Seduction of the Billionaire Playboy Actor

  Seduction on Her Mind

  Copyright © 2012 by Marquita Valentine

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Image Copyright Andrejs Pidjass, 2008

  Used under license from istockphoto.com

  Chapter One

  Christian Romanov had picked one hell of a night to be sober. He adjusted his black half-mask and scanned the elaborately decorated ballroom. Okay, so he hadn’t picked tonight, but his agent had.

  Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he spied his agent, Martha Alfred. She stood by a huge pair of ornately carved doors, greeting guests as they arrived to the press event disguised as a masked ball. Of course he had to arrive early. Martha didn’t believe in fashionably late or arriving once one’s hangover had time to absorb a bit of the hair of the dog.

  He grimaced, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing server and downed it in one gulp. Technically, he wasn’t breaking her rules by drinking. She’d said sober. It took a whole hell of a lot more than a half-filled glass of champagne to get him drunk. And he was adult for God’s sake.

  Martha looked his way, and he shoved the glass behind his back. Her brows raised then lowered in disappointment, like he was a naughty toddler she’d caught eating (or rather drinking) his favorite forbidden treat.

  Dammit.

  He looked for the nearest exit and made his way there, depositing his glass in a potted plant. Once outside, the smell of brine hit him, clearing his head of overpowering perfumes and colognes. Leaning on the balcony railing, he closed his eyes and tapped the ring on his thumb against the metal. What a way to spend his birthday—alone. Something he could remedy after the ball. But he wasn’t in the mood for company. He was in the mood to lose himself in a little birthday present he’d purchased this morning. The need to find utter oblivion and all that went along with it hit him hard.

  Hell, he could leave now, take a hit, return to the ballroom, and no one would be the wiser. Not even his agent. The little pack of pills waited for him in his room, only five minutes away at the most.

  “Oh I’m sorry,” a woman said, the sound of her voice making his eyes pop open. “I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

  So much for escaping without notice. Pasting a smile on his face, he turned. “It’s okay. I was about to—” His voice got caught in his throat and he froze. Bright red hair illuminated by torches glowed like live embers. Dark eyes framed by a golden mask enticed him to come closer. A black evening gown, clinging to the voluptuous curves of her body made white hot lust flash through his veins.

  “About to what?” she asked, a little smile appearing on her lush lips.

  No damn clue. He swallowed, stuck his hands in his pocket and frowned.

  Her smile disappeared and she began backing away, bumping into a stone bench. Rushing over, he caught her in his arms, her hands coming up to grip his biceps. “You really should be more careful.”

  “If I had someone like you around at all times to rescue me, than I wouldn’t need to be more careful,” she said, a teasing light in her eyes. “My hero on demand.”

  Laughing, he helped her up, then gestured at the bench. “Sit with me.”

  “Less dangerous to be sure in this dress.” Her accent was hard to identify. It sounded as though she was trying very hard not to stretch out some of the vowels. Then again he hadn’t been to every part of America, so there were bound to be accents he wasn’t familiar with.

  “You find me safe?” The things running through his head right now weren’t remotely safe. He wanted her under him, with her dress shoved up to her waist as he drove himself inside of her.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Safer than my dress or earthquakes.”

  “The one we had last week barely made the news.”

  “It rocked my world anyway.”

  There were so many inappropriate things he wanted to say at that moment. Instead he settled on, “Did it now?”

  “It’s why I left the ballroom. The chain for the chandelier didn’t look very shake proof.”

  Pointing to the roof, he said, “Have you seen the water spouts on the corners of the house?”

  “Oh crap,” she whispered, glancing up and then back at him, panic filling her pretty eyes. “Stone gargoyles would do a lot of damage to our heads. Worse than the chandelier.”

  “They’ve been there since the last century and survived more earthquakes than either of us. We’re fine, but in case the unthinkable happens, I’d like to at least have a name.” He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m—”

  “Ian Romanov,” she said, putting her hand in his and giving a little squeeze.

  “Your name is Ian, too? Small world, eh?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “No.” It pleased him to see her put back at ease. And it pleased him even more to be the cause of it. “I attended the premier of My Beloved last night.”

  Pulling a face, he said, “Then you know I die in the middle.” First major picture and he dies. Dies. His father and brother must have loved every second of that scene-if they ever watched the film.

  “You made me cry.”

  That little tidbit should have made him extremely proud, instead he felt like an arse and wanted to comfort her. “I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

  “Ironclad clause in all future contracts?” she asked with another one of her gorgeous smiles.

  “Of course,” he said, then adjusted his half mask again. He couldn’t wait to take the damn thing off. “What’s your name?”

  Placing her hands in her lap, she twisted the material of her dress. What did she have to be so nervous about? Trying to set her at ease, he placed his hand over hers. “I have to call you something. ‘Hey you’ seems a bit impersonal.”

  “Amber,” she said, her black lashes flickering.

  Chocolate colored eyes met his and a sense of déjà vu washed over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her if they’d met before. Hell, earlier this evening he’d asked that of a major producer and Martha had nearly killed herself as she sought to do damage control.

