away from him, almost as if he'd been holding a hot poker. So Gavin stepped forward, too, this time barely stroking her back with the tips of his fingers. Even that scant brush of contact made her twitch, but she didn't pull away from him this time. He gave her a moment to get used to the connection, then he moved forward once more, until scarcely a breath of air was between them.

Lowering his head to her ear, he said, very softly, “Don't flinch when I touch you, Violet. And don't pull away. You're my date, which means we are intimately involved. Don't do anything that will make others doubt that, or I'll have to reconsider my offer.”

“Your offer was only to reconsider in the first place,” she replied without turning around, her voice as quiet as his. But she sounded a little breathless, which, for some
reason, made Gavin feel a little breathless, too. “How can you reconsider a reconsideration?”

“You'll find out if you do a bad job convincing everyone here that you're crazy about me and that we're only here long enough to make an appearance, after which we'll be escaping to have sex for the rest of the night because you can't keep your hands off me.”

Now she turned around to face him fully, splashes of pink blossoming on each cheek. The blush was back. The surprising, alluring, strangely erotic blush. Gavin managed to keep his breathing in check, but wasn't quite as successful controlling another part of himself—a part he'd as soon not be losing control of at the moment, since the cut of his jacket was such that it wouldn't hide his condition.

“Now wait just one minute,” she whispered. “There was nothing in this deal that said I had to pretend we're sexually involved. I'm supposed to be your date.”

Gavin smiled at that. “Sweetheart, it's a given that any woman who's dating me is also sleeping with me. I assumed you knew that, since it's the same thing you wrote about Ethan.”

She opened her mouth to respond to that, evidently thought better of what she had intended to say, and snapped her lips shut. Pity. He'd started to have all kinds of good ideas for that open mouth. Of course, none of them had involved talking…

He urged her forward, this time wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Screw the courtesies. It wasn't like he'd ever been big on courtesies with other women. Why should Violet be any different? Especially since she wasn't the sort of woman who commanded courtesy to begin with.

Ah, dammit, where was the bar?

He found it immediately, tucked into the same corner of
the ballroom where the Steepletons always put it, and he steered Violet in that direction. Before he could even ask her what she wanted, she requested a glass of champagne from the bartender, who poured it with great flourish before handing it to her with a smile. She smiled and thanked him warmly, then lifted the glass to her lips for a sip before declaring it delicious and thanking the bartender again. When the man turned to Gavin, Gavin barked out an order for his favorite Scotch, taking it from the man's extended hand without acknowledgment and guiding Violet toward a small pocket of people on the other side of the room.

“You know, you were very rude back there,” she said as they threaded their way through the crowd.

Gavin had no idea what she was talking about. “What? When?”

“The bartender,” she said. “You didn't even thank him for your drink.”

“Why would I thank a bartender for doing his job?”

“Because it's a nice gesture,” she said. “Because it makes someone in that position feel appreciated.”

“Who cares if he feels appreciated? He's a bartender. It's not like he's trying to cure cancer or bring peace to a war-torn country.”

“No, but he made this party more enjoyable for you by fixing you a nice drink. Therefore, you should thank him.”

How could she possibly care about the hired help? Gavin wondered. Who even noticed the hired help? They were invisible. Or would be, if she would stop carping on them.

“Come on,” he said, striving to make the bartender invisible again. “There are some people over here who need to see you with me.”

He wasn't sure, but he thought she growled under her
breath at that. Which, truth be told, he found kind of erotic. But then, there was little about Violet tonight that he didn't find erotic, so maybe that wasn't surprising.

“This won't take long,” he told her. “Nod and look sexy for a few minutes, and then we can move on to another group. If everything goes smoothly, and you play your part well, then I can have you out of here and home before midnight. Just like Cinderella.”

Cinderella.
Yeah, Violet might feel like Cinderella this evening. If she were attending this party with Prince Charming instead of a big toad. Honestly, how had Gavin ever gotten any dates in the first place? Or, more to the point, how had he managed to have more than one with any given woman? Violet didn't care how handsome or sexy or rich or sexy or powerful or sexy or hot or sexy or…or…or…

Where was she?

Oh, yeah. She didn't care how whatever or sexy Gavin was. If this was the way he acted with women—with anyone—she wouldn't have spent more than ten minutes with him. Unfortunately, if she had any hope of getting rid of him and his stupid lawsuit, she would have to tolerate him for the rest of the evening.

Then again, if she had to suffer in silence, she thought as she savored another sip of champagne, at least she was doing
it in gorgeous surroundings. She couldn't believe this place. The Steepletons must be soiled to their undergarments with their filthy lucre. As she and Gavin had made the lengthy journey from the front door to the ballroom, she'd thought the house really did look like something out of a fairy tale, complete with gold-limned wainscoting, marble floors and centuries-old oil-on-canvas renditions of peerage at play.

