Читать книгу The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella - Мишель Смарт, Michelle Smart - Страница 11

CAUGHT IN THE tide of bodies, Tabitha entered the enormous ballroom.

Her hand flew to her throat as she took in the lavish transformation the already opulent room had undergone.

From the grand high ceiling hung balloons of gold, silver and white, the walls lined with heavy drapes following the colour theme. In the far corner sat the champagne fountain the staff had been talking about for days.

Everything glittered. Everything shone, especially the colourful, fabulously dressed guests.

It was like entering a magical wonderland and Tabitha’s heart ached at the beauty of it.

She finished her champagne, placed the empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter and took her place amongst the ladies forming a long line to the left of the springy wooden dance floor.

The gentlemen lined up on the right and then the orchestra struck the first note of the first tune. Four ballet dancers appeared and performed a short but exquisite dance for them. No sooner had they danced out of the ballroom to rapturous applause than two-dozen professional ballroom dancers, notable for the ladies’ all-white gowns and the gentlemen’s traditional black tail suits, took to the floor and performed the first waltz.

It had been a long time since Tabitha’s ballroom dancing lessons at school. It was the one lesson every pupil had looked forward to and she’d been no exception. She’d never imagined then that she would have to wait so long to put the moves she’d learned into practice.

These dancers were incredible and the whispers around her indicated there were world champions amongst them.

Yet she found her gaze darting over the line of gentlemen on the other side of the room.

She shouldn’t be looking for him, she scolded herself. Hoping that his words about finding her were true was nothing but a fool’s wish, and a dangerous one at that. If Giannis discovered she was an employee, she would lose everything.

And, even if he had meant it, there were one-hundred and ninety-nine other women here, most of them far more attractive than she was.

He’d probably forgotten her already.

The professional dancers finished their waltz and then came the words Tabitha had once longed to hear in a setting just like this, and not from a school mistress: ‘Alles Walzer!’

Everyone dance!

The gentlemen set off towards the ladies.

Excitement surged inside her.

For so many years she had dreamed of this moment, yet for so many she’d stopped believing it could happen.

She didn’t even care that the gentleman making a beeline towards her was old enough to be her father and short enough to fit in her handbag.

When he was only a couple of feet from her, his path was suddenly blocked by another, much taller and broader figure who seemed to appear from nowhere.

Her heart stopped then, after a breathless pause, kick-started back to life with fury.

Giannis stood before her, his head tilted, a gleam in his eyes as bright as the chandeliers hanging amidst the balloons above them.

‘Darf ich bitten?’

The traditional way of asking a lady to dance at a Viennese Ball.

The very words Tabitha had once dreamed of hearing.

She stared into the clear blue eyes, the strangest of feelings forming in her veins.

Her knees sank into a curtsey without any input from her brain.

Strong nostrils flared. He put a hand to his stomach and inclined his head in a bow.

Then he took hold of her right hand with his left and slipped his other hand around her waist to rest just above the small of her back.

Sensation shot through the fingers being held in his, seeping straight into her bloodstream.

Muscle memory took control of Tabitha’s left hand and she placed it on his right bicep, splaying the thumb away from her fingers to cup it.

The orchestra struck the first note and then she was being spun across the great ballroom in his arms.

In Giannis Basinas’s arms.

Her first ever dance with a man.

This man.

This man who controlled their moves effortlessly and steered them around the other couples without his clear blue eyes ever leaving hers.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the face that had captured her attention from that very first glance either.

And nor could she stop herself breathing in his spicy scent.

But, even with the feeling that she had entered the most magical of dreams strong inside her, there was a voice in her head whispering that this one dance was all she could have with him.

Never mind the danger that being with him put her in, he would want to dance with other women. If the rumours were true and this ball was a ruse for him to find a new wife then he would want to spread himself out and talk and dance with as many women as he could.

It felt as if no time had passed at all when the dance finished. The couples around them parted like the Red Sea.

Tabitha let out a breath that contained both relief and disappointment and moved her hand from his arm. But there was no relinquishing her hand by his. His grip on it tightened.

