Page 33 of Pandora's Pleasure
Damien looked back at me, his eyes dark with emotion.
And then he left me alone, trembling in the shockwave of his anger.
I fought to get my breathing under control, trying to hold back the tears.
Falling for this man was not the plan, I reminded myself.
No matter what happened next, I needed to escape this life.
I couldn’t go back to my table.
Not yet.
I wasn’t ready to face my parents and their questions. I didn’t want to tell them how terribly wrong it had gone between me and Damien.
I stood there with my hands shaking, trying to figure out what I’d say when the Spanish Inquisition came crashing down on me. I could imagine the angry glances I’d receive from my father and the look of disappointment I’d see on my mother’s face. They had relied on me and I’d let them down.
I should never have told Damien those things…even if he’d been just as cruel, just as dismissive and rude. There’d been a glimmer of hope between us and I’d missed my chance. He might have seen past our differences if I’d not blurted out those cruel words.
I’d fucked up.
My father might never speak to me again.
I’d lived without their affection for most of my life, but since returning to the States, I’d found I couldn’t exist without it. Their approval was my lifeblood. My brother had stolen the limelight when we were children, but since he was living in Dallas, I’d had my chance to shine.
I sighed. It was time to admit defeat and get the ordeal over with. I had to hold back the tears until I got home and I was alone, locked in my room.
Once back in the ballroom, I looked around for Damien—not that I was ready to face his wrath again. I just wanted to see him one last time.
Would it be the last time?
Damien was leaning against the bar nursing an amber-colored drink, surrounded by sycophants as he held court with members of the Political Action Committee. No doubt those members of PAC were offering to throw money at the campaign to help shoehorn the family into the White House,ifhe promised to return the favor once Daddy was President.
And to think this wasn’t even the dirtiest side of Washington.
A woman eased past me even though there was plenty of room around us.
“Excuse me.” She touched my arm as she slid past.
Turning, I saw it was Madeline Rhodes.
She strolled away, flaunting her beauty with every step as she headed over to the dessert table. Her exquisite bright red gown had a slit up the side. Madeline wasn’t stealing the show, shewasthe show.
And she was back forhim.
Visiting her classroom a week ago had been a colossal miscalculation.
Pretending to be interested in the sugar feast set before me on silver trays, I perused row upon row of delights—from the selection of delicate chocolate truffles to the classic creamy mousses cupped in individual glasses, from lemon and saffron bites to miniature cupcakes.
“Oh, hello.” She sounded surprised.
Seriously?
“Pandora, you look divine.” She picked up a set of silver tongs and reached for a tiny cupcake, placing it onto her plate. “Want anything?” She raised the tongs and gave them a click.
“That one.” I pointed to a chocolate profiterole.
“Good choice. Very subliminal.”
