He shakes his head in disgust. “Keep deluding yourself, Natasha. I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, I assure you.”
“Yes, the clever Ian Blackmon… and yet again you couldn’t figure it out—any of it. It was so obvious. I mean, why would a man like Lucien go out of his way for a mousy little thing like your Ariel? That fact in and of itself should have alerted you.
“Lucien is mine: he fell hard for my charm so I tried to utilize his devotion to my advantage. Since he left his long-time girlfriend for me, I wanted to make it worth his while. Your cute young fluff, so apparently innocent, seemed like she might provide my darling with a few hours of fun and, silly me, I truly thought he was up to the challenge. He wasn’t though, not up to outplaying you, Blackmon. Complicating matters, I do believe he began to develop feelings for the girl somewhere along his road to perdition, which was funny because he swears he’s madly in love with me. Itty-bitty Ella foiled that part of our plan.”
“Good for her. Yenin, you’re not fit to lick my Ella’s boots, quite frankly. Don’t bring her into this conversation again. I won’t have her name sullied by coming off your dirty lips.”
Natasha could easily see and identify the blistering rage in his eyes when she mentioned his woman—intense emotion, love or hate, darkens the light blue-gray to slate, but they remain lighter around the edges. She remembers that about her old friend, her first lover—that and other things. For example, his beautiful face aglow with triumph when they scored a big deal, the way his eyes glistened like late-afternoon sunshine on water when he was amused and gleamed when he looked upon her in admiration, the way his dark locks of hair floated on the wind as the two of them tooled around in his pale blue convertible—the one he swore he bought because the color matched her eyes.
But the memory she adored the most and perhaps caused her the most regret was without doubt the expression on his face when they made love, as if he’d attained Nirvana, the way his eyes fell dark not with anger but with unbridled passion, the iris all but disappearing within the murky depths just before they rolled up into his head when he hit his orgasm. Yes, that was her favorite memory of all. Perhaps she’d see it again one day.
Surprising herself, she also feels a bolt of hot jealousy streak through her, scorching her blood. Ian belongs to her, not that little American snot; Natasha just chooses not to accept him currently. How dare that college girl think she could take on Ian Blackmon? Natasha decides Ariel needs another comeuppance. Maybe this time she’d give the green light to her uncles to have their way with her.
Shaking off her extreme reaction, she tosses her blond head back and laughs throatily at Ian’s last comment—every move she makes is calculated to be alluring to him. She’s rehearsed it all, leaving nothing to chance and she anticipates his every response. Her responses are the wild cards here: she must temper her emotions to succeed. Ian remains sitting in his chair watching her closely, a strange little smile dancing on his lips. What happened to the fury of a moment ago?
Ah, the master has resumed his poker face: outwardly, he is impervious, like a chess player carefully contemplating his next move. Inwardly, all hell is breaking loose and his sincerest desire is to wrap his long fingers around her elegant throat and squeeze every last bit of life out of her treacherous person.
“So,” he begins again, his fingers playing with his bottom lip, “something to do with my grandfather, you say?”
“I’ve already told you I won’t reveal anything more. It’s up to you to figure it out. I promise to give you motivation.”
“Are you threatening Ella again?”
“Lucien failed miserably but I can assure you my uncles will not.”
Ian grabs for his cell and calls Ella—it goes directly to voice mail. Trying Mason next, his heart revs into overdrive.
“Mr. Blackmon?”
“Where’s Ella?”
“I’m waiting for her in the car. She’s in a department store right now.”
“Get in there, Mason, and find her. She’s been threatened. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me as soon as she’s with you again.” He disconnects. Placing the phone down, feeling as if there’s a lump of lead in his belly, he avoids looking into the devil’s eyes. “You better hope he calls back with a positive report or your very life is at stake. I promise you.”
“So dramatic, Ian. I’m not threatening, per se. Just providing you with a little incentive.”
He shoots up and storms over to her; she rises to meet his onslaught. Only stopping within inches of her face, he is poised for attack. Natasha Yenin stands her ground but actually flinches this time at the big man glowering at her. She can nearly match him for height, but certainly not weight or muscle mass.