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Moving over to the drinks table, she poured herself a shot of straight vodka, downing the liquid in one gulp, gasping as the spirit burnt its way down her throat. Not one to normally drink, she felt the need for something to calm the way her whole body trembled as she waited for the ax to fall, the dread filling her more with each second that slipped away.
The fact he still harboured his grudge against her family was evident from the coldness of his look as they bumped in to each other, and her ‘invite’ to his suit she realised; a small panicky laugh bubbled up inside her as she dreaded his return. Something about the situation seemed so ‘meant to be’, she thought. Six years ago it had been her dishing out the punishment to the man who would soon enjoy doling out far worse to her.
Moving back to the seat, she stumbled on the long skirt of the dress she borrowed to allow her to attend that night’s event. She wanted to kick off the uncomfortable stilettos, but knew that when he did finally appear, she needed as much height to face him as possible. Sitting back down, she waited, waited for nearly an hour, each minute stretching her already taut nerves further and further to the breaking point.
The sound of the door being opened saw her leap to her feet, her body spinning round to face the man who entered, his stance relaxed and sure, hers stiff, coiled with the tension which filled her. “Why did you have your trained goon bring me here?”, she demanded, her voice higher and shriller than she intended, her attempt at sounding calm and cool failing even to her own ears.
Raising an eyebrow in mockery Darius Garelli moved over to the drinks table. “I think we both know why you AGREED to come to this room”, his tone smooth as he threw some ice-cubes into two glasses before pouring whiskey into one and vodka and fresh orange into another. As he did this, Sara fought to bring her breathing under control, her heart beating erratically in her chest as her eyes followed his every sure movement. Under her lashes she allowed her gaze to admire him.
He had always been handsome, but dressed in the tuxedo; the darkness of it only accentuated his good looks. His tall broad-shouldered slim-hipped frame filled the outfit so well, he was devastating. His slightly tousled hair was shorter than he used to wear it, but it was still thick and glossy, the front still looking as though it had defied his will for it to sit perfectly. The memory returned of the many times as a young woman this had made her want to reach up and fix it by running her fingers through it, the realisation that she wanted to touch him even then suddenly shocking to her. Dropping her gaze in confusion at the jolt of awareness that shot through her, she stepped back as he moved towards her, before he thrust one of the glasses into her trembling hands.
“If I remember correctly this was what you used to drink” Sara did not speak as she dumbly nodded, surprised that he would remember such a minuscule detail about her. Raising his glass, he took a sip of the golden liquid, his eyes unblinking as they watched her, those eyes glacial, taking in everything about her - his look predatory, the thought sending another tremor through her.
Silently, she took a large gulp of her drink before carefully placing it on the table beside him, seeing as for the first time his eyes held humour, relishing her discomfort she knew. Placing his drink beside hers he moved around her, his eyes openly running up and down her body, Sara feeling the heat flood her cheeks at his disrespectful scrutiny.
“So little Sara Balfour...all grown up”, stopping only feet before her. “And how you have grown up”, the innuendo so clear on his tone, Sara feeling the prickling anger give her the strength to stand taller. She had cursed Angela for talking her into wearing the cocktail dress, one that she would never have chosen. The front plunged as the material wrapped around her, clearly showing her cleavage, her breasts pulled together in the underwear her sister had chosen for her. Fighting hard not to cover herself with her hand she glared back at him.
“Don’t play with me Darius...I came here to talk to the CEO of Garelli Corporation. I didn’t realise it was you”, her voice full of the disappointment and despair she felt. “You changed your name”, her tone accusing as he gave a small smile. “I took my father’s name”, he explained, moving to lean against the table, Sara so unaware as she gave a sigh of relief at even this little bit more space between them. “He made it worth my while”, his voice tinged with an anger she did not understand. Taking another sip of his drink, he scrutinized her as his eyes again slid over her wonderful figure.
“So how exactly did you plan on getting the CEO of Garelli Corporation to hold back from throwing your sister into jail?” The question made her wince before her cheeks once more stained pink as he again rose, his finger gently running along her naked arm. “Because how can you be so sure that I might not be open to the same kind of persuasion?”
