Devilishly Wicked (14 page)

“Y
es, No Doubt is working on a new CD.”

Georgia lingered, listening, although she tried to look like she was fascinated with an ornate floral arrangement decorating one of the tables nearby. She was less than five feet away from Gwen Stefani.

Gwen Stefani!

Of course, the room was brimming with the rich and famous, just as she’d known it would be. She’d seen several celebrated designers. Stella McCartney. Tommy Hilfiger. And P. Diddy, or whatever name he was going by now. Then there were the celebrities. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. $$$ and $$$.

Georgia struggled not to take her cellphone from her purse and try to covertly take some pictures of all of them. But she was supposed to be here as an equal, not an awestruck fan.

“Excuse me.”

Georgia turned to find herself face to face with Gwen. Crap, she must have realized that Georgia couldn’t be that inordinately fascinated with a flower arrangement for so long.

“I just have to tell you I love your dress. The color is awesome.” Gwen smiled, and randomly Georgia noted she was wearing her signature ruby red lipstick.

Georgia blinked, and then managed a smile of her own. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Gwen nodded, then moved on to mingle with $$$ and $$$.

Oh. My. God. Gwen Stefani had just complimented her dress. Of course, she would be the most likely in the room to appreciate her rockabilly style. Still, Georgia couldn’t believe it. A compliment from a famous rocker chick and designer. And a kiss from Tristan McIntyre. This was definitely a Cinderella sort of night.

Not for the first time, the rich and famous faded from Georgia’s thoughts and she returned to that kiss. Her toes curled in her designer knockoffs, also not for the first time since it had happened.

She’d had no doubt Tristan McIntyre was a good kisser. He exuded far too much sex appeal not to be, but the reality was amazing. Breathtaking. Unbelievable.

And despite the champagne—she was now working on her fourth glass (but it was okay, they were small)—she was attempting to be pragmatic about it. Tristan was a flirt. He loved attention. And he liked making the celebrity gossip rags. So she knew the kiss was nothing but a combination of all those things and she’d do best not to even make any comment about it. Tristan would probably forget it completely in a day or two.

She, on the other hand, would not. But that didn’t mean she had to make a big deal out of it. Just enjoy the kiss for what it was—a bit of fun.

She wandered around the room, pausing here and there to listen to conversations. Some were as pretentious as one would expect at a gathering like this, but many were just normal chats. How are the kids? I heard your mother was in the hospital? She even heard Ellen Degeneres telling a story about her basement flooding. It was, of course, a humorous story, but still a story about a shoddy hot water heater, water damage, and the woes of dealing with homeowner’s insurance. Normal stuff.

That realization comforted Georgia. Not that she was stressed. Okay, she could admit that maybe the kiss was niggling her a bit. She couldn’t let it affect her job. She needed the money her job as personal assistant paid. And she also couldn’t allow the memory of it to consume her, or cause her to have romantic notions about Tristan.

She would admit, to herself anyway, she had a crush on her boss. But crushes were harmless and she would not let her feelings get away from her.

Lifting her champagne glass to her lips, she realized it was empty. She debated getting another, but decided she’d had enough. Another glass might make her too loose lipped. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up telling Tristan she had a crush on him, but not to worry, it wouldn’t affect her job. Or admitting something even stupider like she’d had a crush on him all along, and it hadn’t hindered her ability to get work done. Or maybe she’d tell him she certainly wouldn’t make more of their kiss than she should. Although, she’d really liked the kiss.

She sighed dreamily. The kiss.

Making a slight noise of dismay, she looked down at the empty glass. No, another glass was not an option. In fact, she was starting to think maybe four had been too many.

She placed the empty glass on the tray of a waiter passing by, and then looked around for the restroom. She needed to go freshen up and pull herself together.

To her right, she spotted a hallway. That seemed like a likely place to find restrooms. She walked in that direction, realizing her gait was a little unsteady.

Yeah, four glasses was definitely too many.

She stepped out into the hallway, relieved to see it was empty. Using the wall to steady herself, she teetered toward where she thought the ladies’ room might be. The lighting was lower in the hallway, more ambient than direct. She walked slowly, her head swimming again.

