Devilishly Wicked (13 page)

Surely, it was the champagne, which had readily spread warmth and a wonderful sense of cheerful calm through her. Did he think she was ridiculous?

She cast another sidelong glance in his direction. He looked very content and happy, too.

She decided not to worry about it. She worried far too much: about her grandmother, her job, money, and her inappropriate attraction to her boss. She
should
really be worrying about that last one tonight, but she couldn’t bring herself to bother at this moment.

Sure, she was in a limo, her side pressed against his, going to a posh gala with him. If there was a time to worry about her reaction to him, it was now, but she just wasn’t.

And then there was that guy—her champagne-clouded brain couldn’t even recall his name. Gabriel. That was it. There was his crazy story, and stalking, that should be worrying her, but she just couldn’t muster up the energy to do so. She’d decide what to do about that tomorrow.

Instead, she took another sip of her champagne and sneaked another look at Tristan. This time, he was looking back.

She felt her cheeks heat, but it wasn’t with the usual embarrassment. This time, it was with awareness. Did she see real desire in his eyes?

Okay, the champagne really was going to her head. Still, she considered what she’d do if her boss made a move tonight. The way she was feeling right now, all warm and tingly and happy, she might just go for it.

Such a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

“Did I mention how beautiful you look?” he said, and his face seemed to move closer to hers. Maybe it was just the limo jostling slightly. Maybe it was an effect of the bubbly.

But whatever the reason, she didn’t shift away. She leaned toward those beautiful sculpted lips. And just as she closed her eyes and waited for them to press against hers, the limo door opened.

G
eorgia’s eyes snapped open and she clutched the edge of the seat to pull herself away from Tristan and to get her bearings. William’s large frame blocked the bright lights of Lincoln Center behind him. But the cool air and the sound of cars and a crowd were enough to ruin the magical moment between her and Tristan in their private, warm, bubbly, and Cure-filled cocoon.

She blinked again, some of her usual anxiety returning. Had she really been about to kiss Tristan—Mr. McIntyre—her boss? No matter how wonderful and safe the back of that limo had seemed, kissing her boss was a terrible idea. Maybe all her worries had finally caused her to lose her mind.

But it was more likely the champagne. She never could hold her liquor.

“Sorry to startle you, sir,” William said, giving them both an awkward look, reinforcing the realization that she’d just been moments from doing something colossally stupid. “But we are here.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said, his rich, chocolaty voice clipped.

Was that tone because Tristan was disappointed to have the moment interrupted? Or was it because he was uncomfortable with the idea that William might have seen it? Or just uncomfortable in general?

The answer didn’t really matter. It was just a good thing the moment had been stopped. Of course, her aroused body didn’t agree in the least.

William stepped aside and Tristan slid forward, extending his long legs out the door to stand. He turned and offered his hand to her. She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his. He helped her out, and continued to hold her fingers as they stepped away from the limousine.

Reality hit with blinding force. Large lights illuminated the carpeted walkway up the steps of Lincoln Center, and seas of people crowded the rope barriers on either side of the carpet, creating an undulating wall caging them in. Cameras flashed and people yelled.

“This way!”

“Mr. McIntyre!”

“Over here!”

Georgia didn’t know where to look first, and the pleasant feeling the champagne had created while seated in the back of the limo now became discomfort in all the pandemonium. Her head swam and she had a hard time focusing her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Tristan squeezed her hand and pulled her closer to his side.

“This is . . . a lot.”

He chuckled, although Georgia couldn’t figure out what was amusing. She made a slight noise of dismay as he released her hand. She didn’t want to lose that connection. She couldn’t make her entrance without him to anchor her. Without his hand locked around hers, she felt as if she’d been set adrift. And although realistically, the mob couldn’t get any closer to them because of the barricades and the security, she felt as if their sheer energy would drag her away.

