Читать книгу Bad Influence - SUSANNE MCCARTHY - Страница 7

THE office of the chief executive of the Geldard Corporation was on the top floor of Geldard House, one of the tallest blocks in the City, with a spectacular view over London—from the silver ribbon of the Thames almost at its feet to the distant blue-grey hills of Hertfordshire, away beyond its northern suburbs.

Georgia could vividly recall the first time she had come up here with her grandfather, when the building had still been a concrete shell. Stomping around in his yellow hardhat, doling out orders right and left to the builders, he had insisted on walking almost to the edge of the open floor—the point where she was standing now—though then there had been no glass in place and the wind had been whistling through like a hurricane.

But old George Geldard had cared for nothing, not even the forces of nature—and certainly not for the fact that the costs of the building were spiralling while the prospects of letting space in it were tumbling. ‘Hold your nerve,’ he had used to say whenever she’d queried the wisdom of it. ‘Keep planning your moves. If you believe you can win, you will win.’

He had lived just long enough to see it completed—the pinnacle of his empire and very nearly its ruin. To finance it he had been forced to float a new share issue, even though it had meant losing overall control of the company; he had planned it to be only a short-term measure, until he could afford to buy back enough shares to hold a majority once again. She had been working to achieve that ever since.

The task would have been easier if it hadn’t been for the constant, bitter rivalry between her two uncles; it was ironic that in his disappointment at her birth her grandfather had settled blocks of shares on his own nephew and his wife’s, believing the management of the company would one day have to pass into their hands—they were so busy fighting each other, they couldn’t have managed a prayer meeting in a nunnery.

It had largely been their inability to agree on a compromise candidate that had enabled her to win the boardroom battle to be elected chief executive—in spite of the Old Man’s wishes, it had been no foregone conclusion. And in the three years since then she had had to fight every inch of the way to prove to the sceptics—particularly within the more conservative institutional holdings—that she was neither too young, nor the wrong gender, to shoulder such a substantial responsibility.

She knew that there were many who were watching and waiting for her to make a mistake. But she had worked damned hard, and at last she was beginning to feel that she was respected in her own right, not just as the Old Man’s granddaughter. It amused her when she heard herself described as a chip off the old block—even-the highest accolade—as George Geldard the Second.

Of course, the price of her success had been high—a single-minded ambition that could permit nothing to distract her. But it was a price she had always been willing to pay; she had every reason to be happy with her life—she had everything that money could buy. It would just be greedy to ask for anything more…

A discreet tap at the door brought her out of her reverie, and she moved back to her desk. ‘Come in.’ ‘Georgia? Sorry to interrupt—I hope you weren’t busy?’ Bernard Harrison had been the company secretary for almost fifteen years; loyal and dependable, he was one of the few people she felt she could trust. She smiled at him warmly. ‘Not at all,’ she assured him. ‘I was just daydreaming, I’m afraid.’

He frowned, studying her in some concern. ‘That’s not like you. But you do look tired, you know—you ought to take a holiday.’

‘I had a holiday in February,’ she reminded him with a touch of asperity.

‘Yes-but that was almost three months ago,’ he countered, with the bluntness of one who could remind her what she had looked like in a gym-slip, with her hair in bunches. ‘And, to be honest, it didn’t look as if it did you a great deal of good. I know you don’t want to tell me what happened that last afternoon—’

‘Nothing happened,’ she returned with uncharacteristic impatience. ‘Heavens, I was only gone for a couple of hours—anyone would think I’d been missing for a week! I just went for a walk, that’s all.’

‘Without telling anyone where you were going…’

‘So I was irresponsible for one afternoon! Good heavens, I was on holiday—I felt like being off the leash for a while,

just being like any other holidaymaker, strolling around without anyone knowing who I was…Anyway, what was it you wanted, Bernard?’ she added, quickly changing the subject before he could probe any more.

‘You asked me to try to find out a little about this holding company that’s been buying up our shares,’ he reminded her, laying a slim file on the desk; the label, neatly printed in his own square hand, proclaimed “Falcon Holdings”. ‘Not much success, I’m afraid—it’s owned by a company in New York, which in turn is owned by a private trust registered in the Bahamas.’

Georgia sighed, picking up the file. ‘I was afraid of that,’ she mused wryly. ‘I suppose there’s no way of finding out who controls the trust?’

Bernard shook his head. ‘I’ve tried, but it’s like banging your head against a brick wall when you come up against their rules of banking secrecy.’

