Filthy Rich (5 page)

Who knew? Maybe they were. Maybe she was the only one who didn't know how to judge a man's true character before she was in too deep to get out.

But you did get out.

Yeah, she had.

That thought lifted her spirits as the ceremony concluded. The moment Tarak took his bride into his arms and kissed her, the assembled guests broke into a cheer, dominated by the sound of Nartan's voice letting out a deep and savage cry.

Celeste was mesmerized by the sight of him tipping his head back, exposing the deep bronze column of his throat. She found herself wanting to taste it.

She still wanted another taste of his kiss.

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she looked at the ground to conceal her confusion. When she raised her head again, she found herself looking into Nartan's cobalt-blue eyes. The force of the connection traveled through her, making her take an unconscious step back. His lips lifted in response as Tarak turned with his bride and faced his friends and colleagues, leaving Celeste directly facing Nartan.

He was in an Armani suit again, but now he struck her as much more intimidating than the first time she'd met him at Angelino's on the California coast. The polite mask he'd hidden behind while overseeing his multimillion-dollar restaurant was gone, allowing her to see the nature of the man who had faced down the Alaskan winter to achieve his goal.

She felt an unmistakable touch of pride on his behalf. She did love it when someone didn't cry quits even though the odds were against them.

Admired it because she knew firsthand how much strength it took to force yourself to face the harsher edges of reality.

Nartan closed the distance between them, cupping her elbow before she recovered enough to realize his intention. But he didn't stop there. He slid his hand behind her, grazing across her lower back and turning her to face the assembled guests before locking his hand around her hip.

A crazy, intense twist of need went through her pelvis.

“I didn't get much sleep last night,” he said as the photographer snapped pictures. Nartan guided her away from the arch under which the ceremony had taken place.

Celeste felt a shiver of triumph at that. The sight of him standing there with his shirt open was branded into her memory. “I think you enjoy messing with the boundaries I try to place between us.”

The catering staff pulled aside a curtain wall that exposed the second half of the building, where tables and a dance floor had been set up. The freshly pressed tablecloths and silk floral garlands draping the perimeter of the room were gorgeous, but Celeste was far too conscious of the man next to her to take much notice. She felt a hairsbreadth from a full embrace, the sense of intimacy wrapping around her and tempting her to just lean against him.

“True,” he confessed next to her ear. “You're enjoying it too. That's why you reached for me last night.”

Nartan's body heat was burning along her left side, and she was far too aware of how hard his body was beneath the fine Italian wool of his suit. His tie matched his eyes perfectly, and a pair of gold cuff links caught the candlelight when he bent his left arm. It was all pretty wrapping that she wanted to tear off him to get to the real present hidden inside.

He raised one dark eyebrow when their gazes met. “No argument?”

She turned to face him to loosen his grip on her hip. It worked, giving her the freedom to step back, but he caught her hand as she moved, his fingers stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist before he carried her hand to his lips and bestowed a kiss on her fingers.

“No.”

A single word had never made her tremble before. For a moment they were locked together in a connection that felt soul deep.

“Let's get out of here.” His voice had roughened.

But she pulled away, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “A little moon madness doesn't change anything.”

He tightened his grip on her hand, resisting her attempt to pull free for a moment. Taunting her, really, his eyes glittering with a promise that was unmistakable. It was a subtle threat, one that she didn't have to deal with because they were surrounded by people. But she knew what he was doing, and part of her refused to ignore it.

She pushed her hand toward him to break his grip and lifted her arm away. But freedom didn't fill her with satisfaction.

Somewhere deep inside her brain, there was the unmistakable hint of enjoyment that he was stronger than her. Both in will and brawn.

Not that she'd ever admit it to him.

It horrified her because it was a preamble to surrender, one she knew she had no hope of controlling. The sensation was there, crackling like a fire getting its start. Something glittered in his eyes, confirming that he was able to look straight into her soul and see it. Their moonlight kiss was testimony to the fact that she'd lose her grip on reality in his embrace.

Distance was the only hope she had.

The fact that she made it to Sabra's side without turning her ankle was a credit to how many hours she had trained, because she was on autopilot. The reception was in full swing around her, fresh flowers filling the air with their fragrance, but all she noticed was the lingering scent of Nartan's skin and how good his hand felt wrapped around her hip.

She really wanted another taste of him.

***

Nartan wanted to follow her.

The urge was hard and sharp. He stood for a long moment, feeling it roll through his body. It sharpened his senses, allowing him to pick out the details of the way Celeste lowered her chin to keep her neck from being exposed and the stance she adopted to make certain she had him partially in sight while she fought the urge to look back at him.

He didn't need the distraction but couldn't help but appreciate it. Although “enjoy” was a far better word choice.

Maybe “eating it up” was more fitting altogether.

He wanted to taste her again.

But admitting that brought him face to face with his own boundaries. She wasn't a hookup, which turned out to be something else he found attractive about her.

Shit. He liked his life the way he had it. Affairs were like the city bus. There would be another one along if he missed the first one.

But he didn't want an affair. In fact, the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He needed a drink. Before he went back after her.

Nartan turned and made his way to the lavish bar laid out on the east side of the hangar. No expense had been spared. There was even an ice machine that melted chunks of ice into round balls that rolled around in the martini glasses like huge glass marbles. One of the bartenders slid up in front of him, wearing a black vest and a name tag that bore the company name of a very upscale catering outfit.

Nartan pointed to one of the whiskys, a very limited-production run that retailed for more than eight hundred dollars a bottle.

“Neat,” he instructed the bartender. The man shot him a grin as he opened the bottle and poured out a double.

