LITMIR.BIZ

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tired of their judgement. He couldn't believe he'd convinced Shahkara to come here. What was he thinking? Relief appeared in the form of a waiter ahead of them. Max needed something to get him through the next half hour, but when he tapped the guy on the shoulder he realised the silver tray had appetisers, not alcohol. Half-heartedly, he grasped a vol-au-vent and popped it into his mouth.

      `What is this?' Shahkara managed to snatch something before the waiter darted off towards the next cluster of guests.

      `A spring roll,' Max mumbled through the hand that covered his mouthful.

      `Interesting.' She nibbled at one end. `Is it named thus to celebrate the Spring season?'

      `No, it's…' He stopped and swallowed. `Actually I don't know why it's called that. Do you like it?'

      `It is edible but not my preferred sustenance.'

      `Well, this gig doesn't offer raw—'

      `Not here! Others could be listening.'

      `Seriously? It's as loud as a rock concert.'

      `You are impeded by your human senses.' She ate the rest of the roll.

      Ah champagne, finally! Max reached for a glass as the waiter approached, but Shahkara snagged his elbow. `It is ill-advised to drink before battle.'

      The waiter raised his eyebrows.

      Please don't let us look like a security risk! He flashed a smile. `She's right. Who needs a drink with a costume as good as hers?'

      The waiter nodded and kept right on moving.

      Max turned towards her. `We are not about to charge into battle. So I can drink if I want. And I think I'll need to before the night's over.'

      She shot him a steely glance. `It is precisely because tonight is not yet over, that you should remain alert.' Her gaze softened. `Is it your brother's recent death that makes you crave alcohol?'

      Sure. Ethan, and the emptiness, and my whole stupid life. He glanced at the floor. `It's just an escape. Everyone my age drinks.'

      `You are the son of a wealthy merchant, you have vehicles that outpace carriages drawn by teams of the best horses, lights that illuminate your entire city, story-images that move on your wall, so many scientific wonders. So, apart from bodyguards and demons, from what do you need to escape?'

      He smiled at her almost joke and his empty soul quivered with hope. `Dance with me,' he whispered.

      `What?' Surprise lit her eyes. She glanced around, as if he were asking someone else.

      `Give me something to do that doesn't need alcohol.'

      She glanced at the other waltzing guests. `Your dancing differs vastly to my world's. I would need instructions.'

      `I'll teach you.'

      `I… very well.'

      Grateful for the ballroom classes his mother had forced upon him as a child, he guided her to the floor and placed his hand at her waist.

      She stiffened.

      `Something wrong?'

      `You invade my personal space.'

      We were closer than this when I fell from the balcony. `It's how this dance works. See?' He nodded at the other dancers.

      Copying the other women, Shahkara placed one hand awkwardly on his shoulder while the other clutched his wrist. `This is inelegant.'

      `You're not fighting monsters. Just relax and have fun.'

      She released a breath and some of her tension seemed to dissipate. She stepped on his toes, twice, but neither he nor his feet cared.

      `I do not wish to—'

      `You just need practice.'

      Her lips compressed, as she concentrated on what her feet were doing, but within minutes she was reflecting his moves and their dancing became fluid.

      `There you go! You're getting the hang of it.'

      Her eyes were aglow and her steps light `It is almost enjoyable.'

      Pleasure coursed through his body as they moved elegantly together. They danced through three waltzes before the music ended, as the small live orchestra took a break.

      A smile curved her lips and his chest expanded. He lifted his hand upwards to tuck a few errant strands of her hair back behind her ear.

      Their eyes locked. Max so wanted to kiss her; wanted to make her breathless. He'd give anything to taste her sweet, full lips.

      This woman was dangerous. Not because she was an other-world warrior whose talons could rip his heart from his chest, but because he was sure his pulse stopped every time she looked at him.

      Was Shahkara what was missing from his life? And if so, how could he stop her from leaving him once her quest was fulfilled?

      His index finger glided down the slope of her neck and rested on the cord that hung behind her cuirass, between her breasts. He wanted to draw it up and find out what hung from it. He couldn't imagine her wearing girly trinkets.

      `You pay undue attention to my chest.' Her fingers gripped his shoulder, forcing his gaze back to her face.

      `I was curious about your necklace.'

      `Your curiosity will prove dangerous.'

      `Does it need to stay hidden?'

      `That is not your concern.'

      He was about to remove his fingers from her neck but, instead, his thumb hooked the cord and he lifted the unexpected weight to reveal a figurine dragon, its silver wings and legs wrapped around the heart-shaped bow of an ancient key.

      `Beg Danu!' She snatched it back before jamming it beneath her armour. `Do not touch it!'

      Chapter Five

      Guilt raked his spine. `I didn't—'

      `Do you understand me?'

      `Why? What did I do?'

      `Never touch it!'

      It was just a pendant, however exquisite, and it wasn't like he was trying to nick it but his action had earned him a blistering glare.

      `I'm really sorry,' he said, hoping to ease the situation.

      A pale blush stole across her cheekbones as she broke away from him. Her violet eyes shifted uneasily. `Apology accepted,' she said, but she was still stiff with anger.

      His hand clenched at the memory of his fingers against her silken skin. `Shahkara, I didn't mean to—'

      A brief drumroll drew the attention of everyone in the room to `centre stage' where the president of Laronte stood on a podium, hushing the enthusiastic applause.

      Max's jaw clenched. Even without bodyguards to hint at his importance, or prominent business cronies to showcase his standing, Liam McCalden emanated a presence that too many believed was one of integrity. From his handsome face and perfect physique, perfectly suited in Armani, to the deliberately-distinguished touch of grey in his dark hair, his father was all clichés and misdirection. The man spent as much time cultivating his image as he did heading his global conglomerate.

      Max turned away, hoping he wouldn't be recognised in the crowd as his father spoke glowingly of Laronte's dedication to both commerce and community. Tonight's ball was a fundraiser for the so-called McCalden Benevolent Fund.

      That was laughable. Max knew the charity was, at best, a public relations campaign, but mostly pure tax evasion. He was tempted to join the protesters out the front of his house.

      He glanced at Shahkara, trying to communicate his apology with an anxious face and beseeching eyes, but she had moved away and was avoiding his gaze. He wondered if her regal air, that arrogant but enticing tilt to her body, came naturally.

      As

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