  “A very lovely name.” He leaned into her, wanting to kiss her. No, he needed to kiss her, needed to taste her and—

  She stood, so quickly that he bumped his forehead against her hip. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “I didn’t mean to—”

  Sitting up and rubbing his head, he said, “Perfectly alright, love.” Maybe she’d knocked some sense into him. It was madness sitting out here, in the moonlight, talking of dying and lovely names while a ballroom full of women awaited him inside. “Are you an actress?”

  “No.”

  Disappointed that he wouldn’t have the chance of working with her, he rubbed his chin. “Russian spy?”

  “No,” she said on a laugh. “Guess again.”

  “Woman bent on seduction?”

  “Are you interested in being seduced?” she asked, her eyes heavy-lidded.

  Hypnotized, he stood, his heart beating loudly in his ears. “Hell, yes.”

  The sounds of an orchestra playing wove under doors and out of windows.

  “Would y
ou like to dance with me?”

  “There’s nothing else I’d rather do,” he heard himself say. Apparently, she hadn’t hit him hard enough.

  He took her in his arms, her full breasts pressed flush against his chest.

  “Do you like acting?” she asked, gazing up at him.

  “Most of the time, but one day I hope I can do some good with my name. Make a difference in the world,” he said. Feeling ridiculous at the truth he’d revealed, he rolled his eyes. “Trite enough for you?”

  “Only if you weren’t serious.” She looked disappointed and for some unknown reason, he couldn’t stand it.

  Letting his guard down, he exhaled. “I really meant it. I’d like to be known for something other than my looks, money or acting chops. What about you?”

  “Just finished graduate school. The world is my oyster.”

  “Seems we’re both full of old fashioned idioms tonight.”

  She laughed, the sound making his heart flip in his chest. “I prefer timeless.”

  He wished he could arrest this moment: a gentle breeze, the moonlight shining down, and Amber in his arms.

  “Are you here by yourself?”

  Always, he wanted to say. He was always by himself, making his own way through life. “My agent’s my date.”

  “I came alone. Sorta.”

  “How about we forget about our dates and stay out here, yes?”

  She laid her head against him. “Yes.”

  The music changed tempo and sped up.

  “Do you know how to Rumba?”

  “No.”

  “Lucky for you, I do. Keep your eyes on me,” he said and she lifted her chin. “Follow my lead.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said as he shifted her in his arms.

  They danced the length and width of the balcony as she laughed up at him and tried to follow his lead. He couldn’t help but grin and whirl her around faster and faster, until she fell against one of the French doors leading into the ballroom.

  Amber giggled, her hand on her chest as it rose and fell. “I’ve never danced like that before.”

  “Neither have I,” he said, moving closer, “In fact, I might have made up a few steps along the way.”

  “An actor improvising? Shocking.” She made a little noise of mock disapproval.

  “You’d be impressed with all the moves I have yet to execute on the dance floor.”

  “Just on the dance floor?” Pushing away from the door, she closed the distance between them and stood so close that he couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around her. “Seems kind of limiting, don’t you think?”

  “I’m quite sure I could rise to any occasion that called for improvising, especially if you were the occasion.” Nuzzling her hair, he breathed her in and leaned back. “Honeysuckle?” At her nod, he lifted a bright red curl and brought it to his nose for a moment before letting it slip through his fingers, immediately jealous of the strand as it caressed a bare shoulder. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell?”

  Chapter Two

  Zoe Ambrose’s heart pounded in her chest as his head bent, his lips parted as he neared. This was what she’d been longing to experience again: Ian Romanov’s kiss. Ian Romanov, golden-haired and blue-eyed. Hollywood’s latest British import and newest bad boy. She felt like screaming in excitement, but not because of those facts—although his accent didn’t hurt things.

  Even if he thought he was kissing some woman named Amber. But it couldn’t be helped. Pretending to be Amber gave her courage to speak to him, to ask him to dance. To seduce him.

  His lips met hers, slowly and so sweetly that she curled her fingers into the lapels of his jacket. Under the lightest of pressures her mouth opened, his tongue coasting over her bottom lip before dipping inside to explore. God. He tasted so good, so decadent and so perfect that she sucked his tongue to have more of him.

  Growling low in his throat, his hands came around her shoulder, then coasted down her back and pressed her against him. He was hard, so hard for her.

  Their tongues dueled, mouths sealed. He turned his head, making her whimper in protest as his lips traveled down to her throat. His teeth nipped at her collarbone, then her ear.

  “I want to fuck you right now,” he said, making her shiver, “Against this wall.”

  She felt his hands on her dress, yanking the material up. So caught up in his wicked words and kisses that she couldn’t form coherent words. Grabbing his hand, she tried to help him, but he froze.

  “Shall I stop?” His voice was ragged sounding in her ear.

  Exerting more force, she pulled his hands up, along with the dress. “No, I mean, don’t stop.”

