Not For Sale

Was that a note of desperation in Lucas Vieira’s voice? A glint of it in his green eyes? Well, he’d got himself into this mess. How he’d done it was anyone’s guess but he could damned well get himself out of—

“Luke-ahhhs!”

A woman slipped from behind Rostov’s bulky figure. One look, and Caroline understood everything. Ilana Rostov was stunning. Big hair. Big breasts. Big diamonds.

And from the way she looked at Lucas, she was, without question, a cougar on the hunt.

“Luke-ahhhs, oh Luke-ahhhs, you darling man. How lovely to see you again.”

“Ilana.” Lucas’s arm tightened around Caroline. “I’d like to introduce my—”

“Howdoyoudo?” Ilana said, without taking her eyes from Lucas. Smiling, batting her lashes, she stepped in front of him, her face upturned, her breasts touching his chest. “A kiss, darling. You know that is how we Russians greet old friends.” Smiling, she rose on her toes and wound her arms around his neck. Lucas jerked back but it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop her.

Not true, Caroline thought. Something could, and would. Her spiked gold heel, nailing Ilana Rostov’s instep.

Ilana shrieked and stumbled back. Caroline threw her a look of abject innocence.

“My goodness, did I step on your foot? I am so sorry!” Swinging toward Lucas, taking the place Ilana Rostov had vacated, Caroline looked up at him. The expression on his face was priceless; it took all her effort not to burst into giggles, but why spoil things now? “Lucas? Sweetie? I’m thrilled to meet your friends but what about dinner?” Still smiling, she moved closer, until they were a breath apart. “I’m absolutely starved, darling.”

She watched the swift play of emotions across his face as surprise gave way to sheer delight—and then to something darker, deeper, and far more dangerous. His arms went around her. She spread her hands flat against his chest, felt the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“Yes,” he said. “So am I.”

No way was he talking about a meal.

Caroline felt her heart thud. When had he seized control of the game?

“Mr. Vieira,” she said, “I mean, Lucas—”

He laughed, bent his head to hers and took hot, exciting possession of her mouth.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT little slip, Dani calling him “Mr. Vieira,” could have been Lucas’s undoing.

That was the reason he kissed her. The sole reason. Anything to convince the Rostovs that he and the woman in his arms had an intimate relationship.

Why else would he kiss her? He didn’t know her and she didn’t know him. He didn’t have any wish to know her; he was off women for a while.

Kissing the woman with the pale gold hair and hazel eyes was a matter of expediency. It was meant to establish intimacy, to take the sting out of the way she’d addressed him and that glimpse he’d had of Ilana’s raised eyebrows.

And, while he was at it, the kiss was to remind her of her function here tonight.

For those reasons, no other, Lucas took his supposed mistress in his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t even much of a kiss, just a light brush of his mouth over hers.

But her lips were warm. Silken. Her little “oh” of shocked breath was warm, too, and tasted of mint. Toothpaste, he thought in surprise, a taste that didn’t quite go with the sexy dress, the do-me shoes, and.

And, he stopped thinking.

Everything around him faded. The crowd. The noise. The Rostovs. It was as if each of his senses was solely concentrated on the woman in his arms.

Lucas drew her closer. Slid one hand to the base of her spine and lifted her slightly, just enough so that she fit the contours of his body while he cupped her face with his other hand.

He felt the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest. The tilt of her hips against his. The delicate arc of her cheekbone under his fingers.

Felt himself turn hard as granite.

His lips parted hers. She made a little whisper of sound and he thought, Yes, that’s it, kiss me back.

She did. For a heartbeat. Then she stiffened. She was going to pull away.

He told himself, with admirable logic, that he couldn’t permit that. If they were lovers, she would be eager for his kisses. Anytime. Anywhere. Not just in bed.

Which made him imagine her in his bed, her hair spilling in golden disarray over his pillows, her eyes hot with hunger as he entered her.

Dani sank her small, sharp teeth into his lip.

