They probably were. “I’m not going to back off. I want the Tear.” Lie, lie. The Tear was a means to an end. He was that end. I want you.

  The song was winding down. The dance had come to an end.

  “I don’t back off, either, and I usually get what I want.”

  The music stopped. The band was taking a break. No, not a break. It was probably time for the auction. Delilah had deliberately arrived late so that she would only have to stay a short time at the event. She slowly pulled from Archer’s embrace.

  “Don’t I get a name?”

  Cinderella hadn’t given her prince a name. She’d just left him with a fancy slipper. He’d been resourceful enough to track her down. Granted, he’d used all his guards and power, but he’d gotten the job done. “Why kill the mystery?”

  “Because I want to see you again.”

  And someone is taking the bait.

  Pleased, Delilah offered him a slow, sensual smile. It was one she’d practiced in her mirror over and over again until she’d gotten it just right. “We don’t always get what we want.” With that, she turned away. Kept her back straight. Kept her chin up. And she left Archer Radcliffe standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

  Step one, complete. Archer was falling into her trap.

  She just had to be careful. Her heart still beat too fast. Her body seemed to quake a little. Archer was supposed to get caught in the illusion. She wasn’t.

  Delilah glanced back.

  And found Archer’s golden gaze locked on her.

  Chapter Two

  “It happens to the best of men,” Oz said with a sigh. “Sure, you can have good luck. You can be hooking up with super models left and right and you can think you are on top of the world and then—bam. Rejected.” He clapped a hand around Archer’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.”

  The auction was underway. Some paintings had already been sold. An ancient vase. A ruby necklace.

  He waited in the back, standing and watching the crowd, while his annoying companion hammered at him. But Archer wasn’t looking at Oz. His attention was on the woman who sat—perfectly poised and ever-so-elegantly—in the front row.

  His mystery lady. “I want her name.”

  “Oh, man, I wanted it, too. Did you see how she—”

  “I’m telling you to work your magic and find out her name. She’s registered for the auction. That means her name is written down somewhere. This is an invitation-only event. I want to know who she is. I want to know where she lives.” I want to know everything.

  “Um…” Oz cleared his throat. “Got to advise you, as your attorney, that seems a little stalkerish. If the woman isn’t interested, I get it—hurts the old pride. But you have to move on.”

  The Princess Tear had just been brought onto the stage. A man with graying hair, a slight paunch, and a glinting pinky ring motioned to the Tear. “Our highlight of the evening!” he boasted. “Who would like to start the bidding on this wonderful—”

  “Twenty thousand.”

  The bid had come from the woman in the front row. His mystery woman.

  “Oh, shit,” Oz whispered. “She was for real.”

  “Bidder Thirteen has just said she would like—”

  “Twenty-five thousand,” Archer announced as his voice cut through the announcer’s words.

  The announcer’s attention jumped to him. The man’s eyes seemed to double in size. “We have twenty-five thousand,” he said and swallowed. “Do I hear—”

  “Fifty.” Bidder Thirteen had her paddle in the air. “Fifty thousand is what you hear.” Slowly, she turned to look over her shoulder and stared straight at Archer. And she smiled at him.

  His eager cock immediately jerked in reaction to that slow, taunting smile.

  “She did not come to play.” Oz’s tone held a note of admiration. “Damn. I think I am in love.”

  “Get over it,” Archer snapped flatly. He was also not there to play. “Sixty thousand.”

  Voices rose. A nervous, excited rumble.

  “Is it even worth that much?” Oz muttered. “Seriously, let’s just take a moment to—”

  “Seventy,” Bidder Thirteen said without looking away from Archer.

  He smiled at her. Truth be told, he hadn’t anticipated the auction would be this much fun. There was very little in his life that was fun these days. “Eighty.”

  “Oh, my.” The announcer’s voice brightened. “Do I hear ninety?”

