Читать книгу The Accidental Mistress - Sophie Weston - Страница 8

DOMINIC TEMPLETON-BURKE was sitting in the oak-panelled library of the Explorers’ Reading Room when his cellphone gave a discreet cough. It was so discreet it was almost inaudible, in fact. Even so, three assorted explorers looked up and glared.

‘Sorry,’ Dom mouthed.

He went out into the corridor. Tall windows looked down onto a rustic garden, incongruous in the centre of London. He settled himself into a window seat and put the phone to his ear. Below him, late roses were golden in the September sun.

‘Yes, Jay?’

‘My staff tell me you were perfectly bloody.’ Jay Christopher sounded mildly amused.

Dom shifted uncomfortably. Jay was an old friend. ‘Not my scene,’ he said excusingly.

Jay was unsurprised. ‘I warned you. Why don’t you just take the book deal? That would sort out all the funding problems at a shot.’

‘I keep telling you. I’m a doer, not a writer.’

Jay sighed. ‘Okay. Well, Molly has got an idea.’

‘What sort of idea?’ said Dom suspiciously.

‘Oh, some celebrity bash she thinks you should go to. It will get plenty of coverage. Not inspired. But it’s a start. She’ll call you. Do what she says, Dom,’ he ended warningly. ‘She knows what’s she’s doing.’

Molly had obviously been waiting for Jay to finish the softening up process. She rang as soon as he’d put the phone down.

‘Hi, Dom. Party tonight. The Flamingo Pool,’ she said briskly. ‘Wear something tasty.’

Dom blinked. ‘Tasty?’

‘Something that will get you noticed. We need those photographs in the papers tomorrow.’

Dominic could not resist it. ‘You mean like a parka and goggles and no knickers?’

Molly choked on a laugh in spite of herself. ‘You can be a real pain in the ass,’ she informed him. ‘But you’re worth it for the cabaret. Go and rent yourself some designer togs and have a session on the sunbed. We’re talking serious crumpet for the thinking woman, here.’

Dominic’s heart sank. ‘Whose party?’ he said gloomily.

‘Pepper Calhoun. For her new business. Basically the fashion crowd,’ said Molly hardily. ‘I know it’s not your scene, but tough. Where there are frocks there are photographers. Where there are photographers there are celebrities. And where there are celebrities there are columnists. Write yourself two appealing sentences, learn them off by heart, then say them to everyone you meet.’

‘Sounds like a fun evening.’

‘Who said anything about fun? I thought this was your work!’

Dominic laughed and capitulated. ‘You’ve got me there,’ he said ruefully. ‘Okay. Tell me where to go and I’ll do the pretty.’

Molly gave him the club address. ‘Don’t get there before eleven-thirty,’ she said briskly. ‘And polish up your biceps for the cameras. Gotta go. See you tonight.’

Dom went back to the library and submerged himself in the saving sanity of ice drift.

‘Somewhere I lost about three hours today,’ Izzy said, unpacking boxes from the back of the taxi while Molly di Peretti rang the bell in the Flamingo Pool’s ominously dark entrance. ‘We were supposed to go out for pizza. But then it took longer to clear up than I expected.

‘Publicity parties always take longer than you expect,’ said Molly absently. The intercom asked a question and she leant towards it. ‘Hi, Franco, it’s me. We’ve brought the stuff for the Out of the Attic party.’

‘Then Pepper put in an extra meeting,’ said Izzy, struggling with a couple of banners that, even folded, were as big as she was. ‘And Jemima booked me into her hairdresser’s. Somehow lunch just got lost.’

The door swung open by remote control. Molly propped it open with her briefcase and came back to the taxi to help unload. Together she and Izzy carried boxes of balloons, decorations and party favours into the building.

‘Leave them there,’ said Molly with authority. ‘Josh can carry them upstairs and put them up. That’s what new recruits are for. You and I are management.’

‘Huh. Management doesn’t eat, apparently.’

‘Proves we’re serious,’ said Molly hardily. ‘And we’re running the coolest party of the season to prove it.’

Izzy followed her up the stairs and onto the main dance floor. She stopped dead.

‘This is cool?’ she said incredulously.

Izzy liked to dance, and she went to a lot of clubs. She was used to a driving beat and searing spotlights that blinked through the feverish dark. It was vibrant, exciting, dangerous. But the room she had entered was just depressing. In the light of a hundred-watt bulb, the floor was stained, the mirrors smeared and the bar had bits gouged out of it.

‘Are you sure?’

Molly di Peretti chuckled. ‘This is what they all look like when the lights are on. The imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down. It’s going to be great. A real party to remember. Trust me.’

