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Her lashes swept down, but not before he’d caught the bright glitter of amusement in her eyes. He felt a thump under his ribs. A stirring of recognition in his blood. There. That’s her. That’s the girl you remember.
She signalled a passing waiter, swapped her empty wineglass for a full one and turned her mischievous eyes back to him. ‘Darling...’ she cooed, loud enough for those nearby to overhear. ‘Make fun of you?’ She pursed her lips in mock reproach. ‘Never. You’re too sensitive. It’s one of the things I adore about you. Come on.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘The night is young. Let’s mingle.’
Letting her lead him into the crowd, Leo filed a mental note to teach her later about the perils of overacting. He could think of any number of activities he’d enjoy performing with her right now. Mingling wasn’t one of them.
Yet mingle they did. For two endless hours. Hours during which his eyes glazed over and he repeatedly fought the urge to glance at his watch. Small talk was an art he’d mastered over the years out of necessity, not preference. Business dinners and charity events—the select few he supported—at least had a deeper purpose. But the kind of meaningless prattle that typified gatherings like this invariably wore at his patience.
‘Signor?’
Assuming it was a waiter who had spoken behind him, Leo turned to say that he didn’t want a drink or another damned canapé. What he wanted, he thought moodily, was Helena back by his side. How long did a woman need to powder her nose?
He frow
ned. The waiter was not bearing the usual tray of decadent offerings.
‘Signor Vincenti?’
His frown sharpened. ‘Si.’
‘Signorina Shaw would like you to know she is resting in the salon off the piano hall.’
Resting? ‘Is she all right?’
The man hesitated. ‘Si. But there has been a small incident—’
Leo didn’t wait for the man to finish. He powered up the steps of the terrace and into the hall, skirting the edge of the surging, overcrowded dance floor until he found the salon. He paused in the doorway. In the far corner Helena sat on a red velvet divan, and a kneeling waiter held a compress to the top of her left foot. Off to the side, a middle-aged couple hovered. As if intuiting his arrival, Helena glanced up and smiled and his chest flooded with relief.
He strode over.
‘I’m fine, darling,’ she said, her game face firmly in place. ‘I just had a minor mishap.’
The middle-aged woman stepped forward. ‘Je suis vraiment désolée—I am so sorry,’ she added in heavily French-accented English. ‘I was clumsy. We were dancing and I did not see her walk past behind me.’
Leo took in the woman’s solid frame and six-inch stilettos, then glanced at Helena’s foot with renewed concern. ‘Scusami,’ he said to the waiter, indicating that he should lift the compress, and then knelt on one knee to examine the damage.
‘It’s not serious,’ Helena said quickly. She looked up to the woman. ‘Please don’t feel bad. It’s just a scratch.’
More like a gouge and the promise of a decent bruise, but, no, it wasn’t serious. He stood, picked up her purse and the high-heeled sandal she had removed and put them in her hands. Then he bent and hooked one arm around her back, the other under her knees, and lifted her against his chest.
‘Oh!’ Her exclamation came out on a gush of air. She frowned at him even as her arms looped around his neck. ‘Really, darling.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘This isn’t necessary. I can walk.’
He ignored her protest. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ he said to the couple. ‘Please enjoy the rest of your evening.’ He nodded to the waiter. ‘Grazie.’
Then he strode from the room and made for the nearest exit.
‘We’re leaving?’ She stared at him, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed, Her lips soft and pink. She looked sexy. Adorable. Beddable.
‘Si.’
‘But it’s only ten-thirty.’
‘You want to stay?’
She shook her head so quickly, so adamantly, a long auburn curl slipped its binding and bounced against her cheek.
His answering smile was swift. Satisfied.
‘Good. Neither do I.’