Ahead of her, she saw a little sitting area, furnished with antique wingback chairs with a small table between them. The hallway continued to the right, but she decided to sit for a moment until her vertigo passed. She sat down and rested her head on the chair back, letting her eyes drift shut just for a moment.

Damn, she had to get it together. She didn’t want Tristan to return to find her tipsy and a mess. And she didn’t want to say anything stupid. Like talking about their kiss.

Stop thinking about the damned kiss. Oh, yeah, she needed to get herself together.

She breathed in slowly through her nose, willing the dizziness away, repeating to herself she didn’t want to say something stupid to Tristan.

As soon as she thought his name, she could have sworn she heard him talking.

“Listen, gentlemen, a deal is a deal.”

She frowned. Why would she imagine him saying that? Crap, she really was drunk. Then she heard another voice.

“We did sign the contracts, but it didn’t say anything about working for . . .” The other man’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, and Georgia couldn’t hear the rest of what he said.

She opened her eyes and straightened in her seat. She leaned forward, looking around the wingback of the chair and down the hallway that jutted off the main one she’d just come down. At the end of the hallway, she saw shadows. They looked like the shadows of three men.

“Well, you can’t believe that once you make a deal with the Devil you don’t have to pay.”

That voice was definitely Tristan’s. Even as serious and stern as he sounded, she would recognize his anywhere.

A deal with the Devil?
Was he talking about himself? What did he expect from the other men?

“It’s not as if you aren’t getting exactly what you want,” Tristan added. “Can you deny it? Haven’t you been getting all the things you wanted, just like I said you would?”

The first voice said, “Yes.”

“And if anything, what I’m asking will only profit you more. More money, more power,” Tristan told them. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Two voices agreed.

“So do what I ask, and you will only know more success,” Tristan said.

“I’m in,” a voice she didn’t recognize said.

“Excellent, Higgins,” Tristan said, and Georgia could hear the smile in his voice. That smug smile she knew . . . and had often found attractive.

Higgins? Did she recognize that name? Was it someone Tristan had worked with at the magazine? Had she seen Higgins in his appointment books? She wasn’t sure.

She stood, not understanding why she suddenly felt that she needed to get out of there. But something told her she needed to leave. To not be seen.

This time when she hurried down the hall, her footing was sure, no weaving, no lightheadedness. But her mind whirred. Who were those men and what had they been discussing?

Instantly, that strange guy—Gabriel—came to mind, and all the things he’d told her. Did Tristan have underworld affiliations as Gabriel had said? Was he a criminal? Was he dangerous?

He was clearly holding those men to some sort of contract. He was asking them to do something they hesitated to do.

She paused outside the ballroom, leaning against the wall, feeling oddly breathless. She couldn’t think clearly amidst all those people, and she needed to replay the dialogue she’d heard.

She had to be reading too much into it. After all, Tristan had told her that he had to go talk business, and it wasn’t as if she’d heard him say anything that clearly stated he expected these men to do something illegal. Nor had she heard him make any actual threats. The men had signed some sort of contract and Tristan expected them to uphold that contract.

She’d worked for Tristan for months. She knew he had contracts with lots of people: photographers, writers, even designers. That had to be the kind of contract he was talking about.

Still, one line kept echoing in her head.
When you make a deal with the Devil.
That didn’t sound good. But it also could simply be a turn of phrase. People used it all the time. It didn’t truly imply that Tristan was dangerous, or threatening.

She touched a hand to her temple. She’d had too much to drink. That much she did know. And her overactive mind was getting away from her.

She dropped her hand and straightened away from the wall as two men appeared in the hallway and walked in her direction. Were those the men who’d been talking to Tristan? She didn’t know.

Both men nodded at her as they returned to the ballroom. She should go back in, too, but before she could follow, her purse vibrated. It took her a moment to realize what was causing the insistent tremor.

Her cellphone, she finally realized, scolding herself for being so frazzled. She flipped open the purse and pulled out her phone.

Marnie’s name lit up the touch screen. Concern tightened her chest. Marnie wouldn’t call unless it was really necessary.

