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She’d spoken to her father briefly and had been somewhat reassured. He was sounding a little perkier than he had in recent days. But this last stroke, albeit mild, had given them both a fright.
She’d told him that she’d gone on a date, and he’d been so delighted that she’d felt bad when she hadn’t revealed who her date had been. The last thing he needed was to hear Benjamin Carter’s name. Like her, he’d inevitably jump to the conclusion that he had ulterior motives—because the vultures were circling, just waiting for their chance to step in and make the most of Louis Ford’s weakness.
Lia had confirmed it for herself when she’d done an internet search on Benjamin Carter late last night—unable to sleep because a leanly handsome face with piercing blue eyes had kept her awake.
She’d come across a recent paparazzi photo of Benjamin Carter together with three of the world’s most notorious playboy tycoons and renowned business rivals. Xander Trakas, Dante Mancini and Sheikh Zayn Al-Ghamdi—all names that were indelibly linked to vast fortunes, beautiful women and an aversion to commitment.
The accompanying article had pointed out that they’d all suffered adverse press in recent months and speculation was rife as to why they were suddenly joining forces.
And that was when Lia knew she’d made a huge tactical error in showing Benjamin Carter such obvious antipathy. He was not becoming bosom buddies with his old enemies for no reason, nor asking her for a date for the good of his health—not when he could date any number of more beautiful and accessible women.
He was definitely up to something.
Curiously reluctant to leave her search there, though, she’d also learnt that he was a self-made legend who’d come from the most adverse of backgrounds, growing up in foster homes in Queens before working his way up through the construction hierarchy on sites all over New York. That had reminded her disturbingly of that air of something untamed about him in spite of his suave appearance.
Within just a decade he’d risen to the top of the industry—literally. His company was currently responsible for constructing what would become the tallest skyscraper in Manhattan.
He was ruthless and single-minded, and women only featured in his workaholic life as very momentary diversions—as brutally evidenced by a recent ‘kiss and tell’ Lia had found during the online search. Usually she abhorred gossip, but she’d found herself avidly reading about the way his ruthlessness extended beyond the bedroom once he was tired with seduction and conquest—which seemed to happen after only one or two dates at the most.
Yet that information hadn’t stopped Lia having a very illicit and dangerously wistful daydream that when she’d bumped into him in the street perhaps Benjamin Carter might have been just a random gorgeous stranger. Because for the first time since the humiliating aftermath of her broken engagement, a year before, she realised that a man had managed to break through the high wall she’d built around herself.
Lia quickly shut down that evocative image. So, she’d reacted to him? All that proved was that she was as dismayingly susceptible to his charms as the next woman. In spite of her frigidity. Benjamin Carter’s particular brand of virile masculinity was obviously potent enough to break through the thickest ice.
She glared balefully now at the extravagant vase of flowers on the antique side table, set there by a conscientious staff member. The accompanying note lay torn up in the bin, but she didn’t need to take it out to reread the arrogant slashing handwriting. She’d memorised it all too easily and annoyingly.
Till we meet again, Julianna. Ben.
The fact that he knew where she was staying caused little surprise. It wasn’t as if she was using an alias, and a man like Benjamin Carter would have minions aplenty to do his dirty work.
She’d almost been tempted to call Elizabeth Young again, to tell her to reinforce the message that she had no interest in him, but she’d realised she was being ridiculous. As rough as Benjamin Carter’s edges might be, she couldn’t see him stooping so low as to actually chase a woman. And in a few days Lia would be gone—safely back on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
She turned her attention to her reflection again and took a deep breath, picking up an elaborately feathered black lace mask and fitting it to her face. She was relieved the charity auction had a masquerade theme, because she was feeling exposed enough as it was.
Firmly pushing disturbing memories back down where they belonged, along with thoughts of dark, handsome, annoying men, Lia gathered her things and left her suite.
* * *
Less than an hour later Lia had to stop herself from pulling the bodice of her dress up higher. She knew she was being silly, because there were women there in far more revealing dresses, but if one more man nearly tripped over his own tongue as he drooled at her chest she was going to scream.
Just then the three men who had been making more eye contact with her chest than her face seemed to melt back into the throng, and she sucked in a deep sigh of relief.
She turned away to look for a waiter and get a drink and found herself being jostled from behind. She was pitching forward helplessly into thin air when two hands caught her and stopped her fall. She looked up, heart hammering, to see a man—a very tall man, with broad shoulders. He was dressed in a white tuxedo jacket, white shirt and black bow tie.
His face, like most of the crowd’s, was obscured by a mask. Except his was more ornate and covered his whole face. She could see thick dark hair... For a heart-stopping moment Lia almost suspected— But then she told herself she was being ridiculous if she was letting Benjamin Carter get to her so much that she suspected this man could be him, when it was far more likely to be a stranger.
The man spoke, his voice slightly distorted under the mask. ‘Are you all right?’
Something inside Lia relaxed when she realised she didn’t immediately recognise the voice. His hands felt hot on the bare skin of her upper arms and she realised he was still holding on to her. Feeling flustered, she took a step back. ‘I’m fine, thank you... Sorry. I was just looking for a waiter to get a drink.’
‘Let me.’
As if by magic a waiter appeared by his side and the man handed her a glass of Champagne. She noticed that he didn’t take a drink. She sipped at the cool sparkling wine and felt some equilibrium return. Lia assured herself that if this was Benjamin Carter alarm bells would be ringing loudly.
She pushed all thoughts of that man aside and observed, ‘You’re not drinking?’
He shook his head. ‘I like to keep my wits about me—and my mask isn’t exactly conducive to drinking. I’d have to reveal my identity, which would defeat the object of the evening.’
His voice was cool, sardonic. And deep.
