Loe raamatut: «Black Tie Billionaire»

One

She was beautiful.

Gideon Knight tuned out the man speaking to him as he studied the petite woman weaving a path through the crowded ballroom. Even wearing the white shirt, black bow tie and dark pants of the waitstaff, she stood out like the brightest jewel among the hundreds of guests at the Du Sable City Gala, the annual event of the Chicago social season, rendering those around her to mere cubic zirconia.

How was it that only he noticed the elegant length of her neck, the straight line of her back that tapered at the waist and flowed out in a gentle, sensual swell of hips? How did the other people in the room not ogle the particular way the light from the crystal chandeliers hit her bronze skin, causing it to gleam? How did they not stop and study the graceful stride that wouldn’t have been out of place on the most exclusive catwalk?

Had he said beautiful? He meant exquisite.

And he hadn’t even seen her face.

Yet.

“Excuse me.” Gideon abruptly interrupted the prattling of the older gentleman, not bothering with a polite explanation for walking away.

The other man’s surprised sputtering should’ve dredged up a semblance of regret, especially since Gideon’s mother had hammered better manners into him. But just ten years ago this gentleman wouldn’t have deigned to acknowledge Gideon’s existence. Then he’d been just another penniless, dream-filled, University of Chicago business student. He hadn’t been the Gideon Knight, cofounder and CEO of KayCee Corp, one of the hottest and most successful start-up companies to hit the market in the last five years. Now that he was a multibillionaire, this businessman, and people of his tax bracket and social sphere, damn near scraped their chins on the floor with all the bowing and kowtowing they directed Gideon’s way.

Money and power had that peculiar effect.

Usually, he could dredge up more patience, but he despised events like this high society benefit gala. One thing he’d learned in his grueling battle to breach the inner sanctum zealously guarded by the obscenely wealthy one percent was that a good portion of business deals were landed at dinner tables, country club golf courses and social events like the Du Sable City Gala. So even though attending ranked only slightly higher than shopping with his sister or vacationing in one of Dante’s nine levels of hell, he attended.

But for the first time that he could remember, he was distracted from networking. And again, for the first time, he welcomed the disruption.

He wound his way through the tuxedoed and gowned throng, pretending not to hear when his name was called, and uttering a “Pardon me” when more persistent individuals tried to halt him with a touch to his arm. Many articles written about him had mentioned his laser-sharp focus, and at this moment, it was trained on a certain server with black hair swept into a low knot at the back of her head, a body created for the sweetest sin and skin that had his fingertips itching with the need to touch...to caress.

That need—the unprecedented urgency of it—should’ve been a warning to proceed with caution. And if he’d paused, he might’ve analyzed why the impulse to approach her, to look into her face, raked at him like a tiger’s sharp claws. He might’ve retreated, or placed distance between him and her. Discipline, control, focus—they were the daily refrains of his life, the blocks upon which he’d built his business, his success. That this unknown woman already threatened all three by just being in the room... Not even his ex-fiancée had stirred this kind of attraction in him. Which only underscored why he should walk away. It boded nothing good.

Yet he followed her with the determination of a predator stalking its unsuspecting prey.

How cliché, but damn, how true. Because every instinct in him growled to capture, cover, take...bite.

She would be his tonight.

As the strength and certainty of the thought echoed inside him, he neared her. Close enough to glimpse the delicate line of her jaw and the vulnerable nape of her neck. To inhale the heady, sensual musk that contained notes of roses, and warmer hints of cedarwood and amber...or maybe almond.

Tonight’s mission would be to discover which one.

For yet another time this evening, he murmured, “Excuse me.” But in this instance, he wasn’t trying to escape someone. No, he wanted to snare her. Keep her.

At least for the next few hours.

Look at me. Turn around and look at me.

The plea rebounded off his skull, and the seconds seemed to slow as she shifted, lifting her head and meeting his gaze.

His gut clenched, desire slamming into him so hard he braced himself against the impact. But it still left him reeling. Left his body tense, hard.

A long fringe of black hair swept over her forehead and dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, but neither could hide the strong, regal lines of her face, the sharp cheekbones, the chocolate eyes or the lush siren’s call of her mouth.

Damn, that mouth.