  “In-fucking-sane,” Oz rasped. “Stop. I don’t think that’s worth—”

  Archer gave a small, negative shake of his head.

  Bidder Thirteen smiled. She obviously thought that Archer’s head shake had been directed at the announcer. She thought wrong. It had been for Oz because the guy needed to shut the hell up. That necklace? It was worth everything. Not just one diamond, but three in a perfectly shaped cluster drop. A necklace that had been in his grandmother’s family for ages, until his father had just tossed it away like it was some useless trinket.

  His father had always been good at tossing things away.

  “Going once,” the announcer boomed. “Going twice—”

  “Ninety,” Bidder Thirteen’s cool voice declared.

  Archer took an instinctive step forward. “One hundred grand.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He winked at her.

  Red immediately flushed her well-sculpted cheekbones. Her delicate hand lowered as she brought down her bidding paddle.

  The silence in the room seemed to stretch as Archer stared at his mystery woman. He could practically feel the tension in the air. It was getting thicker and deeper and—

  She smiled. A real, beautiful bloom that took her striking features and made them absolutely gorgeous.

  “Sold to Mr. Archer Radcliffe! And, sir, I guarantee, you will not be disappointed with this purchase. And on behalf of the charity committee, I would like to thank you for your substantial bid.”

  Bidder Thirteen didn’t look upset with her loss. In fact, she appeared pleased as hell.

  Archer realized that he’d just been played.

  ***

  The air held a faint chill. Unusual for Miami. The nights were rarely cold. Instead, the heat would grab you and hold tight. The air would be thick and heavy. Like a rough touch.

  Archer slowly closed in on the woman who was about to head down the stone stairs and out of his life. They were outside of the plush ballroom, on the balcony that overlooked the beach, and she was using the opportunity to sneak away.

  “Not so fast.” He stepped into her path, slipping from the shadows.

  She didn’t give so much as a start of surprise.

  Because she knew I was here the whole time.

  “Sorry you didn’t get the Tear. You certainly should get points for effort.” Her scent—absolutely delectable and bewitchingly feminine—wrapped around him. “I expected you to stop bidding around fifty thousand.”

  She laughed. “I know. That’s why I kept going.”

  Surprise pushed through him. “What?”

  Her hand lifted. She gave his cheek a little pat. “I told you I was here to take you down.”

  Yes, she had. But she’d also said she wanted the Tear.

  “The money from the auction went to support a charity that helps runaways. Helping those who need us is certainly a worthy thing to do.” For a moment, steel entered her voice. Emotion. It was quickly smoothed away. “A man like you—a man with ever-so-deep pockets—he should be expected to pay richly for the things that he wants.” Her left hand gripped a small, glittering clutch. She hadn’t possessed that clutch before. Archer knew she must have picked up her bag from the check-in area before slipping outside.

  “You were deliberately driving up the bidding.”

  Her hand fell away from him. “Was I?”

  She’d just freaking admitted it. “What if I’d stopped? What if I’d left you high and dry and owing for the diamond?”

  Her head tilted as she seemed to consider the matter. “That would have been unfortunate. Especially since I have no way to pay.”

  He’d been conned. Beautifully and completely.

  “Not like it would have happened, though,” she continued blithely. “I made sure to learn just how much you wanted the diamond. Our chat on the dance floor was very enlightening.”

  Anger pulsed inside of him. It was cold, the way his rage always was. The way he always was. “I’m not the kind of guy you want to fuck around with.”

  “No? And here I thought you wanted me to fuck you. That was certainly the impression I received during our dance.” She wet her lips. “Guess that was my mistake. Too bad.” She moved around him. Took a step down the stairs.

  “What game are you playing?”

  She kept going down the stairs. “Not a game.” Her voice drifted back to him.

  “Bullshit.” She conned me. She’d played her role so perfectly that he could not help but be impressed. And intrigued. Usually, events like this one bored the hell out of him. No, correction, he usually avoided events like this one. He didn’t have a lot of time for bullshit in his life. Most of the people in that ballroom had been staring at him with fear in their eyes. All had been whispering about him.

