Читать книгу The Scandal Behind the Wedding - Bella Frances - Страница 9

RISK. AND THE management thereof. Normally one of his strong suits. Normally something he took a lot of pride in being very, very good at. The kind of deals he made required it. And although he’d had all of five minutes’ formal training—in other words read some stuff on the net—he’d become so well respected for the completely researched, planned and executed-within-a-hair’s-breadth decisions he made that his view was sought on projects well outside his own corporate boundaries.

So what on earth was he doing, tucked in the penthouse of the Al-Jafar, having bailed out of a highly dodgy party with an utterly gorgeous redhead who had caused chaos since he’d first slapped eyes on her?

Just getting out of her car she had been impressive. She probably didn’t even know that one guy had kerbed his coupé in the parking bay at the entrance as he watched her swing into the hotel. And that another guy had been slapped out of his daydream by his wife as he’d stared open-mouthed at her walking through the lobby. Danny had truly never seen a woman walk with such an unconscious sense of her own sexual allure.

And Tommy in the lift … If it hadn’t been so crass it would have been funny. It was as if the guy had been in a trance. His eyes had roamed all over the lovely Georgia, standing right there, her perfect breasts outlined in easily the sexiest piece of clothing he had ever seen. Okay, it was up to her neck and down to her knees—Dubai-appropriate—but nothing short of a tent could cover a body like that.

Tommy hadn’t even known he’d touched her—or so he’d said when he’d given him ‘the talk’ back in the lift. This was not a town where you stepped out of line in public. You just couldn’t risk it. Even when the eye candy was as sweet as their little lift companion. Even he’d had to fight to keep his eyes respectfully at eye rather than chest level.

But now they had a situation to deal with. And one he’d never imagined when he’d accepted the invitation to come here. He’d thought his views on this kind of thing were well enough known for his business partners to leave out sweeteners like these. Still, this one had been set up by a new guy in town who probably assumed all red-blooded males liked to pay their way. Not him. No way. Never had and never would.

But how the lovely Georgia had ended up there was another thing. She’d looked shocked when they’d arrived. Standing in the middle of all that madness like Joan of Arc. A particularly sexy Joan of Arc, but definitely in a different class from the girls who were offering themselves for rent. She had an air about her … dignity. Now, even with cops prowling all over the place and the fallout that was highly likely, she looked poised as a princess sitting on that sofa.

But he would find out more about her later—he had to focus on damage limitation right now. He clicked off the phone. Sarwar would smooth things. As the General Commander of Police he usually could. He was a handy ally to have—that was for sure. His only other concern was the press—the Dubai snappers were getting a bit invasive and he really didn’t want any photos flying over satellites to his mother’s news feed. He’d spent ten solid years here, building up his reputation, making her proud of him again—the last thing he wanted was for her to have any doubts at all.

After all, he’d built half of this town. Had made getting on here a personal challenge. His engineering skills had got him so far. But his corporate head had netted him contract upon contract and ally upon ally. There weren’t a lot of Westerners who held as much sway as he did. He had some very close friends. Emirati friends. And he’d be damned if he was going to let anything shake his well-crafted reputation now.

He looked over to where Georgia was still sitting on the edge of the sofa, worry painted all over her beautiful face. She was right to be concerned about this. If she was as genuine as he thought she was then she could afford the reputational damage even less than he.

He walked back towards her and she stood up. Her fists were clenched in tight little twists.

‘I checked in with a friend. It’s going to be okay. We just need to sit it out for a while.’

‘Who’s your friend? How does he know what’s going on?’

‘Just a contact. But don’t worry—a contact with a lot of influence. So, as I say, his advice is to wait it out while they sweep the place. Seems they’re taking a bit of a firmer line with that type of party. Someone’s decided to stop turning a blind eye.’

‘Shame he didn’t tell you that before you came.’ It was sharply said.

‘It is, yes—but since I never normally attend these sorts of events he wouldn’t have known to warn me.’

