Dreaming of herself as naked, trapped and helpless was not confidence-inspiring. She wished that she could dream of herself as something bold and fearless for a change. A pirate queen, brandishing a cutlass and yelling out her battle cry. But she shouldn't complain. The aquarium dream was a hell of a lot less stressful than the bleeding tombstone dream. It didn't leave her gasping for air, hollow-eyed with terror, aching with grief for her lost father.
Still, the skull and crossbones bothered her. There was always an image of death in her recurrent dreams. Lucky girl, she thought, with grim amusement. Way to start the day off right, with a dripping dagger, a nest of snakes, or a mushroom cloud. That daily squirt of screaming adrenaline into the bloodstream was better than coffee.
Her stomach fluttered as she pulled into the underground garage of the building that housed the corporate offices. Jeremy, the flirtatious parking attendant, gave her a wink and a wave, and she barely managed a wan smile in return. She'd gotten her job at Lazar Import & Export under false pretenses, and every day the price she paid for that deceit got higher. She'd researched the huge, diversified company exhaustively, tailoring her resume to fit them, fabricating an employment history that she thought would appeal to them. She'd soothed her qualms by telling herself that she was justified, that it was for a noble cause. Still, Raine had never been good at lying. It made her stomach hurt. Breakfast would help, but there was no time, not even to grab a pastry.
God knows, Lazar Import & Export would be a stressful place to work even if she weren't lying through her teeth every day. It was the most vicious, spiteful, back-biting workplace she'd ever experienced. There wasn't a chance in hell of making friends with her co-workers. She stared critically at her reflection in the cloudy mirrored walls of the elevator. She'd lost weight. Her skirt was riding too low over her hips. But who had time to eat in Lazar's lair? She was lucky if she could find a moment to pee during the course of the day.
The elevator stopped and pinged on the ground floor as she was freshening her lipstick. The door slid open, a man stepped in, and the door rolled shut behind him. The elevator seemed suddenly very small. She shoved her lipstick into her purse, a light, tickling awareness rippling across the surface of her skin, like a breeze rustling long grass.
She was careful not to look at him directly, mindful of elevator etiquette, but she gathered considerable information out of the corner of her eye. Tall, maybe a little over six feet Lean. Darkly tanned skin, she noticed, sneaking a furtive glance at the big hands that emerged from the cuffs of his suit—his very elegant, very costly suit Probably Armani, she concluded, peeking at the cut of-his sleeves. A summer hanging out in Barcelona with that shameless clotheshorse Juan Carlos had taught her a lot about the subtle nuances of men's fashion.
He was looking at her. She felt the weight and heat of his gaze against the side of her face. She would have to look straight at him to confirm it For once, her curiosity was stronger than her fear.
Maybe it was the skull and crossbones in her dream that suggested the image, but the thought blazed through her mind the moment she raised her eyes to his.
He had the face of a pirate.
He wasn't classically handsome. His features were too harsh and craggy, his nose bumpy and crooked. Midnight-black hair was cropped short. It stuck straight up, like a velvety black scrub brush. His broad cheekbones jutted out, with deep hollows beneath them. His eyebrows were thick, black slashes and his mouth was both grim and sensual. But it was his eyes that shocked her. They were black, heavy-lidded and exotic. They stared at her with searing intensity.
The eyes of a marauding buccaneer.
His gaze slid down over her body as if he saw through her prim gray suit, through her blouse, her underthings, right down to the shivering flesh beneath. His appraisal was bold and arrogant, as if he had every right to stare. The way a pirate captain might look at his helpless captive ... before he dragged her down to his cabin for sport.
Raine tore her eyes away. Her overactive imagination promptly went crazy with the pirate metaphor, erasing the Armani and dressing him in pirate's garb; flowing blouse, tight knee breeches that showcased his... his assets, a cutlass thrust into a crimson sash, a golden hoop in his ear. It was ridiculous, but she felt flushed, panicky. She had to get out of this elevator before the mirrors steamed up.
To her immense relief, the door pinged and opened on the 26th floor. She lunged to exit, stumbling into the man who was waiting to enter and murmured an incoherent apology as she ran for the stairs. Walking up would make her late, but she had to regain her composure.
Oh God, how pathetic, and how typical. A hot, sexy guy gave her the eye in an elevator, and she fell to pieces like a terrified virgin. She'd blown her once in a lifetime chance to be ravished by a pirate. No wonder her love life was a non-issue. She sabotaged it before it even got going. Every damn time.
The working day began inauspiciously. Harriet, the office manager, swept by as she was hanging up her coat, her thin face pinched with disapproval. “I expected you earlier,” she snapped.
Raine glanced down at her watch. It was 7:32. “But I—it's only—” “You know perfectly well that the updated OFAC compliance report has to be finished and Fedexed by noon! And we still haven't gotten an answer from the Banque Intercontinentale Arabe about those blocked funds for the wine shipment. It's already 4:30 in the afternoon in Paris, and our distributors are drumming their fingers. Somebody has to negotiate that order for Brazilian espresso beans, and you're the only one in me office right now with halfway decent Portugese. To say noming of the fact that the new pages of the website still aren't ready. I would appreciate it if you would take responsibility for your work, Raine. I cannot keep track of everything”
Raine muttered something apologetic, teeth clenched, and sat down, punching in the code that took her phone off voice mail.
“And another thing. Mr. Lazar wants you to serve the coffee, tea and pastries at the breakfast meeting,” Harriet went on.
A jolt of terror made Raine leap to her feet. “Me? “
Harriet's lips pursed. “I was not looking forward to telling him you were late.”
Raine's stomach fluttered with dread. “But he's never— but Stefania always—”
“He wants you,” Harriet cut in. “What he wants, he gets. The coffee is already brewing, no thanks to you, and the caterers have just delivered the food. It's in the kitchen. The china and silver are already laid out in the conference room.”
Stefania poked her face into Raine's cubicle. “Make sure to get the geisha girl choreography just right,” she advised. “With Lazar, it's got to be aesthetically perfect. One spilled drop of coffee, and you're toast.” She studied Raine with a critical eye. “And freshen up your makeup. Your left eye is smudged- Here, take my lip liner.”
Raine stared down at the lip liner pencil, speechless with dismay. This was the first time Victor Lazar had publicly acknowledged her existence. She'd seen him, of course; he was impossible to miss. He swept through the office like a storm wind, scattering people in front of him and dragging them in his wake. He was as dynamic and intimidating as she remembered from her childhood, though not as tall.
The first time he'd seen her, his piercing gray eyes had flicked over her with complete disregard, leaving her weak-kneed with relief. He evidently saw no connection between his newest executive assistant and his tiny, eleven-year-old niece with the white-blond braids that he hadn't seen in seventeen years. Thank God.
His sudden interest in her now seemed sinister.
“Go, quick, Raine! The meeting was scheduled for seven forty-five!”