I nod, my nerves beginning to thump. “Okay.” He kisses me quickly and gets out of the car and Andrew pulls back out into the traffic; we go around the corner and up the street and he pulls into a large circular driveway. He turns and smiles. “Here you go, Kate.”

“Thank you.” I get out of the car and walk up the oversized sandstone steps, hand my ticket to the doorman, and walk through the large archway. The ballroom is huge and extravagant, with big, round, candlelit tables and beautiful fresh flowers in arrangements. I walk through to the seating map and make my way to the table.

The table is already full except for three seats. “Hello.” I smile as I sit down beside a kind-looking couple.

“Hello,” everyone replies happily, and they all introduce themselves one by one. The waiter walks past with a silver tray full of glasses of champagne. I take one—hell . . . just leave the entire tray, please.

“Hi.” A man across the table smiles at me. He’s around thirty, with fair hair, very good-looking, actually. “Are you alone?” he asks.

“Yes.” I clutch my purse with white-knuckle force on my lap. Damn Elliot, this is the first and last time I’m doing this.

“Me too.” Without a word the man gets up and swaps his name tag with Elliot’s.

He slinks into the seat beside me. “That’s better.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Charles.”

I smile and shake it. “Kathryn.”

He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Lovely to meet you, Kathryn.”

I feel him before I see him. Elliot slinks into the chair opposite, his eyes find mine and I pull my hand from Charles’s lips.

Crap.

“Mr. Miles,” someone from the side splutters. “How lovely to see you again.”

Elliot turns and fakes a smile. “Hello.” He does the honors and shakes everyone’s hands at the table.

“Charles.” The man reaches over to shake Elliot’s hand.

Elliot raises an eyebrow in a silent you’re in my seat signal. “Elliot Miles.”

“I know who you are.” Charles smiles broadly. “Doesn’t everyone.”

Elliot rolls his lips as he stares at him flatly, clearly unimpressed.

Awkward.

I tip my head back and take a gulp of champagne.

“I switched seats with you,” Charles jokes. “I saw beautiful Kathryn here and simply had to sit next to her. You snooze, you lose, old boy.”

Elliot’s eyes hold his and I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile—oh, this is priceless.

Charles turns his attention back to me. “So, Kathryn, we were meant to meet tonight. I feel like the gods have shone down on me—tell me all about you.”

Good grief.

My eyes flick to Elliot, who raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his champagne.

What’s going through that control-freak head of his?

I tip my head back and skull again.

Help.

Oh what hell it is to ride on a charity ball tonight.

At first I thought teasing Elliot with Charles was a little fun, harmless flirting, but as the night goes on . . . not so much.

Charles is now openly flirting with me and I don’t want to be rude, but with Elliot in earshot it’s my worst nightmare. Elliot is talking to other people at the table, but I know he’s listening to my and Charles’s every word.

I’m deflecting compliments and sidestepping his flirting, but with every new tactic he tries, and he’s fucking trying them all, my blood pressure rises a little more.

At any moment I’m expecting Elliot to go bat-shit crazy, and dive across the table and punch Charles straight in the nose, because that’s who he is.

But to my surprise, he’s being calm and collected, his public persona firmly in place.

It’s very unsettling.

His eyes hold mine as he lifts his Scotch to his lips and takes a sip, emotionless and cold.

He’s fucking pissed.

Out-of-control Elliot Miles is manageable. Cold and calculating Elliot Miles is a completely different story. This situation is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

“Elliot.” We hear a sexy voice with a German accent, and I look up to see a drop-dead gorgeous woman in an ice-pink, strapless evening gown. She has long, dark hair and a body to die for.

Elliot glances up and then says something to her in another language. I can tell by the look on his face, it’s flirty . . . I know that look all too well.

She laughs on cue.

Huh?

What did he just say?

She replies in . . . I think it’s German.

He gives her a sexy smile and stands and holds his hand out for her. He says something else to her in German and she throws her head back and laughs out loud.

What the fuck?

“Who is this?” Charles asks.

Excellent question, Charles . . . you giant dickhead.

“This is Varuscka.” Elliot replies as he looks at her all adoringly. “And we’re dancing.” He leads her by the hand to the dance floor and takes her in his arms. I glare after them as my blood begins to boil. Varuscka Vermont, the woman he gave a lift home.

Seeing him and her together now . . . maybe there was more to it.

What the actual fucking fuck?

I pick up my glass and drain it, then refill my glass so fast that it sloshes over the side.

“Steady on.” Charles laughs. “Don’t want to get drunk and disorderly, do we?”

I glare at him, shut up, shut up. This is all your fault, you fucking idiot.

He’s playing games . . .

He just wants to pay me back for talking to Charles all night, it’s obvious.

Calm, calm . . . keep fucking calm.

With a shaky hand I lift my glass to my lips and I glance over to the dance floor. Elliot is holding her close in his arms, his back to me. Tall, dark, and handsome in a black dinner suit, he looks orgasmic, a standout in the crowded room. He’s talking in her ear and by the look on her face it looks like he’s telling her how many ways he could lick her to heaven.

My eyes begin to glow red as adrenaline pumps through my bloodstream.

Are you kidding me?

He brings me here, makes me pretend I’m alone because he can’t be seen with me, then gets pissed when someone hits on me . . . then flirts in German with God’s gift to men to pay me back.

Asshole.

The song finishes and they dance again, she’s laughing and chatting, looking up at him all adoringly. Her eyes are all love-heart shaped with a rose-colored blush on her face.

I know that look, I’ve seen it in the mirror many a time.

Have they slept together? Is she one of the nine and a half million women that he’s slept with?

Casanova fucking Miles.

Charles is still rattling on and I’ve filled my glass three times. Will you shut the hell up, Charles! I am not in the mood to hear your fucking crap. I’ve got enough of my own crap to deal with here.

The song finishes but, instead of coming back to the table, Elliot goes to the bar with Varuscka.

What?

My blood boils and the last of my sanity snaps.

That’s it . . . it’s go time.

You want a fight, fucker? You just got one.

He gets two drinks at the bar, one for Varuscka and one for him, and he stands facing me in among the crowd as they talk.