Seemed he had already been judged and sentenced. Normally he wouldn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion of him—other than his folks back home, of course—but for some reason he really wanted to underline the point with her that paying for sex was not his thing.

‘I like to treat my boys when they’ve worked hard—and I got an invite to this party from a business contact. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known what was going on.’ She hesitated. Definitely still wary and more than a little bit cautious. Why did he feel the need to soothe her? But he did. Even with her snippy little tones he wanted to enfold her in his arms and smooth away her worries.

He took another step towards her. ‘I’m glad I did, though, because our paths might not have crossed otherwise.’

She swallowed. His eye fell to the length of her neck, the sheen of her pale skin, the rise of her chest as she breathed. She looked from him to the door, listening. But this was the ultra-luxury penthouse, his home from home, and they were far enough away from the main action that no sounds would penetrate. Sarwar had said all the girls were going to be taken in. But he doubted that they would all go quietly. Better to be well away from that particular action.

‘How long do you think we’ll need to wait?’

‘We can leave any time you like. I guarantee you’ll not get into any difficulties with the police. I just think it politic not to catch the eye of the media or flaunt the position and the influence I have—so, unless you’ve got something more pressing to do, why don’t we enjoy the view? Salvage what we can out of our Friday night?’

He trailed his gaze over her again. Heavy-lidded dark green eyes, clear and vital. Perfect smooth skin with a shimmer of freckles through the make-up. Wide, full mouth … slightly open. He loved her lips. Sensual lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off how plump they looked—wondered how rich and sweet they’d taste. And that thick, soft dark red hair that framed her perfect face … Not to mention the rest of her. She was a beauty. A sensual, beautiful woman.

‘How about a drink? What do you say, Georgia?’

He smiled at her—couldn’t help it. She wore her thoughts on her face, unfiltered. She liked him. But she was still too wary to relax. He’d give her a little time, a little encouragement. It would be worth it. It wasn’t every day that a girl like this fell into his path, albeit unwillingly. For once he might chase. It had been so, so long since he had.

He went over to the bar.

‘Wine? Cocktail? I can do you a mean martini.’

She sat rooted to the couch and only turned her head to watch him. Again that princess posture. ‘A glass of white wine would be fine. Thanks.’

He lifted two bottles from the chiller. Compared them. Chose a fruity dry Italian that had a light effervescence over a mellow Australian. It would be good to lift her spirits a little. Get rid of some of her tension.

He twisted, poured and extended a glass towards her. Finally she moved—pushing herself up off the low couch and meeting him in the middle of the giant glass wall. He tipped his glass against hers, tried to give her a reassuring smile. Her eyes roamed over his face. Landed on his mouth. Lingered there. So she liked what she saw. Good.

‘You want to go up onto the roof terrace? See if we can hear the oil flow?’

She smiled. Just a little.

‘I’m okay in here, thanks. Humidity is not my hair’s best friend. Anyway, I’m sure your conversation will flow better than any oil.’

‘Yeah, well, hopefully we’ll be out of here before it runs out. Or before Dubai runs out of crazy ideas to net every last tourist on the planet. I’d hate to miss anything.’ He nodded back to the seating area. ‘Are you all right there? Look safe enough for your hair?’

A tiny smile. ‘Deal.’

She nudged her glass against his. She was definitely beginning to warm up. He walked behind her to the sofa, noting her sky-high shoulders settle down a little.

‘Will we start with the obligatory ex-pat back story?’

He eased himself down beside her, put his glass down, stretched out his arms. He’d keep alcohol off the menu until he was off the premises and had an apology in his back pocket for being given that party invitation. He still couldn’t believe he’d been caught up in something like this. He practically had the keys to this city—and thank God the pass to this penthouse, his weekend lair. Because now—when his deal with the Sheikh was at a critical stage—he would allow no one and nothing to get in his way.