‘Ah, well…Thank you, Bernard—you did your best. We’ll just have to watch things very carefully. If there is a bid, do you think we’ll be able to fight it off?’

‘I would hope so,’ he assured her soberly. ‘I think we’d be able to keep most of the private shareholders with us. It’s the institutions I’d be concerned about—if the offer was high enough, they’d have to think very seriously about their own sharedholders’ interests.’

Georgia clenched her fist. ‘I’ll fight it, Bernard,’ she declared. ‘Every inch—they’ll find I won’t be a walkover.’

‘No one would expect anything else from you—the way you’ve run this company for the past three years proves that. Incidentally,’ he added on a note of diffidence, ‘this may be no more than a coincidence—but on the other hand…?’

He put a copy of one of the more sensationalist tabloid newspapers down on the desk in front of her. She glanced up at him in amused surprise, and then her heart gave a sudden thud as she recognised the man in the front-page picture beneath the blazoned headline, LUCKY DIGGER.

Only the iron self-control instilled by her grandfather enabled her to conceal her reaction.

Australian business tycoon Jake Morgan arrived in Britain last week, and already he’s got two new women in his life—stunning dark-haired supermodel girlfriend Sheena Smith, and winning three-year-old racehorse Blondie…

Blondie…?

Even in the black and white newsprint there was an unmistakable air of arrogance in the set of those wide shoulders, a challenging glint in those deep-set eyes. He’d been here a week, the story said—but it didn’t say why he’d come or how long he was planning to stay. She picked up the Falcon Holdings file in her other hand, eyeing it speculatively.

‘Yes, you…could be right, Bernard,’ she managed, somehow keeping her voice steady. ‘Well spotted.’

Had he found out who she was? It had probably been inevitable—though unlike him she sought to avoid personal publicity as much as possible. Newspaper editors seemed to be fascinated by the fact that a female—particulary a young blonde female—was running such a substantial company, and couldn’t resist using a photograph of her whenever they ran a story about Geldard’s. But she had hoped that he might not recognise her—after all, she had been soaking wet at the time they had met.

Well, if he thought he would be able to use that incident to blackmail her in some way, he would be disappointed, she vowed resolutely. No one knew about it, and she would simply deny that it had ever happened.

The May Day Ball in aid of the Geldard Foundation was one of the most glittering events of the social calendar. The foundation had been another of her grandfather’s grand gestures, set up to support research into heart disease—unfortunately he had stubbornly refused to listen himself to the advice available, dismissing all his doctor’s pleas to give up his brandy and cigars.

The grand ballroom of one of London’s top hotels was the venue for the occasion, where two hundred and fifty of the cream of society could dine and dance in elegant style into the small hours of the morning while being parted from as much money as possible in the name of a good cause.

Georgia cast a last anxious glance over the setting as the first of the Bentleys and Rolls Royces began to disgorge their elegant occupants outside the imposing entrance. It was as near perfect as six long months of hard work by the committee—and several days by the staff of the hotel—could make it. Long white-clothed tables, awash with silver and crystal, sparkled beneath the massive chandeliers that swung from the lofty ceiling, and the wide expanse of parquet dance-floor gleamed with polish.

It had occurred to her more than once that it would probably be a great deal easier to call the whole thing off and simply write to people asking for a financial contribution, instead of going to these lengths to prise open their wallets. But she was aware that her grandfather had had a more cynical motive in mind—it did the company a great deal of good commercially to be associated with such a prestigious social event.

‘Georgie, darling! What a fabulous dress! And the Geldard diamonds too, I see. So that’s the reason why some of these “waiters” have such magnificent shoulders!’

Georgia turned, smiling in welcome for her old schoolfriend, now married into the minor echelons of the aristocracy. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she responded lightly. ‘The insurance company insisted on it I’d really rather leave the damned things in the vault and wear paste.’

‘Oh no, surely not,’ Margot protested, shocked. ‘They’re so beautiful—if they were mine, I’d wear them all the time. Even to bed! Especially if one of those gorgeous hunks had to come along to keep an eye on them!’ she added outrageously, slanting a flirtatious eye over one of the stonefaced security-guards who had been assigned to protect the priceless gems around Georgia’s throat, his bulk not too discreetly concealed beneath the white dinner jacket of a waiter.

Georgia shook her head, laughing. ‘Margot, you’re impossible! You’re supposed to be a respectable married woman these days.’

