The Magnate's Manifesto(16)
Jared followed Bailey into her suite, her barefoot, wine-in-her-hand invitation to come in doing something strange to his insides. Her dress—what would you call it, champagne-colored?—hugged every curve as if it had been sewn onto her. Curves that could burn themselves into your memory if you let them. Her hair fell in smooth gold waves to her shoulders, one side pushed back with a diamond butterfly clasp. Her exquisite face held only the faintest trace of war paint. But she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever stepped foot into a room with. That he knew.
He attempted to divert his wayward thoughts with a thoughtful look down at the floor tapestry, and instead treated himself to a perfect view of her long golden legs, ruby-tipped toes sinking into the carpet. And felt himself lose the plot completely. If she’d been a woman he was dating, he would have skipped the cocktails entirely. Insisted she share her wine while they watched the sunset together, taken the dress off her with his teeth and made her come at least twice before they joined the others.
And that didn’t take into account what he would have done to her after the night was over.
He would have had her until sunrise.
“Jared?”
He coughed and lifted his gaze to hers. “Sorry?”
A pink stain stole over her cheeks. “The gold or champagne shoes?”
He looked at the two pairs of sky-high heels dangling by her fingertips and decided either of them would make every man in the room tonight want to bed her.
“Gold,” he muttered. “It’ll contrast with the dress.”
“Right.” She tossed the other pair on the carpet, braced her hand against the wall and slipped the stilettos on. As his hormone-clouded brain cleared, he noticed the tight set of her face. The way her ramrod straight posture seemed to have pulled up another centimeter. How she picked up the glass of wine and downed the remainder with a jerky movement reminiscent of his father on the nights he’d had to attend the bank functions he’d never been comfortable with, except his drink had been scotch.
The chink in her armor confounded him. “Are you nervous? You know the plan. We find out Maison’s strategy when it comes to the environment and we’re all set. It’s the last missing piece.”
A stillness slipped across her fine-boned face. Indecipherable. “I’ve got the plan down, Jared. I’m fine.”
He didn’t buy it for a second. Her revelations on the plane had illuminated one thing about Bailey. She hadn’t been born into this lifestyle. She did a good job making it look as though she had, but she hadn’t.
He stepped closer, something about her vulnerability touching him deep down inside. “Don’t you know?” he said softly, looking down at her. “You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room, Bailey. And the smartest.”
A small smile twisted her lips before she wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ll bet that line works wonders for you.”
“You have no idea.” His answering grin was self-effacing. “But I’ve never meant it more than I do now. So be yourself tonight, and you’ll knock them dead.”
She studied him for a moment. Nodded. “We should go.”
For what reason he didn’t know, he braved her prickly exterior and wrapped his fingers around her delicate hand instead of offering his arm.
“Ready?” he asked roughly.
“Ready.”
They emerged on the buzzing wraparound terrace of the villa, ablaze with light and laughter on the warm Mediterranean night, where perhaps close to fifty people had already gathered, cocktails in hand. As Jared cased the crowd, he noticed an Academy Award-winning producer to his left, a high-profile A-list Hollywood couple to his right, and wasn’t that Roberto Something-or-other, the Italian film director known for his sprawling epics, straight ahead? The big personalities had, apparently, all made it into town.
He grabbed a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handed one to Bailey. Gagnon had spared no expense: a quartet playing in a corner of the large, floodlit deck, black-jacketed staff circulating like an efficient swarm of bees, and from what he’d heard, a well-known French singer slated to play later in the evening, purportedly a mistress to one of the French cabinet ministers. But Jared had only one goal in mind. To corner Davide Gagnon and get the information he needed to develop that final, crucial piece of strategy.
He did not miss the attention every man at the party paid to the woman by his side as he picked out Gagnon, placed a palm to Bailey’s back and led her through the crowd. There were a lot of beautiful, stunning even, women at the party. Bailey outshone them all, glittering like a glamorous Hollywood icon brought forward to the present, outclassing even the real Hollywood A-listers in attendance if you were to ask his opinion. But in true Bailey style, she ignored them all and focused on their target.