His Bride for the Taking Read Free

world. Here, conversation was near impossible. One a.m. and the place heaved with dancers and the beat of the music. Artificial smoke swirled about the dance floor, colored lights cast eerie illumination on the faces, bodies and limbs of the dancers.
    There was only one thing—one person—who piqued his curiosity. His attention kept returning to her, and he couldn’t figure out why. She was familiar and yet not. Black hair, cut into a precise bob, swayed around her face as she moved to the music. The haircut and her darkly made-up eyes brought to mind Cleopatra. She danced opposite a tall, brawny man, dark hair, dark skin, possibly South American, who moved almost as well as she did. And yet, with her eyes often closed and her partner continuously scanning the crowd, she looked more as if she were dancing alone.
    There was something entrancing, an innate sensuality, about the way she seemed aware of only the music and her own body—a svelte body sheathed in a subtly shimmering black dress that was almost nunlike compared to some of the outfits here tonight. But though it revealed little skin other than that of her graceful arms and a generous but still disappointing portion of her long legs, it molded lovingly to her curves and her slender waist.
    Rafe wasn’t the only one who noticed. From his elevated position he could see that she drew more than her share of admiring—drooling—glances.
    “Who’s that?” He almost had to shout in Tony’s ear to be heard.
    Tony followed his gaze. “The blonde? An actress, I think. Or maybe a singer? Wasn’t she on the cover of the tabloids last week? The press are always after her.”
    Rafe saw the woman Tony meant, a Barbie doll clone. “No. Cleopatra. Over to the right a little.”
    Tony frowned. “Don’t know. I’ve seen her here a couple of times. Asked her to dance once. She turned me down flat, then turned her back on me. Seems to prefer them six foot four and burly.”
    Rafe watched as a man with the loudest red shirt he had ever seen tried to cut in with Cleopatra. Tall and Brawny looked at his partner and she gave her head the faintest shake. He said something to Red Shirt, who scowled and then turned back to his cluster of laughing, and clearly inebriated, friends.
    Rafe kept his gaze on the woman. There was something tantalizingly familiar about her. He had a good memory for faces and yet he couldn’t place her.
    “It happened just like that for me, too,” Tony said dolefully.
    Rafe laughed. “It’s all in the execution.”
    “You think she’ll dance with you? You’re good, buddy, but you’re not that good. She’s different. Not interested.”
    Rafe seldom turned down a challenge, and after the boredom of the evening and the potential boredom of tomorrow, a day spent babysitting “Precious,” he relished the fillip of Tony’s unspoken dare even more. “Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn.”
    On the dance floor, he scarcely noticed the patrons parting to let him through. He fixed his gaze onCleopatra as he approached her from the side. Slender, toned arms were raised above her head. Her eyes were closed. Dark, curling lashes kissed her cheeks. A small, secretive smile played about her cherry-colored lips. She managed to look both vulnerable and untouchable.
    Naturally making him want to touch.
    Intrigued and appreciative, he felt an undeniable pull of attraction. She would dance with him, she had to. He wanted to learn how she would move when they danced together, he wanted to know the color of her eyes, he wanted to know the fullness of that smile. He wanted—
    Like a bucket of cold water over his wants, recognition slammed through him.
    Alexia.
    Followed by denial. It couldn’t be. Demure, boring Alexia was at home in bed with a headache.
    He moved closer. She turned away, obscuring his view. But it was her. He knew it with absolute certainty. The porcelain skin, the almost stubborn jaw, and that something else, something hidden that he