He dragged his fascinated gaze away from it with a strength that deserved a gold medal. But nothing, not even God Himself, could cleanse his mind of the acts those curves elicited. Acts that left him throbbing and greedy.

“Did you need a glass of champagne?” she asked, lowering her eyes to the tray she held.

No, keep your eyes on me.

The order rolled up his throat and hovered on his tongue, but he locked it down. Damn, with just a few words uttered in a silk-and-midnight voice, he’d devolved into a caveman.

Once more, a warning to walk away clanged inside him, but—like moments earlier—he ignored it. Nothing else mattered at the moment. Nothing but having that sex-and-sin voice stroke his ears. Having those hands slip under his clothes to caress his skin. And those oval-shaped eyes fixed on him.

“What’s your name?” He delivered a question of his own, answering hers by picking up a glass flute full of pale wine.

If he hadn’t been studying her so closely, he might’ve missed the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the minute hesitation before, head still bowed, she said, “I need to continue...”

She shifted away from him, preparing to escape into the crowd.

“Wait.” He lifted his arm, instinct guiding him to grasp her elbow to prevent her departure. But at the last moment, he lowered his arm back to his side.

As much as he wanted to discover how she felt under his hand, he refused to touch her without her permission. Rich assholes accosting the waitstaff was as old a story as a boss chasing his secretary around the desk. Even though his palm itched with the lack of contact, he slid his free hand into his front pocket.

The aborted motion seemed to grab her attention. She raised her head, a frown drawing her eyebrows together.

“Gideon Knight,” he said, offering her his name. “You have my name. Can I have yours?”

Again, that beat of hesitation. Then, with a small shake of her head, she murmured, “Camille.”

“Camille,” he repeated, savoring it as if it were one of the rich chocolate desserts that would follow the dinner course. “It’s a lovely name. And it fits you.”

Her eyes widened, an emotion he would’ve labeled panic flaring in their depths before she lowered her lashes, hiding her gaze from him. Again. “Thank you, Mr. Knight. If—”

“Gideon,” he corrected. “For you, it’s Gideon.”

Her full lips firmed into a line seconds before she met his stare with one glinting in anger. How insane did it make him that he found the signs of her temper captivating...and sexy as hell?

“No offense, Mr. Knight—”

“In my experience, when someone starts a sentence with ‘no offense,’ they intend to offend,” he drawled.

Once more he saw that flicker of anger, and an exhilaration that was usually reserved for fierce business negotiations surged in his chest. The exhilaration meant he was engaging with a worthy opponent.

“I’m going out on a limb and assuming your ego can take the hit,” she shot back. Then, as if she realized what she’d snapped—and who she’d snapped at—she winced, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. “I apologize—”

“Oh, don’t disappoint me now by turning meek, Camille,” he purred, arching an eyebrow.

In a distant corner of his mind, he marveled at who he’d become in this moment. Flirting, teasing, goddamn purring—they weren’t him. His mouth either didn’t know this information or didn’t care. “I assure you, I can take it,” he added.

Take whatever she wanted to give him, whether it was her gaze, her conversation or more. And God, he hungered for the more. Greedy bastard that he was, he’d claim whatever she chose to dole out.

“Mr. Knight,” she began, defiance clipping his name, “I don’t know if approaching the staff and toying with them is one of your usual forms of entertainment. But since you’ve invited me not to be meek, let me tell you this might be a game to you, but the waitstaff aren’t toys to alleviate your boredom. This is a livelihood for workers who depend on a paycheck and not getting fired for fraternizing with the guests.”

Shock vibrated through him like a plucked chord on his favorite Martin D-45 acoustic guitar.

Shock and...delight.

Other than his mother and family, no one had the balls to speak to him like she had, much less reprimand him. Excitement—something he hadn’t experienced in so long he couldn’t remember the last occurrence—tripped and stumbled down his spine.

“I don’t play games,” he said. “They’re a waste of time. Why be coy when being honest achieves the goal faster?”

“And what’s your goal here, Mr. Knight?” she challenged, not hiding her sneer.

If she understood how his pulse jumped and his body throbbed every time she stated “Mr. Knight” with a haughtiness worthy of royalty, she would probably swear a vow of silence.

