Somewhere I'll Find You (7 page)

“Not interested.  You’re too high on the food chain and I don’t like your attitude.” Paige smiled sweetly. “Is that reason enough?”

Again, the flare of mingled emotions, only this time the anger was winning out over the humor.  “My credit is good and my references are excellent.  As far as my attitude
…”
His lips curved slightly. “I’d be more than willing to discuss that later, over dinner.”

Paige had heard it all before.  As a woman in a man’s world, she was considered fair game for every Don Juan with a novel to sell, a story to pitch.  “Sorry, I’m simply not interested.”

He moved in front of her with a silent grace that left Paige frowning.  “Then perhaps dinner would
make
you interested.”

His eyes weren’t just green, Paige noticed.  They were the color of the finest pale jade.  Looking into those eyes, she was reminded of a ring that her father had brought back to her after one of his mysterious trips.  She had found it lovely at first.  Soon
,
she had begun to hate the ring
, however,
for all that it represented.  Her father’s work for a government that kept him away from home for months at a time, constantly on the move and perpetually in danger.

Work that got him killed before I had the chance to know him,
she mourned.  But her strange would-be escort was speaking again, and she returned her attention to him just in time.

“Sorry, I simply can’t take no for an answer.”  With a surprising amount of skill, he’d managed to hide most of the exasperation in his voice.

“Then you’re going to be perpetually disappointed.  Good-bye.”  Paige saw his eyes change again.  She sensed a raw edge of violence, not quite hidden under that sleek, cool veneer, and if her senses weren’t failing her, she would be better off losing him as quickly as she could.  Something in his voice and the swift, careful way she moved was screaming at her as though trying to awaken some long-sleeping section of her brain, and Paige didn’t want to be party to any of it. 

Not tonight, and not ever.
  She was turning away when he snagged her wrist.  She felt the hard palm and the ridge of calluses lining his fingers. 
Not exactly the hand of a playboy
, she thought.  But he’d probably gotten those calluses opening champagne bottles for Victoria Secret’s models.  “Let go of my hand,” she demanded.
  Her chin rose and she looked straight at him.  But the effort cost her something, because she was getting all sorts of energy bleeds from him, energy that seemed to hover around him in churning clouds. Though most of it was blurred, Paige picked up three things loud and clear.

Pain. Irritation.  And a strong force of will.

“The items allotted for charity by Elizabeth Taylor’s estate . . . you do realize that they are marked entirely too low.  But then,” he added, considering, “that will only jack up the bidding – very clever of you.”

“I
asked you to let go of my hand,
”
she replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the breathless note in her voice.
Why am I reacting to him this way? 
Normally, she could close herself off from people – even in settings like this one, as crowded and busy as it was.

“Maybe I don’t want to let go of your hand – Angel.”  He grinned, a slow, cocky grin that said he was smart and good to look at, and he knew it.

“There are two kinds of women in this world.  Those who say no and mean it, and those who say no and
mean
it.”  Again, she tugged, but his grip only tightened, and she knew better than to try and make a scene.  Unfortunately, she could see that
he
knew she knew better, as well.

“Very clever, Ms. O’Neal.  But there are two kinds of men in this world: those who think that there are two kinds of women, and those who know that they’ll never understand the workings of a female mind.  I happen to fall into that second group.  Now, about that dinner.  Shall we go as soon as the auction’s over?”

Paige shook her head in disbelief.  “There are probably about four hundred women in this room tonight who would consider armed robbery to have your attention.  Go pick on one of them.”

“I don’t want one of them.”  He paused, fixing her in place with his cool green eyes.  “I need to talk to you.”  Though his words were delivered softly, there was urgency
in
his voice that managed, if only fo
r a second, to make
her to take a step back.

Is he serious?  Where in the hell is Serena when I need her?
  Pointedly, she looked at her watch.  “You have exactly thirty seconds.”

Glancing at the throng around them, the urgency in his voice escalated.  “I can’t – not like this.”

“Ten seconds.”

“Not here, damn it!”  His voice rose slightly with his frustration, some of his control and poise slipping away.

“Five.”

“It’s too difficult to explain here,” he insisted tightly.  “Look, I’ve letters of introduction . . . your friend Serena can vouch for me.  Just have some bloody supper with me.”  The more insistent his voice became, the more his accent amplified itself, until Paige recoiled more from the sound of it than the man who still held her fast.

Shaking her head, Paige was angry with herself for allowing him any time at all.  
He’s just like a lot of other men with their smooth smiles and sleazy agendas.  Isn’t there anyone in this town with more than just an overactive libido?

Somewhere, a voice announced that th
e auction was about to begin, w
hich meant it was time for Paige to move.

