Читать книгу Accidental Bride - Darcy Maguire - Страница 7

MARK scanned the room, his eyes searching the crowd for one extremely intriguing lady. He knew he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off her, but locating Sasha in the crowd next to the dance floor had been all it took to lose sight of her. Brunettes were everywhere, but none with the height, the split in the dress or those haunting deep blue eyes.

‘Who the hell was that woman?’ Sasha snapped, hooking her arm in his possessively.

‘I have no idea.’ But he was determined to find out. If she was as fascinating and mysterious as she’d intimated, he wanted to discover every detail about her—down to what underwear she wore. Or didn’t.

‘And you let her embarrass me like that in front of all these people?’ Sasha swung her arms wide, her cheeks flushed.

Mark forced himself to focus on his date. His blood cooled at the hurt in her eyes. The deal was to introduce Sasha to the notables of society, and he’d all but ignored her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you did think. I don’t know how I can look anyone in the face now.’

Agreeing to a date with his sister’s best friend wasn’t the cleverest situation he’d got himself into, but he had needed a companion and Sasha had been available and there were no strings attached. And strings were what he wanted to avoid.

Mark caught a glimpse of his stranger. She certainly was a vision. She was so confident and so perfect that he knew there had to be a catch.

He had no idea what she meant. Was she challenging him? And, if so, to what? His mind buzzed with the possibilities—and they all ended with his stranger naked and in his bed.

Mark shook himself. This was crazy. The last thing he’d expected at this charity night was a woman like her. He was here to raise money for the Heart Foundation, to give back to society, to give his life some meaning beyond the size of his bank balance.

His own heart thrummed a call he couldn’t ignore. There was no reason he couldn’t pursue the woman and serve the charity…

Mark strode to the entrance of the dining room and hailed the head waiter. He leaned close to the man’s ear. ‘Seating has been changed. See that woman.’ He cast a look to his stranger, who was in a conversation with a gangly man. ‘I want her at my table.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Mark smiled, straightening to his full height. He walked through the doorway, smiling to his guests. If she thought he was going to play along with her game she had a surprise coming. He was going to get some answers.

Clare wasn’t surprised when the waiter extricated her from the man she was talking to and escorted her to Mark King’s table. She would have been disappointed if he’d done anything less. From what she knew about him he was finding life a tad boring now he’d made it, and was taking on all sorts of challenges for the thrill alone. She figured his personal life wouldn’t be any different.

Clare had noted that he managed to keep his exploits out of the papers—and his photo. Which was probably why she was so surprised by King in the flesh.

Clare glanced around the dining room. It was laid out with over fifty round tables, all with white tablecloths overlaying burgundy ones. She couldn’t miss the lavish bouquet of roses that adorned each table, or the careful positioning of the cutlery, glasses and elaborately folded serviettes. Of course King wouldn’t settle for anything less than stylishly elegant.

She lifted her chin. The perfect venue for her trap. Public enough to be safe; private enough to get away with what she was about to do.

Everyone else was seated when Clare arrived at the main table. She cast a lazy glance around the guests, taking in the heavy-set men accompanied by wives laden with expensive jewellery, the younger men with pretty companions hanging on their every word. And Mark King.

‘Welcome, Miss…?’ King rose from the table and gestured to the chair on his left. On the other side was the woman in red she’d ousted on the dance floor.

‘Thank you.’ She ignored the question and allowed him to help her into her seat, aware that all eyes were on her. He moved her chair in and she felt his knuckles brush the skin on her back, causing an irritating shiver to course down her spine.

‘I’m afraid I’m at a loss.’ King’s voice was deep and demanding, his gaze sharp.

‘I find that hard to believe.’ She took a sip of champagne, casting him a look of defiance from beneath lowered lashes. She’d been in business long enough to hold her own in company such as this.

King took his own seat, leaning close to her. ‘Are you avoiding giving me your name, or are you just playing coy?’ he whispered with a vague hint of annoyance.

‘I assure you, I’m not playing.’ Clare could hear the edge in her voice and added a smile to tone down her slip.

She saw King raise an eyebrow. ‘What’s your business, then?’

‘Much the same as yours, I’d say.’

King turned in his seat to give her his full attention. ‘Why did you walk away like that?’

‘Like what?’ she asked innocently, very aware that most of the occupants at the table were hanging on their every word. It surprised her that he’d confront her so openly, in front of his guests, but then King was about the most arrogant, self-assured jerk she’d ever met. He probably didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

A muscle in King’s jaw twitched. ‘I personally invited everyone here tonight.’ King glanced around the room. ‘And I can tell you, you weren’t one of them.’

‘Really?’ Clare opened her serviette with a deft flick of the wrist and laid it across her lap. ‘Are you sure?’

Clare struggled not to smile. She had him there. She knew he was so busy that he needed three secretaries to keep up with his workload, plus two personal assistants, both men, which confirmed the fact that he was still serious about work—no distractions. Even his female secretaries were over forty and married, to ensure everyone’s mind stayed on their work.

