Page 23 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
I have to take a steadying breath before answering. The way his hand is drifting down my spine is supremely distracting. “Oh…were those from you?”
Chuckling, he lifts his head. “And she’s back.”
“Who?” I ask innocently.
“Xena, Warrior Princess.”
In the most coquettish move I can manage without making myself vomit from the sheer saccharine overload, I tilt my head back and peer up at him from beneath my fluttering lashes. This is far more difficult than romance novels make it sound. I worry he might think I’m about to suffer from a fainting spell. I’m sure I look utterly ridiculous, but I forge ahead anyway.
“Why Mr. Maxwell, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He throws his head back and laughs, causing several couples nearby to look at us, startled. “That was terrible. You should never try to be coy. Xena is much better than Scarlett O’Hara.”
I smack him on his tailored lapel. “It’s rude to call a lady out.”
“Then it’s good you’re not a lady, isn’t it?” His grin is so dazzling, a woman gliding by with her partner trips over her own feet.
My mouth is in danger of breaking into a huge grin to match his, but I don’t want him to know I’m having fun, so I scowl at him instead. “And you, Rhett Butler, are no gentleman.”
He stares at me. I stare back at him. After a beat of silence, we both begin to laugh.
“All right, now that we’ve got that established, let’s move on. What are you doing here?”
I shrug. “The same thing you are. Supporting a worthy cause.”
“How disappointing. I thought you might be trying to run into me while giving the impression it was accidental.”
Bye-bye Superman, hello cocky bastard. Making matters worse is that he nailed it. I say acidly, “Not even you are worth twelve thousand dollars a ticket, Mr. Maxwell.”
He smirks. “Oh, but I assure you, I am.”
“Ha! Egotistical much? Are you always this smug?”
He appears to give it serious thought. “No. Sometimes I’m just right.”
I laugh again. He twirls me around, moving us neatly out of the path of a man weighing more than the two of us combined, and his wife, a sweating, red-faced dowager who looks in imminent need of a doctor. Saved once again.
“So tell me, Mr. Maxwell—”
“Please, call me Parker.”
For some reason, he looks pained. I think of how he’d said at the restaurant that Mr. Maxwell was his father. I remember his face then. It’s the same expression he’s wearing now, almost…ashamed. I feel a brief flicker of pity for him, but strangle it.
“All right. Parker. Tell me, will your date be angry you’re dancing with me and not her?”
His brows arch. “What makes you think I have a date?”
“Excuse me. Dates, plural.”
“If I had any clue what you’re talking about, I’d gladly answer, but unfortunately I don’t.”
“No? Because your brunette friend over there by the potted palms is staring at me like I’m her arch enemy from beauty school, and your other friend, the blonde with the alarmingly large boobs, has just sent me her third scalding voodoo glare. I think she’s about to go to the ladies’ room and make a wax figurine of me to stick some pins into.”
Laughing, he spins me away, and then pulls me back against his chest. He tightens his arm around my waist and flattens his big hand over the small of my back. That hand feels even more scalding that the blonde’s glare. We whirl around and around, until I feel a little dizzy.
“I came here alone, Ms. Price. Those
are just two mistakes I saw coming a mile away.”