He brought his mouth to her ear. ‘You don’t think I’m letting you go, do you?’

Brand new sensation skittered down her skin at the warmth of his breath on her ear and cheek.

She tried to think of an excuse to pull away but her brain refused to co-operate.

Her body refused to co-operate too. Her hand reached back up to cup his bicep.

Around them, new couples formed.

The orchestra played the first note of the next dance and then she was being spun around the floor again.

All the reasons she needed to escape seeped away as the music made its way through her body and down into her dancing feet. Masked faces floated around her, dresses twirled, beautifully played music...

And the heavenly arms of Giannis Basinas.

When that dance finished and the master of ceremonies took to the floor to announce that it was time to dance the polonaise, she met Giannis’s eyes. There was a question in them.

She nodded. She remembered this dance.

He smiled and, holding her left hand, led her to the forming line of couples.

In and out they wove, separating then coming back together, curtseying, separating... She curtsied and danced with other men but her attention was always on Giannis.

She simply could not tear her gaze from him.

Not until they’d danced another waltz, and then a foxtrot, did he steer her away from the dance floor to one of the round tables on the raised dais running the lengths of the ballroom walls with a murmured, ‘Time for a drink.’

Unwilling to leave her side for a moment, Giannis signalled for champagne to be brought to them.

He had a feeling this ravishing creature would disappear if he turned his back on her.

She hadn’t exchanged one word with him during their time on the dance floor.

Their champagne was brought to them. He held his flute to hers then drank from it. ‘Are you hungry?’

She shook her head.

‘You don’t speak much, do you?’ he observed. In his experience, women always had to fill any silence with chatter, however inane. His sisters were the worst for it. Their mother always said Niki had been born with a never-ending battery in her tongue. He’d caught a glimpse of Niki in the arms of a bemused man trying to cut above her incessant chatter to waltz her around the dance floor.

Slim shoulders raised in a tiny shrug. ‘I do if I have something to say.’

He laughed. ‘And do you have anything to say, Tabitha?’

She shook her head again.

‘I thought Beddingdales taught its girls how to make small talk in social situations.’

There was the faintest spark of amusement in the cornflower eyes. ‘I failed that class.’

He laughed. ‘But obviously not the ballroom-dancing lessons.’

‘I liked those.’

‘Do you go to many balls?’

Another shake of the head.

‘I’m going to have to stop asking you closed questions, aren’t I?’

Now there was the slightest of curves in the full heart-shaped lips to accompany her shaking head.

He laughed. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

The faint amusement he’d detected vanished. She looked away from him, her lips pulling in together. ‘What do you want to know?’

Everything.

‘Let us start with how old you are.’

‘Twenty-two.’

That surprised him. The features he could see beneath the mask covering her face indicated youth but the way she carried herself suggested someone older.

‘Have you graduated from university yet or did you take a gap year?’

‘I didn’t go to university.’

That surprised him too. University was a rite of passage in his circle whether the person was academic or not. ‘What do you do?’

He waited for the stock answer of ‘charity work’.

There was a momentary hesitation and her face flushed with colour. ‘I’m in hospitality.’

He could have laughed. After charity work, hospitality was a great favourite for the idle rich wanting to make a point of their usefulness.

No wonder she blushed at the admission.

It surprised him, though. Tabitha struck him as being from a different mould to the usual socialites who filled his world.

What a waste of a good brain and a life, being content to spend days shopping and holidaying. It was a mindset he’d never understood. Giannis had been fortunate to be raised within one of Europe’s wealthiest families and, like his sisters, had inherited thirty million euros on his twenty-first birthday, but it was not in the Basinas nature to be idle. Undoubtedly wealth was something to be enjoyed but it was also a tool to create more wealth, not just for him but for others.

Giannis’s inheritance had been used to build a diverse portfolio of businesses which collectively employed over five thousand people. He had exacting standards, and demanded the best from every person he employed, no matter their position, but he rewarded them well for it both in pay and perks. The staff here in his palace hotel, for example, were considered the best paid hotel staff in the whole of Europe.

