One Night of Sin by Gaelen Foley Page B

everything they said. She just liked being included in the conversations.
    Well, she concluded, if Sally and Daisy had lied just for fun—and she wouldn’t put it past them—no doubt Alec would show her what she was supposed to do.
    She did trust him that much.
    He was very easy to be with, she thought, watching his every move with deepening feminine interest. Aye, if the lads back in Yorkshire were scruffy ponies, he was a haughty, temperamental, blooded stallion—very fast, very beautiful, and highly dangerous.
    He read the champagne label with an approving nod. Untwisting the wire and coaxing the cork partway out with his thumb, he sent her a devilish half smile. “Center of the ceiling medallion.”
    “What?” She followed his upward glance, then realized what he was about—making a game of shooting the cork out of the bottle. Her laughter relieved some of her tension. Lord, the man could make a party out of a twig and a ball of twine.
    She shook her head and boldly challenged him: “Never.”
    He lifted his eyebrows. “I see. The lady doubts my aim. Do you want to bet?”
    “Dashed right I will.” She looked around for something to wager with. “I’ll bet you . . . one strawberry that you cannot hit the center of the ceiling medallion with that cork,” she declared, holding one up between her fingers with a flourish.
    “I’d rather win a kiss instead.”
    She shook her head firmly. “Strawberry or nothing.”
    “You drive a hard bargain,” he said, taking aim. “Tallyho.”
    Pop!
    The champagne cork sailed through the air like a Congreve rocket and collided with the ceiling medallion, then bounced violently to earth.
    “Oh, blast,” she muttered, losing the bet.
    “I thought you said you were born lucky.” He strolled back to the table with the frothing bottle in his hand.
    “Well, I’m lucky when it matters.”
    “Tilt your head back and open your mouth,” he murmured, strolling back to the table with the frothing bottle in his hand.
    The order startled and intrigued her. She ignored the frisson of arousal that his wicked tone sent through her veins and, daringly, did as he told her. Alec poured a small draft of the foaming liquid into her mouth and watched hungrily as she swallowed it.
    “What do you think?”
    She tasted it carefully, wrinkling her nose. “I like the bubbles, but ’tis a bit sour, isn’t it?”
    “ ‘Dry’ is the term,
cherie.
Have some more.” He poured out two narrow champagne flutes. “You’ll find you may quickly acquire a taste for it.”
    “Are you trying to get me tipsy?”
    “It never crossed my mind.” He slipped her a sly half smile, then held up his glass. “A toast.”
    She followed suit and looked at him in question.
    “To the bold and beautiful Becky—you do have a last name?”
    “Ward,” she blurted before considering the matter more thoroughly.
Blast.
She hadn’t really wanted to tell him that. The less he knew about her, the better.
    “To you, Miss Ward. I predict that you shall take the Town by storm. In fact, I will make sure of it—personally,” he added with a wink.
    She gazed at him wistfully for a second. “Thank you for your kindness to me, Alec. I don’t know what I would have done tonight without you.”
    He looked away with a careless laugh and a hint of color rising in his manly cheeks. “Oh, it’s nothing, I’m sure. It’s easy to be kind to a beautiful girl.”
    Good Lord, had she just made the libertine blush? He avoided her gaze and busied himself making sure they both had plenty of champagne, but the brief tint beneath his angular cheekbones spoke volumes of the real man behind the jaded facade.
    He has a good heart, whatever his faults
.
All the more reason not to confide in him,
she thought gravely, gazing at him. All the more reason not to risk getting him killed. She had already seen Mikhail slaughter one man.
    “You’re supposed to drink now,” Alec instructed with a determined return to his rakish