Secret Heirs: His One Night Consequence. Кэрол Мортимер
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swirled, and a tinkle of feminine laughter sounded. But the man in the perfectly cut dinner jacket, with the perfectly cut jaw, said nothing. Just held her.
Heat flared under her skin as again instinct shouted a warning to beware.
His hold shifted and his thumb slid over the sensitive place between her thumb and forefinger. A spike of heat transfixed her. Her eyes widened as a tremor echoed through the secret recesses of her body.
‘You need to let me go.’ She lifted her chin higher, wishing she could see his eyes properly.
He inclined his head, and the breath she hadn’t known she held whooshed out. See? He probably just wanted something mundane like another bottle of wine for his table.
She opened her mouth to enquire when someone bumped her, propelling her towards the hard male torso before her.
Carys heard a muffled apology but barely noticed.
Large hands grasped her upper arms. In front of her stretched an expanse of exquisitely tailored elegance, that ultra-masculine chin with just the hint of a cleft and a pair of shoulders to make any woman sit up and take notice.
Shoulders just like…
Carys bit her lip. This had to end.
This was a stranger. So he had shoulders to die for and a jaw that seemed achingly familiar. The gold signet ring on his finger was one she’d never seen. And, despite the similar height, he was leaner than the man she’d known.
Another couple buffeted her, talking volubly as they passed. Suddenly she found herself plastered against a hard body that seemed all heat and raw strength. Her senses whirled in a giddy riot.
She imagined she could feel each muscle of his body against hers. Beneath the expensive cologne an elusive undertone of warm male skin tickled her nostrils and she inhaled sharply. He was too familiar, like a phantom from one of the endless dreams that haunted her.
His odd silence intensified her sense of unreality.
Then his hold shifted. A hand slid down her back, poised almost possessively just above her bottom, long fingers spread. Heat roared in the pit of her belly. The heat of desire. A sensation she hadn’t felt, it seemed, in a lifetime.
Her body responded to the ultra-masculine allure of his, softening, trembling—
‘I need to go.’ Carys jerked her head back from the muscled chest that drew her like a magnet. ‘Please!’
Her mouth trembled in a wobbly grimace, and to her dismay hot tears prickled her eyes. Part of her yearned crazily to succumb to his potent maleness.
Because he reminded her of the one man who had taught her the dangers of instant physical attraction.
She had to get out of here.
With a strength born of desperation, she wrenched herself free and stumbled back, off balance when he released her instantly.
Carys took a shaky step away, then another.
The man in the dark mask watched her, eyes unreadable, his body as still as a predator about to pounce.
Her throat squeezed tight in inexplicable panic. She opened her mouth but no sound came. Then she spun and blindly forced her way through the crowd.
Wearily Carys tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The last of the guests had finally gone and the vast ballroom was empty but for the staff tidying up and moving furniture.
The chirrup of a house phone snagged her attention. She found herself crossing her fingers that there were no more problems. Not tonight, correction, this morning. She was running on empty.
She was still unsettled by the memory of the stranger. The man who’d seemed so familiar yet couldn’t be.
‘Hello?’
‘Carys? Glad I caught you.’ She recognised the new guy on night duty at reception. ‘You’ve got an urgent call. I’ll connect you.’
Instantly all weariness vanished at the sound of those dreaded words ‘urgent call’. Carys’ stomach dropped and fear filled the void. Was it Leo? An illness? An accident?
She twisted a button on her jacket, waiting breathlessly for bad news as her nerves stretched taut.
It would be tonight of all nights that something went wrong. She should have found a way to get home earlier.
The click of the new connection was loud in her ears. As was the silence that followed, a waiting silence.
‘Sarah? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
There was a pause in which she heard the echo of her own breathing.
Then a voice like black velvet emerged.
‘Carys.’
Just one word and every hair on her body rose. It was the voice that haunted her dreams. A voice that, despite everything, still had the power to thicken her blood, turning it to warm treacle.
Her knees buckled and she found herself sitting on the edge of a table that had been moved up against the wall.
Her fingers splayed over her throat in a desperate gesture of vulnerability.
It couldn’t be!
Her mouth opened and her throat worked, but no sound emerged.
‘We need to meet,’ said the voice of her past. ‘Now.’
‘WHO is this?’ Carys’ voice emerged as a raw croak.
It couldn’t be.
Not here. Not now.
Not after she’d finally convinced herself she never wanted to see him again. Fate couldn’t be so cruel.
Yet some wayward self-destructive impulse sent a buzz of excitement skimming along her nerves. Once she’d longed for him to make contact, to come after her, tell her he’d been wrong. Tell her…no, she wasn’t so credulous as to believe in such fantasies any more.
What did he want? Her hand tightened like a claw at her throat. A premonition of danger filled her, icing her blood.
‘You know who it is, Carys.’ Just the way he pronounced her name with that sexy Italian accent turned the word into a caress that melted her insides.
He’d always threatened her self-control. Carys remembered murmured enticements in that dark coffee voice and how he’d persuaded her to give up everything she’d worked for just for the privilege of being with him.
Fool!
She shivered and sat up straighter, berating herself.
‘Please identify yourself,’ she said tersely.
It couldn’t be him. He’d never follow her to Australia. He’d made that clear when she’d left with her tail between her legs.
But the memory of the stranger tonight at the ball, the masked man who’d made her think of him, battered at her disbelief. Wildly she shook her head, trying to clear a brain overloaded by exhaustion and stress.
Was she going mad? Seeing him, even hearing him, when she knew perfectly well he was ensconced in his oh-so-exclusive world of rich, elegant, aristocratic friends. Of high-flying business deals and blue blood and glamour.
Where people like her only provided brief amusement.
‘Don’t pretend not to know me, Carys. I have no time for puerile games.’ He paused as if waiting for her to rush into speech. ‘It’s Alessandro Mattani.’
Silence throbbed as she clutched the receiver.