‘Why did you belt Brad?’ Dracula asked.
The fact he didn’t know but had ridden to her rescue anyway made the warm spot throb.
‘He put his hand on my bum,’ she said.
‘That son of a...’ Fury flared across his face, vindicating the indignation battling with the jumping beans in her stomach. But then the gold shards gleamed again. ‘You’re Scottish, right? What part of Scotland are you from? My pal Roman’s family are from there originally too.’
She stared at him for a moment, surprised, not just at the mention of the mysterious Roman Fraser of the long-lost sister fame, but that he’d recognised her accent—most New Yorkers she’d met so far seemed to confuse a Scottish accent with an Irish one. But then she suspected Dracula was very observant, his searing gaze doing all sorts of unfortunate things to her thigh muscles. Before she could give him an answer, though, Carly pitched up and broke the spell.
‘Mr Costa, I heard what happened, I’m so sorry. Mr Radisson told me one of the waitresses had accosted him. I’ll have Ms MacGregor escorted off the premises.’
Costa?She shrugged out of his hold. This guy was no knight in shining armour—or rather no knight with shining blood-drenched fangs—he was the entitled jerk who had forced her to wear this stupid costume in the first place.
‘And your name is?’ he asked Carly, the easy tone gone.
Her supervisor blushed crimson to match her devil’s outfit. ‘Carly Jemson, the party planner Marilyn Holsten’s staff manager, sir.’
His warm hand folded around Ellie’s shoulder. ‘I’m taking Ms MacGregor inside so she can change. She’s soaked and freezing and she just got assaulted by Radisson, so we’ll both be lucky if she doesn’t sue us.’ The chilling tone froze Carly in place. ‘She’s taking the rest of the night off. I want her wages doubled.’ His searing gaze skimmed back over Ellie’s drenched outfit. ‘And tell MarilynifI ever hire her again I don’t want the wait staff wearing something so damn inappropriate.’
Leaving Carly sputtering apologies in his wake, Costa swept through the crowd with his hand still clamped on Ellie’s arm, then headed up a staircase onto the penthouse’s top floor, which was off-limits to guests and catering staff alike.
Still feeling hideously exposed, not to mention struggling to control the hot brick now wedged between her thighs, Ellie allowed herself to be led. But as soon as they entered a vast living area, the glass wall on the far end of the space delivering a stunning view of Manhattan at night, she tugged her arm out of Dracula’s grasp.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, not feeling very thankful.
Maybe he hadn’t fired her. And maybe he hadn’t known about the costumes the waitresses had been asked to wear. But this was his party. And she could lay money on Carly getting her blacklisted from similar jobs after the way he’d humiliated the woman downstairs. She didn’t just feel clueless now, she felt vulnerable. And she hated that feeling. ‘If you can show me the way out, I’ll be leaving now.’
‘Don’t be dumb, you’re soaking wet. And freezing,’ he said, sounding as annoyed as she felt. Which was rich. Who had been assaulted here? ‘You’re not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.’
He snagged her hand, and lifted it, to inspect her bruised knuckles. The tender gesture was so unexpected—and his expression so fierce as he scowled down at the raw skin—it took her several seconds to yank her fingers free.
‘Go take a hot shower while I hunt up a first-aid kit,’ he said, completely unfazed by her glare. ‘We should put some antiseptic on that. There’s some dry sweats in the closet and some good Scotch in the cabinet, help yourself.’
‘I can’t shower here, Mr Costa,’ she said.
‘The name’s Alex,’ he said, turning back to her, but then he pulled out the fangs. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous. ‘Or Count Dracula, whatever works.’
‘Do you think this is funny?’ she demanded at the wry comment. She was sticky, probably in shock and dead on her feet. All she wanted to do right now was sleep for a week. And ignore the uncomfortable sensation making the jumping beans do back flips every time he looked at her. The last thing she needed was an overbearing billionaire making jokes at her expense.
His gaze only became more intense. ‘Nope.’
‘I should leave,’ she said again. Why did she feel so drowsy? And so cold—except for the warm spot, which was glowing like a hot coal. He walked towards her, his hands wrapping around her upper arms, as her knees started to give way again and tremors began to wrack her overwrought body.
‘Do you have anyone who can come pick you up?’ he asked. ‘And watch over you tonight?’
She shook her head, her throat drying to parchment. Why did he have to be so handsome? And so overwhelming? And why couldn’t she think straight? Or stop shaking?
‘I—I j-just arrived in New York...’ she said. ‘B-but I’ve been on my own for a while.’ She steeled herself against the ripple of grief—and wondered why she’d revealed something so personal to a man she didn’t know...
Calling on the last of her strength, she locked her knees and pulled away from him.
This is no time to fall to pieces, Ellie.
‘I d-don’t need anyone to w-watch over me,’ she said, as demonstrably as she could manage while her teeth were chattering like castanets. ‘I c-can w-watch over myself.’
‘Sure you can,’ he said. His thumb—warm, callused and strangely proprietary—skimmed down her cheek. ‘Go wash up. If you can say all that again without stammering when I get back, I’ll have my driver take you wherever you want to go. If not, you’re stuck here till morning. Got it?’
‘Wh-who made you the b-boss of me?’ she said, gritting her teeth as she wrapped her aching arms round her damp costume.