She stared at their overlaid hands, trying to ignore his carefully controlled power.  Her jaw hardened.  “If you’re interested in jewels,
that
set
containing the amethyst necklace you mentioned was
created by Cartier for the Duchess of Windsor in 1941.  Of course, that is coming from someone
too young
to know her history.”  Using the brief advantage of surprise she held over him when shock made him relax his grip, she jerked her hand out from under his.  “And if you ever try that again, I’ll break your wrists.”

Dark glints lit his green eyes.  “What if I let you be on top next time?”

Paige’s hesitation was only momentary.  “Before or after I break your jaw?”

The man gave a crack of dark laughter that seemed to startle him as much as her.  It was a rich sound, full of life, entirely different from what she expected from this tense-faced, hard-talking stranger.

“Suppose I purchase that necklace,” he parried.  “For you, of course.”  His eyes followed the curves suggested by the black velvet of Paige’s jacket.  “It would simply be smashing around that throat of yours.”

And my hands would look wonderful around your damned neck.
  Paige reminded herself to be civil, for not doing so might draw even more attention.  “I’m afraid that all that beauty would be lost on me, Mr. . . .”

“Sinclair,” he finished smoothly.  “Michael, since we’re going to be on first name basis.”

“Not in this lifetime, we’re not,
Lord Ashton
.”  Paige remembered with a smug grin what Serena had told her of the man’s background.

In the next room, a very impatient voice announced yet again that the auction was about to begin and that the auctioneer would be Ms. Paige O’Neal. 

There was a ripple of applause
that grated on Paige’s nerves when
she realized her cover had
been completely blown. 
If I’d even had one in the first place.  Damn you, Serena.

“Very impressive, Ms. O’Neal.” 

For some
inexplicable
reason, the tone of approval in his voice only irritated Paige that much more.  “It won’t be if you hold me up much longer.”  Tossing him a smile that never reached her eyes, Paige breezed through the throng already crowding the auction floor.

Michael’s lips curved into a hard smile. 
You haven’t seen the last of me yet, not by a long shot.
  Waiting a moment while he gathered his thoughts as well as his composure, the glimmer of determination in his opalescent green eyes parted the crowd as he watched Paige ascend the temporary stage.

Oblivious to Michael’s approach in the crowd, Paige took her place at the podium, trying to shake the memory of that damnable Englishman from her rattled nerves.  The auction helped her in that respect; the bidding was fast and furious, which left her no time to consider the fact that the self-styled Lord Ashton was still on the premises.  She’d actually managed to forget him entirely, until the last set came up for bidding.  It was the famed amethyst necklace, and heads crooked around in awe as it was displayed.  Women whispered as the first bid rang out at five thousand dollars.

Paige, however, could only feel a sinking sensation in her stomach.

The voice that had uttered the bid was cool and correct, and utterly brash.  It could only belong to one man.

Michael Sinclair.

Paige made a point of not looking in his direction.  “Do I hear six?  Six thousand dollars?”

“One million.”

Paige looked up and met piercing green eyes.  “I have a million,” she repeated.  “Do I hear a million one?”

Two rows away, a well-groomed man in a Turnbull and Asser shirt raised a manicured finger.

“One million one.  You’d like this one, Richard.”  Paige smiled at the dapper international financier, relieved to have her attention focused on someone else.  “We all know of your fondness for royal jewelry.”

Richard Severance smiled tightly and inclined his head, raising his hand to verify his bid.  Paige’s comment was dead on target, so he shrugged elegantly as his seatmate murmured.

“I have one million two.  Do I hear one million three for this historical piece?  So do I hear . . . ?”

“Five million dollars.”

Page swallowed.  The man was mad, utterly and completely mad.

She watched heads bend while mouths gaped open.  She saw bejeweled women turn clear around in their seats.  And the president of the wildlife fund smiled broadly in the front row, already counting his money.

Paige’s eyes swept the room.  “Do I hear six?”

Richard Severance frowned at her before looking away.

With an ever-growing feeling of horror, Paige brought down the gavel.  “Sold for five million dollars.  End of lot.  End of category.  Thank you for your participation.  I’m certain that our lucky buyers will enjoy the buffet available in the next room with the knowledge that the proceeds will go to a very good cause.”

She moved out, fast and silent, but wasn’t fast enough.  Michael closed in on her before she got to the door.  “Go away,” she hissed.  A model with too little silk and too many opals blinked at her and sniffed.

He moved ahead, blocking Paige’s exit.  “I’ve just spent a great deal of money to secure your time – perhaps now you would consider
supper
.”

“Listen closely, Lord Ashton.  I can’t.  I won’t.  I’m not interested.  Good night and happy hunting.”  She shoved him aside before vanishing into the crowd, leaving him to stare at her back.