  He’d only come out because he wanted that Tear.

  Now though, he’d found something else—someone—that he also wanted. And she isn’t going to just slip away.

  Pausing half-way down the stone stairs, she looked back up at him. The full moon shone down on her and revealed her features. Not classically beautiful, but more striking—the first thought he’d had upon seeing her in the crowded ballroom. Once you saw her, you could never forget her. Delicate jaw. Sculpted cheekbones. Plump lips designed to drive a man to madness. Wide, deep eyes.

  “If I were Cinderella, I’d leave a shoe for you. You could be Prince Charming and follow me as you promised me a life I’d never forget.”

  Automatically, his gaze dipped to her heels. Fuck-me shoes if he’d ever seen them. Or maybe, fuck-off shoes. Her dress stopped at mid-thigh, revealing legs that were truly glorious. Legs that he could imagine wrapped around his hips—or thrown over his shoulders—all too easily.

  “But you’re not Prince Charming.” A new note had entered her voice. An edge of tension. “And I’m not Cinderella.”

  He bounded down the stairs after her. “You shouldn’t play with me. You do not want me for an enemy.”

  “How do you know what I want?” Husky.

  The question had his shoulders tensing. I know what I want. It’s you. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone in a very long time. And every confusing, tricky word she uttered just increased his need to know more about her.

  “The money went to a deserving charity,” she continued with a roll of one shoulder. “You got back your heirloom. Win, win. Why would you be my enemy because of that?”

  He was right beside her. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Instead, his hands clenched into fists. “If you’re not Cinderella, then who the hell are you?”

  “Back to that, are we?” A low, amused laugh. “Why don’t you just call me the wicked stepsister? Think of me as the one the slipper doesn’t fit.”

  She still wasn’t giving him a name. What she was doing—driving up his curiosity. And, dammit, his attraction.

  “It’s been an…experience meeting you,” she noted with a little nod. “I don’t think I will be forgetting you anytime soon.”

  He knew he wouldn’t be forgetting her. At all. He—

  “Good night, Archer,” she whispered as she pushed up onto her toes. Her hand rose and curled behind his head, and she tugged him toward her. Toward her mouth.

  The kiss happened before he could even think. One second, he was plotting about what to do with her, and the next—his mouth was on hers. And she was kissing him with a careful, skilled passion. With total control. Licking lightly with her tongue in a technique he knew was designed to drive him crazy.

  Fine. It was driving him crazy. She tasted rich and decadent. Her mouth was soft and lush, and all he wanted to do was pick her up and get lost in her. Right then. Right there.

  She’d just cost him one hundred grand. She’d schemed. Lied. Tricked him.

  And now she was trying to seduce him.

  So he let her. What the hell? The night was certainly different. It was—

  She pulled back. “Not bad.” Her fingers touched her lower lip. Was it his imagination, or did her fingertips tremble just a bit? “But I’ve had better.”

  His jaw clenched.

  She turned and walked down the stairs. She still gripped the clutch.

  Cinderella didn’t leave a shoe behind for him. She didn’t even glance back. But then again, she wasn’t Cinderella.

  And he wasn’t a fucking prince.

  He waited until she was gone, then he slowly opened his hand. When she’d been kissing him, he’d taken the liberty of slipping his hand inside that tiny clutch of hers. So small that there had only been room for her ID, keys, and some cash.

  He looked down at her ID. Brought out his phone. Shined his light on it.

  No, she wasn’t Cinderella.

  She was Delilah Darrow, and she’d just played with the wrong man.

  ***

  She’d kissed him. So not part of the plan. But she’d done it. A spur of the moment thing. A move designed to wet his interest. To get under his skin.