“Hello,” she said, all the worry she’d been determined to suppress that night bubbling to the surface.

“Georgia, I’m headed to the hospital with your grandmother.”

“Oh, my God, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing life-threatening,” Marnie quickly assured her. “Your grandmother fell and hurt her ankle. I wasn’t sure how bad it was, so I decided I’d better call an ambulance rather than try to move her myself. The EMTs checked her over and felt that she might have broken her ankle.”

“Oh, no,” Georgia said, guilt filling her chest. She should have been with her grandmother tonight. “Which hospital are you going to?”

“Beth Israel.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Please tell Grammy that I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I will,” Marnie said. “Please don’t panic. She’s doing okay, just in some pain.”

Georgia nodded, even though Marnie couldn’t see that. “I’ll be right there.”

“Georgia,” Tristan said, at her side when she hung up her phone. “What’s wrong?”

A wave of relief flooded Georgia, making her weak. “I have to go. Grammy fell and she’s on her way to Beth Israel Hospital. I need to get to her.”

“Of course,” Tristan said, taking her hand and hurrying her through the ballroom and toward the front entrance. His own cell was in his hand, and Georgia was vaguely aware that Tristan was calling William, telling him they needed the limo, right away.

They walked down the golden carpet to where they’d been dropped off. Paparazzi still lingered, waiting for more photo opportunities. Cameras clicked and flashes blazed, but Tristan didn’t slow down, instead pulling her tightly to his side as if to protect her from their unwanted attention.

Somehow William got the limo through the crush of traffic in a much shorter time than Georgia would have thought possible, although every minute felt like hours to her. Tristan quickly ushered her to the car and helped her in, telling William where they needed to go, and pronto. Then he crawled in behind her, again pulling Georgia close, wrapping his arm around her.

“We’ll be there in just a few minutes,” Tristan assured her. Then he kissed the top of her head, murmuring more words of reassurance.

Georgia leaned against his chest, allowing his comfort, thankful he was there.

“I
’m so sorry,” Marnie said.

Georgia collapsed onto the sofa where her grandmother had been when they’d left earlier that night.

“Please don’t apologize,” Georgia told her friend, and Tristan had to agree. It was at least the tenth time the woman had apologized. Frankly, Tristan didn’t see the point of doing it over and over.

“I know this isn’t how you expected your special night to go,” Marnie said, leaning in the doorway of the living room, looking upset.

It sure as hell wasn’t how he’d expected the night to go. By this time, he had planned to have had Georgia under him, on top of him, and bent over for him. But instead he’d spent his night in a hospital, and the only one who got taken to a bed and poked and prodded was an elderly woman with a broken ankle and a bump on her head.

“It’s fine,” Georgia reassured Marnie again. “I’m just glad you were here and that Grammy didn’t get hurt worse when she fell. This is another reason I just can’t leave her alone. Even for a few moments.”

Tristan moved to sit beside Georgia. “I think it’s a good thing they kept her overnight. Just to watch her and make sure nothing else is wrong.”

Georgia nodded.

“Well, I’m going to go. Please call me in the morning and let me know how she is feeling,” Marnie said, heading to the apartment door. Tristan rose to follow her.

“Are you going to stay with Georgia?” Marnie whispered when they were out of earshot.

“If she wants me to.”

“I think you should. She’s pretty shaken and looks really exhausted. I think it would be good for her to have someone here if she needs something. I can stay, if you want.”

Tristan shook his head. “No, I’ll stay.”

Marnie smiled. “Good.” She said her good-byes and left.
Finally,
Tristan thought as he locked the apartment door. Tonight hadn’t gone as he’d imagined, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t salvage a little of it.

Taking a woman who was preoccupied and stressed wasn’t his method of seduction, but when it came to Georgia, he found himself willing to have her any way he could.

He walked back into the living room to find her with her eyes closed and her head resting against the back of the sofa. Her usually rosy cheeks were pale and her full rosebud mouth was drawn into a thin line, its pinkness gone.

