Finally, Sebastian’s cold eyes bore into his. “What a resourceful bloke you’ve become, but I had nothing to do with this set.”
“I don’t believe you,” Christian said flatly.
“Like that matters. I’ve greater things to worry about than your opinion of me.”
Now that Christian did believe, but he refused to let it bother him, because why should things ever be any different between them?
Vladimir Romanov took one look at his youngest son, pressed his lips in a thin line, then escorted him to the Von Lichtensteins. Their daughter, a popular socialite who moved in American and European circles, was shoved in Christian’s face. His father’s idea of the perfect spouse. But of course, spouse meant business transaction.
Christian winked and flashed his teeth at the dark haired woman. She hid behind her hand and let out intermittent high-pitched giggles while their respective fathers launched into a diatribe about the Euro’s competition with the Dollar.
“What did you think of the big award show you went to this year?” she asked, her voice breathless. Her gaze slid over to their parents, then back to him.
He raised a brow. “Which one?”
She widened her eyes and placed a manicured hand over her chest. “Oh, any of them.”
“The food was bad, the company worse and the length atrocious. Other than that it was absolutely stupendous,” he said. Actually, he rather enjoyed attending them and meeting his fans. They would line up days ahead of time to show their support. For them he’d always show up, always take a picture and sign an autograph. Only he couldn’t let his father know it.
Christian took great pleasure in letting Vladimir think that he only pursued acting to irritate him. Most likely, his father wouldn’t think of keeping the people that paid good money to watch him on screen happy or that Christian would ever be grateful for their support.
The Baron and Christian’s father looked at him with expectation written on their faces.
Play the part, Christian. He inclined his head, murmuring, “Of course, it would have been all the more bearable had you been my date. In fact I’d be honored if you’d accompany me to my next awards show.” He glanced at his father, whose mouth wasn’t pinched or frowning. It was the closest Christian would ever get to a job well done from Vladimir.
Their parents walked away.
“That was a good one,” Kate said, smiling at the cameras aimed in their direction.
Rocking back on his heels, Christian sucked in air through his teeth and gave a light shrug. “Not my best performance, but you were entirely convincing, dear Kate. My ears bleeding copious amounts of blood can attest to it.”
Kate Von Lichtenstein, dubbed by the British tabloids as Peaches due to a very unfortunate sixteenth birthday party incident, playfully swatted him on the arm. Her smile widened, dimples playing hide-and-seek in her cheeks. She hated their fathers’ machinations as much as he did, but they played their parts well. Simpering socialite and playboy actor. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t exactly playing at a part.
She linked her arm with his, pressing closer in the imitation of flirting. “How long are you staying tonight?”
He covered her hand with his, conscious of the very best angle that would serve to make their parents happy. “Just until the cavalry arrives. Then it’s off to Las Vegas to find a woman.”
Dark brows lifted and she tsked. “Ian Romanov having to find a woman—the zombie apocalypse must be at hand.”
“What do you mean Chemsky won’t budge on FRC?” Vladimir asked, capturing Christian’s attention.
As if on cue, his brother joined in on the conversation. “I have a meeting scheduled with Ivan on Monday. Rest assured he’ll see things our way.”
“Excellent news, Sebastian. Trust you to have everything in hand.”
Christian inwardly flinched as Vladimir gave Sebastian a hearty pat on the back and a look of respect. One that he would never bestow upon Christian. One that Christian thought he no longer cared about. But tonight, for some reason it twisted; it clawed and burned his insides.
“Come with me if you don’t want to die of boredom.” His cousin, Sasha, clapped him on the back. “Or from the lobster rolls. Paula Dean, that goddess of butter, would gasp in horror.”
“I’ve often wondered if your obsession with that woman had come to an end.” Christian let go of Kate and turned to face him.
Sasha canted his head. “You say obsession; I say worship.”
Christian grunted, then shot an apologetic glance at Kate whose attention was clearly elsewhere. From across the room, his brother’s eyes connected with hers for the briefest of moments before Sebastian looked away. Kate seemed to deflate.
What a bloody idiot. Christian gently patted her shoulder. “It’s time for me to make a run for it.”
Bright spots of pink colored her cheeks, before she flashed a brilliant smile. “I’d love to come with you.”
Christian lifted her hand to his lips.“We both know I’m not what you want.”
A wistful expression covered her face. “I’m not what he wants either.” She turned, walking away with her head held high as she melted into the crowd.
“Your brother’s a prat.” There was no love lost between Sasha and Sebastian. Rather strange if anyone asked Christian, given the way the three were inseparable growing up. Then again, Sasha had cast his lot with him instead of Sebastian.
“No argument from me there,” Christian replied. Kate would survive. Just as she always had. He pulled out his phone and texted his pilot. “Well, I’ve done my duty and now it’s off to Vegas to find a woman.”
Sasha scrunched up his nose on one side. “You do know women are here.” He gestured at the crowd of people. “In this room. Right now.”
Christian shrugged. “Not what Martha has in mind. I have to find a small town girl.”
“In Las Vegas?” Sasha asked, his voice incredulous.
“I’ll roll the dice and see what happens.” Christian grinned and slid his phone into his pocket.
Sasha raised his brows. “You are extraordinarily horrible at gambling. I’ve never seen a man more unlucky than you at cards. ”
Christian knew it was true, but he wasn’t about to agree. “Well, you know what they say: unlucky at cards, lucky in love. And I plan to get very, very lucky in Vegas.” Or at least appear to.
Chapter Two
Zoe was not having the greatest day ever. In fact she was having the longest day ever.
First, a demon-possessed water fountain had sprayed all over her cardigan right before she was supposed to board her final connecting flight to Las Vegas. With no time to dry the material under a hand dryer in the bathroom, she had stuffed it in a separate pocket inside her carry-on.