Just when she would have flung out a hand to catch Tristan’s again, his arm slipped around her waist, holding her tight to his side.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, his voice close to her ear, deep and calm. “Just stay close to me and smile. You look amazing. We look amazing.”

If she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she might have laughed at his arrogance, but right now she needed that confidence.

Tristan began to walk. He raised his free hand and waved, and Georgia was blinded by more flashes and shouts.

Stay calm, she told herself. And just follow Tristan’s lead. She didn’t wave, but she did manage to plaster a smile on her face. She also managed to get her swirling head calmed so she could take in what was going on around her. The crowd swarming the barricades was large, but they just jostled to get a look at the celebrities, not to physically reach out to them. Between that realization and Tristan’s secure hold, she calmed even more. And maybe it was the champagne again.

Tristan paused, which confused Georgia for a moment; then she realized he was stopping to give photographers a chance to snap shots. He waved and smiled.

“Have fun, Georgia,” Tristan murmured, his voice close to her ear again.

Maybe it was Tristan. Or maybe her subconscious had taken on the voice of Tristan. The side of her subconscious that urged her to be audacious and decadent and wild.

It made sense that the devilish side of her psyche would sound like the man she knew was all of those things. Her angelic side remained silent.

Georgia smiled and raised a hand to wave, too. Who cared if the paparazzi didn’t really care about her? She would take advantage of this pretty darned amazing moment.

She was walking a red carpet with Tristan McIntyre, the editor-in-chief of
HOT!
magazine. And he was one gorgeous man. Why not enjoy this?

Tristan hugged her closer. “What do you think, beautiful?”

She smiled up at him, back to how she’d been in the limo, letting herself enjoy this moment. This Cinderella at the ball moment. It would be over in the harsh light of tomorrow, but tonight, why not just enjoy?

“The carpet isn’t red,” she said, a fact she’d noticed right away. It was gold. Literally glistening like polished precious metal under her heeled feet.

Tristan laughed that full, spontaneous laugh of his.

He shook his head, his wide smile gorgeous. “You never say what I expect you will. You always surprise me.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked.

“Very,” he said. “Since I’m not easy to surprise.”

But it was his turn to surprise her. His head came down, his lips capturing hers. She froze, for just a moment, then made a slight whimper and kissed him back. Bright lights flashed behind her closed lids, but she only barely registered them. She was too lost in the feel and taste of this man. His lips moved over hers, strong and velvety soft at the same time.

His tongue teased the seam of her lips, but when she would have parted hers to allow him in, to taste his full heady flavor, he lifted his head.

Their eyes held for a moment, and then she heard cheers and more flashes of light and remembered exactly where they were.

How did he do that? Steal her inhibitions. Make her forget where she was. In front of hundreds of curious looky-loos.

“I’m sorry,” he said, although she got no sense that he felt the least bit of remorse. “I just couldn’t resist those rosebud lips of yours.”

She nodded slightly, because she didn’t know what else to do.

“Come on,” he said, nudging her into movement. “I think the paparazzi got more photo ops than they expected.”

Boy, did they. She fell into step alongside him, her legs as wobbly as jelly, or at least they felt that way. But she managed to walk up the steps and into the massive building without incident.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked once they were away from the madness outside.

She nodded, still not able to find her voice, or even sure what to say if she did.

“Are you sure? You look pale.”

She did? Probably because she knew she was going to regret her behavior in spades come tomorrow morning. But right now, honestly, she just wished he’d kiss her again.

“Come on,” he said, apparently realizing she wasn’t going to say anything. “Let’s get another drink.”

 

Tristan directed Georgia toward the ballroom and directly toward the bar set up in one corner of the enormous room. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. Not in such a public forum. A
hugely
public forum.

It was probably not a wise choice. If Dippy and Finola got wind of his public display of affection toward Georgia, they would likely see it as weakness on his part. A distraction from his purpose here. And they would both get the idea that they could wheedle their way into the position of leader of the rebellion.

