The Sphinx Project (15 page)

A tall, thin man in a pressed suit stood at the door. People surrounded him, pushing forward in an attempt to convince him they were important enough to gain entrance.

"Excuse me." My voice was just loud enough for him to hear me over the music, my English accent firmly in place. "I was told I had to talk to you about going in there."

Anyone watching would think I was oozing self-confidence, but my stomach was filled with butterflies. I was trained for breaking and entering and could go almost anywhere without being seen, if I wanted to and had the right equipment. This was a whole different ballgame. Briana, on the other hand, would be in her element. I tried to pretend I had her confidence.

He ran his eyes over us, his face blank of emotion. "Unless you're on the list, it's not going to happen."

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. My father flew us in this morning and he said he would sort it out. But he was in business meetings all day and didn't have a chance," I said, doing my best to act like I was entitled to special treatment. "He said Ms. Hamilton would welcome us. Perhaps you can ask her?"

He tilted his head back further, speaking down his nose at me. "No entrance unless your name is on the list."

"What's your name?"

"Why?"

"Because my father has regular business dealings with your employer. He'll want to know why I wasn't treated with the respect I deserve." My tone was chilling, like I'd been given everything I'd ever wanted, served upon a silver platter. This was starting to be a lot of fun. I could get used to being a spoiled brat.

"And who are you?" He looked bored, as if others had tried this tactic in the past.

"Lady Emilie Elizabeth Lockwood. Lord Lockwood is my father," I said.

Understanding exploded in his eyes, fear raced across his face before he got it back under control. Richard Lockwood was a regular visitor to the nightclub and a very influential man in all of the right circles.

"I'm so sorry. One moment," he said, his manners instantly improving. He pushed a buzzer attached to the wall, which summoned a uniformed waiter. He sent the man to the back of the room to confer with the lady in charge. I tried not to smile with triumph as his words confirmed Marissa's presence. The waiter scurried back, whispering confirmation in his ear.

"Did you bring any identification tonight?" he asked politely.

"Of course." I handed him the passport to inspect. "Is Ms. Hamilton here? I want to talk to her."

He assured me I'd be able to speak with his boss after her guests left. He examined my passport before passing us into the care of the waiter.

"This way please, mademoiselle." He led us to a low table in one of the corners surrounded by couches. He walked stiffly, shoulders and head back, spine unusually straight. "I believe this is your father's regular table. Can I bring you anything to drink?"

"Two non-alcoholic cocktails, please. Something fruity."

He glanced at our wrists and nodded, bowing his head as he backed away. We'd tried to find out what sort of things the girl would usually drink, but even Mouse couldn't dig up anything about that.

This was a good spot. We could see the entrance to Marissa's room. There were a number of others with her at the moment behind the frosted glass. We could wait until they left, there was no hurry.

"Now this I could get used to." Mouse smirked.

Following the line of her gaze, I found her watching a group of cute guys. They stood around a tall table closer to the bar, but my eyes settled on one in particular. He was standing side-on to me; dark hair fell over his eyes and his bare forearms rested on the edge of the table. He'd tossed the jacket of his suit over a bar stool and rolled his sleeves up.

The other guys in his group all looked a lot older than him. They were quite animated, laughing and talking. He simply seemed content to listen and chime in if his opinion was sought out.

He couldn't have been all that much older than us. I was about to turn back to Mouse when, as if he'd sensed me staring at him, the guy turned his head, trapping my eyes with his. My breath caught before I spun away, amusing myself by staring at my hands. I awkwardly rubbed the pad of my thumb over the tattoo on my wrist.

"Smooth," Mouse teased, her laugh tinkling over the sound of the music.

"Oh, no." My cheeks warmed as a blush creeped over my face. "That's so embarrassing!"

"Well, it's going to get even worse," Mouse said, trying to smother her giggles.

"Why?" I asked, refusing to let my eyes wander in that direction again.

"Because he's coming over here."