Gasping in indignation, she took a quick step back, her heel catching on the hem of her skirt as she lost her balance, his hands shooting out to grab her shoulders, keeping her from falling. As she once more regained her balance, he continued to hold her, his thumb now gently stroking the soft flesh, Sara’s mouth suddenly so dry. Standing, he towered over her, his eyes dropped to her cleavage. Trying to pull her arms from him she felt the heat of panic rising from her belly.
“Th...Thank you. I’m fine now” She tried to pull her arms from his hold, Darius’ fingers only digging harder into her soft flesh, a wolfish smile lighting his features. “Yes...I might very well be interested in that kind of persuasion”, he murmured softly. A loud gasp left her as he hauled her harder up against him. Sara only just managed to bring her arms between them, her fingers feeling the hardness of his chest, praying that he would not feel the way her heart was beating furiously within her breasts, their bodies tight together.
“Stop this”, she hissed at him, her voice quivering with fear, the fear of her own reaction being so close to him was rising within her. She felt as his head dipped his nose and mouth trailing along the long naked curve of her neck. Sara again wishing that she had not allowed herself to be talked into having her long blonde hair piled high on her head, longing for its protection as tremors made her whole body shake, the small pulse on her throat beating alarmingly.
His small laugh against her skin only made the trembling worse, as she stared helplessly at the ceiling, her hands trying to push herself from him, desperation setting in. Then just as suddenly as he grabbed her, she was free as he pushed her from him, once more stepping back and nonchalantly leaning against the desk. His eyes surveyed the reaction of the woman before him, a small smile of satisfaction lighting the corners of his handsome mouth. “Same old Sara Balfour, cold heartless bitch. Every bit her daddy’s girl”
Sara fought hard to stop the hot tears which stung the back of her eyes from spilling over her eyelids. She was nothing like her father. Her whole life she had been his constant disappointment. To him she had not been as pretty as Angela, or as sociable. She did not have all of the right boys rushing to their doorstep with marriage proposals. Her determination not to give up on her dream of university to work in the company was a decision her father sneered at, his derision of her no secret. To be likened to the detestable man she grew up with hurt, but dropping her eyes she fought to hide her pain from the man before her. Needing to gain more control, she finally allowed her look to become harder and once more in charge of her emotions, she lifted her eyes to his.
“Thank you”, she bit out, her tone full of challenge, seeing as his eyes flashed dangerously. She instinctively knew that he meant to move back towards her just as the intercom sounded, the voice on the other end stalling him. “Sir the ambassador is about to leave” She saw as his look flew from her to the intercom, a frown creasing his forehead as he swore softly under his breath before his hardened look once more rested on her, his tone demanding and arrogant. “I have something to deal with. Wait here”
Standing, he then made to move to the door as Sara turned abruptly, her eyes flashing with anger. “I am not some little lap dog for you to order about. You have already kept me waiting here for an hour. There seems very little point in my waiting here for you to enjoy humiliating me” Darius stopped short of the door, slowly turning to face her. No more was there any humour in his voice as he responded so coldly, “You have no idea what real humiliation is Miss Balfour. Your whole life you have been cosseted and spoiled, but if you don’t want your sister to be sitting in a jail cell by this time tomorrow night then you will damn well will do as I tell you”, his eyes boring into hers, “Is that very clear?”
Unable to speak, her knees suddenly trembling, she nodded, her mouth closed as she stared back with hurt and fear filling her beautiful blue eyes. With that Darius once more turned, pulling the door open and slamming it shut behind him.
As the echoing ‘bang’ of the door closing receded she dropped into the chair, her whole body shaking as the tears slid down her soft cheeks.
There was no real love between herself and Angela; however her sister’s son David was the apple of her eye. He had already lost one parent and to lose another would be devastating. She knew that she would do whatever he wanted to keep her sister from prison and also to avoid their family’s situation becoming so public, knowing that her link to the inevitable scandal would be devastating. With a sad curl of her lip she again wondered why her sister had been so stupid. Why had she countersigned the loans her husband made in the company’s name? With Nick gone the only other person to be blamed would be Angela, Sara giving a soft groan. For David’s sake and her own, she knew that she would do whatever was needed.