‘Me? Respectable?’ her friend gurgled. ‘Not likely. Oh, Charles is a dear, but he’s just a husband, after all. But what about you?’ she added, frowning slightly as she held Georgia at arm’s length and subjected her to a critical survey. ‘How do you keep your figure? I’ll swear you’re even slimmer than the last time I saw you, and yet you eat like a horse!’

‘Oh, I…get a lot of exercise,’ Georgia explained, waving one beautifully manicured hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘And I…had a slight bout of flu or something earlier this year.’

‘Flu, huh?’ Margot’s searching eyes were watching her face for the slightest betraying flicker. ‘Not a man, then?’

‘Of course not!’ Georgia concealed a stab of alarm at her friend’s shrewd guess. ‘Why on earth should you think that?’

‘It’s usually the only way I ever get to lose any weight,’ Margot confessed ruefully. ‘Excitement while I’m falling in love, and pining when it’s all over! Though now I’m married I suppose I shall have to forego all that sort of fun.’

‘It doesn’t sound much like fun to me,’ Georgia returned drily.

Margot chuckled. ‘Ah, you ought to try it. In fact, it’s about time you did—it would do you good. Your grandfather’s got a lot to answer for, you know—I suppose he was only trying to do what he thought was best for you, but he ended up convincing you that no man could be interested in you for any other reason than your money.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Margot,’ Georgia protested, aware of a slight waver in her voice. ‘Oh, you’ll have to excuse me—I see some more guests arriving. I’d better go and do my duty.’ And she slipped away before her friend could ask any more probing questions.

As she crossed the foyer she caught a fleeting glimpse of her own reflection in the large gilded mirror on the wall. Was Margot right? Had her grandfather made her too suspicious? The image that looked back at her seemed to mock her. Poor little rich girl, it seemed to say—you’ve got everything, and yet you’ve got nothing.

Her hairdresser had swept up her hair in an elegant style, and her slim-fitting dress of silver-white satin had a pure simplicity of line, cut low across the honey-smooth curve of her breasts, hugging her slender figure right down to her ankles—all the better to show off the fabulous Geldard diamonds.

She didn’t actually like them very much; they were rather too ostentatious for her taste—a heavy collar of sparkling white gems, set in gold, with matching drops swinging from her small ears. They were reputed to be part of the Russian Crown Jewels, though Georgia was inclined to doubt the truth of that. Her grandfather had bought them for her grandmother as a silver wedding present; that lady, a plain Yorkshirewoman, had thought it a terrible waste of money, and Georgia heartily agreed with her—most of the time they were locked up in the vaults at the bank.

But at least while she wore them no one would doubt that the Geldard fortune was as healthy as ever. And if she was going to have to fight a hostile takeover bid, it was vital to keep up appearances.

‘Great party, Georgie! Just about everyone’s here!’

Georgia smiled, discreetly weaving her partner out of a potential collision; Robin Rustrom-Smith was an excellent dancer when he was sober, but at the moment he wasn’t. ‘Yes, it’s going very well,’ she agreed, glancing around the crowded room with satisfaction.

“Everyone” was indeed there—aristocrats rubbing shoulders with film stars and captains of industry, all willing to abandon their dignity to compete fiercely in a game of bingo to win trinkets that had cost less than they’d spend on breakfast, or to scrabble for the prize balloons. A swift glance at the slim Cartier watch on her wrist told her that it was almost midnight; she could at last begin to relax in the knowledge that the ball had raised a great deal of money for the foundation…

Suddenly she stiffened as a tall figure near the door caught her eye. It wasn’t the first time this had happened—several times over the past three months she had spotted a man of a certain height and build, with dark blond hair curling over his collar at the back, and her heart had tripped over itself until inevitably a second look confirmed that it was a complete stranger.

But this time she didn’t need a second look; there was no mistaking the arrogant set of those wide shoulders, the tilt of his head as he surveyed the room. The formal dinner jacket he was wearing was beautifully cut, but the vivid memory that flashed into her mind was of his bare chest, hard-muscled and bronzed by the sun, scattered with rough, curling, male hair…

Her heart fluttering in panic, she nudged Robin across to the far side of the dance-floor—fortunately his brain was rather too fuddled by the excellent champagne that had been flowing generously all evening for him to notice anything amiss. Hidden by the crowd of dancers, she watched warily, like a small mouse hiding in the long grass, hoping the farmyard cat wouldn’t notice she was there.