The ballroom was even more magnificent. Its satiny hardwood floor was inlaid with an intricate pattern of darker wood, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the center of a ceiling that looked like a Renaissance rendition of heaven, right down to the chubby cherubs peeking over the clouds. The walls on three sides were papered to look like luscious gardens, and the fourth was composed of arched, beveled windows that looked out onto a massive courtyard below. Violet had just enough time to look outside and see that it was as beautifully landscaped as the wallpaper gardens were, lit by torchieres and candles, since some of the partygoers had spilled out there to chat and smoke.

Then Gavin was dragging her toward the group of people whom he'd deemed it so necessary must see them together. She figured out why immediately, since three members of the group were drop-dead beautiful women, all of them sporting form-fitting dresses of eye-popping color and gemstones that Violet was reasonably certain were real—and she wasn't talking real cubic zirconium, either. She had thought Gavin would simply walk right up and insinuate himself into the conversation, so it took her by surprise when he stopped a good fifteen feet away from them, removed her champagne from her hand to place it alongside his drink on the tray of a passing waiter, then swept her into his arms and began to dance.

It took him by surprise, too, since she had no idea
how to dance, something that became obvious when she immediately brought her foot down on top of his—hard.

“Ouch,” he muttered, halting at once. He glared at her. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“Well, I didn't mean to. You might have warned me that you wanted to dance.”

“Half the people in the room are dancing. Why would you need a warning for that?”

She didn't want to tell him it was because she didn't know how to dance. She was suddenly embarrassed to be at a party like this, in a place like this, surrounded by people like this, and have no idea how to perform any of the customs that were a part of this world. She was already keenly aware of how much more stylish the other partygoers were, and she was confident none of them had stopped by Talk of the Town to rent a gown before coming. The way they smiled and chatted with each other, it was obvious they all knew each other—or at least knew
of
each other. Even their posture and the way they walked and sipped their drinks was different from the way normal people—people like Violet—performed such tasks.

She was so out of place here, in a house like this, with people like Gavin. This might be the sort of thing she wrote about in one of her books, but her fictional version was nothing compared to the real thing. At least, in her fictional version, her characters—people like her—found some way to feel at home and be a part of things. The reality…

“Violet?”

Gavin's voice brought that reality crashing on her like a ton of ill-fitting dresses and cheap rhinestone jewelry. She remembered then that he'd tried to dance with her, and she'd failed abysmally, and now he wanted a reason why.

“What do you need, sweetheart, an engraved invitation?”

She sighed softly. “No, but a few lessons would help.”

Her admission seemed to take him by surprise. His dark eyebrows arrowed downward. “Are you telling me you don't know how to dance?”

“Not this kind of dancing. Not where your bodies have to touch.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words emerged. Then, after a moment, he closed it again. Once more, he took her hand in his, but this time, he led her in the opposite direction from which they'd been traveling. He didn't stop until he'd led her into a small alcove off the ballroom that led to a broader passageway beyond. There, he stopped, dropping one hand to Violet's hip, holding the other up at his side at chest level.

When she did nothing but stare at him, he expelled an impatient sound, wiggled his fingers as if waving at her, and instructed, “Take my hand.”

“What about all those people in the other room that you said need to see us together?” she asked, stalling.

“They'll be here all night. There's plenty of time.” He settled his hand confidently at the center of her back, then swallowed her hand in his. Man, he had big hands. “Besides,” he added as he pulled her closer, “I don't want them to see me with someone who doesn't even know how to dance.”

Right. Of course not. Here she'd been thinking maybe he had actually taken pity on her and wanted her to feel more comfortable by showing her some of the high society ropes. Hah.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.”

She lifted her hand to do so, but hesitated before touching him. She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, closer, even, than they'd been when he'd towered over her at his office. As had happened then, the
air around them grew warmer, and the clean, spicy scent of him assailed her. She noted the lean, rugged line of his jaw and the finely honed cheekbones, the pale blue eyes fringed with jet lashes. As had happened then, her heart began to beat faster, and her thinking grew foggy, and the entire world seemed to shrink until it was only the two of them.

“Violet,” he said, his voice dropping even lower than before. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

After another small hesitation, she gingerly curved her hand over his shoulder. The fabric of the jacket was fine and smooth beneath her palm, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his skin seeping through it. Of course, it was her imagination. The man would have to be very warm indeed for it to penetrate layers of clothing. Then again, she was feeling more than a little warm herself…

“Now, do what I do,” he said. “Take one step forward.”

She stepped forward, then belatedly realized he'd meant that
he
was going to take a step forward, and she should follow him by taking a step back. The result was that the two of them pressed together even more closely, something that made Violet fancy she could feel even more heat emanating from him, and from a lot more than just his shoulder. She was already getting ready to defend herself against what she knew would be his charge that she should have realized what he meant—once her mouth stopped being so dry at the heat and nearness of him, she meant—but instead, he chuckled and muttered a soft apology.

An apology. From Gavin Mason.

“Okay, look,” he said, his voice gentling. “I'll tell you what I'm going to do, and you follow, all right?”