She cracked an eye open when she heard him, forcing her head upright. “It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I know that gala was a big event for you and the magazine. I should have insisted you stay. It wasn’t as if you needed to waste your night sitting in a hospital watching a parade of open-backed johnnies when you could have been with some of the world’s most famous designers.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he said, sitting beside her, “and truthfully, the johnnies were more fashionable than some of the spring fashions I’ve seen.”

Georgia laughed, and he could hear the exhaustion in it.

“What can I do to help you?” he asked, and for a moment he considered saying something flirty like “help you to bed?” Or “get you out of that dress,” but he found himself more concerned about her pallor and fatigue than his libido.

Only because you’ve waited this long for her, he told himself. You wouldn’t want anything less than a full performance.

“You look totally drained. Why don’t you go get into some pajamas and I’ll fix you a drink,” he said, doing something he didn’t believe he’d ever done in his whole existence. He gave her knee a reassuring pat. No rub, no sliding up her thigh. Not even a squeeze.

“No more drinks,” she groaned. “I definitely cannot do more alcohol. But a cup of Earl Grey would be wonderful.”

“You got it,” he said, surprised that he meant it. He held out a hand to help her up, which she readily accepted. As she stood, she stumbled a little, bumping against him. He caught her against his chest to steady her, and then held her there, looking down at her wan, but still adorable face.

Again, to his utter surprise, he placed a kiss on the tip of her upturned nose, and then directed her past him.

“Okay, go change and I’ll get that tea for you.”

She nodded, a strangely bemused look on her face. Then she stepped past him to head down the hallway.

Tristan remained rooted to the spot. What the hell was he doing? He was a demon of lust not a damned nursemaid. He seduced women . . . sometimes men, for his satisfaction. For his personal gain. And more often than not just because it was fun. And now he was patting knees and kissing the tips of noses like some demonic version of a doting father.

Check that, even during those sweet and nonsexual interactions with Georgia, what he felt was not fatherly. Not in the least. But he did feel something different for her. Something kind and gentle and caring.

Affection. Could that be it? He’d denied that particular emotion earlier, but now he was thinking maybe he did feel affection for her.

Well, wasn’t that disturbing? Thoroughly and utterly disturbing.

He wandered into the kitchen and looked through the cabinets to find teabags and a mug. Then he filled the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. Crossing his arms over his chest, he considered this new strange sensation.

He supposed affection wasn’t completely foreign to him. At one time he’d cared about Finola. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. And Dippy.

He made a noise of contempt. That beast plucked his last nerve. What about other women he’d been mad to have? He liked them fine. He’d even seen several women over an extended period of time. He hesitated to call it “dating” or “a relationship,” but he must have felt something for them. He pondered it, trying to recall. He’d . . . liked them. That was about all he could say.

This was so strange. It couldn’t be the first time he’d ever experienced this feeling. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t think of one past lover who had affected him so readily. So intensely.

“Oh, I feel so much better already.” Georgia padded into the room wearing fleece pajama bottoms, red with white polka dots, and a red camisole that showed glimpses of her cleavage and revealed fully that she no longer wore a bra and her breasts were all natural and very perky.

Some of the pinkness returned to her cheeks as she noticed where he was looking. And her nipples hardened in reaction, too. She had big, pointed nipples that Tristan would have sold his soul to the Devil to taste, if he had a soul and he didn’t already belong to Satan.

“Maybe I should go put on a T-shirt,” Georgia said, the comment revealing more than anything how tired she was. If she were thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have actually said something to reveal she knew where he was looking. She would have normally pretended she didn’t notice.

But she did notice. And he was still noticing her. He stepped forward and caught her around the waist, pulling her against him.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he growled, knowing this wasn’t the optimal time to tell her. But everything was out of whack with him tonight. His emotions, his timing. Only one thing seemed to be working with its unfailing consistency and that was his cock, which currently pressed against Georgia’s belly, hard and thick and ready.

“Tristan,” she said, his name breathy and sexy in his ears. “I’m not sure—That is I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all night.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and wide. There was a vulnerability there, behind her funky glasses frames, made more pronounced by the smudges of purple under her lower lashes.

More of that odd feeling filled him. And it wasn’t just affection; it seemed to be mixed with something else. Something just as foreign to him. It was like he wanted to take care of her.

