Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(25)

A wry little smile emphasized the words, the promise in them, as she turned away, leaving the CEO on the floor. She wished she could wipe the feel of his hands off her body, wished she could purge his musky cologne from her nostrils.

There were indeed lowlifes here, just as despicable as any in the East End. Selina supposed these ones just dressed better.

It certainly made the Rolex now in the hidden pocket of her dress all the more satisfying.

She counted her steps as she approached the open marble bar, a vacant smile on her face. But no shouting followed—and a coy look over her shoulder revealed the CEO still staring at her, even while he danced with his new partner.

Dazzle and distract. No different from that first robbery in the park.

But so much more fun.

With a private smile to herself, Selina leaned forward to the bartender and said—

“Champagne—two glasses.” The deep male voice cut across the bar.

Selina glanced sidelong at the man who’d come up next to her.

Clad in a Marines dress uniform that fit him like a glove, Luke Fox gave her a tight smile.

Selina gave one right back. Like hell he’d jump ahead of her in line. “Make it three,” she said sweetly to the bartender. The man nodded and swept off.

Selina twisted to watch the waltzing crowd in the center of the room, the mingling guests now chatting, with the formal meal over. “I stayed away from the shellfish,” she said to Luke.

He lifted a dark brow. “Wise choice.” The two words held little invitation for further conversation. Especially as he threw down a few bills for the bartender and took his two flutes of champagne in his white-gloved hands.

Selina scooped up hers, not daring to glance at the artfully hidden pockets in her dress—to make sure the lump of the Rolex was hidden. And the Cartier bracelet from the woman she’d bumped into in line for the raw bar. And the Harry Winston ring from the witch who’d looked down her nose at Selina when they’d shaken hands.

Selina jerked her chin toward Luke’s second glass of champagne. “For your date?” Good. Perhaps his girlfriend would console him when he got the news his painting was gone.

He motioned with his glass toward a striking older black woman across the dance floor, chatting beside a black man she immediately recognized as Lucius Fox and an elderly white couple. Both ladies were bedecked in jewels—but the woman she was guessing was Luke’s mother wore them tastefully, paired well with her deep sapphire ball gown. “For my mother,” Luke countered, his tone still clipped and distant. He took a step forward. “Enjoy the gala.”

So her little comment about boring old Europe earlier had irked him.

Unable to help herself, Selina purred, “Aren’t you going to ask your neighbor to dance?”

Luke swallowed a mouthful of his champagne before turning back. Buying himself time to come up with an excuse, no doubt.

Selina watched him beneath her fake lashes and added wryly, “Though I suppose a dashing soldier is already spoken for.”

“I promised someone else a dance” was all he said, back stiff. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound that way in the least.

It was entertaining enough that Selina added, “Considering how happy you look to be here, I’m surprised you came.” Because that was one hell of a scowl as he surveyed the crowd.

“I owed a lady a favor.”

“The lady whose champagne you’re holding.” Only a son who truly adored his mother, she supposed, would drag himself here to please her. She made a note of it—his devotion and loyalty. A fact to be used later. Perhaps.

Luke shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting within his immaculately tailored uniform. “I enjoy these parties.” Another lie. From the tightness of his jaw, he either hated being here—or hated Holly Vanderhees. He began striding toward his parents, and Selina sipped her champagne.

“If a dance opens up,” she drawled to him, savoring the parting shot, “let me know.”

Another glance over his shoulder. A bit of wariness in his eyes now.

Gold-digger, she wanted to tell him. That’s the word you’re tossing around now. Wondering if someone with money going after another person with money counts as being a gold-digger.

From the tight smile he gave her again, Selina knew Luke had arrived at a conclusion. One that involved keeping far away from her. One that cemented Holly as someone to avoid.

Perfect. The last thing she needed was a nosy neighbor.

And she highly doubted he’d be coming over to ask for a cup of sugar anytime soon.

Another task now off her hands and her path cleared a bit more.

Selina sipped her champagne again and surveyed the bejeweled crowd. Sensed the men circling like sharks, debating how to approach her now that Luke had yielded her attention.

People will see what they want to see, Talia had told her. Give them the illusion. Become the illusion. And never let them know, even when you are long gone. Even in your triumph.

Selina watched a young trust-fund-looking man decide to close in on her. She offered him that little smile, draining her champagne and setting it on the bar behind her.

The young man sauntering up, a haughty angle to his chin, wasn’t much to tempt her. But the Piaget watch glimmering in the low light, just peeking out from beneath the dark sleeve of his tux…oh, that was a beauty.

Rich men and their watches. Another thing Talia had made her study. She’d never asked Talia how she’d learned herself. Who’d taught her. Talia had never volunteered it, either.