“Cristos!” Lucas jerked back. Touched the spot with his finger. No blood, nothing but a flash-fire rush of fury.

Rostov roared with laughter. Ilana’s eyebrows sought refuge in her hairline. And Dani…Dani looked as if she might turn and run and, damnit, he could not let that happen!

Lucas’s life had taught him many lessons. Quick recovery. Damage control. Self-control. He needed all those skills now. Somehow, he managed a smile as he wrapped his hand around the blonde’s slender wrist. She’d have to wrestle herself free of his grasp and he was betting she wouldn’t let that happen.

“Now, sweetheart,” he said, his smile changing, going sexy and intimate, “you know we don’t play those games in public.”

Another laugh from Rostov. A pause, and then a little sigh from Ilana.

And the best reward of all, the cold pleasure of seeing crimson sweep into his defiant translator’s beautiful face.

“No,” she said, “we—you and I—we don’t pl—”

“Exactly, darling. We don’t.” She looked as if she were torn between embarrassment and the desire to murder him, and that made it easier for him to tug her closer, curve his arm around her waist and hold her captive against his body. “If you want your reward, you have to wait until the evening ends. You know that, Dani.”

He knew the second his message registered. If she wanted his thousand dollars, she’d have to play the role Jack Gordon had crafted for her.

“Understand, sweetheart?”

Her eyes flashed. No embarrassment now, no fear. “I understand completely—sweetheart.”

Lucas laughed. The lady had guts. He had to admit, he liked that in her. He wasn’t accustomed to it. Women rarely stood up to him. Well, not until he ended a relationship and then some of them balked, but flying into a rage wasn’t the same thing as standing up to him.

Rostov elbowed him in the side. “Your lady is vildcat, Luke-ahs.”

Yes. She was.

She was a great many things. Beautiful. Bright. Skilled in Russian—he had no proof of that yet but, somehow, he felt no reason to doubt it. Add the sweet taste of her mouth, the alluring scent of her skin, the lush feel of her against him and she was an intriguing package, the embodiment of sex and intellect rolled into one.

Except for her name.

It didn’t fit her. It was flippant. Unfeminine. And she was neither. She’d be an interesting woman to get to know.

Too bad that wasn’t on the agenda.

“You know,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it’s getting late. Why don’t we go straight to the restaurant and have drinks there?”

“Ve vill haff champagne,” Rostov said, clapping Lucas on the back, “once we walk over two tiny spots, da?”

Lucas cocked his head. Dani rattled off something in Russian, Rostov answered, and she looked at Lucas.

“He means that there are two small areas of concern in the deal you and he have made, and he wants to talk about them.”

Lucas smiled.

His plan had worked. Rostov was ready to conclude things, Dani understood the nuances of translating. And seeing her now, cheeks still slightly flushed, hair a little disheveled, eyes glittering, not even Ilana would question their relationship.

He could relax.

All that remained was a final few hours of sociability. Then he and Rostov would shake hands and say goodbye, Ilana would become a bad memory, he’d give Dani Sinclair a check for a thousand dollars and they’d never see each other again.

He’d have to thank Jack Gordon.

This wasn’t the disaster he’d anticipated. In fact, it was working out just fine.

Caroline sat across the restaurant table from The Woman With The Frozen Face and wondered how she could have got herself into such a situation.

Two rich men. A woman married to one of them but on the make for the other. And she, the buffer between them.

Actually, that part had worked out just fine.

She still couldn’t believe how quickly Lucas Vieira had got out of the quicksand after she’d bitten him. She still couldn’t even believe she’d bitten him!

Hell, he was lucky she hadn’t grabbed the nearest lethal object and brained him with it.

Kissing her that way. Pulling her against him. Letting her feel the beat of his heart, the warmth of his body. The swift hardening of his aroused flesh.

Biting him was better than he’d deserved and though she’d been furious at how easily he’d turned the bite into something sexy, she had to admire him for being fast on his feet.