She was right, too. It was the same basic crowd as the morning. But this evening the women brought their partners. And Culp and Christopher’s list of celebrity guests had all turned up, agog. The clothes were stylish; the music was hot.

Pepper, who did not normally go clubbing, began to look punch drunk by eleven o’clock. Her Steven, steady as a rock, put an arm round her.

‘How long do you have to stay, my love?’

Pepper leaned gratefully into his shoulder but said, ‘It’s my party. I’ll stick it out to the end.’

He looked down at her tenderly. ‘Sure? No one would notice if I carried you off right now. Would they, Izzy?’

Izzy looked away. Steven Konig was not her type, but there was something about the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her cousin that made her almost—well, sad. Grow up, she told herself. You’re the one who keeps passing on the third date. Your choice.

Aloud she said, ‘’Course they wouldn’t. Anyway, you won’t get me out of here till dawn. If you want someone from Out of the Attic to hand out the balloons and turn off the lights, I’ll do it.’

Steven smiled at her gratefully. And it was quite, quite different from the way he looked at Pepper. Just as well, thought Izzy, ignoring the little pain round her heart. She tossed her hair and boogied to the beat. ‘Take her home, Steven. And don’t wait up. This is my element. I was born to dance.’

She flung herself back on the dance floor and set out to prove it.

Izzy did not remember that she was running on her emergency tank. The combined effects of too many late nights and thirty hours without solid food gave her a pleasant sense of flying. There was no deadline, no last-minute hitches to sort out, no speeches to write. Above all, there was no man pressing her to respond to something she knew in her bones was not what she wanted.

She was wearing Out of the Attic’s Christmas party number. Bright red, lots of skirt, most of it slashed to hip height and a boned top that left her shoulders bare and her cleavage spectacular. Jemima’s hairstylist had got rid of her gelled queue, and now feathery red hair tumbled seductively about her bare shoulders. Izzy threw out her arms and let the music take her.

Or so it seemed to Dominic Templeton-Burke, walking in alone at midnight.

He stopped dead. ‘Who—is—that?’ he said with deep appreciation.

Molly di Peretti had been called to sign him in. She looked at the wild thing in scarlet on the dance floor and grinned. ‘That’s management. Or a woman with hidden depths, depending on your point of view.’

Dominic took an enthusiastic step forward.

‘My point of view is altogether too far away from the hottest babe in the place. Lead me to her.’

Molly barred his path. ‘Hey. Let’s not forget what we’re doing here. This is supposed to be work.’

Dom did not take his eyes off the supple whip-fast dancer. His lips twitched. ‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ he assured Molly. He swung past her with a neat evasive movement.

She blocked him even more neatly. ‘Focus, Dominic. Focus! The point of tonight is to get you off the science pages and into the gossip columns.’

The dancer raised her arms above her head. Her head fell back, eyes shut, lips parted. She was utterly surrendered to the music. Dom drew a soundless breath.

‘Done,’ he said, putting Molly out of his way with one decisive movement.

But she was a tryer. She hung onto his arm. ‘The woman you’ve got your greedy eye on has absolutely no publicity profile at all. There’s no point in you dancing with her.’

Dom smiled.

‘Well, no professional point,’ Molly amended. She snorted. ‘Look, there’s only one place dancing like that will get you, and it isn’t into tomorrow’s newspapers. You do realise that?’

Dom’s smile widened wickedly. But his eyes did not waver. He was not looking at Molly. ‘I’m counting on it.’

Molly let him go and flung up her hands. ‘Okay. Waste your best chance. See if I care.’

But she could see that it did not matter what she said. He was already moving purposefully into the dancing crowd. She did not think he’d even heard her.

‘Grrrr,’ she said. Then shrugged. She’d just have to tell Abby that she had done her best and Dom wouldn’t cooperate. Somehow she did not think Abby would be surprised.

Dom had never seen anyone so completely absorbed. He homed in on the wild haired dancer with the unstoppable force of an arrow, brushing other people aside like falling leaves. They fell back, amused, seeing where he was headed. Not much doubt about his object; everyone could see that. Dancers parted obligingly, as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

In the end it seemed that there was only one person who did not know where he was headed. Eyes tight shut, his lady in red was in her own world, letting her hips do the talking.

Eloquently, thought Dominic. His breath quickened.

She was like a fantasy creature. Concentrated. Intense. Passionate.

In the flickering light, droplets seemed to gleam on the skin between her breasts. Condensation from the air conditioning? Some sparkly cosmetic? Sweat? Whatever it was, she was oblivious. Dom wanted to lick it off and find out.

