Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(10)

“Put it on my auction tab. I want that painting. But you won’t get any more fines from me. My lips are now sealed.”

Parker turned to Natasha. “You’re forewarned. But if you do slip up—no worries—all the fines and auction proceeds go to the Boys and Girls Club, so no harm done. But I do prefer when my parties run according to plan.”

“He’s a step away from being the party police,” the first man said in a good-natured tone. “But we love him just the same.”

“Do not try me,” Parker said. “I wanted to use the airplane hangar for the auction, but several guests had already claimed it to house their jets for the night.”

“I can imagine that put you in a foul mood.”

Parker looked from Natasha to the other man. “I am never in a foul mood. Well, maybe once. But that was when we lost the polo match to Argentina.”

“That was no fault of yours, Parker. You played like a demon.”

“You scored the only three goals that afternoon.”

“It was my lucky day,” the velvet-voiced man said with a shrug.

“I don’t believe in luck.” Parker turned to Natasha. “Do you, my lady?”

“Not lately.” Not good luck.

“A woman of the highest sensibilities,” Parker said. “You really should set your sights higher than a dark-force musketeer.”

A woman wearing an Egyptian headdress and slinky silk gown—incongruously holding a clipboard—sidled up and whispered in Parker’s ear.

“I’m off. Needed.” He shot another playful grin to Natasha. “Remember, no identifying information. There’s party karma at stake here.”

As Parker walked off with the clipboard-hugging Cleopatra, the dark musketeer turned to Natasha. “Don’t mind him.” His lips turned up in a smile. “Parker’s the heart of this event. He has much on his mind.”

Her heart stuttered when he held out his hand.

“Since I can’t tell you my true name, I’ll introduced myself as Dumas, the man who invented the fictional character I am supposedly representing in this silly costume. I was promised a Prince of Darkness costume, but I was badly deceived by our man Parker.”

There wasn’t a single silly thing about the clothing he wore. He looked authentic, and his accent made him seem that much more real. He could’ve stepped off the screen of an eighteenth-century period film.

“And what might I call you?” he asked. He surveyed Natasha’s costume.

She shivered under his scrutiny.

When he returned his gaze to hers, though she expected to feel judged, the smile in his eyes melted through her ready defenses.

“I recognize the era of your dress, but the mask is much more modern. Edgy. Exquisite, really.”

She fingered her mask, hesitating before taking his offered hand. It was a simple handshake he offered. She shouldn’t be feeling so nervous.

But as her fingers touched his and he closed his hand around hers, she knew she shouldn’t have come to the party. She wasn’t ready for men. She wasn’t ready for parties. But he held her hand firmly, waiting for her reply.

His snug-fitting costume told her he had a magnificent body. She could see enough of his face to know that it matched his exquisite physique. Long-pent-up and unwelcome desire tingled in her. Desire and foolishness had led her to that horrid night long ago. She wouldn’t allow unbridled emotions to mislead her ever again.

“Tasha,” she finally stammered out. She couldn’t think of a name other than her own. The sounds of the party flooded her mind. His scent wafted to her, blocking thought. Vetiver. Surely he smelled of vetiver. And a spice she couldn’t name. Frankincense or myrrh or some other exotic spice. But through the teasing scents, another pressed in on her, stronger and more insistent. Male.

She pulled her hand free and stepped back, but only succeeded in creating a better view of the man’s honed body. She grasped her plate of dumplings and clutched it to her chest like a shield.





Chapter Four



THE WOMAN INTRIGUED ADRIAN. BUT Dumas? What a stupid name. No wonder she pulled her hand away and looked at him like he was half-crocked.

“Let’s get you some real food, Tasha,” he said. “There’s a buffet at the other end of all this madness.”

“I’d like that,” Tasha said.

Her words said yes but the way she held her body said no. She seemed fragile, skittish. Uncomfortable. God knew he felt plenty ridiculous in the costume Parker had foisted on him; maybe she felt uncomfortable in hers too.

But there was nothing ridiculous about the flowing lines of the enticing gown she wore. The costume looked as though it had been made especially for her. The deep blue velvet set off the creamy ivory of her skin, and the mask, rather than hiding her beauty, accentuated her gold-flecked hazel eyes, deepening the green in them. Even through the lace of the mask he could see that she was an exceptional beauty. And though she appeared to wear no lipstick, her lips were the deep pink of the roses his mother once grew in their family estate in Rome.

He offered his arm.

“Allow me to escort you. You never know what wolves are hiding under innocent costumes at an affair like this.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. What did they say? That clothes make the man? Well, he was taking this playacting to the extreme. He wasn’t an eighteenth-century swashbuckler and she wasn’t a Renaissance countess.