Nartan turned around with the glass in his hand. He lifted it and let the pungent scent fill his senses as he closed his eyes to clear his thoughts. But there was something else too. A hint of Celeste still clinging to his fingers. He opened his eyes, finding her instantly, the delicate column of her neck catching his attention because she'd swept her hair up.

He wanted to pull every last pin out of it and gather it in his hand. Bury his face in it and inhale the scent of her skin.

Like he had last night.

Nartan took a sip of the whisky instead. He nursed the beverage, using it as an anchor to remain at the bar. He confined himself to women who made the first move because it removed the need for him to comfort them when they realized he wasn't there for the long haul. He didn't like to mask who he was during sex. When he took home a woman who had stepped up to him, she didn't have any right to expect seduction.

Celeste needed to be seduced. He felt that truth all the way to his bones.

But all he felt like doing was running her to ground. It was a hard, sharp impulse, just like the bite of the whisky.

The DJ fired up the music. Tarak swept his bride around the large dance floor with a confidence that earned him smoldering looks from the women in the room.

Shamus Donovan, Sabra's father, finally cut in. The white-haired man was still barrel-chested and dressed in a Navy dress uniform. Tarak offered him his hand, but the older man shook his fist at his new son-in-law in a warning that sent a ripple of amusement through the guests.

The father-daughter dance unleashed a soft round of applause as Shamus glowed with pride while guiding his daughter around the floor. The moment the music changed, employees of Nektosha eagerly flooded the floor to join their boss and make sure they were noticed.

Nartan chuckled and drew another sip from his whisky.

Tarak didn't give a damn about who had laid out the money to fly up to his wedding reception. In fact, the reason it was being held in Alaska was because Tarak didn't care for schmoozers. His employees were rated on their performance in the workplace.

Shamus swept Celeste into a dance but abandoned her when the tempo changed. Adele's husky voice sang out “Set Fire to the Rain,” sending most of the brownnosing crowd toward their chairs. Tarak held his hands up in surrender when Sabra grabbed the front of her long gown and stepped to the beat. She turned around and Celeste joined her.

Nartan's whisky ended up forgotten in his hand.

He was fixated on Celeste. She moved with a sensuality that struck him like a blow to the solar plexus. Every motion was an expression of hunger.

Sexual hunger.

She dominated the floor, daring any man in the room to try matching her. It was raw and savage. One of Tarak's younger VPs slid up to her, and she tossed her head back. The poor fool didn't know he was already defeated. Celeste's body language was already dismissing him as she slid around him and rejoined the girls' group that had formed around Sabra.

Her ignored dance partner didn't give up. He kept dancing, moving around the group of women until one of them broke off with him.

Celeste didn't give him a second glance.

But she did catch Nartan watching her. She arched and turned, the music still pulsing through her body as her motions changed. It was almost indiscernible, the thrust of her hips and the arch of her back, as she pushed her breasts out.

He noticed.

Would have sworn he felt it yanking him toward her.

Daring him to try his hand at winning her.

Desire surged past the barrier he kept his sexual encounters pinned behind. He set the whisky down, uninterested in dulling his wits.

No, what he wanted was a different sort of mind-numbing experience. He wanted his senses sharp when he connected with her, wanted to notice every last detail of their collision. It went deeper than desire, bordering on craving. That gave him a moment of pause, a red flag going up. He liked having his partners sealed behind a wall of friendly indifference that could be used to shut them out of his thoughts when he wasn't in the mood for them.

But his craving for Celeste was already past that boundary. Far past it.

And he always went after what he wanted.

***

Sweat was trickling down her back and the sides of her face, but Celeste didn't care. She turned her back on Nartan and focused on the music. The DJ kept the tempo lively for several more songs. She threw herself into dancing, enjoying the high it gave her. Her heart was pounding, her blood rushing in her ears, and it was almost enough to drown out the feeling of Nartan's eyes on her.

Almost…

The lights changed as the DJ slowed the tempo. Sabra abandoned the group, her face bright with perspiration. She rustled off in a flutter of cream silk and lace. Celeste turned and headed toward one of the glasses of ice water set out on the tables.

Nartan intercepted her, turning her neatly into his embrace with a fluid motion that stole her breath. One moment she was confidently striding toward the edge of the floor, and the next his arms were closed around her.

Captured…

“So…” She ended up with her hands flattened on his chest as he turned her a few more times to keep her pinned. It was done so damned smoothly that she found herself as impressed as she was annoyed. “Is this your dance then?” Her tone had turned sultry, almost like a purr.

And he did feel just as delicious as she'd felt the night before.

“Dancing with the maid of honor is one of the best man's duties.” He smoothed his hand along her lower back, unleashing a torrent of sensation. “
My
dance.”

She twisted away from him, unable to quell the impulse. It was just a dance. She should have been able to maintain her composure, but it crumbled like a sand castle at high tide against the sound of possession in his deep voice. She was trembling, instantly vulnerable and on edge.

Nartan guided her back, sliding his hand along her lower back with a motion that made her suck her breath in. There was far more than arrogance in him; there was a hard presence of dominance. What bothered her most was how it sent anticipation surging through her.

She wanted to bare her teeth at him. She needed to get out of his arms before she did something impulsive…again.

“We've passed the ceremonial dances part of the event.” She pressed against his chest, making it clear that she wanted to be released. “So…thanks…”

Nartan's lips twitched, rising into a grin that was far from friendly. “No bother at all. In fact”—his eyes glittered with promise—“I'm enjoying myself immensely. But not as much as last night.”

Her mouth went dry.

There was something about him, something that made her feel like she was poised on the edge of a cliff. He was like a live wire, and the need to scoot back was so overwhelming that she shook with it.

He was just so hard. His body was big and immovable, and the way he turned her around the floor was downright intimidating because it curled her toes.