For Revenge...Or Pleasure?. Trish Morey
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exposed the long sweep of her neck to her surprisingly modest neckline.
And the dress! There was nothing modest about it—it must have been shrink-wrapped around her. Without the shimmering aqua colour of the material it would have been impossible to tell where her skin ended and the fabric began, the way it hugged tight over her breasts, dipping into the curves and skimming over the flat of her stomach. The gown was a total failure in terms of disguising the shape beneath, and yet there was no doubt peeling it off would still be an exercise in discovery. An exercise for which he’d be only too happy to volunteer.
With a growl laced with acerbity he clamped down on the traitorous response of his body.
Of course she was a looker. She was bound to be! Because there was no doubt her attributes owed more to the skilled hands of Dr Grace Della-Bosca, the mother superior of the high church of cosmetic surgery, than to any generous endowment by Mother Nature. She was a walking advertisement for the witch doctor’s talents.
The speech came to an end and the crowd once again broke into applause. The younger woman turned back towards the dais a fraction, and then hesitated, her hands locked together as if frozen mid-clap. Then her head swivelled back over her shoulder, her chin lifted and swept up across the crowd, until her eyes jagged and stuck rock-solid on his.
He saw them widen in shocked perplexity; he saw the fractional coming together of her brows as she battled for recognition. He even fancied he felt the tremors spreading out from the quake that rippled through her, and in that instant he decided on a new and much more satisfying course of attack. He allowed himself a smile as his body hummed its approval of his plan.
It hadn’t been his choice to come here tonight, but just because he had to mix with a crowd of people he had nothing in common with and even less respect for it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the mission he was on. Why should he settle for just questions and answers when he could have so much more? Why shouldn’t he find out what Jade Ferraro was really made of?
‘Run all you like, Jade Ferraro,’ he muttered as she spun away and disappeared into the throng of people surrounding the famous cosmetic surgeon. ‘But I will have you.’
Someone pressed a glass of champagne into her hand and her first impulse was to hold the moistly beaded flute to her head to cool her heated brow. She wasn’t sure what had happened just then, but the experience of meeting that intense dark gaze had left her almost reeling.
Then the orchestra started playing, and couples were swirling around, and suddenly it was too hot, too loud, and much too claustrophobic in the crowded ballroom.
She heard her name and snapped her attention away from the glass. ‘So, tell me how you think it went,’ Grace insisted, sounding impatient, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d framed the question.
‘Oh, absolutely wonderful,’ Jade assured her, kissing her mentor on each cheek, knowing the woman she admired more than anyone in the world would have been just that—despite the fact she couldn’t recall a thing beyond Grace’s thanks to everyone for attending the fundraiser. But then, it was impossible to remember anything aside from the prickly sensation that someone had been watching her, and the blast-furnace heat that had confronted her eyes once she’d found the source.
She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering echoes of the strange sensation, trying to ignore the questions that remained unresolved in her mind. Who was that man? Why had he been watching her?
But someone else’s eyes were on her now, someone else was waiting for a response, and questions about the owner of one powerfully intense pair of eyes that had seemed able to pierce right through to her soul had to be shoved aside. Because tonight was all about the world-famous Dr Della-Bosca, and the foundation established in her name. Nothing should be allowed to distract her from that.
This time the smile she allowed herself was heartfelt.
‘The evening is a runaway success,’ Jade assured the older woman. ‘And you’re the star,’ she continued with more enthusiasm. ‘Funds from tonight will set up your Saving Faces Foundation for years.’
‘Yes,’ Grace finally acknowledged, with a smile echoed in one expertly shaped eyebrow as she cast her eyes around the celebrity-filled ballroom. ‘We must have done well.’
‘It’s a total credit to you, Grace,’ a gruff male voice cut in. ‘Our city could do with more corporate citizens like you.’
‘Mayor Goldfinch,’ Grace said with obvious delight as she was swept up into the distinguished-looking gentleman’s embrace. ‘And I thought our favourite foundation trustee wasn’t able to make it tonight.’
‘Knowing this night meant so much to you, how could I stay away? I pulled some strings and here I am.’
Jade allowed herself a smile as she made a tactical withdrawal, certain that neither would notice anyway. The widower Mayor had made no secret of the fact he was looking for a new wife, and with a fortune made from his property development business there was no shortage of candidates. But it was Grace who was most frequently pictured on his arm, and it was clear that whatever feelings he had for Grace were reciprocated.
And Grace worked so hard, Jade reflected, switching her champagne for a glass of mineral water from the tray of a passing waiter; she so deserved to find a partner. She deserved to be happy.
A swirl of red fabric across the room and a flash of firm cleavage caught her eye. Rachael Delaney, her mind registered instantly. Twenty-year-old Southern belle and regular client of the Della-Bosca Clinic, who’d spent the last two years taking the TV soap world by storm and was now making a play for fame and fortune in the big league. And, from the way her recently enhanced breasts were spilling out of the slashed-to-the-navel line of her gown in the direction of the producer she was courting, it was clear Rachael was hoping the results of her latest procedure might just get her the movie contract she hungered for tonight.
Good luck to her, Jade thought, as she sipped on her mineral water, given she’d invested so much money in making herself look good—from the curve of her plumped lips to the sparkle in her skilfully upturned eyes. Jade could tick off the changes the Della-Bosca Clinic had made like checking off inventory.
‘Not in the mood for celebrating?’
She didn’t have to turn. The heated rush of sensation that rolled down her spine and unfurled into her extremities was all the confirmation she needed. That deep voice had to be the perfect accompaniment to the pair of piercing dark eyes that had left their imprint stamped all too deeply on her senses.
And somehow she knew it was important not to give in to her desire to turn straight away. Somehow she knew she had to continue to focus on something, anything, if she was going to maintain a hold on reality—her reality.
‘What’s it to you?’ she responded, keeping her voice surprisingly light even as her back stiffened against his prickling proximity. She didn’t know who he was, but she was in no hurry to be pinned under that potent stare again.
Instead she kept her gaze locked on Rachael as if she was holding onto a lifeline. Rachael was her link to reality, her excuse not to turn, and her instinctive defence against this strange out-of-her-depth feeling that seemed to go hand in hand with this stranger’s presence.
But suddenly something blocked her view.
Not something.
Someone.
Him!
She sucked in a breath as broad shoulders filled her vision. And once again the man who’d been looking down from the mezzanine stared at her—except this time his piercing eyes were barely inches away. And, just as before, she felt the heat blasting from their penetrating brown depths in a confusing mixture of danger combined with a heart-stopping magnetism.
‘Have we met?’ she asked, kicking up her chin and knowing full well that she’d never seen the man before—in or out of the clinic. Having put the invitation list together, she knew he wasn’t on it. Which meant he had to be someone’s partner…