Dance with the Devil
Elizabeth Keen's blue eyes flashed. "I'm not a damn Barbie doll that you can dress up and play with."
"Lizzie, dear, where did you learn such language?"
She saw the faint smile on Raymond Reddington's lips and the mocking quizzical expression on his face. Her anger flared again. She needed a deep breath to control her irritation.
"We'll make a plan," he continued. "But one thing is certain. You're not going to be my escort, dressed like an escapee from the Good Will."
"I don't dress—"
"Oh, be honest with yourself, Lizzie. "You're bright and beautiful, but you have no fashion sense."
"What was wrong with the dress I wore last time?" she snapped.
"There's nothing sexy about FBI black. I need you to be a distraction." He watched her intently, a touch of contempt perhaps, and dry amusement in his expression, and something else – dangerous and intriguing – a challenge.
Her eyes shifted away and back. "You want eye candy."
"Now you're getting the picture."
Elizabeth thought about it, angry with herself and him, angry at being reminded of the differences in the way they dressed. Reddington was a cultured, sophisticated man, his clothes tailored, beautifully cut from fine cloth. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "What do you suggest?"
"I know this upscale boutique…"
Elizabeth approached Reddington, spots of color on her molded cheekbones. He could see she was indignant about something. The red gown he had selected was perfect. He watched with pleasure as men and women took notice. Although the gown was high necked, it showed off her breasts and hips in a striking fashion almost as if she were naked.
"Some help you are," she complained. "That fat prick in the hall pinched my bottom."
Red grinned and waved a hand. "Look around you."
Elizabeth didn't bother. She knew she had turned heads on her way into the room, dressed the way she was. The dress fit like a second skin and she was not comfortable having her body displayed in this manner, but she had a part to play. She thrust a hip forward and her breasts lifted, pressing against the clinging fabric as her stance changed into a provocative pose.
"He's not the only one who wants you," Red said mildly.
The ambiguity of the statement hung between them. For a few seconds, the two studied each other.
Elizabeth chose to ignore the intuitive flash of understanding. Her head tilted slightly and the smile was too quick. "So now you're a pimp too?"
Red threw back his head and laughed with genuine delight.
"Oh, Lizzie, I'm sure they would be delighted to entertain you when you took out your handcuffs, but I'm afraid your gun would definitely spoil the mood."
"You selfish bastard, you're enjoying this." She indicated the gown she was wearing. "I need a drink." She spun around, a flash of shapely leg showing through a side slit, and stalked off.
"Raymond, my dear friend." The voice was smooth as satin. "It seems your wit and charms have failed to impress the lady."
"Not to worry. I like a challenge," Reddington answered lightly. He turned to look at the man a few inches shorter than him. Petrovich was thin, with a long sharp nose, tousled brown hair and a wide mocking mouth. His small grey eyes watched Elizabeth walk away, the dress of red clinging material emphasizing her shapely body.
"You must introduce me," Petrovich said.
"Ah, Petro, surely you are here for business."
"I don't mind mixing business with that kind of pleasure." His glasses glittered lustfully as he stared after Elizabeth.
Reddington chuckled, but found himself irritated by the open interest of Petrovich. The dress was attracting masculine attention. It was difficult to not keep looking at her. Already at the bar requesting a drink, Elizabeth turned to speak to a man seeking her attention. She nodded and tilted her head, laughter on her lips at some witty remark. Reddington felt a stab of jealousy that a stranger had made her laugh. Something he had failed to do. He had known and easily handled dozens of women in his life. Yet Elizabeth left him with a feeling of vulnerability and he did not relish the feeling.
"Let's take care of business," Reddington said, to distract himself as two more men joined Elizabeth at the bar, pressing close within touching distance. "What's the offer?"
"Why so blunt?"
"I'm waiting."
"I am empowered to offer you one million and three-quarters."
"Don't treat me like a fool. The price is two million."
Petrovich's lips sputtered.
Reddington cut him off. "You intend to pocket the difference. Don't waste my time with your greed."
"Raymond, it's not like that at all. You know the consortium-"
"My heart is breaking. I'll see you on the tenth of next month with the shipment and you will have the two million transferred to my offshore account."
Petrovich scowled. "How did you know the offer would be two million?"
Reddington watched him without blinking those hooded eyes. "It's my business to know."
His voice had the depth and timber to send an involuntary chill down Petrovich's spine.
"You'll have your money on the tenth. If you'll excuse me, I have another meeting."
Reddington inclined his head without bothering to reply.
Petrovich slipped away, grateful to be away from the veiled eyes that briefly held a spark of malevolence. He knew he shouldn't have attempted to deliberately lie. The measured, controlled voice had made that abundantly clear. His next contact was much more pliable. Petrovich was confident he could negotiate a tidy profit and he smiled at the thought, putting the unpleasantness of dealing with Reddington behind.
Reddington headed toward the bar where Elizabeth stood within a tight circle of admiring men. Her laughter floated above their mirth. He composed his features so he arrived relaxed and urban and smiling.
"Ah, Lizzie, darling, here I am," he announced, and extended a hand. "Ready for that dance you promised."
The not so subtle drawing of boundaries caused the circle around her to open as the men realized their competition for her attention was at an end. A man with handsome sun browned features boldly handed her an engraved card.
"You would look lovely on a beach. Call me."
Reddington stepped forward as Elizabeth tucked the card in her bodice. He slipped his arm around her waist and swept her toward the dance floor, ignoring the envious gazes. He felt her back stiffen at his touch. "It seems as if you have made a conquest. What would Tom say?"
Elizabeth ignored his remark about Tom. "I don't want to dance with you."
"What better way to survey the room for my contact," Reddington replied smoothly. "We are here on FBI business." He swung her around into his arms as they reached the dance floor. "Besides, I don't want to dance with all the ugly women with too much makeup. Natural beauty like yours is more pleasing to the eye."
He smiled that irresistible smile of his. She had to be constantly on guard against his charm. There was that wicked air of danger about him that was so fascinating, the power of his presence. He was a man who dictated his own terms to life. And if she were truthful to herself, he had infected her with a fatal curiosity to know more about him and how he knew so much about her life.
Reddington was a skilled dancer and guided her expertly around the floor. His hand shifted and he pulled her a little closer.
Damn him, Elizabeth thought. She could smell the scent of his expensive cologne and feel the warmth of his body. The sensuous drooping of eyelids over the bold eyes was mesmerizing. Did he realize how his touch and gaze affected her? She looked away to scan the room. "What am I looking for?"
"I think we dance well together." Again that intimate husky tone, low and deep.
"In about twenty seconds, I'm going to be very mad."
Reddington studied her face and realized the truth in her words. "All right, I don't know what he looks like. I've never met the man. He's to contact me."
Elizabeth stopped abruptly. "That's it. I don't have time for these games. How many times do I have to spell it out for you."
"Life isn't so simple, Lizzie."
She pulled away from him, but he caught her arm at the edge of the dance floor, stopping her. "Hear me out, please."
"I'm listening."
"I do know the name of my contact."
"How does that help when we don't know what he looks like?"
"The card that man gave you, may I see it?"
Elizabeth frowned, but she pulled the card from her bodice and handed it to Reddington.
A slow smile spread across his face. He waved the ivory card in front of Lizzie. "The name of my contact is Logan Alexander."
She snatched the card from his hand and looked for herself. In bold black script was the name of Logan Alexander, as well as an embossed company logo, and a number.
"I think that went rather well, don't you?" Reddington said.