“Cop a feel in a dark hallway? A little slap and tickle in a broom closet?” she asked.

“I’m too old to cop a feel. And I don’t ‘slap and tickle’ either, whatever that is. I fuck.”

Her head jerked back at his blunt statement, her eyes widening behind the dark frames. Even with the din of chatter and laughter flowing around them, he caught her sharp gasp.

A voice sounding suspiciously like that of Gray Chandler, his business partner and best friend—his only friend—hissed a curse at him. How many times had Gray warned him to temper his brusque, straightforward manner? Well, to be more accurate, his friend described Gideon as tactless. Pretty words weren’t his forte; honesty was. Normally, he didn’t regret his abruptness. Like he’d told her, he didn’t indulge in games. But in this moment, he almost regretted it.

Especially if she walked away from him.

“Is that why you stopped me? To proposition me?” She dropped her gaze to the champagne glass in his hand, and with just that glance let him know she didn’t buy his pretense of wanting the wine. He shrugged, setting it behind him on one of the high tables scattered around the ballroom.

“Why single me out?” she continued. “Because I’m so beautiful you couldn’t help yourself?” she mocked. “Or because I’m a server, and you’re a guest in a position of power? What happens if I say no? Will I suddenly find myself relieved of my job?”

Disgust and the first flicker of anger wormed its way through his veins. “Do I want to spend a night with you? Inside you? Yes,” he stated, and again her eyes flared wide at his frankness before narrowing. “I told you, I don’t lie. I don’t play games. But if you decline, then no, you would still have a check and employment at the end of the evening. I don’t need to blackmail women into my bed, Camille. Besides, a willing woman, a woman who wants my hands on her body, who pleads for what she knows I can give her, is far more arousing, more pleasurable. And any man worth his dick would value that over a woman who’s coerced or forced into handing over something that should be offered or surrendered of her own free will.”

She silently studied him, the fire fading from her stare, but something else flicked in those dark eyes. And that “something” had him easing a step closer, yet stopping short of invading her personal space.

“To answer your other question,” he murmured. “Why did I single you out? Your first guess was correct. Because you are so beautiful I couldn’t help following you around this over-the-top ballroom filled with people who possess more money than sense. The women here can’t outshine you. They’re like peacocks, spreading their plumage, desperate to be noticed, and here you are among them, like the moon. Bright, alone, above it all and eclipsing every one of them. What I don’t understand is how no one else noticed before me. Why every man in this place isn’t standing behind me in a line just for the chance to be near you.”

Silence swelled around them like a bubble, muting the din of the gala. His words seemed to echo in the cocoon, and he marveled at them. Hadn’t he sworn he didn’t do pretty words? Yet it had been him talking about peacocks and moons.

What was she doing to him?

Even as the question echoed in his mind, her head tilted back and she stared at him, her lovely eyes darker...hotter. In that moment, he’d stand under a damn balcony and serenade her if she continued looking at him like that. He curled his fingers into his palm, reminding himself with the pain that he couldn’t touch her. Still, the only sound that reached his ears was the quick, soft pants breaking on her pretty lips.

As ridiculous as it seemed, he swore each breath slid under his clothes, swept over his skin. He ached to have each moist puff dampen his shoulders, his chest as her fingernails twisted in his hair, dug into his muscles, clinging to him as he drove them both to the point of carnal madness.

The growl prowled up his throat and out of him before he could contain it.

“I—I need to go,” she whispered, already shifting back and away from him. “I—” She didn’t finish the thought, but turned and waded into the crowd, distancing herself from him.

He didn’t follow; she hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t said yes, either. And though he’d caught the desire in her gaze—his stomach still ached from the gut punch of it—she had to come to him.

Or ask him to come for her.

Rooted where she’d left him, he tracked her movements.

Saw the moment she cleared the mass of people and strode in the direction of the double doors where more tray-bearing staff emerged and exited.

Saw when she paused, palm pressed to one of the panels.

Saw when she glanced over her shoulder in his direction.

Even across the distance of the ballroom, the electric shock of that look whipped through him, sizzled in his veins. Moments later, she disappeared from view. Didn’t matter; his feet were already moving in her direction.

That glance, that look. It’d sealed her fate.

Sealed it for both of them.