My face automatically sank into my hands, a groan slipping from my lips at the same time.

"Were you waiting for anyone?" he asked, his voice warm and friendly.

I peeked between my fingers to find him looking down at me, a smile stretched across his face.

"Of course not," Mouse said, sending a teasing grin in my direction. "Take a seat."

The couch sank a little as he sat beside me. I dropped my hands away from my face to rest in my lap. He'd brought his friends, who were now sitting around the low table. Mouse talked to one of them with red hair, ignoring my embarrassment.

"Hi, I'm Matt," the cute guy introduced himself, turning slightly to face me where I sat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, just for it to fall back into exactly the same place. He tossed his head, sending the black strands to the side, where they somehow managed to stay put.

"Hello," I said, trying not to stutter. Nerves fluttered in my belly. I attempted to draw back the confidence I'd feigned before, but it didn't really work.

"Do you have a name?" he asked, a smile played around his lips, which he seemed to be attempting to keep in a serious line.

"Emilie." I forced a smile forth.

A strange expression tugged at his eyebrows, but it was only fleeting.

"Well, it's nice to meet you…Emilie." He paused over the name, as if he were analyzing its texture on his tongue. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you. There should be something coming now."

As if my words had summoned him, the waiter appeared, bearing a tray adorned with two tall glasses. They were filled with some sort of pink drink and decorated with a strawberry on the rim. He set the drinks down in front of us before placing a small silver tray next to them with a piece of paper on it.

"Put it on my tab," Matt ordered the waiter, waving him away. The man swept the bill back into his hand and left.

"Thank you," I murmured, concentrating on keeping my English accent in place. I glanced up at him, trying to peer discreetly through my lashes, but I found myself looking straight into his eyes. I hastily averted my gaze and toyed with the straws in my drink.

His laughter bubbled around me, warming my blood as heat flooded my cheeks. I had to be thankful for the dim lighting that hid the pinkness that probably stained my face.

"So, how'd you screw up?" he asked, gesturing to the cast on my arm.

I felt a strange urge to giggle.

"I fell off my horse," I muttered lamely, as if embarrassed at my clumsiness.

He nodded, once again, obviously not totally convinced.

"You've got a horse?" He still smiled, but the question felt forced, somehow.

"Three, actually," I confirmed.

"Do you live here? Or are you visiting?"

"Just visiting. My father's here on business."

"Where in England are you from?"

What was this, a pop quiz? Did people always ask so many questions when they met strangers?

"Buckinghamshire, although I spend a lot of time in Oxford for university now," I replied, glad I'd learned all of this by heart. "What about you? Are you a New York native?"

"Not really. My parents liked to travel a lot. Dad's dead now, so I look after some of the family business."

I nodded, taking another sip of my drink.

"Do you want to dance?"

"Oh, I can't," I admitted. Thrown off balance by his question, I turned to face him fully for the first time. Seeing him from this angle, I was surprised to see he was a lot bigger than I'd thought, his broad shoulders pushing at the seams of his shirt.

"Come on, everyone knows how to dance," he urged.

"Not everyone and I'm sure I can't do that." I gestured to the women swaying sinuously and the couples writhing together in the middle of the dance floor. I'd never done it—I'd never been that close to a male full-stop. The only dancing we'd done was ballet, and that was only to improve our coordination.

"It's not difficult and you don't have to dance like that. I can show you?" he offered.

Again, my cheeks heated as I peered into his eyes, trying to gauge his seriousness. They looked steadily into my own.

"Go on," Mouse said. "We're not going anywhere right now. Just keep an eye out in case I need you."

"Oh, okay then…"

"There's no need to sound so excited about it," he teased.

"Sorry," I squeaked, looking away again. I couldn't seem to find a balance between my nerves and the confidence I was attempting to project.

"Come on." He took hold of my drink and placed it back on the table. Taking my good hand, he helped me to my feet and led me back to the glass partition.

As I followed, I tossed the small black bag to Mouse, who caught it easily.

