Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2019 Books 5-8 - Jane Porter - Страница 13

HE BROODED WITH irritation as he caught sight of Stacey hurrying around the ballroom without once glancing his way. Dressed casually, with no make-up on her face and her hair scraped back, she still looked punch-in-the-gut beautiful to him. The run-up to any event was hectic, but that didn’t excuse her not seeking him out. Am I the client, or am I not?

She’s busy. Isn’t that what you want and expect of a party planner in the hour before your guests arrive?

He drew a steadying breath. For once in his charmed life what he wanted and what he could have were facing each other across a great divide. He shrugged. So he’d close that gap.

At last she was back in her room, safe in the knowledge that she and the team had every aspect of the night ahead covered between them. With very little time to review her choice of gown it was lucky she’d made her decision earlier. Seeing Lucas again had shaken her to the core. When he wasn’t in her life she thought about him constantly, and now he was here, a real physical presence in this same building, she couldn’t think of anything else, and she had to, she must. The only thing she must think about tonight was the work she loved.

Closing her eyes, she blew out a shaky breath. She had a phone call to make, and needed her wits about her to do that. Since Lady Sarah had put her in charge of running the Da Silva account, Stacey had established an excellent working relationship with the top people at Da Silva and wanted to give them a heads-up to make sure she wasn’t treading on any toes when she told Lucas she’d also be running his party in the mountains. It was no use burying her head in the sand. He had to know, and she had to be the one to tell him, and the sooner the better.

Her counterpart greeted her warmly, and listened carefully before admitting that, just as Stacey had suspected, they’d seen no reason to trouble Lucas with the fact that Stacey was in charge of his big annual event in the mountains. Lady Sarah’s word was good enough for them. ‘We haven’t kept it a secret,’ the woman explained. ‘He doesn’t appreciate gossip, and expects us to get on with things, so there was no reason to trouble him with the fact that Lady Sarah is unwell, and you’re taking over.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Stacey admitted. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.’

‘No other problems?’

‘None,’ she confirmed, wishing that were true. She could pretend to other people, but not to herself, and Lucas coming back into her world had changed everything.

The outfit she’d put together was stylish enough to blend into the sophisticated crowd, yet discreet, so it wouldn’t clash in colour or style with anything one of the high-profile guests might choose to wear. A limited budget had confined her choices to the high street, but she’d been lucky enough to find some great buys on the sale rails of a famous store, including this simple column of lightweight cream silk. Ankle length, the gown reached just above the nude pumps she’d chosen to take her through the night, knowing she’d be on her feet for most if not all of the evening. The neckline was discreet, and boasted a collar and lapel that gave the elegant sheath a passing nod to a business suit. Having tamed her wild red curls into a simple updo, she tucked a slim radio into her understated evening clutch, swung a lanyard around her neck to make sure she was easily identifiable, and, having checked her lip gloss, she spritzed on some scent and headed out.

She checked her watch as she stepped into the elevator. Perfect timing. Her heart was racing—and not just with excitement at the thought of the impending party. Would Lucas feel anything when he saw her? No, she concluded with a wry, accepting curve of her mouth. He’d be as smoulderingly unconcerned as ever. But that didn’t stop her pulse spiking at the thought of seeing him again.

His first meet with Stacey did not go as he had expected. He cut her off in the ballroom, where, typically, she was rushing about.

‘I’m sorry, Lucas, but I can’t stop to talk now—’

‘I beg your pardon?’ He jerked his head back with surprise. ‘Is that all I get?’

She stood poised for flight. ‘After five long years?’ she suggested, her eyes searching his. Professional or not, she’d always been a participant, never afraid to take on a challenge, rather than a person content to laze on the benches. He took some consolation from the fact that those beautiful green eyes had darkened, and her breath was both audible and fast. ‘Are you run off your feet?’ he suggested dryly as she snatched a breath.

She was smart and knew at once what he meant. ‘I’m quite calm,’ she assured him with the lift of one elegant brow, as if to say, You don’t faze me, and swiftly following on with, Not everyone falls at your feet. Then professionalism kicked in. Fully aware that she was speaking to a client, she hit him with an old memory. ‘You don’t need to worry about drinks going flying tonight.’

‘Do I need to worry about anything else?’ he queried, staring down into her crystal-clear gaze.

She held her breath and then released it. ‘No,’ she said with confidence. ‘Good to see you, Lucas,’ she added as a prelude to dashing off. ‘You look well.’

‘You look flushed.’

‘The heat in here—’

He pinned a frown to his face. ‘If the air con isn’t up to the job—’

‘It is,’ she flashed.

‘Then…?’

‘Then, I have to get on.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Don’t let me stop you…’

‘You won’t,’ she assured him, and was he imagining it, or were her shoulders tense with awareness as she hurried away?

A member of staff attracted her attention and Stacey moved on to sort out another problem, leaving him in the unusual position of standing watching the action, rather than directing it. And he wanted more. A lot more. Those scant few minutes hadn’t been enough. Had they been enough for Stacey? Her eyes suggested not, but dedication to her job clearly overruled her personal feelings, leaving him more frustrated than he could remember. Did she feel the same? She didn’t glance back once.