The heat of desire hit him in the throat. For a moment he could hardly breathe. And still she didn’t notice.

He reached her. He put a hand on her swaying hip. It was very gentle, but—and with a shock Dom realised it—it said, Mine.

The woman’s eyes flew open as if he had bounced her out of a deep sleep. Her hips did not stop moving to the beat but for a second her feet tangled themselves up. She faltered, almost losing the rhythm.

Before she could stagger Dom put his other round her waist and braced her, his open palm along her spine. Her back was naked.

Her eyes widened but the music had her in thrall. She did not stop moving. He matched his hip movements to hers.

‘You are amazing,’ he said. Well, he mouthed it at her. Not much hope of her hearing him over the thunderous guitars. ‘I want some.’

Some? All! But he could take that up later.

She shook her head. But he could not tell if that was a rejection or she just couldn’t hear him.

He hesitated. Then thought, She’s not dancing as if she’s rejecting me.

Dom moved in closer. And closer. Their hips touched.

The woman did not pull away. Oh, she swayed back, of course. But when the music told her to she swayed forward, too. Her breasts brushed across his chest—deliberately? Or was it by chance? No more than an accidental touch, caused by her abandonment to the music? Did she even see him?

Dom groaned, unheard. And then realised their eyes were locked. Something told him she was seeing the moment of intense sensation in his face. Something made her eyes gleam anyway. Amusement? Sheer female triumph? Lust?

He felt sweat break out along the back of his neck. If it isn’t lust, I’m in deep trouble.

The track finished. For a moment she seemed to hang suspended, not unmoving exactly, but like a butterfly, beating the air with its wings while it hesitates between one direction and the next. He put a hand on her hip. No doubt about this one. Totally deliberate.

She looked startled.

And then, with a crash, the air was full of a salsa beat, fast and sexy. She plunged into a spiky routine and Dom did something he had never done before. He pulled her into his arms almost roughly, slid his thigh between hers, and took control.

She seemed to shimmer in his hands. Not with resistance, but as if for a moment she did not know what was happening. Then, in a second, he felt her total surrender.

Yes!

Her body moulded itself against him, as if they had danced like this a thousand times before. And they went into a routine that he had not even realised he knew.

It was like a cycle of the universe. Urgent, fast, yet still somehow unhurried. Tense, exciting, but underneath they both knew they were on a straight road and journey’s end was inevitable.

It was like making love.

The music changed. Dom bent his tall head, brushed her soft hair away and put his lips to her ear.

‘Time we were somewhere else.’

He felt her hesitate for the tiniest moment. He could not bear it. His hands tightened in spite of himself.

‘Please,’ he said in a ragged voice. He could not ever remember saying please like that before. It shocked him for a moment.

But then she shook back her head and gave him the most wonderful smile, and he forgot everything except that they had to be alone. Now.

‘Get your coat,’ he said curtly.

Her eyes widened. She looked almost dazed.

‘No coat?’

She swallowed. Shook her head.

‘Then let’s go.’

He put a hand under her bare elbow and turned her towards the door. She did not resist but she was quivering. Well, hell, what was surprising about that? So was he.

They were like machines that had just been turned on. Engines thrumming. Idling, but under power. Ready.

He wanted her so badly it hurt. And she wanted him. No doubt about that. She was not looking anywhere but at him, and the pulse in her throat throbbed to the same beat as his own.

Dom gave a laugh that was half a groan.

‘Shawl? Bag?’

She did not answer. But there was a tiny bag in the same scarlet material as her dress on the bar. Dom swept it up as they passed.

On the stairs, her trembling increased. She clung to him.

‘You should have brought a coat,’ scolded Dom, teasing.

But he paused to shrug off his jacket and tuck it round her shoulders. As the silk lining slid over her shoulders she gave a voluptuous shiver. Their bodies were so close that he felt it run through from hip to heart.

‘Don’t do that,’ he murmured, in mock despair. ‘Not yet anyway.’

She gave a little excited laugh, and leaned closer.

‘Yes,’ he agreed to that silent demand. ‘Home. Now.’

He pushed open the outer door into the September night. She swayed.

‘Imagination,’ she said.

Late arrivals were getting out of a taxi. Dom commandeered it. He looked over his shoulder. ‘What?’

‘Imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down.’

He turned to face her. ‘A philosopher,’ he said, his eyes full of tender amusement. ‘You’re wrong, though. My imagination got going the moment I walked into that place and saw you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me?’

She stopped swaying.

‘Yes,’ she said.

It was not until later—a lot later, when Dom was asking himself what on earth had happened—that he remembered. She had sounded surprised.