Chains of Fire (30 page)

And Isabelle wanted nothing more than to return to New York and tell Samuel . . . well, tell him something. That he was a jerk, mostly. That even if she had been pregnant, she wouldn’t have needed him. That assuming she wanted him to marry her was insulting and demeaning.

If only Charisma hadn’t defended him. What was it she said?
When you clean it up a little bit, he was saying he wants to take care of you no matter what the circumstances.

Isabelle had thought about it. She was still angry.

But every time she really started to work herself into a lather, Noah spoke . . . and spoke. “The legislation I introduced for the month of February proclaimed the fourteenth not only Valentine’s Day, but also the day we appreciate the sawmills of America.”

Turning her head slowly, she stared at him in patent disbelief.

He didn’t notice. “It’s a good balance—romance leveled against the raw materials and solid workmanship of America.”

With impeccable logic, she asked, “Doesn’t the lumber industry ship most of its raw materials overseas to be processed, leaving thousands of sawmill workers out of jobs?”

“We celebrate the history and the glory of the great American forests....”

As he droned on, she thought,
When I was engaged to him, he wasn’t this dull, was he? He’s worse than he used to be, isn’t he?

“Darling, you came!” Patricia Mason came out of the crowd to kiss Isabelle’s cheek, then stepped back and scrutinized her dress. “That is quite the gown.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Isabelle’s dress was not only crimson velvet; it was also tight, sequined and short, and bared one shoulder. Even Noah, who during their engagement had been impressively uninterested in sleeping with her, had done a double take and straightened his tie.

“You didn’t let me know ahead of time that you’d be here,” Patricia said.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Feeling guilty because she knew good and well she would have missed the party if Samuel had said the right things, asked in the right way, Isabelle said, “It is the best party of the whole year.”

“Thank you! And you came with Noah.” Patricia’s approval slid around them like a satin ribbon, tying them together. “Isn’t that nice? Your father will be so pleased.”

My father doesn’t care at all whom I date. But you do.
But Isabelle smiled and nodded. “It looks as if Boston turned out tonight.”

“It is a good mix. Even Samuel came, although his father simply does not handle that boy well.” Patricia shook her head.

“Samuel? Samuel who?”

“Samuel, dear. The butler’s son.”

“Wow.” Noah sounded awed. “He brought Allysen Cadell.”

Isabelle followed his gaze and saw Samuel, in a suit that shouted Armani and a black cashmere sweater, standing next to the most gloriously beautiful model of the decade, laughing at something she said.

Isabelle literally saw red.
“That fucking bastard.”

“Isabelle! I am shocked!” Patricia
was
shocked, eyes wide, hand to her mouth.

“I don’t know that we ought to be discussing his antecedents in those tones,” Noah rebuked. “After all, it’s not as if he can help being born without the benefit of his parents’ wedlock.”

“Maybe not, but even Charisma would have to admit I said that just right.” Isabelle felt a bitter satisfaction about that. “Come on, Noah. We have some mingling to do.”

“Who is that in the red dress?” Allysen asked.

“Hm?” Samuel pretended he’d only a minute ago noticed Isabelle. “Oh. That’s Isabelle Mason, the Masons’ daughter.”

“She doesn’t look anything like them.”

“She’s adopted,” he said briefly.

“She’s gorgeous! If she were a little taller, she would be a top-drawer model. She has that magnetism that attracts every eye. That radiance.” In heels, Allysen was his height, willowy-thin, and gorgeous, with startling green eyes that glowed in her dark face. She was pleasant, too, athletic, good at poker, and not worried about chipping her nails.

He liked Allysen. “As do you.”

“Thank you.” But she wasn’t paying him any heed. “In fact, I know a photographer who’s desperate to find the next new face. I might suggest her to him.”

Isabelle? Posing for the camera? She’d never do it.

But what did he know? He had never imagined she would wear a dress that showed off her ripped shoulders, revealed her legs almost all the way up to her ass, and wrapped her tiny waist like an embrace.

He did not want her modeling. “She’s got a job,” he said.

“Not very many women would keep a nine-to-five in preference to modeling.” Allysen smiled at him. “It’s perceived as glamorous, you know.”

“I do.”

“Who’s she with?”

“That’s Noah Noble, or as I call him, Senator Slick Hair.”

Allysen laughed out loud. “He could use a little less mousse. But he’s good-looking, and he’s the senator from ...?”

“New York.”

“Ooh. Powerful. Always an aphrodisiac. Are they involved?”