She couldn’t just walk away.

But she had.

The last time he’d looked in the mirror Lucas Da Silva had stared back. He was supposed to give the rain check, not Stacey. He huffed with grim amusement. She clearly hadn’t read the rulebook. That must have gone out of the window when she left the farm—not that she’d been easy then. Stacey Winner had always been a piece of work. And looked amazing, he conceded as he followed her progress around the ballroom, trying not to think of her moaning in his arms and begging for more. Her carefully arranged hair was still damp from the shower and her make-up was simple, but she’d undergone a complete transformation from casual tee shirt and jeans into an elegant, ankle-length gown of cream silk that moulded her lush form with loving attention to detail. He watched as she stopped to reassure a member of staff with her arm around the woman’s shoulders. As soon as the team member returned to her duties he made his move. There was no reason why Stacey couldn’t speak to him now.

She had survived the first encounter with Lucas. Doing a little happy dance inside, she was a little breathless and a lot shaken up, but…I survived! And felt a little proud at the thought that she had managed to revive the old banter they used to share on the farm, yet had maintained a reasonable balance between her personal and her professional persona. At least, she hoped she had, Stacey reflected as she glanced across at Lucas, who was speaking to members of the band. Seeing him from a distance like this was bad enough, she mused, moving on. Standing close enough to touch him was a torment with no parole. He was like a force field, threatening to suck her in and turn her brain to jelly and she couldn’t afford to have that happen tonight.

‘Stacey.’

‘Lucas!’

He was right behind her. And it happened again. Her brain turned to mush, while her feet appeared to be welded to the spot. Forcing herself into a professional frame of mind, she focused on the job in hand. ‘The doors will open in a few minutes,’ she exclaimed brightly as he opened his mouth to say something, and then she slipped away.

Cursing beneath his breath, he determined they would spend time together. Admittedly that was difficult for her now, but it wouldn’t always be so.

He was too used to everything being easy, he supposed, to women staring at him with lust in their eyes and dollar signs. Stacey was different. She was a novelty. Novelty was the most valuable possession a wealthy man could have.

Hard luck, he reflected with grim amusement. As far as he could tell, there was nothing in Stacey’s expression but passion for her work, and determination to make tonight a success.

Left to stand and stare as she moved around the glittering ballroom like a rather glamorous automaton on wheels, he ground his jaw and, with an exclamation born of pure frustration, he left to take up his role as host. Seeing Stacey again had roused feelings inside him he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of, and there was only one thing to cure that. And then she turned to stare at him, still with no hint of lust or dollar signs in her eyes, but instead they seemed to say, ‘What do you think of this fabulous setting? Hasn’t the team worked hard?’

Infuriating woman. This wasn’t the farm, and she was no longer the teenager playing tricks on her brother’s friend. Had she forgotten that he was the client, and it was he who was paying the bill? Then, right out of the blue, there it was, the flash of mischief in her eyes, the demon glint he remembered. Shaking his head, he returned that look with a dark, warning glance, but his irritation had melted away.

She rewarded him with a smile so engaging he wanted to have her on the spot. His timing was definitely out. The grand double doors had just opened and his guests were pouring in. Forced to banish his physical reaction to Stacey by sheer force of will, he gave himself a sharp reminder that she had never been in awe of him. He could stand on his dignity as much as he liked and all she would do was smile back.

From the first time Niahl had brought him home to trial the ponies on the farm, Stacey had tested him. Daring him to ride their wildest horse, she would jump down from the fence where she was perched, seemingly uninterested, and walk away when the animal responded to his firm, yet sympathetic hand. She was fearless on horseback, and had often attempted to outride him. ‘Anything’s possible,’ she’d tell him stubbornly as she trotted into the yard after him. ‘I’ll get you next time.’ She never gave up, and became increasingly ingenious when it came to stopping him buying her favourite ponies. ‘You’ll be far too demanding,’ she’d say, blushing because she knew this was a lie. ‘You’ll break their spirit.’ The ponies in question, according to Stacey, were variously winded or lame, and would almost certainly disappoint him in every way. These supposed facts she would state with her big green eyes wide open, and as soon as she got the chance she’d free the animals from their stable and shoo them into the wild, forcing him and her brother to round them up again. Everyone but him had been surprised when she left home. He suspected her father had been relieved. His new wife had made no secret of her relief. She’d never liked Stacey. Perhaps only Lucas and Niahl had appreciated the courage it had taken for Stacey to seek out a new life in the big city when she’d barely travelled more than five miles from the farm.

