Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,65

I tell her, searching through the crowd for Alexis. I don’t want her to see this. Even though I do not know this woman, and certainly haven’t slept with her, I don’t know the kinds of conclusions Alexis might draw.

“Gabriel Belluci,” the woman sneers. Her brown eyes drag lazily from my toes to my face. “I know exactly who you are and what kind of man you are.”

Her shrill tone has invited the curious stares of all those within earshot. I want to throttle her for embarrassing me like this, but constrained as I am by my mild-mannered billionaire persona, there is little I can do to stop her. Cameras flash around me. We have become the most interesting spectacle at the gala.

“You’re nothing but a using piece of shit!” the woman rages. She is close enough to my face that some of her spittle paints my cheek. I wipe it off, disgusted.

“I don’t know who you are,” I growl.

“Don’t know who I am?” She turns to face the growing crowd, addressing them like a gladiator spurring the support of the coliseum. “This asshole told me that I was special, that he never took strange women to bed. But apparently I meant so little to him that he didn’t even bother remembering my face. I wonder how many women he has done this to!”

I tap her arm, gently swinging her back around even though all I want to do is wrench her to face me and warn her to stop with her game right now before I end it for her.

“Miss,” I say, trying to sound calmer than I feel. “I don’t know who you are, but I can guarantee you that we have not slept together.”

She curls her lip. “You’re right. There wasn’t much sleeping involved.”

“What’s this?”

I turn to see Alexis cutting through the crowd, frown creased in consternation. Fuck.

She strides right up to the woman, folding her arms. “Who are you?”

“Your boyfriend’s whore, apparently.” The woman’s eyes flash with malice.

Alexis shakes her head. “Wrong. Because I know for a fact that Gabriel doesn’t have any whores, so that means you’re just trying to stir something up.” She stops forward, eyes level with the stranger’s. “I don’t know why you would do that, but you need to stop. Now.”

I won’t lie—a shiver goes down my spine watching Alexis lay heat and intimidation on this woman. Her lips are pursed, eyes glowing, and she looks downright murderous. The only hitch is, I worry what she will do if the woman does not listen. I may find this side of her sexy, but I am sure the cameras and tabloids will have other words for it.

“What are you going to do about it?” the woman goads.

“Alexis, let’s just go,” I say, cupping her elbow.

“Not until I deal with her,” she snarls.

My perfect warrior queen. I am tempted to leave her to it just so I can watch as the claws come out and the woman regrets her poisonous lies. But something about the sudden confrontation doesn’t seem right, and there are too many witnesses around to let Alexis shatter the image we have been carefully constructing all night.

“Alexis.” My voice is low, firm.

Alexis blinks, recognizing the tone for what it is—a warning. She looks up at me, then looks back at the woman and sighs.

“You’re lucky,” she mutters. “Go drink some water. And chew some gum, too. Your breath stinks.”

The woman lets out an outraged shriek, but I am already guiding Alexis through the crowd, toward the exit. No doubt the gossip columns will speculate on our sudden exit, but Carmen will make sure that none of the whisperings add up to anything substantive.

“We don’t have to leave,” Alexis complains, lips tugged down at the corners.

I chuckle. “What? Are you saying you’re having such a good time that you want to stay?”

“Well, no,” she replies. “But I don’t want us to be seen as backing down, either.”

“We’re not backing down, we’re making a graceful retreat.”

I glance over my shoulder and stop dead. The woman is still there, standing straighter now than she did while making a scene. She is talking and laughing with a man whose gaze stabs into me like an arrow from across the room.

Patrick Walsh is the spitting image of his father, only where his father was fully gray, Patrick’s hair is a deep chestnut brown. He wears it in the same style—short at the sides, long and combed back on top. His eyes are beady chunks of