“Who?”

“Isabelle and Noah!” Allysen joggled his arm. “Pay attention!”

“They used to be engaged. He dropped her like a hot potato to marry someone more appropriate”—actually, his wife hadn’t been more appropriate, and Samuel had never figured out why he’d done it—“and now they’re divorced.”

“Isabelle must really like him if she’s willing to date him after that.”

“I don’t know.” Did Isabelle like Noble? He supposed she did. Samuel thought the guy was a complete yawn, but she’d been engaged to him, and she could have chosen anyone. Now they were together again.

Samuel thought it was to make him jealous. After all, that was what he was doing with Allysen.

But what happened if Senator Slick Hair romanced Isabelle? Would she rebound into his arms?

Glancing up, he saw that Isabelle and Noah were getting close.

Samuel couldn’t fake civility. Not now. Turning to Allysen, he asked, “Would you like to dance?”

Suspiciously, she asked, “Are you good at it or are you going to step all over my feet?”

“I’m very good at it. And at dancing.”

It was a stupid joke, but she chuckled anyway. “In that case, let’s dance.”

He swung her onto the floor, deftly avoiding Isabelle and the senator, and when the music ended, he managed to put them on the far end, away from Isabelle, but still in plain sight.

Bring a date, would she?

Two could play that game.

He played like a pro, flaunting himself and the beautiful model, being witty, clever, dedicated to Allysen’s every desire while never letting her know she was being shamelessly used. . . .

Then Isabelle disappeared. Her and Senator Slick Hair.

As soon as Samuel realized they were gone, he stopped right in the middle of the floor. Stopped dancing, stopped talking, stopped smiling.

“What’s the matter?” Allysen asked.

“Huh?” He scanned the ballroom.

“They headed out that door.” Allysen pointed toward the Masons’ art gallery.

“Who?”

“The two people who have you tied in knots. Isabelle Mason and the cute senator.”

For the first time that night, Allysen had his total attention.

She smiled. “Oh, Samuel. She’s gorgeous, and I didn’t get to the top of the modeling business by being dumb.”

“Right.” He walked Allysen toward the edge of the dance floor, and felt like the jerk Isabelle told him he was. “I’m sorry. This was crappy of me.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a great time, and I’m pretty sure when you leave me here alone to chase after your girlfriend, I’ll find someone to take your place.”

He looked around.

Men eyed Allysen as if she were a parrot in a flock of blackbirds.

“You don’t mind?” he asked.

She waved him off. “Go on, or you might catch them kissing, and I’d hate to hear you’ve gone to prison for killing a US senator.”

As he turned away, she was smiling at Gruene Cole, the second-best dancer here.

Samuel walked swiftly through the crowd, attention fixed on the entrance to the art gallery . . . which was lit only dimly.

Oh, sure. Mrs. Mason wanted to discourage her guests from touring the house without her, so she had lowered the lights.

Didn’t she know
someone
was going to get the bright idea to slip in there for a quickie?
Someone
like her daughter?

He walked faster. He stepped inside. Heard voices at the far end of the thirty-foot gallery. A woman’s laughter. Isabelle’s laughter.

He reached for the light switch, ready to raise the lights on this little assignation.

Then Noah shouted, “Watch out!” ... right before something big and unwieldy crashed to the marble floor.

She was fine. Thank God, she was fine.

Glancing up, she saw him. “Samuel! I’m so glad it’s you. Keep the rest of the guests away. I’ve got to fix him.”

Noble’s open eyes had rolled back into his head, his forehead was sliced open, and his elbow was twisted at an odd angle.

Isabelle had a drop of blood on her cheek, that was all, and Samuel thought perhaps it was Noble’s.

“I’ll head them off,” Samuel said, and strode back toward the entrance.

He met his father coming in.

“We need to keep everyone out of the gallery.”

“What did you do?” Darren tried to look beyond him, into the dim reaches of the gallery.

“Right. It’s got to be my fault.” But for the first time in his life, Samuel recognized that what his father thought of him didn’t matter. Darren always believed the worst of Samuel because it was easier than dealing with his own failure as a father. In fact . . . when it came to relationships, Samuel’s level of maturity far outstripped Darren’s.
Whew
. Something to remember in his future dealings with Isabelle.