He waited until she’d settled herself. Great posture. Great legs. She sipped her wine and watched him.

‘Okay. I’ll go first. My name’s Daniel Leo Ryan. I’m thirty-four years old. I have one younger sister, Frankie. And one older brother, Mark. Italian mother, Irish father, regulation number of aunts and uncles. We hail from County Meath, outside Dublin, Ireland. The family breeds horses. I make buildings.’

That was enough to be going on with. The less savoury details could come later—or not at all.

‘So do you ride? Or race?’

‘I was put on a horse before I could walk. We all were. It’s non-negotiable in our family. Riding, grooming, mucking out. Very little time left for anything else. My brother is involved in the family business. Parents too. Frankie does her own thing—like me.’ Though he was never sure what that was from one month to the next. ‘And you, Georgia? You’re definitely English. No mistaking that. London?’

She smiled at him. Finally. Properly. And it was glorious. A big toothy grin and it suited her.

‘Yes. East End. Cockney. Born and raised in a pub called The Tavern. My full name is Georgia Anne Blue. I’m twenty-six. My mum passed away not long after I was born and my sister Babs—Barbara, but no one calls her that—she’s eighteen years older than me—well, she brought me up. Rented out the pub until she was old enough to take it on herself. Put her whole life on hold for me. Never even had a proper boyfriend until I went to college.’

He nodded. That was a family dynamic he couldn’t begin to imagine. There would be no place for sibling rivalry there—no competition, no fierce jealousy. No judging, comparing, winning. Just a tiny family, pulling together.

‘What a huge sacrifice. You must be very close?’

She nodded, toyed with her glass a little.

‘Totally. I owe her everything. She runs that pub like a dream, but there was no way she was going to allow me to settle for that. I was going to college—end of story.’

He nodded—could sympathise with that. Engineering was not exactly a skill that sat well with breeding thoroughbreds. Law, accountancy, business admin—those were the preferred courses, the ones to which his siblings and cousins had all been directed and obediently fallen into. But obedience had never been his strong suit.

‘And was it Babs who suggested teaching?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. She just wanted me to choose something that would make me happy. I’m quite sporty—I like football and I coach it after school. But I’d never be able to make a living from it.’

He smiled. She smiled. He liked her. Liked how genuine she seemed. Refreshing. He had met so many women out here who were living a fast-paced life. All about the glitz and the glamour. But while she had those in spades she also had depth—and humility. Yes, definitely refreshing.

‘Anyway, my first job was as a nanny, but the family wanted me to live in and I got homesick even though it was only across town. And then Babs encouraged me to aim a bit higher and I looked into teaching in a nursery. And eight years later—here I am!’

‘Here you are. But you’ve not been here long, right? You’ve got absolutely no trace of sun on your skin.’ She had beautiful skin. As if she bathed in cream.

‘I’m really careful in the sun. It’s a … There’s a family issue with sun damage.’

Back to fiddling with her glass.

She looked up at the door as if she’d heard a noise but it was still quiet. He checked his phone. Sarwar had promised to call back when the raid was over and the coast was clear. Nothing.

‘So what brought you out here if it wasn’t the promise of third-degree burns?’

She didn’t move but he sensed her tension return.

‘The short version,’ she began after a few moments, ‘is that I came out here to be with somebody and it didn’t work out.’

He thought about that for a moment. It would have needed to be someone special to uproot her if she got homesick even in her own home town. Should he probe?

‘I’m happy to listen to the long version—if you want. No worries if you don’t.’

She crossed her legs. He could have sworn it was absently, unknowingly, but it gave him the best image of womanhood he’d had in a long time. The way the split in her dress sliced him a view of her toned thigh … She was hotter than the desert in July. He pulled at his collar. Was the air-con even working?

‘It’s not such a great story,’ she said finally, and with such a sigh that he jerked his attention back to her face. ‘The long version is … predictable. I fell for a guy and it turned out to be a bad decision. He … We were engaged. Then we weren’t. Because he wanted to be engaged to someone else. And probably by now he’s been engaged another three times over.’

