I met his eyes. Made sure that he could see the heat in mine. “I wanted to get close. I wanted to see if you were the kind of man I wanted in my bed.”
“And?”
“Now I’ve met you,” I said as I gently pulled my arm free. But my smile was slow and easy and full of invitation.
And leaving that little bit of bait dangling, I slowly walked away.
Chapter Three
I managed to keep my back straight and add a nice little swish to my hips as I crossed the ballroom toward the ladies’ room. I wasn’t about to turn around and check, but I imagined that he was watching me go, and I couldn’t falter. Not then. Not after taking the kind of chance I’d just taken.
The moment I was through the door of the restroom, though, I raced to the closest cubicle and locked myself in. As with everything at The Drake, even the bathroom was elegant, and my little stall was a far cry from typical. Instead of simply housing a toilet, there was a marble vanity, a sink, and an upholstered stool, upon which I gratefully sagged. I pressed my elbows to the counter, stared at my reflection, and sighed.
“That was either a brilliant move or complete lunacy,” I announced, but the girl in the mirror didn’t say a thing, and I can’t say that I blamed her. Her always pale skin seemed to glow, and the flush of excitement that colored her cheeks only made the smattering of freckles stand out more. Her tumble of wavy red hair—the other souvenir of her Irish heritage—had come loose from the messy knot she’d secured with a pair of decorative chopsticks atop her head, and now a few tendrils framed her face in a way that was undeniably flirty.
Considering the outcome of the operation was still an open question, she looked far too smug—far too excited. As if she was setting out on a grand adventure.
“Idiot,” I said to her—to myself—as I glanced at my watch, gauging how long I should wait before I went back into the ballroom. I’d thrown down a gauntlet specifically because Tyler was the kind of guy who needed a challenge, but if I stayed away too long, my plan might backfire. Some other woman might slide into Tyler’s arms. He might decide to cut his losses and head out. He might decide that I was just too much damn trouble.
Right. Enough with the gauntlet throwing. Time to get back in the game.
I hurried out of the stall, yanked open the door to the ladies’ room, then headed back into the ballroom. I scoped out the room, searching every face for Tyler, but there was no sign of him.
Well, damn.
Honestly, I should have expected it. Nothing is as easy as it should be, after all.
I am not a party hound. Neither do I do small talk well. And my warm, comfy pillar was all the way across the room. I was making my way in that direction when I saw him standing amidst a small cluster of women. I winced when a blonde with amazing tits and the kind of neckline that was bound to cause a traffic accident laughed heartily and slid her arm around his waist, leaning against him as if she’d otherwise be knocked over by his wit.
His own grin widened, and he added something to the conversation that I couldn’t hear. Everyone in that circle was enraptured by him, and to be honest I was surprised the whole room didn’t turn toward him, drawn by his smooth manner and gregarious smile. In that moment, I was certain that what Kevin had told me of cons and confidence games was true; Tyler had the looks, the charm, the whole package designed to entice and steal and finagle while the mark just stood there and happily handed it over. I should know. He’d stolen my equilibrium with no effort at all.
As I watched, he cocked his head as if he’d heard something, and his eyes skimmed casually over the room. But it wasn’t casual when he found me. Instead, it was a crash, and I stumbled backward simply from the force of it.
I stood there, unsteady on my feet, yet unable to look away from him. The eyes that had only moments before reflected the gentle blue of a robin’s egg now danced wildly, a violent flame that was more than ready to burn.
I could see his body tense, his muscles tightening as if he was a wild animal about to spring. The hunger on his face was unmistakable, and my pulse kicked up as I fought the sudden urge to bolt.
Go, I thought foolishly. Don’t you know you’re the prey?
Maybe I was, but I couldn’t look away. I was captured, locked in place by nothing more than a look. And if he intended to destroy me, I knew in that moment that I would willingly let him reduce me to rubble.
And then it was over.
Deliberately, he turned away, then whispered something into the blond bitch’s ear. She laughed, the sound high-pitched and grating. It was a good thing I’d left my weapon in my glove box, because right then I had the urge to get off a few rounds. As it was, it took all my willpower to keep from stomping over there and seeing whether my best punch would shatter her overly Botoxed forehead.
Fuck.
I wasn’t supposed to be this riled up. On the contrary, I’d been trying to rile him up.
Apparently, my plan had boomeranged.
Double-fuck.
With a massive effort, I got my feet to move. Since I couldn’t think of a better option, I headed for the bar, figuring that wine would either help me think or help soothe my wounded pride. I was diverted, however, by the tall, gray-haired man who was heading right toward me. He opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head once, then continued on my way to the bar. He sidled up next to me a moment after the bartender had handed me a glass of merlot and ordered himself a beer. “Nice party,” he said. “You know the groom?”
“A bit,” I said. “You?”
“You could say that.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Tom Cray,” he said, which wasn’t exactly news to me since I’d known Tom almost my entire life. He’d worked under my father in the Indianapolis field office of the FBI before moving to Chicago. I’d given his office a call when I’d arrived in town two days ago, but apparently he’d moved on, and was now among the big shots in D.C.
“Sloane O’Dell,” I said, and saw understanding in his eyes.
We’d been moving as we spoke, casually stepping away from the bar and away from other people and prying ears. “You’re on the job,” he said, his words reminding me that I hadn’t come to Chicago to get knotted up about a guy. I’d come to find Amy, and I needed get my damn hormones under control.
“Not officially. One of my CIs back home had a friend go missing. Since I’m riding out the last of my medical leave, I thought I’d help her out.”