A thoughtful smile curved King’s mouth, softening his features. ‘You have me there.’ He twisted in his seat and raised his hand. ‘John?’ A man at the next table turned nervously. He rose and approached, his tall, dark and lanky frame looking pretty spiffy in his dinner suit—but then most men looked great in black.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘John, here, is my personal assistant. He took care of the invitations.’ King smiled. ‘John, did you invite this young lady?’

John looked from his boss to Clare, obviously confused. ‘Over two hundred invitations went out, sir. But I’ll do my best. Your name?’

Clare smiled at King.

‘She won’t give her name, John. Surely you can remember inviting a young woman?’

John shrugged, looking quite helpless. ‘Security is tight, so she must have had an invitation.’ John gave Clare an odd look of confusion. ‘We could have her taken out, if you wish, sir.’

‘Perhaps that would be best.’ King’s expression darkened. ‘If you don’t tell me your name then I’ll have Security escort you out.’

Clare shrugged. ‘If you’d rather throw me out than—’ She broke off deliberately, taking another sip of the champagne, casting a look around the table at the curious faces.

‘Than what?’ His mood veered sharply to anger.

‘Than work it out for yourself, then of course—go ahead.’

King stiffened as though she’d struck him. Silence descended on what little conversation there had been at the table. Slowly his tight expression relaxed into a smile that lit his eyes and dimpled his cheek.

Clare felt an unwelcome surge of excitement at the warmth of his smile. She wrenched her attention off King to the roses on the table, taking a long, deep breath. But she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze wandered to him again.

King dismissed John with a wave and turned his attention back to her. His grey eyes stabbed her, as though he was trying to penetrate her defences with his look alone.

She slowed her breathing and willed her heart to do the same, praying someone would distract King from her before she lost her nerve.

A waiter laden with a tray of steaming soup bowls moved between them. He placed a bowl in front of her.

Clare looked up at him. ‘What sort of soup is it?’ The opportunity for a break from King’s intensity was welcome. It might even break his train of thought, if she was lucky—if she was very lucky.

‘It’s champagne and pear.’ The waiter gave her a smile and a conspiratorial wink. ‘All vegetarian, miss.’

‘You’re a vegetarian?’ King pounced. ‘That’s very trendy of you.’

‘I’m not a vegetarian to pander to any social trend.’ Clare snatched up her spoon and plunged it into the misty green liquid. She’d be damned if she was going to explain her lifestyle decisions to King! She concentrated on eating, on how the smooth and gentle soup caressed her tastebuds with flavour before slipping down her throat.

‘For health, then?’ suggested the woman in red next to him.

‘Yes.’ Clare smiled warmly past King to the pretty young blonde. She’d been so intent on King she hadn’t given her a second thought. Shoving her aside on the dance floor was one thing—that was business—but to ignore her over a meal was another. Besides, she had to be barely twenty—just a girl.

‘How did he know that you were concerned about it being vegetarian?’ King gave her another raking gaze. ‘Unless they knew you were coming? You phoned them or spoke to them?’

‘Yes.’ Clare took another mouthful of the divine soup. It was her cousin Paul’s creation. She’d had it several times before, while he was learning to be a chef, but this was her first opportunity to dine where he worked without him. Paul was like a brother to her, only two years older than her twenty-seven years, and they were close. They’d grown up under the same roof.

‘Yes to which one?’ King brandished his soup spoon at her as though it were a weapon.

‘Whatever.’ Clare shrugged. Paul had smuggled her into the charity dinner, and all she’d had to do was promise she’d accompany him to the next social event to enhance his image. Some career strategy, she guessed.

She broke her bread roll apart and buttered it lazily, very aware of King’s eyes on her. ‘How do you know Mark?’ she asked the girl in red, whose face kept appearing over King’s shoulder.

‘I’m a close friend of the family,’ she bit out defensively. ‘I’m Sasha Taylor-Jones.’

‘Beautiful name.’ Clare tried to swallow the smile that was threatening to erupt. The look on King’s face at being ignored was priceless. ‘You’re very kind, doing Mark the favour of accompanying him. He would have been embarrassed to have arrived solo.’

Sasha blushed. ‘Actually, he’s doing me a favour—though you wouldn’t think it.’ She cast his back a dirty look and ran a hand over his shoulder. ‘Did you know he’s just been nominated for Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year?’

‘Has he?’ Clare smiled her amusement. If only the organisers knew what he got up to with poor innocent young girls, they’d crown him the most opportunistic bastard of the year. She gave Sasha a second look. Was she the next victim?

King’s eyes darkened. ‘Will you ladies stop talking about me as though I wasn’t here?’ He swung back to Sasha.

‘Mark, don’t be angry with her,’ Clare chastised him.

‘And don’t call me Mark. Hell, I don’t even know you.’

She could tell it was killing him. If he knew her name then he’d find out everything he needed to know in about two minutes flat, and that wasn’t what she had in mind. She had something more memorable planned.

Something that King wouldn’t ever forget.