She had known that there was a risk that she would run into him if he stayed in England for any length of time. But what was he doing here tonight? His name wasn’t on the guest-list; and besides, he had only just arrived—if he had been there at dinner, she would certainly have seen him. Was it just an unlucky chance, or had he come looking for her?

Waltzing around the crowded dance-floor, she was barely aware of the music or of the glittering gathering enjoying themselves with an increasing degree of boisterousness beneath the sparkling chandeliers high above their heads, pastel-coloured balloons drifting around their feet, curling lengths of streamer decorating their hair and shoulders.

As the dance came to an end she was surrounded at once by a throng of admirers, clamouring for the chance of being next to lead her round the floor.

‘My turn, Georgie.’

‘Georgie, you promised me.’

‘Pardon the intrusion from the far-flung Colonies, boys, but I think this is my dance.’

It was that lazy, mocking drawl she had tried so hard to forget. To Georgia’s disgust, not one of the other claimants to her hand seemed willing to challenge the newcomer; groaning in protest, they conceded defeat, standing aside to let him step in. He held out one imperious hand, and she could do nothing but put hers in it and let him draw her out onto the dance-floor and into his arms.

He danced well, for a man who looked as if he’d be more at home on horseback, herding half a million sheep across the outback, she reflected with a touch of asperity. And she couldn’t deny that the elegant cut of a formal dinner jacket suited him remarkably well. But the memory of the last time he had held her in his arms was swirling in her brain, and all her usual cool poise had deserted her, leaving her feeling as gauche as a schoolgirl.

His soft laughter mocked her. ‘Well, good evening, Blondie. This is a pleasant surprise.’

She lifted her eyes to stare up at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded raggedly.

‘I bribed my way in,’ he admitted without shame. ‘I’m staying here at the hotel, and I was passing across the hall when I happened to look in—and who should I see but my little mermaid? So I collared one of those fearsome old dragons who always seem to run these things, and gave her a nice fat cheque to let me in. I was hoping I might run into you while I was in London, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be here.’ His voice took on a note of sardonic amusement. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you…with your clothes on.’

She returned him a look of cool dignity which she hoped would override the betraying hint of pink in her cheeks. ‘If you’re going to make coarse remarks like that, I shall walk off the dance-floor.’

He chuckled with laughter, the arm around her waist tightening just a fraction, as if to warn her not to try it. ‘I see you got your diamonds,’ he remarked, a hard edge in his voice. ‘Quite a set—the real thing too. You have been busy since the last time we met. Found yourself some rich fool to marry, did you? Who is it? That pasty-faced creep you were dancing with when I came in?’

‘Robin isn’t a creep!’ she protested hotly.

‘He isn’t man enough for you.’ He had drawn her closer, his warm breath stirring her hair, his hand sliding slowly down the length of her spine to mould intimately over the smooth curve of her derrière. ‘Don’t you sometimes wish, when you feel his scrawny hands on your smooth, satin skin, for a real lover?’ he taunted provocatively. ‘One whose touch would be warm and gentle on your soft, naked body—who would caress those ripe, firm, beautiful breasts with tenderness and who would make love to you all night, in every way you could possibly imagine…?’

Georgia drew in a sharp breath, shocked not so much by his words as by her own reaction to them; breathing the musky, male scent of him was conjuring a memory of that brief encounter on his yacht, a memory so vivid that she felt as if she was once again naked in his arms, her mouth bruised by his kisses, her creamy smooth skin flushed beneath that insolent dark gaze.

It took a considerable effort of will to regather the scattered threads of her composure. But she couldn’t let herself weaken—she knew only too well how swiftly he could take advantage of any lowering of her resistance. From beneath her lashes, she studied him warily. It seemed that he still didn’t know who she was. It was possible, of course—he had been here no more than a few minutes, and he might not have bothered to ask anyone her name.

Or, on the other hand, he could be playing some kind of cruel game with her. If he was the mysterious figure behind the holding company that was buying up Geldard shares, she was quite sure he would try to use their previous meeting to gain an unfair advantage—there was no mistaking the hint of ruthlessness about that hard mouth.

Either way, she had to keep her nerve, keep planning her moves. And, for the moment, it seemed that the best tactic was to play the confident, sexually assured siren he had taken her for. It was hardly a role that came naturally to her, but all she had to do was copy Margot’s style—it couldn’t be that difficult.

