I swallowed and tried not to think about the look Josh was giving me, and instead tried to change the subject. “I’m not sure how I feel being bid on, but I guess it is for charity.”
Josh’s nostrils flared slightly. “Well I’m sure Weston will make sure you are his.”
As he said it, there was clearly a hint of something else. Anger maybe? Or, concern?
Josh’s eyes went down the length of my dress and back to mine and then it happened again. The feelings that had overshadowed the friendship. That crossed the line and tasted the possibility of more. The way he looked me up and down made a part of me burn with desire. Fire and electricity. Flames and sparks. Needing and wanting. Tempting temptation.
I don’t think we realized we had been standing there, staring at each other, until the laughter from some nearby guests broke our trance. I quickly excused myself from Josh, whose eyes I felt bore into my back as I made my way back to Clint. He was still making small talk with some business associates that I had no interest in listening to, so I told Clint that I was going to have a look at the bidding boxes.
I scanned the tables with the boxes where the bids for the flowers were being made. The wooden boxes had ceramic flowers that were attached to the top of them, next to a small opening where the slips of paper were put in. I saw a dahlia, peony, violet, lily, tulip and many more. I saw the orchid box and wondered how much Clint’s bid was.
“Admiring the craftsmanship?” asked the deep voice from behind me. I turned around to come face to face with a very handsome forty-something man in a gun-smoke gray suit and black tie. Strong jaw, intense brown eyes and dark brown hair combed back. He looked straight into my eyes, in a very direct and confident manner, without fear of anything, or anyone.
“Uh yes. The boxes are beautifully made,” I noted, as my attention then returned to the table.
The gentleman brushed past me as he reached for a pen and paper, and wrote something down, placing it then into the snapdragon’s box. He stood up and looked at the table and then to my corsage, smiling as he did. “Beautiful boxes for beautiful ladies.”
There was a creepiness about this man that made me very uncomfortable. I grinned, acknowledging his comment and went to walk away, but he side-stepped my movement and cut me off.
“I’m Kyser Harkin,” he said, and held out his hand. Kyser Harkin. Where have I heard that name? Harkin? Harkin? Harkin? Oh, that’s right.
“Clint’s boss,” I said, shaking his hand, having remembered where I had heard his name before. Clint had mentioned him numerous times and I recalled his name from the burlesque bar evening as well.
He nodded and looked me up and down. “Lenorah Rossi. A real pleasure to meet you. I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance for a while.”
Of course I wasn’t shocked he used my real name. He was the mighty president of the New York chapter of the Lappell. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was holding a file of information about me in his coat pocket.
“And why is that Mr. Harkin? Are you one of the many curious, or are you like your associate Mr. Wickburn?”
I probably should have been a bit more intimidated by such a powerful man, but it was my experience that such men welcomed the more forward approach. They appreciated when you showed no fear. It amused them, it excited them, and I hoped, would work in my favor.
Kyser laughed. “Arthur Wickburn. Ah yes, he was sloppy wasn’t he?”
“And you’re not?” I glared at him, trying to figure out his motives.
“You don’t need to worry about me like that Lenorah.” His face was hard but still trying to be friendly.
“Then who should I be worried about? Devon Lockley perhaps?”
Name dropped.
Kyser cocked his head, studying me before giving me a response. It took a minute but when he finally spoke, all he said was, “Who?”
You know very well who!
Kyser’s eyes darted across the room before he leaned a little closer to me. “Lenorah, whoever this Devon Lockley person is, I’m sure he isn’t the person you need to worry about.”
He was trying to say something without saying it directly, his statement laced in double meaning.
“Then who should I be worrying about?” I asked. Kyser grinned, his face smug like