late.'
'Nobody expects you to be on time,' Cameron repeated. 'And we are both paying for it. See?' She ushered Margrit to the saleswoman and handed over Margrit's credit card as if it were her own. 'You'll show up at eight- thirty and make an entrance. It's what all the stars would do.'
And it was what she had done. The evening had passed in an exhausting, exciting blur. Margrit proved a terrible New Yorker, blushing and stuttering at coming face-to-face with a handful of genuine celebrities. Tony caught her once, his wink making her blush harder.
He could have been a celebrity himself, wearing a tuxedo that made his shoulders a dark block of strength, as if he'd stepped out of a Bond film. Genuine delight had lit his eyes when Governor Stanton, arriving without his wife, had squired Margrit around the room for half an hour, making introductions.
She liked the tall, unhandsome politician, their camaraderie genuine. They'd greeted Mayor Leighton together, Margrit focusing hard not to wipe her hand on her dress after she extracted her fingers from his clammy grip. Stanton had pursed his mouth curiously at her expression, but said nothing, his silence conveying a subtle sense of agreement with her feelings toward the mayor.
He introduced her to Kaimana Kaaiai before excusing himself. The philanthropist struck her as Daisani's nearly perfect opposite: a big man with very dark eyes who spoke with an easy Pacific Islands lilt, he seemed almost embarrassed by the attention his money brought. Margrit felt an unexpected rush of sympathy for him, and, as if he sensed that, he gave her a rueful smile before turning to the newest group to be introduced. Margrit slipped away, finally at ease, and spent hours chatting with people, until she realized the reception room was beginning to clear out. Only then, noticing how badly her feet hurt, did she retreat to a corner to remove her shoes. Even accustomed as she was to both running daily and wearing heels, stilettos still made her feet ache, 'I should've brought tennies to wear home,' she mumbled to them. 'I've already lost all my cool points by taking my shoes off at the Sherry.'
'On the contrary. Think of it as a... humanizing factor.' Eliseo Daisani's Italian leather shoes came into Margrit's line of sight and she ducked her head.
'Something you know a lot about, Mr. Daisani?'
'You might be surprised. I'm impressed, Miss Knight. I believe you've conquered a good portion of the city's elite tonight. Was that your intention?'
'Saying so either way would be imprudent, don't you think?' Margrit looked up as she slipped her shoes back on. In her heels, she was a little taller than Daisani, and the idea of letting him catch her literally flat-footed made her uncomfortable. 'You didn't come say hello to the governor. You must be the only person here who didn't.'
'Jonathan and I greeted one another.'
'You made eye contact. I saw that. What's the story there, Mr. Daisani?' She stood, hardly expecting an explanation.
'Perhaps you'll learn the answer to that someday. I don't suppose you've reconsidered my offer since this morning.'
'I don't suppose I have,' Margrit agreed. 'I know you're richer than God, Mr. Daisani, but I went to a fair amount of trouble to earn my law degree. I don't want to use all that education being your personal assistant. Besides, I'm finding out you're a terrible nag. Who'd want to work for a nag?'
Surprise creased Daisani's forehead and he gave a quick dry huff of laughter. 'I see. Well. Having been put thoroughly in my place, I think I'd better bid you good evening and retreat to reconsider my strategy. No nagging.' He bowed from the waist, never breaking the eye contact that let Margrit see his amusement. 'Until later, Miss Knight.'
Goose bumps lifted on Margrit's arms as she watched him walk away, not daring to breathe, 'Not if I see you coming,' until she was confident the noise in the hall would drown her words. Only then did she let her shoulders relax, and lift her gaze to look over the people left at the reception.
Out of dozens present, two watched her with clear and open curiosity. Governor Stanton might have been expected, as he'd attended to her for a good portion of the evening. The second, though, made a stillness come over Margrit when she met his dark, liquid gaze. After a moment the Hawaiian philanthropist smiled and looked away.
Her breath caught as if she'd been released from a hold imposed upon her. Janx had done something similar, his use of her name weighing her down so thoroughly she had been unable to walk away from it, or him.
Janx. Margrit's fingers curled in recollection and she looked at her aching feet apologetically. 'Sorry, guys. The night's not over yet.'
CHAPTER 4
'Margrit Knight.' Janx rolled her name in his mouth as he always did, as if it were a morsel to be savored. His gaze took her in precisely the same way, inch by inch, judging and admiring what he saw. 'I am not a man to be kept waiting, my dear, but I think in your case I will make a rare exception. For me?' He opened his hands to encompass her silk dress and upswept hair, then brought them back in, folding them over his heart. 'Such beauty is well worth waiting for. Do let me take your coat, so I can admire you properly.' He stepped around the cafeteria table that served as his desk, leaving thin wisps of blue smoke behind, and slipped Margrit's coat from her shoulders. 'Exquisite.' The word was murmured above her shoulder like the promise of seduction. 'The color is lovely. So few women can wear white convincingly.'
Margrit groaned and walked away to move paperwork and sit on the table, facing Janx as she loosened the straps of her heels and dropped them on the floor. Hard metal folding chairs were the only seating in the room. She hooked her toes under the nearest and pulled it closer, then planted her bare feet on its cold seat with another quiet groan. For a moment she just sat there, reveling in the chill that soothed the ache in her soles. 'What do you want, Janx?'
The dragonlord murmured, 'Ah,' with such disappointment it might have been a child's
Margrit propped her elbows on her knees, rubbing her face delicately and watching Janx through her fingers. His dark red hair had grown since she'd seen him last, falling across his cheeks in slashes that played up the green of his eyes, even in the smoky room. He wore a priest-collared shirt and slacks, both hanging well and making her realize he was broader of shoulder than she remembered. His hands were in his pockets, his stance casual and beguiling, and the pout playing his mouth was neutralized by the laughter in his eyes. Margrit had yet to see something erase that perpetual amusement for more than a moment, and hoped she wouldn't. She'd managed once to make Eliseo Daisani laugh in the midst of a crisis, but even that had ended in a threat against her life. Repeating the experience with Janx wasn't a risk she wanted to take. So long as he found her entertaining, she was safe.
Which gave her the courage to drop her hands and say, dryly, 'I'm so sorry, Janx. What was I thinking? Maybe we should do a waltz or two around your office before we get to the nasty matter of business. I'd hate for you to think I don't adore you.'
He wasn't as fast as Daisani. Margrit saw him move, quick long strides that somehow suggested a larger creature transferring its attention from one spot to another. His approach was consummate grace, fire flowing across an open space like a living thing. Then he was beside her, making the air crackle with dry heat.
'I prefer a tango. Tell me, do you dance?' His pupils dilated as her heart cramped and missed a beat for the second time that day. Eyes half-lidded, like a snake's, he stepped back with a smile that revealed curving eyeteeth, and offered her a hand. 'Dance with me, Margrit Knight.'
She straightened her spine by slow degrees, the threat of imminent danger making her light-headed. The taste of reckless abandonment was always tempting. She'd spent the evening smiling and greeting people who might help her career, people who could keep her climbing the narrow hard road of success. Few of them, she thought, would have to fight the impulse to dance with the devil. The urge that pushed her toward agreeing was