Okay, now this was just weird, Violet thought. What had happened to the prickly, demanding type-A blowhard who had brought her to the party? Had aliens swooped in when
she wasn't looking and replaced him with a pod person from outer space? And why was she complaining, anyway? A pod person would be way better company than Gavin Mason.

“All right,” she said. “I'll try.”

He dipped his head forward in acknowledgement, something that brought his face closer to hers than ever. Violet willed herself not to flinch, knowing he would pull back in a second.

But he didn't. He kept his head dipped toward hers, almost until they were touching. “Now then,” he began again. “I'll step forward….”

He did so slowly, giving her plenty of time to follow him. So Violet took a tentative step backward.

“Good,” he said. “Now bring the other leg to join the first.”

She mimicked his action, trying not to notice how the movement of their legs against each other generated a delicious friction she felt in a lot more places than her leg.

“Now I'll step to my left…”

Violet followed a little more confidently this time, moving her foot to her right.

“Now I'm going to step backward…”

Violet stepped forward at precisely the same time.

“And now I'll step right…”

Already anticipating the move, Violet moved—almost fluidly—to her left, then laughed lightly at her success.

Gavin laughed, too, just as softly. “Congratulations, Miss Tandy, you mastered the box step.”

“Do it again,” she said eagerly, delighted by her success. “Faster this time. But not too fast.”

He grinned, then nodded. As he repeated the steps, this time moving a little faster, Violet watched their feet moving back, to the side, up and to the other side. As he continued, she paid more attention to the music, and realized Gavin
was keeping time with the flowing, graceful notes of the string quartet playing in the other room. Little by little, she grew more comfortable, until the awkwardness fell away, and she was actually dancing. Okay, box-stepping. It was still dancing. Gavin had said so.

She knew it was silly to take such delight in such a simple accomplishment—all they were doing was moving around in a square—but delighted was how she felt just the same. When she finally felt confident enough to take her attention off their feet, she looked at Gavin and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

He looked surprised at that. “For what?”

“For teaching me the box step, Mr. Mason,” she said, reverting to the playful formality he'd used with her a moment ago. “It was a lovely thing for you to do.”

“Lovely?”
he echoed, still dancing her in a square. “That's not a word people usually attribute to the things I do.”

“Then maybe you should teach more people to dance.”

He opened his mouth at that, as if he weren't sure what to make of the comment, then gave a wry smile. But he said nothing, only widened their square with every new step he took, until he was dancing Violet out of the alcove and into the ballroom. The music segued into something a little faster, but Gavin never missed a step…and neither did Violet. She wasn't sure how she managed not to stumble or trip over her own feet. It must have been because she had a good partner. But throughout the remainder of the piece, she and Gavin moved as a couple from one end of the ballroom to the other.

She was having so much fun, she honestly forgot all about how she was supposed to be angry with Gavin for a million different reasons. Until he looked over her shoulder
at something behind her and said, “Right. Forgot. We're here to make an impression, not dance the night away.”

They were? Since when?

Then Gavin was spinning her around, and she saw the same group of people he'd started to approach earlier, including the vibrant trio of beautiful women—one blonde, one brunette, one redhead. All statuesque and curvy, and all having exceeded their genetic potential when it came to, ah, filling out the upper half of their attire. And then spilling out of the upper half of their attire.

Inescapably, Violet glanced down at her own dress. Even if it had been cut low enough for her to spill out of it, she wouldn't even have trickled. As Gavin danced her backward toward the group, she began to feel as if she were flying the wrong way into a flock of exotic birds like a fruit bat. A dumpy, colorless, mewling fruit bat. With bits of bruised, rotting apple matted in her fur. It was all she could do not to lift a hand to her hair to make sure it wasn't sticky.

As Gavin slowed their bodies and roped his arm around her waist to walk her the rest of the way toward the group, Violet noticed there were men among the pack, too, all as beautiful as their dates and no less splendidly attired, even if their colors were much more muted grays and blacks. Violet had assumed Gavin intended to infiltrate the group and spend interminable minutes talking to them, and she was dreading having to hold her own in such a crowd. But he only nodded at them en masse as he passed, addressing a few of them by name, and asked one of the men—the one whose hand was cupping the derriere of one of the women
very
affectionately—how his wife was doing with the new twins. Then, without even waiting for an answer, he ushered Violet to the bar in the corner of the room and asked for two more drinks to replace the ones he'd given to the waiter before they'd even had a chance to enjoy them.

“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?” she asked dryly as she glanced at the group which, she couldn't help noticing, was paying an awful lot of attention to them. Way more than one would think they'd give to a man who had pretty much dismissed them all.

Gavin handed her a slender flute of champagne, picked up his own tumbler of Scotch and then—Violet could scarcely believe her ears—thanked the bartender for both. “They don't deserve an introduction,” he said. “Especially not to someone like you.”

And just like that, the magical evening came crashing down around her. Of course he wasn't going to introduce her to anyone here. He thought she was a hooker.

He seemed to understand immediately what she was thinking, because he said, “No, Violet, I meant they don't deserve an introduction because they're not my friends. They're awful people. You're way above them.”