A Hunter Under The Mistletoe: All Is Bright / Heat of a Helios. Karen WhiddonЧитать онлайн книгу.
what?”
“Yes.”
His overt meaning was dinner, but something in the question stuck with him, searing his thoughts with images of the two of them, naked and locked in each other’s arms.
Would she say yes to sharing his bed?
A possible Hunter?
The thought was enough to jar Rafe from the tempting interlude and he stepped back and reached for the dress that had fallen next to his feet when she’d tossed it. The pale silk slid through his fingers and the stubborn ache that had settled in his chest subsided as his focus narrowed on his plan.
“It’s just dinner. Wear a pretty dress. Join me for a meal.”
Indecision painted her features in sharp relief, the heightened pink glow from her spa treatments fading as she considered his offer.
For reasons he refused to think about too closely, he held his breath, awaiting her response. And was more than a little surprised when she finally answered.
“Yes.”
For a woman who’d always prided herself on her unassuming life and the easy, simple comfort of her home, Evangeline couldn’t quite figure out why it felt like the walls were closing in. She’d returned home from her afternoon at the Archangel with several hundred dollars’ worth of spa treatments still coating her skin and a dress worth twice that in a small bag with silky string handles.
And she had dinner plans with Rafe Stavros.
Had her brains leaked out of her head somewhere between the facial and the hot stones?
She was a woman who worked in the dirt, for Pete’s sake. Her life—her own personal harmony—was never more in balance than when she was wrist-deep in the earth, planting any number of flowers and plants. So what was she doing?
A glance down at the bag—and a quick peek through the tissue paper—told her exactly what she was doing.
She was contemplating a date with her boss.
“You went way past contemplation when you said yes.” The self-admonishment fell flat as she stood in the middle of her living room, her voice a harsh clanging in her own ears.
So just why had she said yes?
Unwilling to think too hard on the real answer—because she wanted to—Evangeline marched to her bedroom and unpacked the small bag. She laid the dress out over her bedspread, then traced a finger over the silk.
And oh, wow, was it gorgeous.
The silk was dyed a pale lavender, barely registering in the purple spectrum. She suspected it might even appear a grayish-silver in muted evening light. Dying to put it on, she quickly stripped out of her clothes and pulled on the dress. The material slid over her skin with a cool caress and her mind immediately snapped to Rafe as her body gave out an involuntary shiver.
Thank you.
Such simple words, meant to convey gratitude. Yet on Rafe’s lips they were a sexy promise, encouraging her to take a firm step closer to him.
Where had it come from? This sudden, immediate dance between the two of them. She’d presented to him before, the quarterly design meetings with him placed on her calendar like clockwork. Yet something had snapped this time.
Turning to the mirror, she gave a small spin as the material hugged her body. Her year-round tan and natural coloring complemented the dress and something budded to life, pooling in the very depths of her being.
She felt feminine.
For the longest time, she hadn’t felt anything. A few dates here and there—fewer romps to bed to scratch an itch—but other than that her life was her work. Work that made her happy and satisfied, but over the past year it had become everything.
Why not go out and enjoy this evening? Even if something about it felt the slightest bit wicked.
Evangeline gave one more spin, enjoying the way the material gently caressed her thighs. But it was the moment she imagined Rafael Stavros staring at her as he got his first look at her in the dress that had her pulse racing. It was time she accepted the truth.
She had a date with her boss.
Flame Steak House was a joint effort between the Archangel and one of Rafe’s cousins, a world-renowned chef, Rocco Stavros. It had taken a considerable amount of persuading to get Rocco to come around and put one of his restaurants in the Archangel—the bastard had wanted a higher-than-average cut of the profits—but the decision had paid handsome dividends.
The food was exquisite, the steaks some of the finest cuts of meat in the world, complemented by an array of appetizers and sides that would make the most critical foodie sit up and take notice.
And take notice they had.
Reservations typically booked out six months in advance and for the holidays, some people had been waiting two years for their chance to dine this evening. Tonight was no exception. Rafe used the walk to his table to make discreet inquiries of his staff as well as to glad-hand some of the high rollers visiting this weekend.
Everything kicked up a notch over Christmas, and the casino business was no different. The hotel rooms were in demand, as were the gaming tables, the reservations and shows.
Rafe swirled the last of his whiskey, ice cubes clinking against the thick crystal of his glass. He’d arrived early ready to welcome Evangeline and was surprised by the shot of nerves that lined his stomach.
And then he forgot everything—nerves, her background, hell, he damn near forgot to breathe—as Evangeline walked through the entrance of the restaurant.
Pale silk sheathed her body, flowing over her breasts, waist and hips like a sexy waterfall. Unbidden, thoughts of Sirens and rocks came to mind. And while Evangeline wasn’t singing, Rafe could practically swear he heard music. Rachmaninoff. Or no, Puccini.
She stilled when she spotted him, the silk still shimmering around her like a halo, before a soft smile painted her lips. Strangely, it was the smile that calmed his nerves and had him moving toward her.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Rafe pressed a light kiss to her cheek, his fingertips drifting over her elbow. The urge to press his hands to her spine was strong but he held back, unwilling to break the subtle spell that wove around them both. The she-cat from earlier had vanished, replaced by a kitten-like softness he was loath to mar.
“Shall we?”
She nodded and they followed the tuxedoed host, who stood waiting discreetly nearby.
“It’s still so busy.” Evangeline’s voice was low, but her gaze assessed the room as they were escorted to his table in the back.
Although he knew his father preferred being front and center—all the better to see the action while being seen in the process—Rafe preferred something out of the way. And where he could keep his back to the wall and his gaze fully on the room.
Things had changed since his father’s time. His grandfather had been one of the first Helios to settle the area, enjoying the relative anonymity and distance from their natural adversary, the Hunters of Chaos.
Hunters still believed the legends—that the Helios guarded the gate of the ancients. Gain access to the gate and the Hunters’ master—the god of Chaos—believed he’d possess the knowledge contained within.
Rafe knew it wasn’t quite that simple. While his people did help secure the gate, knowledge had been leaking out for millennia. The world had changed, yet Chaos still acted as if it was the dawn of time.
His father had followed in Grandfather’s footsteps, enjoying his position as a mover and shaker in Las Vegas and ignoring the increasing signs the Hunters were making inroads. The occasional attack was chalked up to luck, nothing more.