Purchased For Revenge

Who wants your father’s company and who buys sex.

The cruel, condemning words were like stones, crushing her. Crushing hope. Making a mockery of memory.

But memory mocked her still, had mocked her all evening as she’d sat at her father’s table making endless small-talk, as a good hostess should. And now it was more than memory that mocked her.

How could she be so helplessly aware of Alexei Constantin as to want to do nothing more than gaze at him, drink in the planes of his face, the line of his mouth, the dark, chill pools of his eyes? How could she be so punishingly aware of the way his long fingers curved around the stem of his wine glass, the way his sable hair feathered on his brow, the way his high cheekbones flared beneath the dark, veiled orbs of his long-lashed eyes, the way the lines about his mouth indented into his tanned skin, the way the superb cut of his tuxedo sat perfectly across the lean breadth of his shoulders…?

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