Luca wasn’t listening. He was thinking back to what Matteo had said, something about one of their sisters suggesting that Cheyenne seemed familiar.
“…the perfect face to publicize our cause. Well, you can see for yourself. Not from here, though. This crowd…” Alene clasped Luca’s arm and drew him across the room. “There. See? That wall, darling. That’s Cheyenne McKenna.”
Luca stared at the display of photos, all done in stark black and white.
All magnificent, thanks to the subject matter.
Thanks to Cheyenne.
In one, she stood beside a white horse, her hand resting on the animal’s arched neck. In another, she held the reins of a black stallion as she led him down a hillside. There were half a dozen other photos of her with what seemed to be the same pair of horses, riding them bareback, feeding them from the palm of her hand, stroking their muzzles as the animals closed their eyes in ecstasy.
He understood that ecstasy.
He had felt it this morning as Cheyenne had ridden him to a mind-blowing orgasm.
“Well? What do you think?” Alene said. “Will she help get us noticed? Will Cheyenne McKenna do what we need?”
What Cheyenne McKenna was doing was certainly not what he needed in a public place, turning him inside out, firing a hunger so raw, so savage that he could feel his cock turning to stone.
The lies he’d told himself rose like bile in his throat. Telling himself that he was over her, that he didn’t want her… Every nerve ending in his body mocked him. What they’d done had not been anywhere near enough. He wanted her again, his way, not hers, wanted her begging for him, pleading for his possession, a willing slave to his every need, every demand, every desire…
“Luca? What do you think?”
Say something, he told himself fiercely, but how could a man say something intelligent when his body had taken control of his brain
“That face. That body. Add in the ranch she’s giving us and we’ll be off to a tremendous start. I mean, we’re such a new charity…” Alene giggled. “Just look at you! You’re speechless. Well, I can’t blame you. This is just superb news, isn’t it?”
Luca cleared his throat.
“Superb,” he said.
“And I’ve put her at your table, you lucky man, so you can ask her about the ranch. She hasn’t told us much. Well, we really haven’t had time to talk. She was away, you see, but now that she’s back—”
“Alene,” Luca said quickly, “this—this thing about a ranch… It’s not what I do. I’ll be happy to recommend someone, but—”
“Good evening.”
A male voice boomed through the ballroom. Conversation ebbed, then died; people turned toward the stage and applauded the white-haired man, microphone in hand, who beamed down at them.
“Thank you for that warm welcome, and let me extend an equally warm welcome to you and to what we hope will become an annual tradition, a celebration of horses, kids, and the wonders that can happen when you mix the two together. For those of you who don’t know me…”
Polite laughter greeted that statement.
“I’m your host, Jonathan Beresford. My lovely wife, Alene, is the genius who planned this amazing evening. Alene? Darling, where are you? Come up here and help me thank all these good people. I’m afraid our guest of honor is a bit late, but she’s phoned to assure us that she’s on her way. Until she arrives, Alene will tell you all about our wonderful new project.”
“I have to go,” Alene hissed as she pressed her lips to the air beside Luca’s cheek. “See you later, darling. And remember—we’re counting on you to help us get this project off the ground.”
“No. Alene, wait—”
Too late.
Alene Beresford had slipped through the crowd.
* * *
Luca did the same.
There was no reason to stay, no matter what Alene said.
He had paid thirty-five thousand dollars to sponsor a table. That was his act of charity for the night. He could leave now and no one would question it. People understood that the Luca Bellinis of this world had full schedules and were often called away on a moment’s notice.
“Excuse me,” he said as he made his way through the crowd and toward the ballroom doors. “Sorry. Coming through.”
Why would he want to spend the evening sitting beside Cheyenne McKenna, pretending to engage in polite conversation?
They had nothing to say to each other.
They hadn’t had anything much to say this morning, either. They’d shared a moment of mindless sex, and even if his libido was willing to make a fool of itself over the memory, his intellect wasn’t.
He was out of here.
He’d phone Aldo, get into his car, make a couple of calls, arrange to meet someone for a drink at the Rose Bar or perhaps The Top of the Standard. That writer he’d met last week, maybe, the one with the cute little laugh. Or that blond banker…
He frowned as he reached the elevators.