She’d always loved a challenge. So did he, he reflected as he watched Stacey greet the first of his guests. He leaned back against the wall as she guided the various luminaries to their places. She did this with charm and grace, making his high-tone guests look clumsy. Stacey Winner was as intriguing as the wild ponies he loved to ride. It didn’t hurt that she looked fabulous tonight. Simplicity was everything in his eyes. True glamour meant appreciating what nature had bestowed and making the most of it, and she’d done this to perfection. Compared to Stacey, every woman in the place appeared contrived, overdressed, shrill. They failed to hold his attention, while Stacey, with her gleaming hair and can-do attitude, was everything he’d been waiting for.

And couldn’t have, he reminded himself as his tightening groin ached a warning. Stacey Winner was forbidden fruit. His life was fast-moving with no room for passengers. She was Niahl’s beloved kid sister, and he had no intention of risking his friendship with Niahl.

As if she knew the path his thoughts were taking, Stacey glanced his way, then swung away fast. Was she blushing? Did he affect her as she affected him? Should he care? Only one thing was certain: beneath the professional shell she had developed over the past five years, the same fire burned. She was just better at hiding it.

But uncovering that passion and watching it break free was a pleasure he would never know.

While he’d been studying Stacey, the ballroom had filled up. The smiles on the faces of his guests confirmed what he already knew. Party Planners had done a great job. He returned Stacey’s glance with a shrug and a stare full of irony that said, Well done.

Watch me, the demon glint insisted. I’m not done yet.

Oh, he would. How could he not, when the gown she was wearing displayed every luscious curve, and though her flamboyant red hair had been tamed for the evening it wouldn’t take much to pull out those pins to fist a hank and kiss her neck? The hairstyle flaunted cheekbones he hadn’t even realised existed. Maybe they hadn’t existed five years ago. Maybe a lot of things had changed in five years. He felt a spear of jealousy to think of some man—maybe men—touching her. Which was ridiculous when she would never be his.

Smoothing his hackles back down again, he continued his inspection. It was Stacey’s quiet confidence that impressed him the most, he decided. That and the glaringly obvious—that she was classy and stylish with a particular brand of humour that appealed to him.

Avoiding close contact with Stacey was a must, he accepted with a grim twist to his mouth. His party in the mountains was a no-go if he wanted to keep things platonic between them. He was a man, not a saint.

A fact that was proved the very next moment when he noticed an elderly ambassador place his wizened paw on Stacey’s back. The urge to knock him away was overwhelming, which was ridiculous. He was more in control than that, surely?

Apparently not, he accepted as he strode across the ballroom? She was his. To protect, he amended swiftly, as he would protect any woman in the same situation.

By the time he reached Stacey, she had skilfully evaded the aging satyr and moved on, but no sooner had she extricated herself from one difficult situation than she was confronted by another in the form of a notoriously difficult film star. The prima donna had already laid waste to several junior members of the Party Planners team by the time Stacey reached the tense group. With a quick kind word to her co-workers, she took over, making it clear that anything the woman wanted would be provided. The diva was already seated in the prized central spot where everyone could see and admire her, but there appeared to be something on the table that displeased her. Curious as to what this might be, he drew closer.

‘Remove that disgusting greenery,’ the woman instructed. ‘My people should have informed you that I’m allergic to foliage, and only white roses are acceptable on my table.’

Where exactly would she get white roses at this late stage? he wondered as Stacey soothed the woman, while discreetly giving instructions to a member of her team. Clearly determined to keep everything under control and to protect his other guests, she showed a steely front as she moved quickly into action.

‘Nothing is too much trouble for a VIP everyone is honoured to welcome,’ she assured the star. ‘I will personally ensure that this unfortunate error is put right immediately. In the meantime,’ she added, calling a waiter, ‘a magnum of vintage champagne for our guest. And perhaps you would like to meet Prince Albert of Villebourg sur Mer?’ she suggested to the now somewhat mollified celebrity.

As the diva’s eyes gleamed, he thought, Bravo, Stacey. And bravo a second time, he concluded wryly as an assistant hurried into the ballroom with a florist in tow. Stacey had not only arranged an exclusive photo shoot with the prince for her difficult guest, but had arranged for the orchestra to play the theme tune from the diva’s latest film, and while this was happening the original centrepiece was being replaced by one composed entirely of white roses.

A triumph, Señorita Winner! He was pleased for her. But—was he imagining it or had Stacey just stared at him with a ‘Now what have you got to say for yourself?’ smile? Whatever he thought he knew about Stacey, he realised he had a lot to learn, and she had made him impatient to fill in the gaps.

There would always be hitches, Stacey accepted as she continued with her duties. Solving those hitches was half the fun of the job. It pleased her to find answers, and to make people happy. And not just because Señor Iron Britches was in the room, though Luc rocked her world and made her body yearn each time their stares clashed. Formal wear suited him. Emphasising his height and the width of his shoulders, it gilded the darkly glittering glamour he was famous for. Though Luc looked just as good in a pair of banged-up jeans…or those shots of him in polo magazines wearing tight-fitting breeches… Better not think about tight-fitting breeches, or she wouldn’t get any work done. She had better things to do than admire a client’s butt.

In her defence, not every client had a butt like Lucas Da Silva.