  Except he’d gotten under her skin. She’d felt the power of that kiss resonate through her body. She’d wanted to get closer to him. Wanted to rub against him. Hold him tight. And let go of her control. She’d wanted to kiss all of her inhibitions goodbye—something she never, ever did—and just hold on for the ride.

  Absolute madness. Her reaction to him was way, way over the top.

  Is this how the others had felt? The other women who had fallen prey to Archer? She knew what he was—correction, what he could be—and she had no business lusting after him. You didn’t lust after the monster in the dark. You didn’t get turned on when he touched you. When he kissed you.

  Not unless you were screwed up in the head. Or as twisted as the monster.

  The limo pulled to a stop in front of her place. She didn’t wait for the driver to come around and open her door. Delilah surged outside.

  “Miss—”

  “Thank you.” She pulled money out of her clutch. Pushed it into his hand. “You were great tonight. Fabulous service.” The limo had been part of her cover. Not like she could arrive in her old VW convertible.

  Delilah didn’t wait to see the driver climb back into his car. She was already heading for the door to her home. Not fancy. Not glamorous. Just a standard two-bedroom house with a sweeping front porch and colorful pentas in the flowerbeds. Their scent teased her nose as she rushed up the steps and headed for the door. In moments, she was inside. Safe.

  Her first order of business was to kick off the shoes. To stalk barefoot across her floor. Would Archer take the bait that she’d left for him? She’d given a fake name and number at the auction. The number would link to the cell phone she’d gotten just for use with Archer and—

  A hard knock shook her front door.

  She spun around. Frowned. The driver? Had she left something in his limo? Delilah hurried toward the door. Pressed her nose to the wood and looked through the peephole.

  When she’d come inside, she’d automatically flipped on her porch light. It shone down—not on the limo driver—but on Archer Radcliffe.

  Oh, no.

  He knocked again.

  She grabbed for her entrance table. Took out the item she needed from the top drawer, put it behind her back, and only then did she swing open the door. “Stalker much?”

  He smiled at her. That smile of his sent an icy shiver right down her spine. “Hello, wicked stepsister.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  His hand lifted.

  She tensed.

  But when his fingers unfurled, Delilah just saw her driver’s license. How in the hell had he gotten that?

  “Much better than a glass slipper. It conveniently contains your address.” His head cocked. “By the way, what’s behind your back?”

  Her breath was coming too fast. Too hard. Archer Radcliffe—the monster in the dark—was right in front of her. They were alone. He didn’t have his guards or his friends or his power to protect him.

  “Delilah…” He seemed to taste her name. “I found you.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “You did.” And then she brought her right hand up from behind her back—the hand that gripped her gun.

  She pointed the weapon straight at him.

  Chapter Three

  Archer looked at the gun, then back up at Delilah’s face. The gun was trembling because she was trembling. And for an instant, he’d caught the flash of fear in her bright eyes before Delilah had carefully schooled away that emotion. “I have to tell you,” he said, quite seriously, “you are fascinating to me.”

  A furrow appeared between her brows. “When a woman aims a gun at you, it shouldn’t fascinate you. If you’re smart, it should terrify you.”

  Fair enough. “Consider me terrified.”

  “Is everything a joke to you?”

  He advanced on her. “Hardly.”

  “Stop.”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” He didn’t stop, not until the gun was pressed to his chest. “I have to warn you, things will get messy if you fire. This close, my blood will go all over you. It will also splash off these pretty white walls of yours.”

  Her lips parted. Now wasn’t the time to notice how plump and luscious her lips were. But, dammit, he noticed.

  “You’re crazy,” she breathed.

  Perhaps. “I have my lawyer running a background check on you even as we, ah, speak.” Or as I stand here with a gun at my chest. A turn that he had not expected this night to take. “Oz knows I’m here. Not like I left without telling anyone where I was going. If I turn up dead, I’m afraid you’ll go to jail.” A sad sigh. “You’ll spend the rest of your life locked away. An utter waste if you ask me. Someone as gorgeous as you are shouldn’t be locked away from the world.”