Philip Waters straightened to his considerable height. His eyes narrowed and Cora froze at the mask of hate that settled over his regal features.
Cora didn’t want to know the reasons why the man in white despised her husband. Marcus’s whole world was filled with darkness and vendetta. She wanted nothing to do with any of it. And she certainly had no interest in confronting Marcus tonight.
Lifting her dress so she wouldn’t trip on the mini-train, Cora fled. Damn it, why had she let Armand talk her into wearing these five-inch heels? She couldn’t go too quickly or she break her neck.
“I’m sorry.” Armand caught up with her, sounding sober again.
“You told me he wouldn’t be here,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I know,” Armand sighed, and she almost stumbled.
He steadied her, then held her back as she snapped at him. “You knew? You knew he was coming, and you told me…”
“Look, I didn’t know he was actually going to show up. I may have let it slip that you were working on this event with me. I didn’t invite him.”
“You dangled me like bait in front of him! That’s an open invitation to a man like him.”
She glanced back, and, sure enough, Marcus was on his way towards the ballroom, moving closer to them. People seemed to magically clear out of his way. Shit.
“It’s been two months, Cora belle. Don’t you think you should at least talk to him?”
“I have talked to him.” Okay, she’d texted. She couldn’t bear to hear his voice, although she’d saved his voicemails.
“I mean face to face.” Armand sighed again. Cora felt a twinge of guilt. Her friends hadn’t been anything but supportive, although they did point out, gently, that talking to her husband might be a teensy bit better than just ranting behind his back.
They didn’t understand, though. And they never would because she’d never tell them about that night.
Keeping busy was the only alternative to curling up in the fetal position underneath her bedspread. Over and over, waking and sleeping, she heard the BANG of AJ’s gun going off and the endless images assaulted her—the blood, those brief moments between life and death when she’d bowed over Iris’s prone body and begged her to hang on, still believing that true love conquered all.
But it didn’t. True love and happy endings were a lie. Iris’s eyes had gone glassy and that was only the beginning of that night’s violence and bloodshed.
So yes, Cora had run.
And in the last two months, she tried to build a life for herself. One she could actually call her own for the first time, not dictated by her mother or her husband. She was finally doing what she dreamed of all her life—she was living independently and starting to make her own way in the world. But gods, none of that mattered because Marcus was here. She couldn’t avoid thinking about him anymore. He’d force a confrontation. It was his way.
“I can’t,” she said, pushing Armand away and rising up onto the first step of the staircase. He frowned but let her go.
“It’s too much tonight. I can’t. I won’t.” She was now talking to herself, climbing the stairs carefully because of the damn heels.
Halfway up, though, she made a mistake. She looked down.
Marcus was standing amid the crowd, looking right at her. Was there sadness in the beautiful hollows of his face, in the shadows under his eyes? She’d expected anger.
Too late, Cora realized she’d been staring. Marcus saw her hesitation, and it was enough. Oh shit. He made his living among the criminals of the underworld, where the slightest weakness could be exploited. So of course he read hers. And, like a siren’s call, it moved him.
Holding onto the banister with both hands, Cora watched him prowl through the glittering masses. He kept his eyes on her, and she read in them a promise. He was the hunter; she was the prey. And Marcus Ubeli always got what he wanted.
Under her beautiful dress, her knees wobbled. With what—fear, desire, anticipation?—she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was glad she had the banister to steady herself.
Run. Get the hell out of here.
But she stayed rooted in place. Because maybe, secretly, she wanted him to get what he wanted.
A wild card saved her. A curvy young woman walked in, her golden skin glowing against her outfit of pure white. Anna. The people around her formed an admiring circle and Anna smiled, basking in the light of their attention. But behind her, a server lifted a full tray of drinks and staggered under their weight. Cora gasped as she saw what would happen.
The server stumbled and the glasses crashed down, sending liquid in a shining arc, splashing all over Anna’s white clad form. Anna paused for a brief moment, looking down as the yellow stain spread all over her white outfit.
But Cora should have known Anna could roll with any situation.
Further in the ballroom, the DJ had taken a break and the music was quiet, so people were turning to see this new entertainment. No one else would be able to pull this off, but Anna was a performer, and now she had an audience. She threw back her head and laughed.
With a practiced movement, she let the bolero slide off her shoulders, and tossed the garment onto the surprised server’s tray. Every movement was part of the dance, and it was hard to look away. Her undershirt, a complicated camisole done up her front with little hooks was next. With quick flicks of Anna’s fingers, her top started to split down the middle as the audience held their breath.
She sashayed her hips, stepping forward. The people around her cleared away as she moved towards a buffet table. Her hands busy with her top, she still managed to step lightly up onto the table.
Now most of the room was watching. Anna remained mostly in place, moving her hips to a silent song.
The DJ filled the room with a throbbing beat. Now some of the younger and rowdier crowd came around the table, and Anna worked with them, blowing a kiss to her new admirers. A few fans started to holler.
Her top came off slowly, teasingly, until Anna dropped it and revealed a pale bra holding up an amazing pair of breasts. If the crowd hadn’t been excited before, they certainly were now, and someone clued the DJ in. He turned up the music, bellowing into the mike, “Ladies and gentleman, please welcome—Venus!”
Anna was down to her heels, a sexy thong, and a half slip made of tulle that had underwired the poofy skirt she’d been wearing. Not much more than she wore to work at the strip club where she had her show. Even half-naked, she looked elegant, the mesh skirt around her hips flaring out like a ballerina’s.
On the edge of the ballroom, Max Mars left his throng of admirers and glided across the parquet to the stage where Anna was dancing. He stepped up, the spotlight gilding his famous profile.
He held out his hand. Anna took it.
Cora sucked in a breath. Her roommate was laughing, holding hands with the biggest star in New Olympus, and blowing kisses over her shoulder to her adoring fans as Max Mars stole her away.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Cora’s staff cleaned the champagne and wet clothes away. Crisis averted.
Not quite. All that commotion, and Marcus was still looking at her. Cora staggered backwards, nearly falling on the steps under the weight of his stare. The promise in the stormy depths of his eyes.
Fate had one more ace up his sleeve. While his eyes had been locked with hers, Marcus had forgotten to survey the crowd. The DJ’s music ended and the crowd crush forward to cheer. And amid the waves of people, as if pulled by some magic tide, Philip Waters washed into Marcus’s path.