Protectiveness maybe. Although, even as he thought it, it seemed like a dirty word in his mind.
Protective
.

No, ignore those bizarre feelings and take her, his lustful side urged. She will give herself to you. She wants you.

He lowered his lips to hers, capturing them. She surrendered willingly, her lips soft and pliant under his. And unlike their earlier kiss in public at Lincoln Center, now he didn’t need to temper his hunger for her. He could taste her, his tongue sliding between those eager lips, their tongues dancing around each other. The movements were as sensual as he could ever recall a kiss to be.

He groaned deep in his throat, pulling her tighter to him, his hands tangling in her hair, holding the back of her head. He felt her hands gripping his shoulders, her fingertips digging into him through his jacket and shirt. He wanted to feel them digging into his skin.

He groaned again, kissing her deeper.

She moaned in response.

Vaguely, Tristan registered that he’d never felt this way before. This desperation. This out-of-control feeling that urged him on.

Suddenly the room was filled with a loud whistling that somehow managed to penetrate his lust-filled brain. He lifted his head, looking around him, trying to figure out what caused the noise. Large billows of steam rolled over the stove and into the kitchen, and he finally realized it was the teakettle.

He looked back at Georgia, who met his gaze, her eyes filled with desire and that same drained vulnerability he’d seen earlier.

Her lips were parted and red and swollen from his kiss. Her breathing was uneven, broken. She was the picture of longing and surrender, and he wanted her.

But again, that surge of protectiveness filled him. She was overwhelmed, tired, maybe still under the influence of the champagne she’d had. He didn’t want her that way. A surrender based on anything less than giving in to her desire wouldn’t satisfy him.

He didn’t understand why, but he knew it was the truth. He studied her a moment longer, wishing he could ignore these strange, new, and oddly proper motivations. But he couldn’t.

“I know you’ve had a stressful night and you are exhausted. Go into the living room and relax. I’ll fix your tea and bring it in to you.”

She nibbled her lip, looking as confused as he felt, but then she nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

She padded out of the room as he turned to the stove, flipping off the burner. Steam moistened his skin, making his denied need almost unbearable. He wanted to be buried in her moistened flesh, feeling her wet heat all around his aching cock.

But rather than following her and doing just that, he poured hot water over the teabag in the mug. The teabag soaked in the water, swelling, releasing its essence into the brew.

His thoughts went back to being deep inside her, swelling until he came, his essence mingling with hers.

He growled, low and frustrated. When making tea became as graphic and arousing as any sexual act, he knew he needed to assuage his lust, and soon.

Instead, he forced himself to calmly call to Georgia. “What do you take in your tea?”

Georgia didn’t answer for a moment, and he couldn’t help hoping she was struggling with sexual need as much as he was.

He could still smell her desire in the air. His ripe Peach.

But something still kept him in the kitchen, dunking a teabag up and down in the cup, awaiting her direction.

“Just a little milk, please.”

He went to the fridge, retrieved the milk, and finished making her tea. Then, after several shuddering breaths, he took the cup into the living room. Georgia sat up from her reclined position as he entered the room.

She reached out to take the mug, and he could see her hands were shaking.

This was insane. They were both so desperate for each other, they were literally shaking with it. But neither made a further move. Georgia took a sip of her tea and Tristan took a seat in the oversized chair next to the sofa, stretching out his long legs, not caring if she saw his erection jutting up against the fly of his trousers.

If she did, she didn’t reveal it. She kept her attention focused on her tea.

Finally, when the air was just a little less thick with desire, she said, “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t think you should really be alone tonight. Just in case.”

She didn’t ask just in case of what. She simply nodded and leaned back against the couch cushions. Again, he could see how tired she was.

He watched her for a moment, and then spotted the television remote on the coffee table. “Why don’t we see if we can find a movie or something?”

“Okay,” she agreed, but he couldn’t tell if there was disappointment or relief in her voice. And he refused to ponder it, pressing the button to bring the TV to life.

All he knew was that he had never given up the opportunity to spend the night fucking a willing, sexy-as-hell woman to watch reruns of
Frasier
.

Something wasn’t right, and it worried him. A lot.