Slanting him a flirtatious smile, she lifted her eyes to his. ‘I…didn’t know you were planning to come to England,’ she remarked carefully. ‘You didn’t mention it.’

Only the slightest flicker of those dark eyes registered his surprise at her change of manner. ‘Well, now, as I recall we didn’t get too much time to talk about anything before you disappeared from my life,’ he responded on a note of mocking humour. ‘But since the only thing I knew about you was that you were English—at least I figured that from your accent—it seemed like the best way to find you was to come to London.’

Heavens, he must think she was stupid! She laughed lightly, hiding her annoyance behind a gloss of sophisticated amusement. ‘Really? You didn’t exactly rush, though—it’s been nearly three months.’

‘Ah, well…Unfortunately there were one or two business matters that forced me to go back to Australia first,’ he explained. ‘But I came as soon as I could.’

She shook her head, mimicking Margot’s best arch mannerisms. ‘No, really—what are you doing here?’ she persisted. ‘Do you have business interests in England?’

‘A few,’ he conceded, those enigmatic dark eyes giving nothing away. ‘I’m just looking around for anything that catches my eye. I’ve already picked up a nice little filly—as a matter of fact I named her Blondie, after you.’

Georgia’s jaw was aching with the effort of maintaining her smile. ‘So I saw in the paper. Am I supposed to be flattered?’

‘I like the name,’ he countered genially. ‘And I don’t know your real one.’

She laughed the implied question aside. ‘And where’s your other “filly” tonight?’ she enquired, trying for an air of worldly unconcern. ‘Not with you?’

‘You mean Sheena? No, she’s working—Paris or Rome or somewhere. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just…mildly curious,’ she responded, not quite able to keep her voice as even as she would have liked.

‘Not jealous, by any chance, are you?’ he taunted.

‘Jealous? Of course not.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders in a gesture of unconcern. ‘I have no reason to be jealous.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he murmured, drawing her closer again. ‘She’s almost as beautiful as you, but she doesn’t kiss like you. You tasted like honey and melted in my arms like a dream…’

‘I was…half-drowned,’ she choked out, her mask abruptly slipping.

‘So you were,’ he conceded softly, mockingly. ‘But you’re not half-drowned now.’

With a small stab of alarm she realised that he had waltzed her out through the open French windows at the far end of the dance-floor into a cool marble atrium, where a green cast-iron fountain played amid a riot of tropical palms beneath a high glass-domed ceiling. Before she could protest, he had drawn her back into the shadows behind one of the Doric columns that ran around the outer rim, and his mouth had claimed hers in a kiss that she didn’t know how to resist.

His lips moved over hers, warm and sensuous, and with a soft sigh she surrendered to their sweet persuasion, granting him admission to the moist, secret depths he sought. The musky male scent of his skin was drugging her mind, stirring an instinctive response that was far beyond the reach of reason.

She was curving herself into his demanding embrace, her tender breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest, her spine melting in the heat that was swirling in her blood. His sensuous tongue coiled around hers as his hands moulded intimately over the soft curves of her body with that warm, tender touch he had promised…

‘Why did you disappear like that?’ he breathed, the husky timbre of his voice caressing her. ‘I thought I’d never see you again. If it hadn’t been for one very damp blanket on the floor by the open window I might have thought you were a figment of my dreams. And now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to let you go—I want to make love to you…’

Abruptly his words brought her back to reality. What in hell was she doing, letting him kiss her again when she knew that he was a threat to everything she had worked for—everything her grandfather had worked for? Summoning all her strength, she forced her hands between them, struggling to push him away.

‘Damn that bloodless creep and his diamonds,’ he cursed, misunderstanding her reaction. ‘I can buy you diamonds—all the diamonds you want. Come upstairs to my suite and let me remind you what it’s like to be touched by hands that still have some warmth in them…’

‘Stop it—let me go…’ she begged, her voice rising in panic. ‘Leave me alone…’

‘It’s all right, Miss Geldard, we’ve got him!’

As Georgia blinked in bewilderment a sixteen-stone gorilla in a white dinner jacket caught Jake from behind in a massive bear-hug, dragging him off her as another swung a punch at his head. With the instincts of a street-fighter he ducked, the blow hitting the first gorilla square on the jaw as Jake barged the second in a low rugby tackle, bringing him down in a sprawling heap—and the world erupted in a mêlée of flying fists and the exploding flashbulbs of Press cameras.