He did not understand how people could sleep if their wealth was generated by the unrewarded sweat of others.

He did not understand how people could actively seek to be freeloaders.

His wife had been a freeloader. She’d been many things. A liar. A gold-digger. A cheat. Even now, five years after the fact, five years since she and her unborn child had died, the anger and bitterness still lived, muted but still there.

He’d buried his wife and her child, and while the other mourners had mourned he’d had to bite his tongue to stop himself from ripping into their grief.

He would never allow himself to lose his anger entirely. If he forgot what it felt like he would lay himself open to making the same mistake again and Giannis never made the same mistake twice.

He’d been blinded by his wife’s beautiful façade to the lies beneath it.

What lay beneath this woman’s façade?

His fingers itched to pull the mask off Tabitha’s face and see if it was as beautiful as he suspected.

Her own fingers lifted her champagne flute to her lips.

A tiny drop of gold liquid spilled out of the corner of her mouth. A pink tongue darted out to capture it.

Veins heating at the less than chaste images that tiny action produced, Giannis drank some more of his champagne and swallowed it slowly.

Theos, he could not remember when he’d last been so physically aware of a woman.

He could not remember ever being so captivated by one.

Whatever lay beneath her façade, he could enjoy their time together and enjoy the heady feelings that erupted through him to hold her in his arms.

He rose to his feet and held out a hand to her. ‘Ready for another dance?’

Cornflower-blue eyes met his. A shy smile formed on her lips.

When her fingers wrapped around his he felt a shock of electricity dart through his skin.

* * *

Time slipped away from her.

Tabitha knew she was a fool for saying yes to another dance. She was a fool for not having made her excuses and left.

She could make all the excuses she wanted but the simple truth was she wanted to stay. She wanted this feeling to last as long as it could because she would never feel it again.

She would never have this night again.

Once the ball was over she would never dance with Giannis again.

Come the morning she would revert back to being a chambermaid and this night would be nothing but a memory.

She was in the midst of the most wonderful of dreams and she didn’t want to wake up.

They danced. They drank more champagne. They danced again.

The hands that held as they danced clasped tightly, their forearms pressing together.

The hand that had rested just above the small of her back moved up so it palmed her bare skin. She had never imagined the thrills that could race through her veins at a mere touch of flesh upon flesh.

Their eyes stayed locked. The guests surrounding them were nothing but blocks of colour in the periphery of her vision.

When the next group dance started there were no words to communicate their unspoken agreement to leave the dance floor.

More champagne was consumed.

Time slipped even faster. She tried her hardest to hold on to it but the great clock on the wall ticked on.

As midnight approached the dances slowed in tempo but Tabitha felt giddy. The champagne she’d drunk, the setting, the arms holding her so closely, the undiminished attention from the clear blue eyes holding hers...

She felt as if she were coming to life. Never before had she been so aware of the blood pumping through her body, of the beats of her heart, of the sensitivity of her skin.

And never before had she been so aware of another. Giannis. The olive skin, the strong throat, the strong jaw, the rise and fall of his chest...the sensuous mouth.

She no longer cared that he had the power to make her homeless with nothing but a single word. Maybe it was the champagne doing her thinking for her but these were feelings she had never known before. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Right now it didn’t exist.

‘The fireworks start soon,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Watch them with me.’

She shivered at the sensation of his breath against her skin. Her fingers reflexively tightened on his. They were pressed so tightly together her breasts were crushed through the fabric of her dress and his suit against his chest.

She smiled her answer.

His lips curved.

The orchestra was reaching the end of its piece.

Giannis put his nose to her ear and breathed in the soft, floral scent.

He ached to take this ravishing creature somewhere private and feel those heart-shaped lips against his own.

When he had imagined this night he had seen himself dancing with a parade of women, making bored small talk in the vain hope one might capture his attention.