Danny could not wrap his head around that! Getting engaged once would be one too many times for him. Where was the appeal? Why tie yourself down in marriage when the world had an endless stream of beautiful women? And why commit when you knew said women were only going to let you down?

Sure, there were people who did want commitment—his parents, and in all likelihood his brother Mark. That would be one wedding he wouldn’t attend. But not him. He hated the idea of being stuck in the same place, doing the same thing, with the same people. Even with a beauty. It was bound to end badly.

He’d made up his mind years ago that he was not his parents. He’d wanted out—needed out—and he couldn’t ever see himself going back. He’d moved on. Didn’t want to look back. Or do a U-turn. Going back on a decision—any decision—was a sign of weakness. As spectacularly demonstrated by Georgia’s serial fiancé.

‘Maybe he has shares in a diamond mine?’

‘Or maybe I believe in fairytales.’

‘Ah, now, don’t give yourself a hard time. We all fall for the wrong people sometimes.’

He reached across to squeeze the long, elegant fingers that were rubbing the sides of her wine glass. He liked touching her. The thrum of her energy tuned him right in to her.

‘I did—once. It caused a lot of damage at the time, but it was the rocket I needed to get myself out into the world. It’s sore when it happens, but I bet you’re already heaving a sigh of relief.’

She looked at him. Searching. He wrapped his fingers round her wrist, then smoothed little trails across her skin. She held his eyes. He looked at her lips where she’d just licked them—again. Let his gaze settle there, slow and steady. Absorbed the sensual image. Beautiful. He looked at her breasts. He was sure her nipples were beginning to tighten. And he began to harden. The sexual energy between them was dynamite and he hadn’t even kissed her. But he would.

She looked away, took a sip of wine.

‘You’re right. It’s much more important that I get home and get on with life.’

‘So what’s keeping you here?’

‘Money.’ She lanced him with a hard stare. ‘Purely money. That probably makes me sound terrible. But it’s not money for the sake of money. It’s—it’s Babs. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but she owes a ton of money.’ She sighed. ‘After years of self-sacrifice for me she met a guy. A sleazy, slimy guy. She married him and gave him a share in The Tavern. She also invested in his building firm. And when she should have been looking forward to financial security, winding down, that worthless piece of garbage conned her and robbed her and covered his tracks so well that when she tried to get back her share of the business they’d built up he had already liquidated it and started re-trading. With Babs the Younger.’

She paused and looked down at her lap. Ah, hell, if that wasn’t her chin wobbling … She was trying to hide it but there was no denying the hitch in her voice and the flush over her cheeks. He moved forward, lifted her glass and put it down on the table.

She swiped a hand under each eye. ‘I’m fine. Sorry—I’m fine.’ She looked away and then back at him, her eyes glassy and with a fixed bright smile. ‘I just miss her. I want to go home and I can’t. I’m stuck here until I’ve earned enough to clear her debts. All sixty thousand pounds of it.’

He could no more stop himself from gathering her into his arms than stop breathing. Selfless. On top of every physical attribute she had she was out here to earn money for someone else. Far too nice for the likes of him.

But he understood that aching loneliness. He’d felt it when he’d got here. More than that—he’d relished it. It had proved that he’d got away, taken the first step. He knew how real it was for others, though. He loved Dubai now. Loved its pace and its vibe and its outrageous ambition. Sure sometimes, occasionally, the yearn for grey rain and green moss had him hopping on a flight home, just to inhale the sweet smell of damp Irish earth and sit for long, uncomplicated hours in the company of quiet, uncomplicated people. But as soon as his family knew he was back and started bearing down on him he hopped right back on the plane.

But Georgia Anne Blue … She was a family girl. And she was now in the middle of a nasty piece of action that, all joking aside, could result in jail time. Of course she was emotional!