Then her plane had landed at McCarran Airport five hours late due to engine problems. She was thankful someone had found the problem and had been attempting to fix it. But being trapped on the tarmac for two hours before they had to switch planes had frazzled her nerves.
However, the pièce de résistance came after waiting another forty-five minutes when she was informed that all of her luggage had been lost. They were doing their very best to locate her bags, but it could take up to two weeks.
She filled out the necessary forms to send the luggage back home instead of having it arrive in Vegas long after her trip was over. Now all she needed was an earthquake and her predictions of things to come could make her the next Nostradamus.
“Thank God for VISA.” She headed toward the exit, shoving her sunglasses back on her nose.
A hard body rammed into her. Hands grabbed her arms, preventing her from falling but her purse went flying, sending the contents sliding across the floor as her carry-on slipped from her grasp.
A man wearing a dark suit and even darker glasses grimaced. “Sorry, ma’am. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and dropped to her knees to collect her things.
“Actually, it was entirely my fault. Let me help you,” another male voice said, the clipped British tones doing things to her body that should’ve been banned in customs. “Give the lady some room, Nathan. I plowed into her.”
The fine hair on the back of her neck stood. She knew that voice. It had whispered to her in her dreams and while she wrote. Her muse. Her biggest mistake. “It’s fine...really.”
“I insist; it’s the least I can do for running into you.” He knelt beside her and grabbed her book from the tiled floor.
“While I insist you don’t,” she said, moving quickly to scoop up the remaining items. His loafers hit her line of vision and she stood slowly as possible to find the face of People Magazine’s Sexiest Bachelor for two years running.
Wheat blond hair fell in a purposefully disarrayed fashion, a sexy topper to his fallen angel face, but it was his eyes that captured and held her attention first. Blue eyes so pure in color that they looked like aquamarine gemstones. While most people dressed down for flights, opting for comfort over style, he looked like a men’s magazine cover model, wearing an open-at-the- throat classic button down and khaki trousers that made the most of his long, lean frame.
God, she wished she had a slushy handy right about now. He wouldn’t look so good wearing neon blue all over his face.
“Hi.” He gave her a crooked smile, flashing perfect white teeth though a pair of sensuous lips.
For a moment his smile completely disarmed her and she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Good grief, you’ve gotten tall. What I mean is you look taller in person than you do in your movies, but isn’t that true about most actors? Oh, wait, no, they’re usually shorter in person and not as good looking. Hmm...um. Well, at least you look better in person and um…” Zoe faltered mid-sentence, face heating. This was not how she pictured their next meeting. Instead of a bumbling, blushing fool, she was cool and precise. Maybe even a little skewering with very carefully chosen words. Too late now. “Anyway, the last time I saw you, you were a little shorter, but only by a couple of inches and now you’re not.”
Golden brows drew together slightly before he settled back into his famous smile. The same one he seemed to have in every picture taken of him. The one that set women’s hearts and other places all aquiver. Unfortunately, it included hers as well.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he said. “What party was that by the way? I can’t imagine I didn’t take the time to talk to someone so pretty.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. You’re unforgettable, love.”
“But you just said you don’t remember me.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Sorry, I meet a lot of women.” There wasn’t a hint of smugness in his voice, more like a universal truth about his life.
And the truth hurt. A lot. She wanted to scream at the familiar pain that stabbed at her heart, at him for being the biggest asshole on the planet. Even if she was being unfair. It really wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember meeting her—at least not the second time.
“Give me back my book.” She tried grabbing it again, but he held it above her head like he wanted to play keep-away.
He turned it over and scanned the back, then glanced up at her. “You read this crap?”
Crap? “It’s literature and you’re one to talk. Especially with the last movie you did. It was horrendous and full of plot holes. I couldn’t determine what the goal, motivation or conflict was supposed to be. Well, not beyond blow them up, save the world and get the girl.”
“But you watched it anyway,” he said with a wink.
She made a face. “Didn’t have a choice,” she muttered. Actually, she’d watched it twice and bought the DVD when it came out.
As if he were reading her mind, he bent his head down and peered at her through sinfully long lashes. “And you loved it.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nope. Lack of G.M.C.”
He scrunched up one side of his face in confusion, and she mouthed the words goal, motivation and conflict at him. When he didn’t respond she flicked her hands in the air. He was hopeless.
Glints of humor flashed in his blue eyes.
And purposefully obtuse.
“At least I got paid twenty million for it. You don’t get paid to read this smut, do you?” Christian waved the book in her face, her green eyes almost crossing as it passed by her nose. “Oh, sorry, this classic piece of literature that Shakespeare would’ve given his left nut to read.” He had no idea why he wanted to tease her. Why he wanted to see what she would do or say next. Only that he wanted her to keep talking in that soft southern drawl of hers.
“Do you get you’re a butthead a lot, too?”
What the hell was she referring to? Oh, right the taller in person remark. “Not since what you Americans call middle school or whatever it is in this country that masquerades as public education.”
She tapped her foot repeatedly, sending his eyes down to her shoes. He swallowed at the sight of ribbons caressing her shapely legs as they disappeared under her dress.
“Prepare yourself, because there's more where that came from, you snobby anglophile," she said, tossing her ponytail to one side.
Christian bit the inside of his cheek, trying to contain his laughter. She didn't seem to give a damn who he was. Actually, she looked and sounded quite put-off by him. Her eyes darted around, as if looking for an exit. An unusual experience in his life. One that he found he liked.
The subtle scent of honeysuckle drifted toward him and for a moment she reminded him of the woman who haunted his dreams.
