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‘You’re wearing an engagement ring,’ Navarre reminded her drily. ‘That puts you into a very different category, ma petite.’
‘Don’t call me that—I’m not that small!’ Tawny censured.
A grin as unexpected as it was charismatic momentarily slashed his wide sensual mouth. ‘You are considerably smaller than I am and very slim—’
‘Skinny,’ Tawny traded argumentatively. ‘Don’t dress it up. I eat like a horse but I’ve always been skinny.’
‘We met at an art gallery … our fake first meeting,’ Navarre extended when she frowned at him in bewilderment. ‘If you are asked you will say that we met at an art showing here in London.’
‘If I must.’
‘You must. I refuse to say that I met the woman I intend to marry while she was changing my bed,’ Navarre told her unapologetically.
‘Snob,’ Tawny told him roundly, crossing her legs and suddenly aware of the sweep of his gaze finally resting on the long length of thigh she had unintentionally exposed as the skirt of her gown slid back from her legs. As she lifted her head and encountered those spectacular eyes of his there was a knot of tension at the tender heart of her where she was unaccustomed to feeling anything.
Hard as a rock as he scrutinised that silken expanse of thigh, Navarre was exasperated enough by his body’s indiscipline and her false impression of him to give a sardonic laugh of disagreement. ‘I am not a snob. I worked in hotel kitchens to pay my way as a schoolboy. Survival was never a walk in the park when I was growing up and I have never forgotten how hard I had to work for low pay.’
Filled with all the embarrassment of someone labelled a thief and the new knowledge that he did have experience of working long hours for a small wage, Tawny evaded his gaze and smoothed down her skirt. She thought of the very generous tips he had left for her on his previous stays at the hotel and shame washed over her in a choking wave of regret. She wished she had never met Julie and never listened to her clever lies, for she had betrayed Navarre’s trust. His generosity should have been rewarded by the attention of honest, dependable staff.
The car was slowing down in the heavy flow of traffic, gliding past crowded pavements to come to a halt outside the brightly lit theatre where the Goldens were to be held. As Tawny glimpsed the crush of sightseers behind the crash barriers, the stand of journalists, a presenter standing talking beside men with television cameras and the red carpet stretching to the entrance, something akin to panic closed her throat over.
‘Don’t stop to answer questions. Let me do the talking if there are any. Just smile,’ Navarre instructed.
Tawny found it a challenge to breathe as she climbed out of the car. As cameras flashed she saw spots in front of her eyes and Navarre’s steadying hand at her elbow was appreciated. He exchanged a light word with the attractive presenter who appeared to know him and steered her on smoothly into the building. An usher showed them to their seats inside the theatre. No sooner had they sat down than people began to stop in the aisle to greet Navarre and he made a point of introducing her as his fiancée. Time after time she saw surprise blossom in faces that Navarre should apparently be on the brink of settling down with one woman. That sceptical reaction told her all she needed to know about his reputation as a womaniser, she reflected sourly. Furthermore it seemed to her as though it might take more than diamonds and a designer gown to persuade his friends that she was the genuine article.
She watched as renowned actors and directors walked up to the stage to collect awards and give speeches. Her hands ached from clapping and her mouth from smiling. It was a strain to feel so much on show and something of a relief when he indicated that it was time to leave.
As they crossed the foyer on their way out of the theatre a musical female voice called breathily, ‘Navarre!’ and he came to a dead halt.
Tia Castelli, exquisite as a china doll in a stunning blue chiffon dress teamed with a fabulous sapphire pendant, was hurrying down the staircase that led up to the private theatre boxes. Tawny couldn’t take her eyes off the beauty, who was very much the screen goddess of her day. Earlier she had watched Tia collect a trophy for her outstanding performance in her most recent film in which she had played a woman being terrorised by a former boyfriend, and she had marvelled that she could be even seated that close to a living legend.
‘And you must be Tawny!’ Tia exclaimed, bending down with a brilliant smile to kiss Tawny lightly on both cheeks while cameras went crazy all around them as every newshound in their vicinity rushed to capture photos of the celebrated actress. Tawny was knocked sideways by that unexpectedly friendly greeting. Tia was extraordinarily beautiful in the flesh and, confronted by such a very famous figure, Tawny felt tongue-tied.
‘Congratulations—I was so happy to hear your news and Navarre’s,’ Tia continued. ‘Join Luke and I in our limo. We’re heading to the same party.’
‘How on earth did you get so friendly with Tia Castelli?’ Tawny hissed as security guards escorte
d them back out via the red carpet.
‘My first boss in private banking took care of her investments. I’ve known her a long time,’ Navarre responded calmly.
Tia paused to greet fans and pose for the TV cameras while her tall, skinny, unshaven husband, clad in tight jeans, a crumpled blue velvet jacket and a black trilby as befitted the image of a hard-living rock star, ignored every attempt to slow down his progress and headed straight for the waiting limousine. With a rueful sigh, Navarre urged Tawny in the same direction and wished, not for the first time, that Tia were less impulsive and more cautious.
‘So you’re going to marry Navarre,’ Luke Convery commented, his Irish accent unexpectedly melodic and soft as he introduced himself carelessly and studied Tawny with assessing brown eyes. ‘What have you got that the rest of them haven’t?’
‘This …’ Tawny showed off the opulent pink diamond while finding it impossible not to wonder just how much younger Luke was than his wife. They didn’t even look like a couple, for in comparison to her polished Hollywood glamour he dressed like a tramp. She doubted that the musician was out of his twenties while Tia had to be well into her thirties, for her incredibly successful career had spanned Tawny’s lifetime. She thought it was good that just for once it was an older woman with a younger man rather than the other way round, and she was warmed by the way Luke immediately reached for his wife’s hand when she got into the car and the couple exchanged a mutually affectionate smile.
By all accounts, Tia Castelli deserved a little happiness, for she had led an impossibly eventful life from the moment she was spotted by a film director as a naive schoolgirl in a Florentine street and starred in her first blockbuster movie as the child of a broken marriage. She was a mesmerising actress, whom the camera truly loved. Admittedly Tia was no stranger to emotion or tragedy, for violent and unfaithful husbands, jealous lovers and nervous breakdowns with all the attendant publicity had all featured at one point or another in the star’s life. She had suffered divorce, widowhood and a miscarriage during her only pregnancy.
‘Let me see the ring,’ Tia urged, stretching out a bejewelled hand weighted with diamonds. ‘Oh, I love it.’
‘You haven’t got a finger free for another diamond,’ Luke told his wife drily. ‘How long do we have to stay at this party?’
‘A couple of hours?’ Tia gave him a pleading look of appeal.
‘It’ll be really boring,’ Luke forecast moodily, his lower lip coming out in a petulant pout.
Beside her Navarre stiffened and Tia looked as though she might be about to burst into tears. Navarre asked Tia’s husband about his upcoming European tour with his rock group, the moment of tension ebbed and shortly afterwards they arrived at the glitzy hotel where the party was being held. Tia was mobbed by paparazzi outside the hotel and lingered to give an impromptu interview to a TV presenter. Tawny was startled when Navarre stepped slightly behind her to pose for a photo, mentioning her name and their supposed engagement with the relaxed assurance of a man who might have known her for years rather than mere days. It occurred to her that he was quite an actor in his own right, able to conceal his essential indifference to her behind a convincing façade as though she were indeed precious to him. While he spoke the warmth of his tall, strong physique burned down her slender spine like a taunting lick of flame and the faint scent of some expensive cologne underscored by clean, husky masculinity filled her nostrils and suddenly her body was going haywire with awareness, breasts swelling, legs trembling as she remembered that earth-shattering kiss.