‘Georgia.’ He folded his arms round her but she held herself tense.

‘I’m honestly fine—it’s fine.’

‘Sure it is. But everyone needs a little comfort sometimes. I miss my sister too. We’re a long way from home. We all get lonely, Georgia.’

That seemed to undo her. She literally wilted in his arms—a flower without water. He stood her up. Her cheek landed on his chest. He scooped her closer, let his hand cradle her head and pressed his arm across her back. Steadied her and held her while she let soft sobs rack her body. She held her arms bent, tight against him, hands still in fists. Long moments of silent sadness.

‘I’m sorry—I don’t know where that came from.’

She pulled back a little and he felt his shirt wet with tears. That undid him. He hated to see a girl upset. In his iron-clad armour it was the one thing that could really pierce a hole. He blamed his sister Frankie for that—she always knew how to get to him.

‘I know where it came from. And it’s fine to let it go.’

She looked up at him, her dark green eyes glassy as a forest pool. Her lip wobbled again and she buried her head. This time she wrapped her arms around him.

‘Thank you. I’m sorry.’

‘Shh.’ The last thing she needed to do was thank him. There was nothing he would rather do than hold her and soothe her. And his body was all the evidence she needed that he was getting payback. Holding her close was playing with fire. And he was calculating the risks attached to that right now.

He hardened—fast and fierce. He leant down and breathed in her scent: flowers from her hair, sweet spice from her neck. He felt her body through the thin fabric of her dress as he held her. Slim, strong, soft. He dropped his arm to her waist and the sensation of the curve of her body hugged close sent him another sharp kick of lust.

She must have realised how aroused he’d got—she pulled back and looked up at him as if she was weighing up her odds, testing him for trust. He’d show her she could trust him …

It would have been nice to start slow, to brush his lips against hers and gently learn their shape. But steady and sweet had bailed out and he was riding the crest of a giant wave of lust. He snaked his hands through the thick red waves of her hair and scooped her mouth right under his. Fierce. He felt his body absorb the sensation of her curves. Not enough. His tongue took over—fired right between her open startled lips and plunged and tangled with hers.

She was shocked. Then she moaned. Then she settled even closer and her tongue met his with a hunger that fired his blood.

What a kiss.

Wild stabbing darts with their tongues—shallow at first and then duelling. Every thrust had him harder. Their mouths open wider, to taste more and more. He took and tasted her like a starving man. On and on they kissed. He heard her moan as if it was a surrender from her soul. Felt his face and her face wet from their mouths. Felt such a desperate need to feel her flesh that he dropped his hands to her full, plump cheeks and squeezed hard.

He pressed her closer and she opened her thighs to him. He ground himself against her, taking whatever pressure he could get against his length. He could feel a delicious tension start to build and knew he was losing control. She nestled herself hard against him, snaked her arms up and gripped the back of his neck. And, oh, that let him feel those breasts against him. He put his hands on them. Right on them. Filled his hands. Felt firm, hot flesh and hard buds through the fabric. Felt as if he’d never get enough.

He stared at her dress, tugged the V apart and slid his hands inside, pulling the cup of her bra out of the way, exposing a bare white breast.

‘Danny—stop!’

She pulled away and he was stunned. His head thick. An uppercut of lust to the brain. Literally reeling with what had just happened.

‘I heard a noise,’ she whispered, fixing her bra, closing up her dress.

He stared at her stupidly. She couldn’t really want to stop this now—could she?

‘It’s all right. It’s the penthouse. No one can come in.’

She stared—huge dark eyes.

‘Trust me. You’re safe in here.’

There was a knock at the door.

She stepped further away, looked from him to the door and back again. ‘It’s the police. It must be.’

‘Georgia, calm down—it’s fine. I told you.’

But she was panicked. The knock came again. He shook his head, walked to the door. Unlocked it and opened it. In the wide landing in front of the elevator stood two cops. No one and nothing else. They passed on the information that the place had been cleared. Sarwar had been as good as his word.