Watching me walk away, she nodded her approval. She couldn't seem to restrain the giggles that burst from her lips. The host on the door lurched out of Matt's way, pushing everyone else to clear the path as well. I hadn't realized I'd scared him that much.

Matt wove his way between the bodies on the dance floor until he found the right place, close to an alcove at the back. He pulled me closer, placing my fingers gently against the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He slid his hands around my waist to the small of my back, holding me close, tucking my arm wrapped in plaster against his own. We were touching, but just barely. It was nothing at all compared to some of the couples.

I twisted slightly in his arms, repositioning us so I could keep an eye on Mouse and the room in which Marissa resided.

He moved to the music, dancing to a relaxed secondary beat as opposed to the hard throbbing rhythm at the crest of the noise. I wasn't quite sure where to look, too uncomfortable to stare straight into his eyes while also trying to avoid staring down at my feet. I settled on watching the people on the dance floor behind his shoulder.

"You can look at me," he teased as the first song blended into the second.

"Sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed again, lifting my eyes to his.

"It's all right, as long as you want to dance. We can go back to your friend if you want?" For the first time, his cheerful expression slipped and he seemed a little unsure of himself.

I shook my head, gazing into his hazel eyes, awkward that I was the cause of his sudden lack of confidence.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Nineteen," I said, not skipping a beat. "Why?"

"You seem quite young."

"Oh… How old are you?" I responded.

"The same," he replied. "What date's your birthday?"

For some reason I couldn't hold back the feeling that he was testing me.

"March sixteenth," I answered honestly. It'd been strange to find out she had the same birthday as Nicole and I, even if she was two years older.

We danced together for a few more songs. His arms gathered me gradually closer as the music continued. I kept checking over his shoulder, both to check on Mouse and make sure the woman we were here to see hadn't left.

I glanced back to Matt. My breath caught and I turned my scrutiny to something on his shoulder. The intensity blazing in those depths were too much. For a moment he stilled, before his hand lifted to my chin, caressing the soft skin along my jaw. His feather light fingertips sent sparks dancing wherever they touched.

He nudged my face up until I was forced to look him squarely in the eye. His gaze caught mine, holding it with a potency that stirred something deep within my chest. I couldn't have torn my eyes away even if I wanted to.

His other arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer into his body. The air rushed from my lungs. For a moment he didn't move, the unspoken question lingering in his eyes. Taking my silence for approval, he lowered his face unhurriedly toward mine. My eyelashes drifted down, like they knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

His mouth closed gently over mine. His soft lips moved ever so tenderly. A small sigh escaped my lips and his hand tangled in my hair.

He pulled back, putting the barest space between us.

"I know you're not Emilie," he whispered against my lips.

Chapter Eighteen

His hand closed around the wire of the radio, catching my hair too. He tore it from my ear, jerking the strands painfully from my scalp. His other arm tightened roughly around me.

My eyes flew open to find his hard stare drilling into me. I froze in shock. This couldn't be happening. He reached up and grabbed my wrist, yanked it down and twisted it to inspect the tattoo adorning the skin.

"What do you want, Sphinx?"

I couldn't keep my eyes from widening as I processed his words.

"Why did they send you?" His hand held my head in place, forcing me to stare back at him. An invisible barrier swept up between us, bringing me back to my senses. He'd been playing with me.

"If you know what I am," I snarled, "you'll know what I can do. Let go of me." I glanced past him. No one was paying any attention to us, despite being surrounded by dancers.

"Yes, I know what you can do, but I doubt you're strong enough to break my grip. I'm not letting you go until you answer some questions."

I glanced frantically around, trying to figure out how to free myself without drawing too much attention. I couldn't make a scene and get kicked out. This was the closest we'd ever get to Marissa.

I jerked my hand, but he was right; he was stronger than me. Those muscles I'd observed earlier weren't just for show.

Assessing my options, I decided on the element of surprise. I slammed my head forward into his nose.