Virgin: Undone by the Billionaire: The Innocent's Dark Seduction / Count Maxime's Virgin / Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

She’d escaped him. She nearly cried with relief.

Then she caught her breath and realized she’d just fled her own party. What had she been so afraid of? What?

His fire.

Her body shook with suppressed longing as she sank her head against her hands … and really cried.

CHAPTER FOUR

ROARK returned to the ballroom empty-handed, furious and soaking wet. He took a towel from a beverage cart and grimly wiped the grimy water from his neck and the shirt and lapels of his tuxedo.

She’d gotten away.

How was it possible?

He scowled in fury. He’d never had any woman turn him down before for anything. He’d never had any woman even pretend to resist.

Lia Villani had not only resisted him, she’d outrun him.

Crumpling the wet towel angrily, he tossed it on the empty tray of a passing waiter. Clenching his jaw, he looked across the ballroom.

He saw Nathan on the crowded dance floor, swaying with a plump-cheeked girl with honey-blond hair.

Roark ground his teeth. He’d been chasing the fleet-footed countess all over Midtown, nearly breaking his neck and getting soaked in the process, while Nathan was flirting on the dance floor?

His old friend must have felt his glower across the ballroom, because he turned and saw his boss. At the expression on Roark’s face, he excused himself from his pretty blond dance partner, kissing her hand after walking her off the dance floor with visible reluctance.

When Nathan was close enough to see Roark’s wet hair and tuxedo, his jaw dropped. “What happened to you?”

He ground his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“That was quite the show you put on with the countess,” Nathan said brightly. “I hardly know which scandalized everyone more—the million dollar bid, your make-out session on the dance floor, or the way you both ran out of here like you were in some kind of race. I didn’t expect you to return so quickly. She must have agreed to sell you the property in record time.”

“I didn’t ask her,” Roark snapped.

Nathan’s jaw fell open. “You paid a million dollars to get her alone on the dance floor, and you didn’t even ask her?”

“I will.” He furiously pulled off his wet tuxedo jacket, tucking it over his arm. “I promise you.”

“Roark, we’re running out of time. Once the deed is signed over to the city—”

“I know,” Roark said. He opened his phone and dialed. “Lander. Countess Villani left the Cavanaugh Hotel in a yellow cab five minutes ago. Medallion number 5G31. Find her.”

He snapped the phone shut. He could feel the elite families of New York edging closer to him. Most of them looked at him with bewilderment and awe.

Who was he? their glances seemed to say. Who was this stranger who would bid a million dollars for a dance … and then ruthlessly kiss the woman that every other man wanted?

He tightened his jaw. He was a man who would soon build seventy-story skyscrapers on the Far West Side. A man who would start a new business district in Manhattan, second only to Wall Street and Midtown.

“I know you.”

Roark turned to see the white-haired blue blood who’d brought Lia her champagne. He had to be in his sixties, but powerful and hearty still. “I know you,” he repeated, furrowing his brow. “You’re Charles Kane’s grandson.”

“My name,” Roark stared at him coldly, “is Navarre.”

“Ah, yes,” he mused, “I remember your mother. She had that regrettable elopement. A trucker, wasn’t it? Your grandfather could never forgive—”

“My father was a good man,” Roark said. “He worked hard every day of his life and didn’t judge anyone by the money they made or the school they attended. My grandfather hated him for that.”

“But you should have been at his funeral. He was your grandfather—”

“He never wanted to be.” Folding his arms, Roark turned away from the man dismissively.

The emcee of the auction hurried forward to get his attention. Roark recognized Richard Brooks, a Brooklyn land developer who’d once worked for a Navarre subsidiary.

“Thank you so much for your bid, Mr. Navarre,” the emcee gushed. “The Olivia Hawthorne Park Foundation thanks you for your generous donation.”

Just what Roark needed—a reminder that he’d just pledged a million dollars toward the very project he was trying to destroy! His lip curled into a snarl. “My pleasure.”

“Will you be in New York for long, Mr. Navarre?”

“No,” he said sharply, and before the man could ask him any more questions, he pulled a checkbook from his tuxedo coat pocket and swiftly wrote a check for a million dollars. He held out the check, not allowing a single bit of emotion to appear on his face.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Navarre,” the man said, bowing as he backed away. “Thank you very much.”

Roark nodded, his face cold. He hated these little obsequious toadies. Fearing him. Wanting his money, attention or time. He glanced at all the women staring at him with frank longing and admiration. Women were the worst of all.

Except for Lia Villani. She hadn’t tried to lure him.

She’d run away.

Faster and more determined than Roark, she’d managed to get away from him in spite of his best efforts.

Why had she run?

Just because he’d kissed her?

That kiss. He’d seen how it had affected her—damn close to the way it had affected him. It had shaken him to the core. It shook him still.

He hadn’t intended to kiss her. He’d meant to convince her to sell him the property before he seduced her. But something in her defiance, in the way she’d resisted him as they danced, had taunted him. Something in the way she’d tossed her long, lustrous black hair. In the way she’d licked those full red lips, moving her curvaceous body to the music, had maddened his blood.

She’d defied him. And he’d responded.

It was just a kiss, nothing more. He’d kissed many women in his life.

But he’d never felt anything like that.

So? He argued with himself. Even if it was desire stronger than any he’d known, the ending would still be the same. He would take her to his bed, satiate his lust and swiftly forget her. Just like always.