Hot Picks: Secrets And Lies. Dani Collins

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Cinnia had convinced herself this engagement party for her friend from uni was yet another good “networking opportunity,” even though she knew why she’d been invited. Once Vera’s photo of the two of them with the twins had made the rounds, Cinnia had been inundated by old acquaintances eager to reach out. She was part of the “it” crowd now and her mother couldn’t be happier.

      If only she was in a position to decline, but she was too practical to be proud. Her friend was marrying into a very wealthy family from New York and their circle of friends included the types of fortunes that were just complex enough to need a qualified manager.

      Unfortunately, you couldn’t reply to casual questions about your career with “I’m drumming up biz for the agency I’m opening.” Evenings like this were about making introductions and impressions, keeping the talk light yet memorable, then somehow finding an excuse at a point down the road to contact the same people and ask, “Do you have a plan for your eventual death?”

      Since she didn’t have a man in her life who was eager to put on a tie and show up to a stranger’s engagement party, she had come alone and was now a target for the stags in rut. Gerald, here, was a perfect example, shadowing her through her last two attempts to ditch him. She swore if he asked for her number, she would give him her business card and tell him to call when he was ready to discuss his final wishes.

      “Don’t look now, but guess who just walked in,” the woman across from her said with a sparkle in her eye. “I think you know him, Cinnia.”

      Of course Cinnia looked.

      And promptly felt stretched thin as a strand of glass, so brittle she would break if a wrong word was breathed in her direction. Her throat closed and her chest stung from the inside. It took everything in her to keep a look of nonchalance on her face while her heart bolted for the nearest exit.

      He was looking right at her, gorgeous in tailored grey pants and a black shirt sans tie, hat or suspenders. His forest green linen jacket should have looked affected, but, of course, it was a simple statement that he was gorgeous and stylish in modern garb as well as vintage.

      “Not really,” she said, turning back to her group, begging her cheeks not to go hot with betrayal. “I only met them briefly,” she lied. For the millionth time.

      It was an open secret that Vera had slept with Ramon. She hadn’t just notched her bedpost, but had engraved the words A Sauveterre Slept Here on her headboard. Everyone assumed Cinnia had put out as well and it had taken her weeks to convince the world at large she hadn’t.

      Because, when a man could walk into a room and create a stir without doing a damned thing, what red-blooded woman wouldn’t sleep with him the first chance she got?

      Guilty as charged, obviously, but Cinnia was far too mortified to admit it. Why, why, why had he affected her so strongly she’d gone against her basic principles? She could already feel him creating the same wicked stir in her—which was unconscionable now she understood he hadn’t just been availing himself but cheating.

      “Friends with the groom, I guess?” Gerald murmured. “Looks like it. Not your date then, Cinnia?”

      “No,” she asserted, refusing to look at Henri again. Refusing. Burning inside with rejection. “I’m not even sure which one that is,” she said, utterly bald-faced.

      But she knew that was Henri. It didn’t make sense to her that her body recognized him at a basic level while regarding his brother like any other man, but there it was. She was attuned and susceptible to this twin.

      Please, God, don’t let him know how susceptible. Would it be too obvious if she excused herself to the ladies’ room and caught a cab away from here?

      “What did you get for the happy couple?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation off Henri. “I saw they’d registered for one of those bullets to make smoothies, but someone beat me to it. I got them the yogurt maker instead.”

      “He’s coming,” the woman said, barely moving her lips, then pasting on a big smile. “Mr. Sauveterre. It’s so nice to meet you.”

      “Bonjour.” He nodded and set his wide hand on Cinnia’s lower back as he leaned in to shake the offered hand. She stiffened, burned by the imprint of his touch through the satin of her dress. “Cinnia. Nice to see you again. Will you introduce me to your friends?”

      She could hardly breathe with his palm sending waves of sensual excitement through her.

      “Of course, um—” she squinted at him, making a show of guessing “—Henri?”

      His gaze flashed and his thumb and finger dug into her waist in a suggestion of a pinch, promising retribution. “Oui.”

      He was a master at the small talk game, asking people how they knew the betrothed couple, discovering occupations and commenting on places of travel without offering a single detail about himself.

      She stood dumbly paralyzed by his hand resting against her spine, telling herself to walk away, but unable to. Her entire body was reacting with the tingling memory of his muscled body moving against hers. Within her. It was all she could do not to betray that she was growing aroused by standing next to him. If she walked away, she’d only draw attention to how gripped she was by her reaction.

      “Oh, Cinnia, there’s someone you should meet. Let me introduce you.”

      Henri smoothly snagged her hand and drew her away while Gerald stammered, “Nice chatting with you, Cinnia…” in their wake.

      Enough. She had to get away. She tugged at her hand. “I’m leaving,” she told him.

      “Excellent. Me, too.”

      Oh, nice one. She had walked blindly into that.

      “But I do have to say hello to this couple.” Apparently he knew them from New York. He drew her across the room.

      She followed to avoid making a scene and they chatted for a few minutes. Cinnia quietly fumed, hating him and herself for still reacting. She was just about to make her escape by excusing herself to the powder room and crawling out a window when Henri tightened his grip on the hand she was subtly working free of his.

      “I’m afraid we have to run. We should say good night to our hosts,” he added to Cinnia, exactly as if they were a couple who had arrived together.

      “They” were not a couple. He had demonstrated that clearly enough at the nightclub. Growing hot with fresh outrage, she waited until they’d left the prospective bride and groom and their roomful of friends with a meaty chunk of gossip to chew over before saying, “Why are you doing this? You’re ruining my reputation.”