A security guard dressed in a black suit greeted him. “Jer’ol.”
“She give you any trouble?”
“Lots.” The man’s face remained expressionless. “She made a run for it outside the elevators.”
“You didn’t hurt her?” His words were more menacing than he had intended.
The guard’s face paled, and the vein on his neck kicked into high gear. “No, Jer’ol. She’s unharmed.”
“Good.” Alec opened the door to face 130 pounds of fury.
“I am a respected professional and you are manhandling me and treating me like a criminal!” Luciana yelled at him. “No one on the planet will appraise your exhibit when I get through telling them what you’ve done to me.”
Alec made a show of locking the door and strolling across the expansive room to the bar. The room was paneled in dark wood, with deep reds and blues in the carpet and paintings. The one wall facing the outside was made of two-inch thick glass. Alec poured Kentucky bourbon into a tumbler and a double-shot of single malt scotch over two ice cubes into another.
He handed her the scotch and sat in a deep-seated leather chair. The chair sighed with ease when he leaned back. He crossed his ankle at his knee and took a sip. “Luciana—”
“Oh, please, all my captors call me Lucy.” She glared at him. “You sound like a priest hearing confession when you call me Luciana.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” Alec chuckled and sipped his drink, the taste of mellow corn mash and oak barrels tingling over his tongue. Alcohol did not affect dragons in the way it affected the feeble humans. He drank the bourbon purely because he liked the taste.
“Does this have Rohypnol in it?” Luciana held the drink to the light like it might contain the date rape drug.
“I wouldn’t harm you.” Alec took a second sip of his drink, and it fired down his throat to his belly in a pleasing trail.
Lucy set her drink on his desk, untouched. “I’m not the trusting sort.”
Alec gave her what he hoped was a charming look. “You can trust me. I can help you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lucy said in a voice used to stopping cabs.
“Fine, don’t trust me, but I need you to start your appraisal tomorrow,” Alec said in a voice used to calling stretch limos.
Lucy’s face flushed. Her collarbones rose and fell under her pale skin in elegant lines. So dainty and fragile, this one. She stomped toward him and pointed a finger at him. “Let me out of here right now.”
Good. Come a little closer. Alec set his drink on the side table. “The exhibit has to open on time. You’ve reneged on our deal.”
“Testa di merda.” Lucy threw her hands in the air. “We had no deal.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shit head, we had no deal.” Lucy bared her teeth, turning her kittenish persona distinctively feral.
Alec shook his head, strangely put-off by her crudeness. “Such language from a lady.” He wanted to kiss her, to see if the zing of electricity was a fluke, or if the fates had gone mad and paired him with a human mate.
She might bite him.
He might like it.
“You’re not going anywhere until we have an agreement on the exhibit.”
Lucy stomped toward the exit. “Let me out of here!” She banged her closed fist on the solid wood door, and her furious action exposed her scantily clad backside to him again.
Alec admired the view, tracing the lines of her body with his eyes, walking his gaze up her gold heels to her elegant calves, up the curve of her hip to the daisy tattoo, up the indent of her spinal column to the riot of dark red hair. Need clenched his gut, and he wanted to touch her soft, pale skin, discover all her hidden hollows.
“Culo!” Lucy turned back to him.
“Ah, I know that one.” Alec took a deliberate drink and swallowed down his raging desire. He set down his glass on the side table, leaned toward her, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Luck. Culo means ‘lucky’ in Italian.”
“It means ‘asshole.’”
“A matter of interpretation.” Alec smiled. “I prefer ‘lucky.’”
“Look, Mr. Lucky, I get it,” Lucy said. “Women just throw themselves at you. You are lucky, lucky, lucky.” She paused for a quick breath. “Lucky Mr. Casino Owner. The King of Las Vegas! But I’m not interested in you or your exhibit. Let me out of here.”
“I can’t find another appraiser of your caliber before we need to open.” Alec was certain he could have five appraisers there by morning, but he wanted her. “It has to be you.”
“Please. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone to satisfy your every whim.” She said in a level voice. “Just let me leave and we’ll call the whole thing even.”
“My every whim?” Now that she was calming down, he perversely wanted to see the fire in her eyes again, hear a few more melodious Italian vulgarities. “How much will that cost me?”
Luciana inhaled sharply, her jaw dropped, and she stepped to him and raised her hand to strike him. Alec stood in a fluid motion and grasped her hand in his as she swung. With her fist in his hand, Alec remembered his caution to Darius, to ask and not demand, with distant humor.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“For the last time, I’m not interested in your deals.” Lucy tugged against him.
“I would like to kiss you.”
Lucy froze, pupils wide. “You’ll let me leave then?” The words were but a whisper.
“Absolutely.”
Chapter Four
One kiss. To get out of the office, away from the casino?
“Okay.” Lucy said the word quickly and squeezed her eyes shut, her mind already out the door.
Alec pulled her gently toward him. His lips against her neck paralyzed her thoughts. The smell of him so close was clean and strong. He nibbled at the juncture of her shoulder, and her skin went tight and trembled. His hand moved up her thigh, and she forgot to exhale.
Alec lifted hooded eyes, the irises the darkest blue of sapphires. “I’m going to kiss you now.” He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to object, but she only squeaked out the breath she had been holding.
He brushed her lips lightly. His eyes opened wide and he pulled away. “You,” he said and then leaned forward to deepen the kiss, fusing his mouth to hers. His tongue brushed hers with a flash of fire that shot desire from her stomach to her groin, so powerful that she sat upright and yanked away.
“Holy Mary, Joseph, and Peter.” Lucy stepped back and wobbled out of her shoes.
Alec sat back in his chair. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger along his chin as if bemused. “Peter?”
“What?” Lucy faced him, trying to find her usually excellent brain. This was not good. Not good at all. She needed to get the hell out of this casino.
“Who’s Peter?” Alec reached for his drink and took a long swallow, appearing nonchalant, as if he kissed cursing women every day. As if the kiss would not even rank in his top five.
Lucy’s mind jumped on her familiar calming exercise, P words. All the best words started with “P”: pilfer, purloin, plunder, poach, pirate… Inwardly, she groaned. She was going to burn in hell—or Leavenworth, whichever came first—for stealing his keycard.
“Peter is one of the saints.” Lucy stumbled barefoot to the office door and twisted the handle. Locked. She knew it—just had to be sure. She wiggled it again before giving him her best haughty look.