He’d never imagined he would find someone before the dancing had even started and be greedy to keep her in his arms. Ballroom dancing was a chore he’d endured at his boarding school but there was nothing chore-like about dancing with this enigmatic woman with whom small talk had proven itself unnecessary. He could dance with her all night. He would dance with her all night.

But the dancing was about to finish for a short period while the orchestra took a break and the firework display took place.

He knew the best spot to watch it with her.

Drifting his hand further up her back, marvelling at the soft texture of her skin, he found the spot where her spine formed at the base of her neck and circled a finger around it. Then he pressed his cheek against hers, a last contact of their bodies before he pulled away and guided her out of the ballroom.

Hands clasped tightly together, they walked past the champagne fountain. He picked a glass up and handed it to her then took one for himself.

The corridor they stepped into was deserted but the rooms they passed were full of revellers wanting a break from the dancing for food or to rest their feet.

Outside in the gardens, the scent of roses in bloom filled the warm air.

Giannis loved the palace hotel gardens at night. Beautiful though it was by day, the night brought a new dimension to it, imagery from childhood books coming to life amongst the carved statues, water fountains and, further back, in the thick hedges that formed the famed maze.

The spot he took Tabitha to was in a white gazebo in a secluded part of the garden. She stared at the vast structure perfectly suited to such lavish grounds and imagined aristocracy from centuries ago treading this same path.

Flutes of champagne in hand, they stood at the balustrade, arms pressed together, and watched the guests spill out onto the vast lawn, but they were blurs in Tabitha’s eyes, her senses too attuned to the man beside her for anything else to sink in with any substance.

‘How long are you in Vienna for?’ he asked casually, a question to make her stomach turn.

Before she could think of an answer, the moonlight caught one of the figures on the lawn, mask removed. Tabitha’s blood turned cold in an instant as recognition flashed at her.

It was her stepsister, Fiona.

She hadn’t had any communication with her in well over four years, not since Tabitha had been forced to leave the family home.

So many emotions rushed through her to see Fiona there, dressed in a beautiful gown that no doubt had been paid for by money intended to be Tabitha’s inheritance, but the primary emotion that shot through her like an echo was fear.

Fiona had made her life a living hell.

Tabitha’s fingers tightened around the now empty champagne flute, but she must have exerted too much subconscious pressure for the glass shattered in her hand.

She jumped back as shards of glass fell to the ground, too shocked at seeing her stepsister—how had she not noticed her before?—to realise her hand was bleeding until she caught Giannis’s concerned stare.

He snatched at her hand and peered closely at it. ‘Are you okay?’

She inhaled deeply through the shock and stinging pain and managed to nod.

‘We should get a doctor to look at this. I’ll make a call and see if we have one here.’ Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to tug off the black cravat around his neck.

‘I don’t need a doctor.’ A drop of blood rolled off the palm of her hand. She took another deep breath. ‘It’s superficial. Just a cut.’

She would have argued against a doctor even if she’d severed half her hand. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. The mask and the dress gave her anonymity amongst her colleagues but if anyone who knew her were to look too closely the game would be over. Now she knew Fiona was here—and maybe Saffron too—she dared not risk it. It wasn’t just that her identity would be blown. The thought of seeing either of them without any preparation was an ordeal she was in no way ready to put herself through.

She remembered the day she’d first met them and how excited she’d been at the thought of having two big sisters, along with a new mother, and her heart clenched at the trusting innocence of her ten-year-old self.

The cravat freed, Giannis gave it a sharp flick then wrapped it gently around her bleeding hand. ‘That’s a lot of blood for a superficial cut.’

‘That’s the body doing what it’s designed to do. I’ll find a bathroom and clean it out.’

He kept his hand on the cravat wrapped around her cut. ‘My apartment is right behind us. We can clean it there and assess for damage.’

She was quite sure the flow of blood seeping from her wound increased at the casual way he said ‘we’.

When her gaze drifted back up to meet his eyes there was a lurch in both her heart and stomach.

If the choice was to dart across the garden and risk facing her stepsister, or to go to the apartment of this man who, despite his being a virtual stranger, she felt a strange sense of safety being with...