Chapter 8
RAIDEN
Music pulses through the speakers as I make my way around the party of the year, my drink untouched in my hand. It’s been one hell of a business trip, and honestly, I still can’t believe I’m here.
After working my connections in the industry, I nailed down a last-minute meeting with Javier Rodríguez and his associates, something my firm has been working on for who the fuck knows how long, and after showing up and waiting for almost forty minutes, I received a call to say he’d canceled.
I’ve never been so fucking pissed in my life.
I didn’t come all the way to Barcelona to be stood up by a bunch of rich fuckers in three-piece suits, and I was just about to let them know exactly how I felt about that, when Javier offered a personal invitation to tonight’s black-tie party at his home to apologize, promising we could talk business once he had a beer in his hand and bikini-clad girls in his pool.
I couldn’t fault him. I like the way the man thinks. If only he weren’t a complete piece of shit.
This contract for IV Global could mean big things for the company, and I can’t afford to lose it.
I’m the best rep in the firm, have been since the day it was founded, and nobody has ever gotten close to challenging that.
I’ve more than earned my position. It’ll be a cold day in hell when I set foot on a flight back to LA without getting this job done.
No matter if it takes me days or weeks, I won’t be leaving until I get exactly what I want.
Making my way around Javier’s mansion, I take it all in.
This place is ridiculous. He’s a public figure, working closely with the government and councils, but looking at this home, one can’t help but wonder how the fuck he affords this place.
And I’m sure I’m not the only one left wondering.
From what I could tell, he comes from generational wealth, but this estate right here? This is fuck-you money.
Just looking around, it’s clear he’s got cash to blow.
There are thousand-dollar bottles of spirits floating around like a blunt at a college party, at least fifty extravagant ice sculptures strategically placed throughout the mega-mansion, despite it being the middle of summer.
Dancers on silks suspended from the ceiling.
Diamond-encrusted silverware, Michelin-rated chefs, and, of course, the wait staff are all fully decked out in designer suits.
There’s a famous DJ with a killer setup, six separate bars, security lining every fucking wall, and a ten-million-dollar yacht sitting out in the ocean just so the guests have something to look at when gazing out at the horizon.
Not to mention the NDA everybody had to sign the moment they walked through the door.
Like I said, Javier Rodríguez has money to blow, and I don’t mind being here when he wants to do it.
There must be somewhere between five and eight hundred people here. It’s impossible to tell, and yet even with so many guests, there’s still space for more.
There are women everywhere. Half of them look as though they just stepped straight off the beach and wandered in aimlessly, while the other half are dressed to the nines in designer gowns.
There’s no in between. As for the men, not a single one of them would have dared disrespect Javier Rodríguez by walking through this door without wearing his best suit.
Recognizing a few of Javier’s business connections, I stop and introduce myself, getting to know each one of them.
I have to listen to one of the men, Louis Mendez, brag about a woman he met at some restaurant today who he plans to devour later in the night.
And honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about what he wants to do with this woman.
I’m not interested. In fact, I haven’t been interested in any of the women here, and not because they aren’t absolutely breathtaking.
They are. Hell, I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off the women in the pool, but when I’m working, that’s all that matters to me.
Plus, I have enough trouble dealing with just one woman back home, and I’m not even fucking her.
Though I’m hoping a few days away might help calm whatever raging animal lives inside her.
Some kind of demon, perhaps? There’s no way in hell that woman isn’t possessed.
It’s the only thing I can come up with that explains why she is the way she is, but I won’t lie, that feistiness in her . . . I can’t get it off my mind.
Slowly making my way indoors, I look over the impressive architecture and spend time admiring the artwork and sculptures situated throughout the estate. Eventually, my self-guided tour leads me to the second-floor balcony overlooking the insane party below.
For most of the people here, this party is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so they’re living it up, just as they should.
As I stare out over the party below, I focus on Javier’s known associates and find myself coming back to Louis Mendez. There’s something about this man that doesn’t sit right with me, but I can’t put my finger on it.