Coolly, Samuel told him, “A marble bust somehow fell and hurt Noble. Isabelle is working her magic, so unless you want—”

“I’ll handle it.” Darren might not have been much of a parent, but he was ever the efficient butler. Swinging back toward the ballroom, he met the initial rush of guests brought by the sound of the crash. “A small accident,” he called. He herded them back to the ballroom and shut the doors.

When Samuel reached Isabelle’s side, the senator was already stirring.

“What happened?” Noble asked groggily.

“I bumped into one of my mother’s art pieces and apparently it wasn’t anchored as it should have been.” Isabelle helped him sit up.

Samuel looked at the scattered remains of the massive marble bust, looked at the curtained cubbyhole that had protected it, and realized there was no way Mrs. Mason would have so abjectly neglected the safety of her art object. No way Isabelle could have bumped the heavy thing and moved it.

He glanced at the stairway that led upstairs, at the door that led out to the gardens, then at her. “Did you see anything?”

She shook her head. “Not now, Samuel.”

Noble glanced up, saw him. “Hey, old man, been meaning to come over all evening and say hello. Isabelle and I were never in the vicinity, that’s all.” Ever the politician, he offered his hand.

Samuel shook it. “Let me help you up.”

“Whoa. Yes, I must have hit the floor a little harder than I realized.” Noble leaned heavily on Samuel’s arm and got to his feet, then looked around at the mess. “It’s a miracle someone wasn’t hurt worse.”

“A miracle,” Isabelle agreed.

“Last thing I remember was admiring you in that dress....” Noble leered.

Samuel let go of his arm.

Noble staggered a little, but kept his feet. “And then bam! The whole pedestal was headed right toward us.”

“Shocking,” Isabelle said. “I’ll speak to Mother about getting a curator in here to make sure the other pieces are more securely placed. Samuel, can you stay with Noah? I want to speak to Darren about the staff he’s hired for the party.”

Samuel weighed the situation.

She wouldn’t be alone.

And Noble
shouldn’t
be alone.

Samuel nodded at her.

She hurried toward the ballroom, slipped out, and shut the door behind her, leaving Samuel with the senator.

Noble watched her leave, then heaved a sigh. “That is one fine-looking woman.”

Samuel wanted to throw him out the window. Instead he asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be great. Whisky and tonic, if you can find it.”

A discreet table had been set up for Mrs. Mason and the guests she intended to treat to a gallery tour later, and Samuel poured for Noble. His hand hovered over a glass for himself; then he grabbed a bottle of water.

It looked as if he was going to need his wits about him tonight.

“I can’t believe I dumped Isabelle for my ex.” Noble accepted the drink. “Isabelle’s gorgeous. She’s a jewel on any man’s arm. She knows the right people, always says the right thing, is a fabulous hostess. She’s everything a man in my position could want. But you want to know the truth?”

“You dumped her because she has a gift?” Samuel savagely twisted the cap off his water.

“A gift?” Noble looked puzzled, then nodded. “I guess you could call it that. A gift for making my cock shrivel. The woman is famous throughout the whole East Coast. Listen, man, if you’re interested, fair warning—she’s as frigid as the great frozen North.”

Samuel paused, the bottle of water halfway to his mouth.

The senator was still babbling. “I tried. I mean, I really tried to get it on with her. She was willing in a ‘sure, you can do it, just don’t mess up my hair’ sort of way. But honest to God, I couldn’t make the little soldier perform. It was like . . . as soon as he got close to that woman’s cunt, he got frostbite and turned away.”

“Really.” Visions flashed through Samuel’s mind.

Isabelle kneeling before him, kissing his dick.

Isabelle in her gold silk dress, her legs wrapped around his shoulders, demanding more.

Isabelle riding him, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed with glory.

Isabelle in his arms, pressed against the wall, climaxing as he hushed her.

Noble said, “I take it you haven’t given her a try, or you’d know.”

Samuel waggled his head noncommittally.

“While we were engaged, I kept going to the call girls to prove the problem wasn’t mine, but that’s dangerous for a man in my position.” Noble puffed out his chest. “The press loves that kind of scandal. So I figured,
‘Dump Isabelle
and get someone who has blood in her veins instead of ice chunks.’ The marriage didn’t work out, and Mrs. Mason wanted me to try with her darling daughter again, but I swear to God, that time she spent with you buried under that avalanche must have really frozen her solid, because she won’t even let me kiss her cheek.”

“Not much of a date, hm?”

“No, and now this happened.” Noble waved a hand at the scattered pieces of marble.

“What
did
happen?”