Caroline reached for her champagne flute and brought it to her lips.

And for using the incident to convince the Botox Cougar that they were lovers.

Ilana had bought the entire act. She’d followed Caroline into the loo after they’d taxied to the restaurant and looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung above the elegant triple vanity.

“Congratulations, Miss Sinclair.”

“Who?” Caroline had almost said, but she’d remembered just in time.

“Your lover is quite a man.”

A blush had crept into Caroline’s face. What did you say to that?

“Surely,” the Cougar had purred, “he is remarkable in bed.”

The mirror had shown Caroline the color in her face going from pink to red.

“He’s all right,” she’d blurted.

Ilana had laughed. Even the attendant, who’d come to the vanity to provide them with little hand towels, couldn’t repress a smile.

“I think he must find your attitude a change from the usual, da? The careless way you treat him.” The Cougar’s eyes had met Caroline’s in the glass. “You know, I did not at first believe you were his mistress. You do not seem his type.”

Truth time. Caroline had taken a breath.

“Of course I’m his mistress,” she’d said calmly. “Why else would I be with him tonight? ”

For five hundred dollars, the voice within her had whispered.

Because, no question about it, Ilana Rostov was right. She was, most assuredly, not Lucas’s type.

She wasn’t the type that belonged in this restaurant, either.

The place was small, intimate and elegant. The patrons were elegant, too. She recognized familiar faces from movies and television and magazine covers. The women were expensively dressed. The men exuded wealth and power.

And almost all of them, men and women, had noticed Lucas, the men with nods and smiles of recognition, the women with glances that could only be called covetous.

More than one woman had looked at her in a way that said she was amazingly lucky to have such a man’s attention. And she was. Or she would have been, if any of this was real, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and she had to keep remembering that—and it was difficult because Lucas was so attentive.

And so dangerously, excitingly sexy, even when he and Rostov had dropped into intense conversation over drinks. Ilana had translated for her husband in a low voice. Caroline had done the same for Lucas.

It had gone very well—except for those times he’d posed a question to her, or leaned in, to hear what she had to say. Then he’d brought his dark head down to hers; she’d felt the whisper of his breath on her skin, found herself thinking that all she had to do was lift her head, just a little, and her cheek would brush his, she’d feel the faint abrasion of that sexy five o’clock stubble against her skin.

Even now, with the deal concluded, a second bottle of champagne opened and poured, the danger wasn’t over.

Every now and then, Lucas would touch her.

Her hair. Her hand. Her shoulder, when he lay his arm along the back of her chair and brushed his fingers against her bare skin.

It was part of the masquerade, or maybe he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He was a man accustomed to being with women; everything about him made that clear. Either way, it meant nothing. But whenever he touched her—whenever he touched her.

A tremor shot through her. Lucas, who was talking with Rostov but had his hand on Caroline’s, leaned in.

“Are you cold, sweetheart? Do you want my jacket?”

His jacket? Warm from his body, undoubtedly bearing his scent?

“Dani? If you like, I can warm you.”

Her eyes flew to his. Something glowed in those deep green depths. Was he toying with her? Her heart was trying to claw its way out of her chest.

“Thank you,” she said carefully, “I’m fine.”

He smiled. Her heart took another leap.

He had the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.

He had the sexiest everything.

Eyes. Face. Hands. Body. And that kiss…That just-for-show kiss. She’d felt it straight down to her toes. The warmth of his mouth, the feel of his hands…

She made a little sound. Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I just—I just can’t decide what to order.”

“Let me order for you, darling.”

She wanted to say “no” but that would have been foolish. Reading Chekhov was easier than reading the menu. Black truffle mayonnaise. Whipped dill. She doubted either had anything to do with what you put on a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, or the kosher dill pickle you’d eat with it.

It was only that saying she’d let him do something personal for her made her feel uncomfortable—

“Dani?”

And that was ridiculous. There was nothing personal about ordering a meal.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

Lucas brought her hand to his lips. “Two thank-yous in a row. I must be doing something right.”

