Euphoria

SPILLING A DRINK ON HER DRESS. That didn't sound like a great idea. Having a stain on her five thousand dollars silver gown with the softly draped bodice didn't seem like a very wise thing to do. It may never come out and she'll hate to ruin such a beautiful dress.

About two months ago she wouldn't have been caught dead in one of these expensive sheets. No. Certainly not when she was down on all fours, scrubbing the bathrooms of one out of the sixteen Khomeini hotels worldwide. It was there she'd met Maximo. A kind old man with a heart of gold.

She took a deep breath and fluttered her eyelids closed. If her thoughts continued to stray towards Maximo, she'll never go through with it. He was truly a wonderful man who most certainly didn't deserve what she was about to do.

"Bon appétit." a waiter said, interrupting her train of thoughts as he served her the main course and sauntered off before she could say thank you.

The rest of the meal was a blur. She must have made polite, general conversation, picked at her food, drunk her wine, but she couldn't remember a thing. Her mind was torn between right and wrong but all she really had to do was take another glance at the man seated next to her and wrong it would be.

He talked to her sometimes, as the conversation meandered, but whenever he did she found herself almost completely tongue-tied. It irked her to discover she was officially one of those ladies in books. The category of those tongue-tied to a point of stupidity. And to think she'd once boasted that no man could reduce her to such a jittery mess.

But this guy, she glanced at him. Who the hell was he?

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host spoke into a microphone suddenly, calling the attention of everyone. "Allow me to welcome the after-dinner speaker for the closing remarks."

There was a smattering of hands and slowly but surely, Aurora realized that the evening was coming to an end. A fat middle-aged man in a brown tux moved to address the audience and about ten minutes later, he stepped down, signaling the end of the formal proceedings.

The conversation struck up again across the banqueting hall and she felt the pincers go to work in her stomach again. This time it was because she knew it was only a matter of time before Mariano Barrera glanced at his watch, and murmured politely that he had somewhere else to be. If that didn't happen then someone from another table--probably a female with more gusts--might come up and start talking to him, cutting her out completely. She had to ask him now but didn't know how to go about it. At this point, asking for his hand in marriage sounded a lot easier than asking him to have sex with her.

Her armpits were beginning to sweat.

Their table was breaking up. People were getting to their feet, taking their leave, either to leave the dinner completely or to mingle with guests at other tables.

He said his goodbyes to someone and leaned back in his chair. The gesture made the fine

material of his dress shirt tauten across his chest, broadening his shoulders.

He had beautiful hands, she found herself thinking. Nails white against the olive tan of his skin. Long fingers.

He glanced at his watch, her breath hitched.

"Err..." she tried to say something. Anything.

He glanced at her. She gave a hesitant smile. Her nerves were jittering.

"Hi." She blurted. Then mentally face-palmed herself. Hi??? Really???

"Hi," he replied with a small smile. Then, just as she felt sick apprehension pool in her stomach, he spoke again. "May I offer you some port?"

Her head turned. He was reaching out to the port decanter and she watched him fill both their glasses.

"Thank you." She picked up her glass and sipped. The warm, rich liquid was like velvet

in her throat. It gave her a semblance of guts. "I wonder—I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

His eyes were on her again. Something changed about him. She didn't know what. But there was a sudden, instant edge of tension.

"In—in private," she added.

Her voice was breathy.

For a moment his eyes were veiled, unreadable. Then he glanced at his watch again.

Oh, God, she thought. He's going to say no…He had somewhere else to be...

But then, slowly, he set down his port glass.

"Of course," he replied. His eyes seemed to flicker over her, briefly.

He got to his feet. "I'm sure," he said, looking down at her, "we can find somewhere sufficiently private."

Her breath tight in her throat, Aurora picked up her evening bag and stood up. He was tall, she realized. Towering over her five foot six.

"This way," he said, and with her heart beating like a drum, she let him usher her from the banqueting hall.

As he steered her towards the bank of lifts in the lobby outside, Aurora paused and turned, looking up at the tall, overpowering man behind her.

Her stomach was churning again, and she fought to subdue her nerves. Her voice of reasoning started to protest. She didn't know who this man was. He was rich, yes, but rich folks caught AIDS too. This risky decision could cost her health, or her life, and what if he was a serial killer?

She'd read once of a serial killer who also happened to be a billionaire. His looks were what attracted the women he killed to him. He courted them till they fell in love with him, and then he killed them. A true psycho sadist.

Now that she thought about it, this man looked the part. It wouldn't be a bad idea to inform her kid sister of her whereabouts.

"Are you okay?" He rose a perfectly arched brow. She'd suddenly stopped in front of an elevator to stare back at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm fine," Aurora forced a smile, releasing a breath she'd been holding.

"Are you sure?" He squinted. "You look at bit--"

"Constipated?" she proffered quickly. "It must be the food."

"I see. This way then." He ushered her inside a lift. Presumably, they were going to the foyer or one of the hotel's quieter bars. There she would tell him about her dilemma--after getting to know him a little better of course. She couldn't completely dismiss the little voice in her head, yet at the same time relief was surging through her. It was crazy but she was actually looking forward to the night ahead.

Wanton, she thought, that was what she was.

When the lift doors opened again they were on the penthouse floor. And the room whose door he opened with a single swipe of his electronic key was a suite.

For a second she hesitated by the door. He'd skipped the entire getting to know you part and jumped right into the bedroom scene. As she stepped inside, she scratched the serial killer theory and embraced playboy. It felt like the billionaire playboy scene from a cliche rom-com she'd seen once. Picking up strange women and inviting them to his suite. How many women had he brought in here? She wondered.

Aurora dropped her bag on an island by the door, glanced around the opulent room, and asked seriously, "You don't have AIDS or any other type of STDs, do you?"

She heard a soft 'pop' behind her and turned.

Mariano was chuckling as he poured champagne, filling up two flutes from the

sideboard. He had a beautiful smile, she noticed.

He strolled towards her with the glasses and although she certainly didn't want champagne, it seemed rude to reject it now that he'd opened a bottle specially.

"Thank you." She accepted the proffered glass.

"To answer your question," He strolled towards a sofa. "You can rest assured I won't be infecting you with anything. Come, sit with me."

Hesitantly she took a seat at one end, her narrow dress susurrating as she did so. Mariano set the champagne bottle on a coffee table and lowered his tall frame down onto the far end of the sofa. He rested the hand holding his champagne glass on the arm of the sofa and the other arm stretched out along the back of the cushions.

Disconcertingly close to Aurora.

But then everything about Mariano Barrera was disconcerting. Disturbing to her peace of mind, making strange sensations ripple through her, making her body hyperaware of itself—of him. It was clear that had he missed the dinner tonight, she would have returned home to Maximo exactly as she'd gone. Untouched.

"And you?" His voice was bland, but his eyes—Aurora felt her throat tighten—were

watching her with an expression that was anything but. "Should I be worried you might infect me with something life-threatening?"

Nerves started to jitter inside her. She took another mouthful of champagne to steady them. The bubbles beaded in her mouth and she swallowed hastily. She could feel the alcohol giving her a jolt. Uneasily, she wondered how much she'd drunk that evening. She'd been careful, knowing how much was at stake, but even small amounts could add up.

"Err...no." She took another mouth full of Champagne. "I'm a...I'm healthy." She said. There was no point telling him she was still a virgin. He'll find that out himself.

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