‘Stop it! You’ve made a mistake!’ she cried, wishing she could vanish through the floor as the atrium filled with curious guests, coming out to stare.

Slowly the struggling mass on the floor resolved itself into three bruised and bloodied men, who drew cautiously apart and rose to their feet, eyeing each other with considerable hostility and suspicion. Jake shook his head, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab gingerly at a trickle of blood on his lip.

‘Would somebody mind telling me what in hell’s going on?’ he demanded, looking from his assailants to Georgia and back again.

She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m…sorry,’ she managed, conscious of the flaming heat in her cheeks. ‘These men are from the security firm responsible for protecting my diamonds.’

‘We thought you was trying to pinch ‘em,’ the first gorilla supplied. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Geldard—we was watching you dancing and everything looked kosher. Then the next minute you was missing, and when we got out here it looked like you was…having a bit of bother. I…suppose we jumped to the wrong conclusion,’ he added sheepishly. ‘No hard feelings, mate?’ he added to Jake. ‘We was just doing our job.’

Jake grinned, accepting the massive hand that was being held out to him. ‘No hard feelings,’ he conceded, the glint of amusement in his half-closed eye suggesting to Georgia that he had quite enjoyed the scrap.

‘You put up a damned good show,’ the other gorilla admitted with wry admiration. ‘If you’re ever looking for a job, we could use you on the firm.’

‘Thank you,’ Jake responded, shaking his hand solemnly. ‘I hope I won’t ever need to be, but if I am I’ll remember that.’

The flashbulbs exploded again, to catch the moment. ‘Miss Geldard, what are the diamonds worth?’ one of the photographers called out, delighted with this unexpected bonus on an evening when they had anticipated nothing more than deadly dull society snaps.

With a swift step, Jake interposed himself between her and the cameras. ‘I think you have enough pictures,’ he asserted grimly. ‘Miss Geldard is tired.’

There was a murmur of protest, but no one seemed inclined to argue with him. With some reluctance, the crowd and the photographers drifted slowly back to the ballroom. The security guards were the last to go, leaving them alone.

Georgia lifted her hand to her hair, trying in vain to tuck back the strands that were slipping from the elegant arrangement her hairdresser had created. Nervously she flicked a glance up at Jake, who was leaning one wide shoulder against the stone pillar beside them, easing his grazed knuckles.

‘Well, Miss Geldard,’ he remarked, adding a sardonic emphasis to her name. ‘I suppose you could say that we’ve now been formally introduced—in a manner of speaking.’

She lowered her lashes, her cheeks flushing faintly pink. ‘Yes, well…I’m very sorry for the…misunderstanding…’

He shouted with laughter. ‘Well, that’s an understatement! There was I, thinking you’d found yourself a nice wealthy sugar-daddy, and what do you know? Turns out you’re a little Croesus in your own right!’ He lifted the heavy diamond collar around her throat on one finger, regarding it with the expert eye of one who knew his gemstones. ‘Very nice too—and worth a cool half a million, at least. No wonder you need bodyguards.’

‘Quite.’ With an effort of will, she lifted her eyes to meet his, all her icy dignity restored. ‘However, although there’s no “bloodless creep” on the scene, I’m afraid I must regretfully decline your charming invitation to go upstairs to your suite. I have no taste for casual one-night stands.’

He laughed without humour. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

‘Oh? And what did you have in mind?’

He regarded her for a moment in quizzical assessment, and then he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think this is quite the right moment to explain,’ he responded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’

She hesitated, drawing in a long, steadying breath. ‘I don’t think this is quite the right moment to explain,’ she countered crisply. ‘I’m sorry about the misunderstanding with the security people—I hope your injuries aren’t serious?’

‘I’ll live,’ he returned, an inflection of sardonic humour in his voice as he cautiously felt his swollen eye. ‘Ow! Those guys can sure pack a wallop!’

‘I’ll ask the kitchen to send you up a raw steak.’

‘You could try kissing it better…’ he taunted, leaning his hands against the wall on each side of her shoulders to trap her between his arms.

Her blue eyes flashed him a frost warning, and she ducked neatly under his arm. ‘I’ll ask the kitchen to send you up a raw steak,’ she reiterated dampeningly as she turned him an aloof shoulder and walked back to the ballroom.

He chuckled with wry amusement. ‘You know, you should always wear diamonds,’ he remarked in lazy mockery. ‘They go with your eyes.’