The Rostovs smiled. That was good. After all, this performance was for them.

She had to keep remembering that.

Her toes curled.

Oh God, she thought again, as the waiter took their orders, she was as out of her element as a hummingbird in a blizzard. Not just here, in these surroundings.

She was out of her element with this man.

She could leave now. She could. She’d done her job. Ilana Rostov was behaving herself. Her translation duties were completed now that, metaphorically, twenty billion dollars had changed hands. Twenty billion! She couldn’t even start to envision that amount of money but Lucas had mentioned it with less fuss than Dani had shown about the five hundred she’d pay her for tonight’s masquerade.

It was a lie, all of it, and Caroline understood the reason for it. If she’d had the Botox Cougar after her, well, the male equivalent, she’d have done whatever it took to throw her off the trail.

It was just that—that there’d been moments tonight when she’d thought, when she’d wondered, when she’d imagined how it would feel if she really were Lucas Vieira’s date, if she were his lover, if the evening would end in a softly lit room with him undressing her, baring her body to his hands, his mouth.

And thinking like that was wrong.

The waiter brought the first course. Just in time. She needed food. She hadn’t eaten in hours and hours. No wonder her brain was in meltdown.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t swallow much more than a mouthful. She couldn’t eat the main course, either. She was sure it had to be delicious. It looked beautiful, nothing like food, but beautiful anyway.

Trouble was, her stomach had gone on strike. No room for food here, it said, butterflies in residence.

“Lucas.” Was that breathless, desperate little voice hers? “Lucas,” she said again, and he turned to her. “I—I—”

His eyes searched hers. A muscle knotted in his jaw. Then he took her hand, did that incredible-hand-kissing thing again and looked across the table at Leo Rostov, who was in the middle of telling an endless joke.

“Leo,” he said politely, “Dani’s exhausted. You’re going to have to excuse us.”

It was a request but it wasn’t. There was a tone of command in his voice. She heard it and she knew Rostov did, too. His ruddy face grew ruddier. Leonid Rostov wasn’t accustomed to having someone else call an end to the festivities.

“Lucas,” Caroline whispered, “it’s okay. If you have to—”

“What I have to do,” he said quietly, “is see you home.”

For the second time, she saw that her gorgeous, arrogant date was gorgeous and arrogant but that somewhere inside him, he was real.

There was a flurry of activity. Lucas took out his cell phone, arranged for his driver to meet him outside the restaurant. He waved off Rostov’s attempt to pay the bill and ordered another bottle of Cristal.

“You and Ilana stay and enjoy yourselves,” he said.

And then they were out of the restaurant, into the midnight streets. Lucas turned her toward him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank you. I just—I’ve had a long day, and—”

His hands were warm and hard on her elbows. There was a look of concern on his face. They were standing so close that she could feel the heat coming off him, see that the emerald irises of his eyes were ringed with black.

Caroline shuddered.

“Damnit,” he said gruffly, and he took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

Just as she feared, as she’d longed, the fabric held his warmth. His scent.

“No,” she said quickly, “really, I don’t—”

“Let me warm you,” he said, just as he’d said a while ago, but this time there was no questioning what she heard in his voice, what she saw in his eyes as she looked up at him.

The world seemed to stop.

“Hell,” he said roughly.

She could have asked why he’d said that. Why his voice sounded as if it had been run through gravel. But asking would have been foolish and she had done enough foolish things tonight, starting with accepting Dani’s proposal and ending with not walking out of the hotel lobby the second she’d laid eyes on Lucas Vieira.

“Dani,” he said, the single word dark with warning, and she made a little sound, took a step toward him and he knotted his hands in the lapels of the jacket and pulled her into the heat, the power of his body.

And did what he’d wanted to do the entire night.

Bent his head. Took her mouth. Kissed her gently and when she whimpered, rose on her toes and wound her arms around his neck. When she opened her lips to his, his kiss deepened, burned hotter than a flame.

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