Mistress By Blackmail(25)

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” His words silenced the chatter. “I’m afraid I must take away your entertainment.”

Her temper simmered. She wasn’t mere entertainment. She was the life of the party. “I’m enjoying myself.”

“I can see that.” His voice was mild, but his eyes crackled with sharp lightning. “However, something has come up and we must go.”

She gave him a chilly smile. “You go. I’ll stay.”

“Impossible.” He returned her smile with an icy one of his own. Was it her imagination or did every one of her ardent admirers take a step back? “I couldn’t leave you here alone.”

“Really?” She arched a brow in disbelief. “Yet this is exactly what you did when we got here, Marcus.”

His big body stiffened. She realized it was the first time she’d ever said his first name. Was this the reason for the sudden electricity sparking between them? But no. One glimpse into his eyes and she knew it was something else entirely. Why the hell would she think he’d be sentimental about something so little as his name tripping off her tongue?

Instead, it was clear; he was incensed at her rebellion.

She was baiting quite a formidable foe. Still, he deserved it. He’d belittled her and deserted her. Now he thought he could claim her like some baggage yet again? Unwanted for a time, but now claimed as his?

“Darcy,” he murmured, his tone dripping with displeasure. “You are a constant challenge.”

Her faithful fans faded from her side like smoke.

“Mmm.” He surveyed the area. “It appears your party is over.”

She found her arm held in an inflexible grip. “Hands off, bloke.”

“Not for the next month.”

His long legs started moving and it was all she could do to keep up with his pace. The crowd parted: eyes watching, tongues wagging, fingers pointing. She was literally being frog-marched out of the ball. “This is complete bollocks.”

“True.” He tugged her arm beneath his. “I can’t remember the last time I dragged a woman from a room.”

“We just got here.” Embarrassment warred with irritation. “They haven’t even served dinner.”

“Never fear.” He glanced at her and abruptly, astonishingly, the dimples emerged. “I’ll make sure you are fed.”

“That isn’t the point.” She would not let this surly man off the hook because of some dimples. She would not. As he pulled her across the foyer towards the front doors, a doorman hurriedly produced their coats. “I thought the point was to be seen together.”

“Correct.” He slid his arms into his black Armani jacket. “We will take care of that right now.”

Through the door they went. Right into a sea of flashing lights and a chorus of yells.

The fear clutched in her throat and fisted shut any remaining words she had. The flashbulbs bloomed in her face, and she had a sudden image of her picture being carefully cut from a tabloid. Taped to a wall. Gloated over and obsessed over. Ugly, slimy memories rose like haunting wraiths swirling around her, grasping and gouging and gripping her in their talons.

“No!” The cry came from her heart; a spiked scream of fear.

Marcus jerked his head around to stare at her. What he saw caused his dark, satanic brows to tighten into a fierce frown. With a sharp tug, he wrapped her in one hard arm and picked up his pace. Striding through the crowd, he ignored the catcalls, the questions. Even though she now lay sheltered in his grasp, she was unable to push the ghosts of her past away.

He would see the pictures.

He would find her.

He would kidnap her.

It seemed like hours to her, yet it must have been only seconds before they were safely ensconced inside the limo. The car pulled away from the curb and the press and the photographs, leaving her limp with exhaustion.

“What’s wrong?” He inspected her with sharp eyes. “You have gone completely white.”

“Nothing.”

His dark brows rose. “You appear as if you’re about to faint and I am supposed to believe it is nothing? Don’t take me for a fool, carita.”

“I don’t like my picture being taken. That’s all.” She slumped into the warm leather seat, pulling at the lapels of her new faux fur coat to conceal her face from his scrutiny.

“That’s the whole point of this outing.” He pulled the omnipresent mobile phone from his pocket, then slipped his finger across its screen. “To be seen together.”

“I d-don’t see why there have to be so many pictures.”

“The more pictures, the more chance my brother will see one and get the message.”