Part 27 (2/2)
”You planned that-”
”Excuse me, we were in opposite lines! And you walked into the Pleasure Palace of your own volition.”
”Jordan!” Raphael called, ready to slip beneath the flap of the tent. ”Were you wildly ravished?”
”No!”
”d.a.m.n!” he said, just as the harem girl slipped beneath the flap.
Ragnor was openly amused.
”That was very rude,” Jordan said.
”Why? You're not supposed to know who you're getting.”
”But you did, didn't you?”
”Be glad I was here.”
”Why?”
”Someone else might have ravished you. You were putty.”
”What?”
”Putty. Jelly. Molding clay.”
”Oh, really? I do beg your pardon!”
”I needed to be there for you. You were just ... compelled.”
”Compelled! When I walked in, I was-”
”You were what?” he demanded, frowning.
”Scared,” she admitted. She left him standing by the tent and started across the room; Raphael would have to fend for himself when he came out. After all, he was Italian, and this was his shop's party.
But then she paused, looking back. Ragnor had been following her at a leisurely pace.
”Did you see Tiff?” she asked him. ”Was she home-had she not heard us? Or gone out? Did she come here with you?” He shook his head, his eyes suddenly guarded. ”I'm sorry. I waited. I didn't see her.”
”And you haven't seen her at the party?”
”No.”
Before Jordan could question him further, Raphael rushed up to them, his turn in the Pleasure Palace complete. He put an arm around Jordan's waist and buried his head against her shoulder. ”Ugh! You two ... you two got each other! And me .. . allora!”
”What happened? Were you ravished?”
”Nearly eaten alive by a four-hundred-pound Amazon! She giggled insufferably and put her fingers where they were not supposed to be put!”
”You wanted to be ravished,” Jordan reminded him politely.
”Yes, but. .. one wants to be ravished by the right people.”
”You take your chances in the Pleasure Palace,” Ragnor said, then added, ”Excuse me.”
He left them, and started toward the one open balcony where the smokers, and those who just needed some air, had gathered.
Jordan watched him go, nonplused. She'd been so angry to discover that he had been the one with her. Because again, she had felt that intense . .. beguilement. After the fear. The very real and horrible fear she had experienced at first.
Just by standing there, he had done something that had lulled her. Maybe she should have remained afraid.
But now had walked away. She felt at a loss.
And cold again, as if his warmth were seeping away.
”Let's get back to dancing,” Raphael said.
On their way back through the second floor ballroom, Jordan noticed Cindy and Jared waltzing together. When they reached the ground floor, they stopped for espressos laced with liqueur.
There were at least three dottores on the dance floor.
They had barely begun when Roberto Capo cut in on Jordan. ”My friend never showed up,” she told him, shouting over the music. ”I'm worried about her.”
”You are certain that she isn't here-somewhere?”
”I'm not certain of anything, but she wasn't at her palazzo tonight, which was strange, very strange. Having that little party meant a lot to her. I'm worried, and you're the only one who listens to me.”
She was exasperated, and probably speaking too quickly for him, but he seemed to understand her. ”Come tomorrow to the station. To see me. Me, you understand?”
She nodded her thanks, then quickly fell silent. Over his shoulder, she could see a dottore approaching.
The dottore cut in. Jared?
Unease welled within her. Because it might be Jared?
Or because it might not?
CHAPTER 12contents - previous
next.
The dottore was a German with a good grasp of Italian and a little English. He was a pleasant man.
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