What was he doing? Running away? From a woman? He, who had never run from anything in his life? Not from his mother’s hot temper or his father’s cold withdrawal, not from the priests’ beatings at his Sicilian boarding school or from those given by the upscale bullies at the Yorkshire prep school he and Matteo had been sent to when they’d proved ‘difficult.’
He’d never run from anybody or anything and now he was going to run from a woman because he couldn’t seem to look at her without getting an erection.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
The doors to one of the elevators slid open.
“You going down?” a guy next to him asked.
Luca shook his head.
“No. No, grazie. I, ah, I changed my mind.”
He turned away, crossed the hall to the men’s restroom and opened the door on a sea of gold and marble. A white-jacketed attendant greeted him with a polite smile. Luca was not in the mood for a smile. He was not in the mood for attendants: he had never understood why a man was not expected to pluck his own towel from a basket of towels, use it and dispose of it without help.
Still, he returned the smile.
It was not the attendant’s fault he had a job like this any more than it was the man’s fault that he, Luca, had almost behaved like an asshole.
He chose a stall, went inside it and turned the lock.
Run? Ridiculous. Why would he run?
What he was going to do was find his table, sit down, eat a meal, chat politely with the others seated with him and yes, that included Cheyenne McKenna, who would surely chat just as politely with him.
That was what civilized people did.
He waited a few seconds, flushed a toilet that didn’t need flushing, undid the lock, emerged from the stall and went to the sink. He washed his hands, said grazie to the attendant when he handed him a small white towel, dried his hands, dropped the towel on the counter, fished out his wallet and gave the attendant a ten dollar bill.
He did the things normal people did in a normal world and, as he’d expected, doing those things helped him feel grounded and focused and calm…
Until he left the restroom and found himself face to face with Cheyenne herself.
* * *
Cheyenne had arrived almost twenty minutes late.
Her taxi had run into traffic.
A snarled knot of vehicles on West Houston had eaten up precious time. She’d taken advantage of it to phone Alene Beresford and tell her about the ranch. She’d intended to tell her later tonight, but why wait?
Alene had squealed with delight.
“The board has to give official approval, of course,” she’d said, ‘but they’ll be thrilled, Cheyenne, absolutely thrilled! And I have the perfect man for you to talk to about this. I’ll change the seating, put you at his table… Oh, this is wonderful news!”
Talking with someone was the last thing Cheyenne felt like doing tonight, but she appreciated Alene’s enthusiasm. Her dinner companion would probably be
a Horse Sense board member, and this talk wouldn’t be anything like the one she’d had with Luca Bellini because that hadn’t been a talk at all, not even the part that had involved Sweetwater.
It had been a debate.
He’d opposed everything she’d wanted, except for the sex, and by the time the cab finally pulled up to the hotel, she’d been wondering what had ever impelled her to bother with his assessment of the place at all, let alone have sex with him.
All he was now was an uncomfortable memory.
Alene’s assistant had greeted her at the elevator, hand outstretched.
“Quick! Come this way. No, not through the ballroom. The introductions have already started. I’m supposed to take you through the back, to the stage.”
“Sorry,” Cheyenne said. “The traffic—”
“Alene told me. Just go straight onstage. Johnny Beresford just called her to the mike. You have a couple of minutes until she gets there.”
Cheyenne barely had time to run her hands through her hair before she was standing in the glare of lights with Alene.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the fantastic Cheyenne McKenna,” Alene said, and the crowd applauded
Cheyenne smiled brightly and responded by saying how happy she was to be there.
Untrue, of course, because her already not-so-great mood took a further downward trajectory at the sight of all those people staring at her as if they wanted a piece of her for their own, but she reminded herself of why she was involved in this, of how important the goals of Horse Sense were, and she smiled and waved and said it was the Beresfords who were fantastic. Eventually, Alene’s husband announced that the buffet was open and those who’d yet to pick up their seating cards should please do so, blah blah blah.
Alene put her arm around Cheyenne’s waist, moved her away from the mike and asked if she wanted to make the announcement about her gift tonight or hold off for a press conference the next morning.
“Your choice,” Cheyenne said.
“Well, we might get more mileage if we hold off until people are tweeting about tonight’s party,” Alene said, “but that doesn’t have to keep you from talking about the ranch with the man I told you about. He’s a famous architect.”