He stands among other men just like him, each of them likely making shady deals meant solely to rip off the people of this country and line their pockets, but their conversation is cut short when a stunning woman in a skintight red dress steps into Louis’s side.
Her back is to me, but even like this, I can tell this woman is as good as it gets.
Louis places his hand low on her back, his fingers grazing the top of her ass as she laughs and accepts a glass of champagne.
Then, as she hands him a little black card, I can’t help but wonder if this is the woman he was bragging about meeting in some restaurant today, but more than that, I saw the wedding ring on his hand earlier.
The woman hovers with the men for just a short while, and there’s no denying that she holds all of their undivided attention, and then after pushing up onto her toes and brushing a soft kiss to Louis’s cheek, she finally pulls away and turns on her heel, her face coming into view and knocking the breath out of my fucking lungs.
There’s no fucking way.
Kiara St. James.
What the hell is she doing here?
I stand on the second-floor balcony, staring at the woman below in the most stunning red dress, and fuck me, I know I’ve seen this woman in nothing but a cotton sleep cami and a pair of barely there panties, but like this . . . holy fuck. My mouth goes dry.
I’ve never seen a woman so magnetic in my life. She commands the party, every eye following her movements, mine included. She looks destructive and yet fragile at the same time, like she could leave someone’s world in tatters, only to be the calming nature they need to rebuild afterward.
She’s a fucking powerhouse, and I don’t know how I haven’t seen it before.
She looks merciless. Fierce. Lethal. The sweetest temptation, and I want to sink my teeth into her.
Hell, the nickname Firecracker doesn’t seem appropriate anymore.
It pales in comparison to how she looks now.
She’s a fucking empress. A ruler. And judging by the gleam in those stunning green eyes, she’s ready to let the world burn at her feet.
Despite her beauty, it doesn’t do anything to ease the shock blasting through my veins. Just yesterday morning, she was in her apartment making fake sex noises through the wall, and now she’s here in Barcelona, across the globe at the very same party as me. What are the fucking odds?
Shockwaves pulse through my veins as I watch Kiara weave through the buzzed people below, and then, as if sensing my heavy stare, her chin slowly rises, and those lethal green eyes come directly to me.
She stumbles for a moment, coming to a dead stop among the people below, recognition quickly flashing in her widened eyes. “What?” I see her mouth to herself.
A hint of panic flashes in her stare, and in the next moment, her eyes fall away, and she hastily loses herself with the crowd.
Oh hell no. Is she trying to escape? She doesn’t get to scramble away without answering a few questions.
Hurrying back into the home, I dash down the stairs as fast as I can without drawing any attention to myself, and the moment I hit the ground floor, my gaze sweeps through the crowd, frantically searching for the woman who has done nothing but drive me crazy for almost two straight weeks.
Desperation pulses through my veins, needing to find her as a million different questions swarm my mind.
Why is she here? Is she following me? Has this crazy little firecracker been stalking me?
Honestly, if she were, I’d be down with it.
I love a little crazy in a woman, especially one who wants to spend every minute of her spare time consumed by me.
Is it fucked up? Sure, but we’re all a little fucked up, right?
Seeing a flash of that stunning deep red gown across the yard, I cut to the right and hightail it toward her as she ducks and weaves through the crowd. She’s trying to leave, but not on my watch. Not until I have the answers I need.
The distance begins to close, and as she discreetly glances over her shoulder, I step into the shadows, concealing myself and watching her pace slow. She thinks she lost me.
Kiara passes the pool, and I keep moving, each one of my long strides equaling two of hers, until I step in right behind her. My fingers curl around her elbow, and I gently lead her away from the crowd.
I don’t say a word as I pull her along, and she doesn’t try to stop me, just resigns to the fact that I’ve caught her red-handed. I lead her toward a quiet area—we’re still in perfect view of the party but far enough away from the craziness that we can attempt to have a decent conversation.
When I bring us to a stop, I immediately turn on her, staring down at those bright green eyes and doing everything I can not to fall at her knees and beg her to take me. “What the fuck are you doing here, Firecracker?”