“I really don’t know. We were looking at a bust of Napoleon done by some famous nineteenth-century French sculptor, and when we turned away, the whole pedestal slammed toward us. Toward Isabelle, really.”

Samuel’s teeth clenched.

“I thought she was a goner, so I shoved her as hard as I could.”

Samuel viewed the senator in a new light. “You’re a brave man.”

Noble shrugged and winced. “Anyone would have done the same.”

Not true. Most people thought of themselves first. The fact that Noble didn’t did a lot to dispel Samuel’s need to murder him. “How’s the injury?”

“There was this blast of pain, I hit the ground so hard I bounced, and it occurred to me . . . well, I wondered if I was going to wake up dead.” His eyes narrowed as he thought. “I must have passed out, because the next thing I know, Isabelle’s rubbing my shoulder and it’s better all the time.” He looked at Samuel in puzzlement. “I guess I didn’t get hurt as bad as I thought I had.”

“Guess not.” Noble didn’t know about Isabelle’s gift. She’d never told him. She was going to marry him, and
she never told him
.

“I suppose I can find someone to pet my fevered brow.” Noble rubbed his head, then his shoulder. “But it’s not going to be Isabelle, I can tell you that.”

Samuel thought fast. “Listen, you’ve got my sympathy on the bad-date thing. I don’t suppose you’d consider a switch?”

“A switch?” Noble cautiously looked up from his drink.

“You can take my date off my hands and I’ll take Isabelle off yours.”

“You would give me your date?” Noble’s voice rose. “
You’d give me Allysen Cadell?”

Samuel played dumb. “You don’t like her?”

“I like her . . . a lot. A lot. She’s gorgeous and she looks ...”

“Easy?”

“Well. Yes.”

“She’s not. She’s smart, she’s witty, and she likes to dance. Although”—Samuel remembered Allysen’s earlier comment—“she does like power.”

“I’ve got power.” Noble sounded deeply satisfied.

“Isabelle and I have to go back to work tonight and I don’t have time to take Allysen home.” Samuel slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him whimper. “Consider it a mutual favor.”

“No,” Noble said fervently, “I owe you.”

“No,
I
owe
you
.” For saving Isabelle. And for telling Samuel that she never put out for another man like she did for him. He smiled, the kind of smile that, if Isabelle saw it, would make her flee in fear. She was going to be so sorry he found this out. “I’ll tell you what. Go find Allysen; tell her I was called away and I asked you to escort her home. Then it’s all up to you.”

“All right, man.” Noble shook Samuel’s hand once. Twice. “You’re stuck with Isabelle. Try not to get frostbite!”

“I’ll be careful.” He watched the senator walk away, open the doors, and slide like an oil slick into the ballroom.

He turned to face the shadows by the stairway and noticed Isabelle lurking there. She must have come down only a moment ago; he didn’t know how much she’d heard.

She stepped into the light. “So now you know.”

She’d heard enough, then. It was on the tip of his tongue to say,
You’re frigid with every man except me. In fact, I may be the only guy you’ve ever slept with.

But she spoke first. “Someone tried to kill me here—and this is the second time today.”

He forgot all about the senator’s revelation and focused on Isabelle’s face. “The second time? Today?”

“Charisma and I were caught in the cross fire of a gang shooting on Fifth Avenue. But the bullet almost got me.”

“Today?” His brain snapped to the obvious conclusion . . . about two weeks too late. “The avalanche was set to take
you
out?”

“When you add it to the fact that the flight that took off for Amsterdam a few minutes after mine blew up in midair, and I’m pretty sure it was because this guy put a bomb in what he thought was my bag . . . yes.”

“It’s you.” The realization hit him like a blow between the eyes. “Someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Yes, Samuel. Yes!” she said impatiently. “Have you got it now?”

“You?” He stared at her, graceful, elegant, poised, and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that someone hated her enough to kill her.

She looked hurt and bewildered.
“Why
would someone put out a contract on me?”

He gave the obvious answer. “You
are
one of the Chosen Ones.”

“I flatter myself that I am the least likely of the group to have enemies!”

“Point taken. If someone, anyone, the Others, were targeting the Chosen, why not me? Everyone hates lawyers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel. Everyone doesn’t hate
all
lawyers. They just hate you.” She sounded a little too fervent for his taste.

But keeping Aaron’s advice in mind—and Caleb’s, and Charisma’s—he didn’t challenge her. Instead he took her hand and tugged her toward the exit. “Come on. I know someone who might have the answer.”