Just so long as the paps weren’t hovering.

He nodded at the guys and went back inside.

‘What’s happening? Is it all right? Am I able to go home now?’ She was smoothing down her dress, patting her hair.

‘All sorted. If that’s what you want to do you can go—any time you like.’

She looked at him. ‘Oh …’

He faced her, still semi-aroused. But she was elsewhere now—her mind was in a different place. Spooked.

He pulled out his phone, fumbled with the screen, irritated.

‘All right.’

‘All right? I’d like to finish our “discussion”.’

She swallowed, looked at her shoes. He looked at her shoes. Red, pointed … perfect Friday night shoes.

‘I … I think I should just go. I’d rather put all this behind me.’

She thought she should go? She could think what she wanted for now. He’d make his mind up in a little while.

‘You need a lift somewhere?’

She glanced at the two discarded glasses that sat on the table. Neither of them had had any more than a sip of alcohol. ‘No, thanks. My car’s parked.’

‘Okay.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s head down, then.’

They left the penthouse and headed back into the elevator. The doors closed between them and the magnificent Persian Gulf. His mind was playing catch-up as he stared out at the rose-gold sun sinking fast into sapphire-blue. Diamond-white iconic buildings held shards of every other precious jewel and metal, all polished to precision and laid out for people to worship and desire. It was some town. And he was proud that his fingerprints were all over it.

They stepped out onto the fifty-ninth floor. Better not to go straight to the lobby. He wanted to see the place cleared for himself. Passed the open door of the Jumeirah Suite. There was nobody lazing or relaxing now—only empty glasses to show that anyone had been there. A vacuum.

Her shoes clicked as she walked. He put his hand out and grasped hers, squeezed it. They moved along the marble corridor to the internal elevators. Noise bubbled up from downstairs—the chatter of everyday hotel life. He still grasped her hand. Toyed with what he was going to do next.

They paused when they got to the elevators. Both stared at their fuzzy outlines in the burnished gold doors. He let go of her hand and pulled her close. But she held herself back. He hadn’t expected that.

The elevator doors opened. She tucked her head down and went in.

He pressed the button and the doors closed.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

The elevator sped down, landed softly. She stood apart. He reached for her hand again but she shook her head.

‘Danny I’ve … It’s been … I’m grateful to you for helping me out but I just want to go home now and forget that this ever happened.’

She extended her hand for a handshake and he nearly laughed. Okay—that he really hadn’t expected.

‘No problem, Georgia. You’re a lovely woman. I was happy to help.’

She shook his hand. Firmly. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

He nearly let her go at that. Nearly. But they’d had the hottest kiss he’d ever known. Had been heading fast to what he was sure was going to be the hottest sex. He wasn’t letting her go just like that.

He pulled her up sharply, out of sight, inside the elevator. Put his mouth right over hers and kissed her the way he knew she needed to be kissed.

She wanted to say goodbye with a handshake?

He kissed her just long enough to have her moan and soften against him and then he pulled back. Twisted her a smile that told her she’d had a lucky escape.

But she eyeballed him, wiped her mouth. ‘Bye, Danny.’

She turned on her heel. His eyes fell to her backside, swinging as she stepped away. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

And then his eyes fell on the photographers who were sitting in the lobby, cameras trained covertly. He knew it. Oh, hell …

He stepped forward. Grabbed her.

‘Georgia, come with me.’

‘I don’t think so, Danny. I think we’ve—’

‘Georgia, don’t argue. There’s paparazzi over there and if you don’t want your picture to be going global any time, come with me. Now. I need to know what they know, what other pictures they’ve got—and so do you.’

She stared with panicked doe eyes up at him and he got that kick to his guts again. Protect her. He needed to protect her. He took her hand in his—no argument. Walked. Brisk. Together. Striding. Out past the fountain, the guests and the bellhops and into the darkening night.