Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence. Кэрол Мортимер
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and the staff were doing everything to live up to that reputation.
The ballroom, all black and gold, was gracious and formally elegant. Antique chandeliers sparkled, casting a glow that set jewels scintillating among the A-list crowd. The guests looked impossibly chic as befitted one of Fashion Week’s major events.
The room smelled of exclusive fragrances, hothouse flowers and money. Serious money. Celebrities, designers, buyers, the crème de la crème of Australian society, were here tonight and plenty of international high-flyers too.
And they were all her responsibility.
Carys’ pulse thundered and she struggled to focus on her companion’s words. She must concentrate if she wanted to ensure tonight was a success. Too much was at stake.
‘All right. I’ll see if we can get someone else from the restaurant to help out.’ She nodded, dismissing him and turning to the house phone on the wall. She reached out to hit the speed dial number for the restaurant, then froze.
A tingling sensation began at the base of her spine. It burned its way up her back like the slide of hot ice on bare skin. Except her skin wasn’t bare. She wore a regulation jacket and straight skirt, dark stockings and high heels.
Yet through the layers of clothing her skin sizzled, the hairs on her neck prickling.
Carys replaced the phone with stiff, unsteady fingers. She pivoted, turning to face the shifting, colourful crowd. Staff circulated with gourmet canapés and vintage champagne; groups broke and reformed.
The guests, most of them wearing exquisite handmade masks, were busy enjoying themselves or networking or showing off their finery. They wouldn’t notice anyone who didn’t belong in their rarefied circle.
That suited Carys. She didn’t hanker for a place at a fairytale ball. Not since she’d given up on the whole Prince Charming fantasy.
Yet heat washed her cheeks. Her breath snagged in her throat and her pulse accelerated as instinct told her she was being watched.
Her heart was in her mouth as frantically she searched the throng for something, someone, familiar. Someone who could make her skin tingle and her heart race as it had before, long ago.
Briefly she shut her eyes. Madness! That was in the past. A past best forgotten.
Tiredness and nerves had simply made her imagine things.
Her path and his would never cross again. He’d made certain of that. Carys’ lips twisted in a grimace as familiar pain stabbed her chest.
No! Not now. She refused to let her wayward imagination distract her. People depended on her. She had a job to do.
From across the packed room he watched her.
His fingers curled, white-knuckled, around the back of a nearby chair. Blood roared in his ears as his heart thundered out of control. The shock of recognition was so strong he shut his eyes for an instant and lightning flickered across the darkness of his closed lids.
Opening them, he saw her turn to the wall phone, her movements jerky.
It was her. Not just the woman from the brochure, but more, the woman he remembered. Correction—almost remembered.
An image teased his mind. An image of her walking away from him. Her back rigid, her steps staccato bites that ate up the ground as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. Bites that echoed the rapid pulse of his drumming heart as he stood rooted to the spot. She carried a case, the taxi driver ahead of her stowing another bag in his vehicle.
Finally she paused. Alessandro’s heart stopped and rose in his throat. But she didn’t turn around. A moment later she was in the car as it accelerated in a spurt of gravel and swooped away down the private road from his Lake Como home.
Still he stood, prey to an alien mix of sensations. Fury, relief, disappointment, disbelief.
And hurt! Pain filled the yawning chasm inside him.
Only once before in his entire life had Alessandro felt so intensely. At five, when his mother had deserted him for a life of pampered luxury with her lover.
He stirred and shook his head, banishing the misty image, belatedly aware again of the crowded ballroom.
Yet the powerful brew of emotions still stirred in his breast.
Maddona mia! No wonder he felt vulnerable. Such feelings…
Who was this woman to awake such responses in him?
Anger mingled with impatience. That mere chance had led him here. That he could so easily have missed this opportunity to learn more.
Deliberately he flexed his fingers and let go of the chair back, feeling at last the deep imprint of curved wood score his palm.
The wait was over.
He would have his answers now. Tonight.
Surreptitiously Carys slid a foot from her shoe and wriggled her toes. Soon the ball would be over. Then she could oversee the clearing away and setting up for the next day’s fashion show.
She suppressed a rising yawn. Every bone in her body ached, and she wanted nothing more than to flop into bed.
She skirted the dance floor. She’d just check on—
A hand, large, warm and insistent took hers, pulling her to a halt. Quickly she summoned a serene expression, ready to deal with the guest who’d overstepped the boundaries by touching her. She hoped he wasn’t intoxicated.
Carys had just pinned a small professional smile on her face when a tug of her hand made her turn.
The carefully crafted smile slid away.
For an instant Carys’ heart stopped beating as she looked up at the man before her.
Unlike most of the revellers, he still wore his mask. His dark hair was cut brutally short, sculpting a beautifully shaped head. The mask shadowed his eyes, but she caught a gleam of dark fire. His mouth was a grim slash above a strong, firm chin.
Her eyes widened, staring at that chin. It couldn’t be…
Then he moved and she caught the faint tang of an unfamiliar cologne. Her heart dived.
Of course it wasn’t him!
A scar snaked up his brow from the edge of the mask. The man she’d known had been as devastatingly handsome as a young god. No scars. His complexion had been golden too, olive, gilded by hours in the sun, not as pale as this stranger’s.
And yet…
And yet she stupidly wished in that moment it was him. Against all logic and the need to protect herself, how badly she wanted it to be so.
Carys drew herself up straighter, fumbling for poise while her nerves screamed with disappointment.
He was tall, far taller than she, even though she wore heels. Surely as tall as…No! She wasn’t going there. Wasn’t playing that pathetic game any more.
‘Can I help you?’ The words emerged huskily, more like an intimate invitation than a cool query.
Silently she cursed the way he’d thrown her off balance just by reminding her of a time, and a man, best forgotten.
‘I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.’ She rushed into speech again, needing to rein in wayward thoughts. Her words were clipped, though she was careful not to reveal her annoyance. If she could extricate herself without a fuss, she would.
Carys tugged her hand but his grip firmed and he drew her forward. She stumbled, surprised by his implacable hold.
Tilting her head up, she looked him in the eye. She expected him to comment on the food or the music, or demand assistance in some way.
Instead his silence unnerved her.
Her skin grew tight as the illusion grew that