What they wouldn’t understand was that the kiss wasn’t a display of affection, but a display of lust. A lust that would be quenched tonight.

He looked back at Georgia. She stood to the side of the large room, wide-eyed as she took in her opulent surroundings. Absently, she touched her fingers to her glossed, rosy lips, and his body reacted instantly. She was remembering their kiss. So was he.

“Good evening, sir,” the bartender greeted him. “What can I get you?”

Tristan ordered two more champagnes. Not the quality of what they’d been drinking earlier, but good enough. Good enough to hopefully calm his raging need and keep Georgia relaxed. Although he didn’t think he’d need liquid lubrication to get her back to the suite with him. She was ripe for his seduction.

He let his gaze slide down her body as he approached her. He wouldn’t need any sort of lubricant tonight. He could smell how ready she was for him.

“Here you go.” He held out the champagne flute.

She accepted, giving him a teasing smile. “I think you are trying to get me drunk.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“Shame on you,” she said, but then took a sip of the golden liquid.

“Well, Peaches, you know I’m very determined when it comes to getting what I want.”

She nodded, and for the first time, he saw some of the wariness that she usually kept wrapped around her. He didn’t want that. He loved the relaxed woman who had appeared in the limo, who had allowed his kiss, even with photographers and journalists watching every moment of the embrace.

He also realized he didn’t want to be at this event any longer than necessary. He wanted to be alone with Peaches—as soon as possible.

That meant he had to get his act together and do the work that was needed for the takeover. He casually took a sip of his own drink, casting a gaze around the room. He easily spotted the men he needed to see tonight: Garwood Higgins and Frank Barrington.

Higgins was the editor of
Grace,
a highly popular rival magazine, and Barrington was one of the most famous fashion photographers in the industry. And both men were greedy and highly ambitious.

Both had been ridiculously easy to recruit. They were humans who wanted the ability and strength of demons. They’d been more than willing to sell their souls for more power. And tonight was the time for them to pay up on having their deepest desires granted. They hadn’t just sold Tristan their souls. They’d sold him their loyalty and influence.

“I hate to have to do this,” he said to Georgia, being honest, “but I have to handle a little business before we enjoy our night. I just want to get it out of the way.”

“Of course,” Georgia said readily. “I know these events are just as much about work as fun.”

She did know that. As his personal assistant, she knew a lot about his work. But not all of it, that was for sure.

For a moment, he studied her as she looked around the room, her face so pretty and cherubic. What would Peaches think about the fact that she worked for one of Satan’s minions? He didn’t think she’d understand. He didn’t think he could buy her soul either.

Maybe that was part of why he found her so intriguing and so beautiful. She wouldn’t sell her soul for some selfish desire. He didn’t know how he knew that fact, but he did.

But others were more than willing to do so, and right now, he had to deal with them.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Don’t disappear on me.”

“Skip out on
the
Tristan McIntyre. I wouldn’t dare.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, enjoying her teasing, but he wasn’t going to risk her leaving for any reason. Tonight was really about her, even if it should be about recruiting more humans to aid Satan’s plan for world domination.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, although his tone was teasing, too.

“Yes, sir.”

He chuckled to himself as he left her to cross the room to where Higgins and Barrington stood talking, cohorts in their greed. And stupidity.

Tristan realized he shouldn’t disparage humans like these men for the ridiculous ease with which they parted with their souls. After all, it did make his job so much easier, but he sometimes wondered why any human would be foolish enough to believe material gain, power, or even carnal satisfaction was worth damning his eternal soul.

He frowned at his own train of thought. That was all far too philosophical for a demon. Far too moral, too.

Shit, if Dippy could hear his thoughts, he’d think Tristan was going soft.

“Hardly,” he muttered to himself, then pasted on a suave smile as he approached his targets of the evening. Well, his demonic targets. His real target waited behind him in a sexy red dress and silk stockings.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he said, forcing himself to deal with the task at hand. “We need to talk.”