Damon leaned in and kissed her neck again. The blush was natural, and Mr. Black smiled. “Well, if I have you to thank for getting Mr. Evans here as our guest, I, too, am at your feet.”
He took her hand and kissed the back, but in his dark eyes, she saw two things: lust and dismissal. She wasn’t important to him. Mr. Black’s true interest was Damon. That’s where the money, the power, and the real threat lay. It was clear she was only a potential fuck, nothing more, a possession that could be had and given. He probably thought she was either a gold digger or a hired escort.
In her life, it would have enraged her, but in this situation, it could work in her favor. “Thank you, Mr. Black. I would have also liked to say thank you to Mr. White, but I can’t see him in this crowd.” It was a delicate tactic, but now she knew what Mr. Black looked like, she wasn’t about to let go of her own goals so easily.
Sweeping the room, Mr. Black, indicated a blond-haired man laughing in the corner. Not as stacked as Mr. Black, the man had everyone’s attention around him despite not being the most handsome man in the room. Money and power gave ordinary men an undeniable charisma.
Returning his attention to her, Mr. Black gave her a barely contained lurid look, before dismissing them both. “I still have people to greet, but I can’t wait to chat with you. In the meantime, dance, drink, eat, be merry, and I’ll catch up with you later.” With his whiter-than-white smile, Mr. Black went to welcome another guest.
Damon resumed his hold around her waist and steered her toward the opposite side of the room. He nodded to several people, mostly men, but didn’t introduce her, which was a wise move in her opinion.
The place exuded money, whether it was jewels, watches, suits, and even glamorous escorts. The champagne literally flowed from two intricate fountains and waiters milled around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and canapes.
Damon selected a love seat in a corner, its back to a wall, another recognizable move from him.
He sat and pulled her down, half on his lap, his hand securely on her ass, keeping her firmly in his grasp. With no other option than playing the game, she hooked one arm around his shoulder but maintained her view of the crowd. A waiter passed and she accepted a flute of champagne while Demon selected whiskey.
After taking a sip, he lounged back on the couch and leaned into her, running his lips on the edge of her breasts. Orla felt her body react, but it wanted something more, or more accurately, someone else.
Her eyes scanned the crowd as Damon made it more and more difficult to focus and then she saw him. A tall man was making the rounds of the room. He towered over the people around him. Smiling and shaking hands, he stopped and spoke to each group. His hair was a dark blond, mostly short with longer, wilder strands on top. He had a five o’clock golden shadow and an almost a permanent smirk on his face. The more she stared at him, the more a little voice in the back of her head wondered if he wasn’t the mysterious vigilante. His body, height, and built were similar as was his coloring and even the angle of his jaw. But she’d speculated the same about Damon and been proven wrong. She couldn’t go around analyzing every man that had pale stubble and broad shoulders to determine if they were the vigilantes or not. That was counterproductive and obsessive. And from that very logical point of view, if he’d indeed followed her, he was most probably keeping a distance.
Caught by his charisma, Orla almost overlooked the woman on his arm. Uniquely beautiful with graceful curves, it was her bright pink hair tied in an elegant knot that drew her attention- that and the corset dress that put her breasts on display. The light green satin that wrapped her body made her look like a delicious candy treat. But it was the man her eyes kept returning to.
As she watched him, Damon slowly turned her body into a living flame. Despite being more than satisfied the previous night, her body wanted more. Her lust spiked as she took in the mysterious newcomer who hadn’t once looked in her direction. Orla was in a jam. Her brain was telling her one thing, her body another. She had to get the lust under control, and there was only one way to do so.
The stranger finally turned to look at her, and she felt the full effect of his green eyes on her. His expression was indecipherable, but his intensity was not.
As if nothing had happened, the man turned back the conversation, and with ease, excused himself, hooking the woman’s hand on his elbow. Orla felt like she couldn’t breathe when she saw the couple heading her way. Damon had seen them too, his body turned tense and hard, his hold on her relaxed, Orla was finally able to slide off his lap and stand. He offered his hand, and she was glad of the support.
The pink-haired lady watched her, not as a possible threat, like many women there, but with deep interest, licking her lips as if she was about to indulge in something sweet.
The stranger glanced at her, but quickly turned his attention to Damon, offering his hand. “Mr. Evans. I’m Sam Ferguson from Noctem Consulting. I’ve heard a lot about you and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to introduce myself.”
Both men were tall, but Sam Ferguson was slightly larger. Or was it the energy he projected that made him appear so?
Damon took his offered hand, although Orla could see his guard was up. “Mr. Ferguson. I have to admit I’ve never heard of you. How strange.”
Unaffected, Ferguson grinned. “We don’t like publicity, and we’re the kind of business who prefers to stay in the background. We believe that working out of the spotlight reaps greater benefits.”
What a weird thing to say. Orla slid her gaze from Ferguson to the woman beside him. Her blue eyes bore in hers, and this time, she saw amusement. Orla made a mental note to check out Noctem Consulting and what they did. If they were present, they could have a usable connection to the Maximon Entertainment Group and its mysterious owners.
The men exchanged a few more banalities, and a waiter passed with his tray, and Orla gave him her empty flute before excusing herself with a smile.
She needed to find the bathroom and compose herself as well as putting some much-needed distance between the two men and herself. Instead of being focused on the job and observing what their host was doing, she’d been distracted by Damon’s caresses, and Sam Ferguson’s gaze. Especially his attention. That was madness, one that had to stop.
She took her time making her way to the ladies’ restroom, scanning the room to see if she could spot Mr. Black without being too obvious. Where was he? On the spur of the moment, Orla decided to enter the service door. If someone spotted her, all she had to do was play dumb and say she’d become lost searching for the bathroom.
Waiters passed her as if she was invisible, too busy to tell her she wasn’t supposed to be there. There were a few doors on the left; the right side seemed to be access to the kitchen. Once passed the kitchen area, the crowd thinned considerably, and the noise faded. If it hadn’t, she would’ve missed hearing the shouts coming from further down the corridor. It was impossible to hear the words, but the tone was angry. She could only hear one voice as if someone was on the phone. Carefully, Orla took a few more steps, creeping closer to the corner, and saw a man standing guard in front of the door where the voice was coming from. He spotted her immediately, but Orla was ready and offered him her sweetest and most naive smile, asking if it was the right way for the bathroom. The bodyguard, who looked more like a hired killer to her, snarled at her and shook his head, telling her that she had to go in the opposite direction to find them.
Without a good reason to linger, she excused herself and returned to the reception area. Was it Mr. Black on the phone? She had to discover who Mr. White was, and if he was still mingling in the crowd. When she exited the kitchen area, she searched for Damon, only to find him dancing with the pink haired lady. Although dancing was probably a loose term in this case, they looked more like they were making love as they swayed to the sexy standard being played by the jazz band.
“May I have this dance?”
The low rumble of an enticing male voice close to her ear made her jump. One hand on her chest to calm her heart, Orla turned to see Sam Ferguson’s handsome face. “I don’t think I can dance if you give me a heart attack!”
Even though he offered her a pitiful look, she wasn’t fooled. The emerald of his eyes swirled with too much mischief to be trusted.
“I guess a heart attack could be collateral damage if you stay too close for too long, but I assure you that for a dance, you’re perfectly safe with me.”
