A Virgin To Redeem The Billionaire. Dani Collins
watch as she wove toward Kaine. The twenty-somethings adjusted their glasses and the forty-somethings sucked in their stomachs. The women in pencil skirts narrowed their eyes with envy.
Her aloof expression took no notice of anyone except him as she moved through mirror-ball sparkles that glittered off glowing white twigs against a bath of purple light cast by black bulbs.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she arrived into his circle. She barely raised her voice above the thump of the DJ’s playlist, neatly interrupting a movie producer trying to talk Kaine into investing in his latest blockbuster. “I need Mr. Michaels.”
Kaine had an idea where her audacity came from. Her father owned a well-respected advertising firm. She’d been raised in upper-class circles thanks to a private education. Even so, she was a goldfish, not a shark. One who still managed to blow a few bubbles and shoo the bigger fish away. They dispersed without hesitation, only looking over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of her slinky black dress and slinkier shoes.
Those tiny black patent belts enclosing her ankles would inspire a fetish in a priest.
Kaine dragged his attention back up her legs, fantasizing about the smoothness of those thighs against his palms and lips. Was she wearing matching midnight underwear beneath that short skirt? A wink of red? Something nude? Perhaps she was nude.
He bit back a groan of craving, dying to find out. And the top of that thing. He could ease it down with a fingertip and discover exactly how warm and round and heavy her perfectly formed breasts were. Lick at her nipples and watch a flush of pleasure stain her skin.
He arrived at cheeks hollow with dismay. Her eyes—green, he recalled, since the surreal lighting made the color indiscernible—shot sparks of indignation.
“You crashed this party, Ms. Barsi,” he pointed out, refusing to apologize for his ogling. “Don’t complain about the reception you receive.” He added a laconic, “Call security,” to the waiter who approached with a tray of champagne.
The server faltered.
“He’s joking,” Gisella said, stealing a flute of bubbly and smiling in a way that dazzled the confused server into smiling and ducking his head.
“I’m not,” Kaine assured her as the kid slipped away.
She only sipped and glanced over the crowd. “You call this a party?”
A deserved burn. The atmosphere was flatter than roadkill. Despite the pulse of music and the money made by everyone in the room, people stood in knots of downcast heads. Kids these days. They’d rather post a photo that they were there than be here.
“It’s Drummond, by the way. I told you that last week,” Gisella said. “When my grandmother married Benedek Barsi, she already had my mother.”
“Did she?” He scratched under his chin.
She sent him a sharp look. “What does that mean?”
“I do my homework.” Did she really not know?
He’d been intrigued by her from the first photo he’d seen, gaze drawn back to her image more than once as he’d learned all he could about Benny’s family. A few things had converged to make buying the Garrison estate a wise, last-minute move. He might not have been there, however, if his attention hadn’t already been snagged by her. His sources had revealed she’d been searching for a single earring for years and he’d seen an opportunity.
And, if he hadn’t known about her intense interest, he might have believed she’d been responding to his kiss in a very open, refreshing way. She hadn’t, of course. She had been trying to manipulate him. Even knowing that, he remained reluctantly fascinated.
“Have you been doing yours?” he asked her.
“My homework?”
“Yes. How is Benny? Never mind. I don’t care. Unless he’s dead. That’s the only excuse I’ll accept for his avoiding my calls.”
Pressing her lips flat, she seemed to gather her composure, standing taller and squaring her shoulders. “I haven’t been able to reach him.”
“Then why are you here?”
“You know why. The earring. You wouldn’t meet Rozi so here I am. I’m willing to be generous.”
“Not interested,” he lied. He was far too interested in watching how she played this despite knowing she was trying to play him.
“I haven’t even given you a number.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you offer, I can receive double from someone else.”
“Viktor Rohan?”
For some reason, the way she said the man’s name—pithy and familiar—provoked a sudden, inexplicable tension in him.
“You know him?” He kept his poker face on, pretending equal disinterest as he scanned the crowd.
“I know of him. We haven’t met. You’re planning to sell it to him, then?” She was affecting nonchalance, same as him, but she had tells. Her fingers tapped the stem of the glass she held, betraying her nervous interest in his answer.
“I haven’t decided.”
Viktor Rohan had become a bit of a thorn in Kaine’s side, prodding him to sell the earring to him with ever-increasing incentives. Kaine wasn’t playing him like a fish. From what he knew about the man, Rohan wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Under other circumstances, Kaine would have happily parted with the bauble for a modest profit.
But then, Gisella would have no reason to be here, frowning over his funeral of a party.
“What if I say I’ll double Viktor’s last offer?” she asked.
Kaine was again impressed by her bravado. He named the most recent figure Viktor had sent him, which made her lashes quiver.
He smirked. “Ready to fold?”
“I’m not bluffing,” she bluffed. “I just hadn’t realized how quickly the stakes were rising. I’m prepared to pay that. Do we have a deal?” She offered her free hand.
“Oh, hell no. I don’t need the money and it’s clearly appreciating daily.” The value of its leverage with her was priceless.
He sipped his bourbon and her arm fell to her side.
“You’re quite desperate for this thing, aren’t you? Why?” The earring was pretty, Kaine supposed, but he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. “To sell it to Rohan yourself at a profit?”
“No.” She acted offended. “I told you. I want to give it to my grandmother.”
“One earring.”
“It’s very special to her.”
Kaine had never understood attaching emotion to anything, least of all musty old objects. He didn’t even possess a favorite pair of jeans let alone a watch or a boat that he would grieve over sinking. Everything could be replaced, provided he kept his bank balance healthy enough to make the purchase.
As someone gambling in the tech industry, he didn’t even let the fluctuations in his cash flow bother him too greatly.
The only time he grew hot under the collar was when someone tried to take something from him. And someone had. A few weeks ago, her cousin Benny had blown a crater into Kaine’s net worth. The circle of investors whom Benny had assembled were all standing around the edge, throwing rocks to ensure he sank as quickly as possible.
That was a memory to hang on to, not the one where he had clasped that pointed chin and ravaged those pillowy lips with a hunger that sat in the pit of his gut right now, howling like a starving beast scenting more.
“I can’t be swayed by emotion,” he informed her, trying to burn away his ferocious thirst for her by finishing his neat