  “Thank God,” he said, moments before his mouth claimed hers again and the cool nighttime air hit her skin.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked as his fingers traced the top of one of her thigh highs. “I’m on the pill, but we don’t know each other that well.”

  Smiling against her cheek, he said, “I have several and I plan on using every one of them tonight.”

  Her knees went weak, like sugar dissolving in hot tea. “You do?”

  “It will be a very long,”—he licked the top of one breast, then the other,—“night for us. Perhaps this night won’t end.” He dropped to his knees and ordered her to hold up the material of her dress. “Christ.” His fingers traced the hair free mound, then parted her. “All of this is for me.” His breath was hot on her tender flesh and her face flamed. “I’m going to eat you, lick you and savor every drop.”

  Then he put his mouth on her, tongue sliding inside where she was already wet and wanting. His fingers joined in, two of them pushing inside of her with an insistence that made her weak. Her body tightened upon itself, all of her attention on his mouth and tongue as he tasted her. Unsure of where to put her hands, she slid them down her stomach to trace the edge of his mask, then touch his face. The rough stubble of his five o’clock shadow tickled her fingertips.

  He leaned into her touch and sucked on her clit. She stifled a scream. Her thighs began to shake and his fingers went deeper. Stretching her, preparing her for when he would replace his fingers with his penis. The thought of him being inside of her was enough to send her over the edge.

  Clutching his hair, she simultaneously tried to pull him closer and push him away. His arms snaked around her, holding her captive against his erotic mouth. She was helpless in his embrace, in the onslaught of emotions and how aware she was of her body. How the breeze was cool on her bare skin. How her hair flowed over her shoulders. How his fingers dug into her hip.

  As the last of her orgasm faded away, she became aware of his mouth on her inner thigh. “My turn.”

  “Wait,” she began and he looked up at her, desire and lust in his pale blue eyes.

  “Why?”

  No one had ever done that to her before; her ex-boyfriend only kissed her and kept his hands in very safe places. And she was still reeling from the shock of it, from the exquisite pleasure he’d wrung from her. “I…uh…” Good Lord, she would sound like an idiot if she confessed that. At twenty-three she was still inexperienced about so many things that it was laughable. Or cry-worthy. She glanced up at the night sky, then back at him. “Nothing.”

  His brow furrowed, then his hands fell as he stood. “I think I know what the problem is.”

  “You do?” she squeaked.

  He nodded at the open windows and doors, then smoothed down the material of her dress. “We’ve practically an audience.”

  She felt her eyes grow huge. “Oh my God.” Her family was inside, within hearing distance and who would’ve known what would have happened had any of her brothers come out here and caught them.

  “So…”

  “I guess we’re done?”

  Tilting his head to one side, he raked his gaze over her. “If that’s what you wish.”

  What she wished and what she knew to be true were two different things.

  She should walk away from him, fr
om this destined to be a one night stand. An experience she knew she wasn’t emotionally built for but wanted with him anyway, despite her better judgment.

  The silence lengthened between them as he waited for her answer. She made her gaze leave his face and concentrated on the ocean crashing against the rocky cliffs in the distance. The full moon shone down as fireflies zoomed around twinkling lights and ornate fountains, making it the perfect summer night for seduction.

  “Amber?”

  Turning her attention back to him, her heart plunged to her toes. How emotionless he looked at this moment. How poised, as if he were waiting for a server to appear with one of those little trays. Then she saw the flush along his cheekbones, his hands clenching into fists and the stiffness in his broad shoulders.

  “Christian,” she said without thinking. Or maybe it was because that’s how she thought of him. When she’d glimpsed the real him at her Aunt Martha’s house parties, while she hovered on the edge and listened. He’d always seemed to have an underlying note of sadness when he spoke, when he told stories that had nothing to do with anything at all.

  Those perfect lips of his frowned. “Well, I’ll be off.” He began to walk away, but she caught him by the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket.

  “I won’t call you that again. It’s just…I’d rather think of you as a normal person than an actor.” Great, Zoe, just great. She’d all but called him abnormal. “Please, stay with me.”

  The corners of his mouth kicked up. “What’s a normal bloke do if he wants to be seduced by a beautiful woman.”

  She bit the side of her lip, then said, “Calling her beautiful helps.”

  “Flattery is my strong suit.” He pulled her to him, stroking the curve of her cheek. “Shall I take you inside and ask you to dance properly?”

  “How about I take you back to my room and fu—” She blushed at his wicked grin as she tried to get out the word he’d used earlier. Finally she settled on saying, “seduce you properly?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Benson.” Her friend, Jaylen Stone, had suggested the hotel, the hair color, the colored contacts and a fake name. Zoe had been dubious at first, but Jaylen had become her confidant since Zoe had moved out to Los Angles from her small town of Holland Springs, North Carolina. Plus, Jaylen had seemed to genuinely want to help her capture Christian’s attention. Besides, Jaylen was friends with Christian, knew his likes and dislikes because she could actually carry on conversations that lasted longer than five minutes. Unlike Zoe, who’d barely managed three sentences when she’d first met Christian at her aunt’s agency’s New Year’s Eve party.