As expected, Fiona took that as her cue to approach. “Hey, stranger.”
He flashed what the tabloids always called his devilish smile. “Fiona, you look stunning.” It wasn’t a lie. She was an attractive woman. A little too thin for his taste, without Jane’s alluring curves, but pretty in a waif-like way.
“I was going to get a fresh drink and head out to the pool deck,” he said. “Come with me.”
He didn’t wait for her to agree, and wasn’t surprised when she fell in obediently beside him as he approached the bar, then signaled the bartender. To be honest, he would have preferred someone else. His general rule was one woman, one time. There were a few he’d bedded more than once, though, either because he’d enjoyed their company or because circumstances just worked out that way.
Fiona was a combination of both. She was smart and funny and they’d gotten along. He liked her well enough, and she’d been more than willing to do some pretty kinky shit one night after a party. He hadn’t intended to see her again, but when Archie had reminded him that he was obligated to attend a charity event the next night and that his intended date had come down with the flu, he’d invited Fiona simply for the sake of convenience.
Now, she was convenient again.
“You know,” she said as she took the martini he offered and hooked her free arm through his, “I was just telling your sister that this is exactly where I wanted to be.”
“At my party?”
There was no mistaking the heat in her eyes when she looked at him. “With you.”
“What a coincidence,” he said, intentionally matching her heat. “That’s where I want you, too.”
“And in your bed?” Her voice was little more than breath and invitation, and it was all he could do to stay in character. To remind himself that this was a role. A job. That all he had to do was get through this and then he could get back to Jane.
“Do we even need a bed?” He didn’t notice her reaction. His attention had been diverted as he was speaking by the woman standing a few yards behind Fiona, now facing him with a harsh, hurt look on her beautiful face.
Jane.
He felt his body lean forward as he instinctively started to move toward her, and he had to force himself to stop. When he did, he noticed the pressure of Fiona’s hand on his crotch, and he dragged his attention from Jane to Fiona as a string of curses ran through his head. “You know,” she whispered huskily, “I’ve seen your pool deck. Why don’t we just head upstairs?”
Her hand moved, stroking and massaging, and like the well-trained asshole he was, he felt his cock grow hard.
Fuck him. And fuck this facade. And fuck the fact that he couldn’t have the woman he wanted at his side.
Slowly, he stepped backward, lessening the pressure of her touch. For an instant, her brow furrowed in confusion. Then he caught her hand and traced his fingertip slowly along her palm. “Soon enough,” he said. “Right now, there’s someone out there I need to talk to.”
“Does the someone have tits?” She lifted one finely plucked brow. “Because tonight I don’t want to share you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, looking back toward Jane. “You won’t.”
She was looking back at him as well, her beautiful face completely unreadable. He wanted to run to her. To hold her.
But all he could do was look at her.
He couldn’t even touch this woman and pretend that it was Jane. He couldn’t tease them both by using another woman as a proxy the way they had before. They’d just talked about it, and he knew damn well that she didn’t want it. Hell, he didn’t want it, either.
Right then, all he wanted was Jane.
As if she could read his thoughts, she met his eyes defiantly.
And then, with equal moxie, she turned on her heel, and walked away, disappearing through the French doors and onto the pool deck.
A moment later, his phone buzzed, signaling a text. “Sorry,” he said to Fiona. “I need to check this.”
He pulled it from his pocket, careful to hide the screen from view.
I know you have to, but I can’t be here.
His gut twisted just from reading it, and all he wanted to do in that moment was go after her. He couldn’t let her go. A bone deep fear was rising in him, telling him that if she left—
Well, dammit, she just couldn’t leave.
He pressed his hand to Fiona’s waist, urging her toward the pool deck. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do, but at the very least he needed to see where Jane had gone.
Once on the flagstones, though, he didn’t see any sign of her. He did, however, see Henry Darcy.
“Dallas. Good to see you,” the older man said, extending his hand. “Appreciate the invitation.”