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Eager to prove his mettle, Connor nodded and strode purposefully in the direction of the bar.
Luca was just about to pounce when Rosie, the woman firmly in his sights, shook her pretty little head and moved in the opposite direction to her date.
Fascinated, he fell into step behind her as she walked with a sexy-as-sin swagger of her hips towards the large glass doors. It was Autumn in London, not exactly balcony weather, but she pushed the glass door outwards and headed into the frigid air regardless.
Luca paused just long enough to grab two glasses of wine from a waiter then followed suit.
* * *
Rosie had wanted to come tonight. No. She’d needed to come. To be amongst people and crowds. She’d needed to prove to herself that she could carry on, much as normal. Despite the hole in her heart, left by the sudden loss of her father, she needed to show everyone that she was the same vivacious, outgoing girl as ever.
But she wasn’t.
She took in a deep, shuddering breath, as she pictured the man she’d loved all her twenty four years. Bertram Darling had taught her so much in life, including humility and egalitarianism. What would he think about her hanging on the arm of a man like Connor? Her smile was humourless. He’d be happy if she was happy. Only she wasn’t. Connor was a waste of time. Just a man she’d fancied years earlier, who was interested in her now that she’d grown into her colt like figure, and large green eyes.
A man she’d known at primary school, before her father had lost his fortune, his wife, and been forced to remove Rosie and put her into the local comprehensive. A man she’d run into quite by chance, at a mutual friend’s Christmas party the year earlier. And her ego had made it impossible to resist his invitation. He was famous for the women he asked out. Now, he was asking her out, and she’d been just flattered enough to accept. And so they’d dated, in a very casual, platonic kind of way. He had made it obvious that he’d like to take things further, but Rosie had been equally firm. She didn’t feel anything for him beyond a mild affection. And even that had changed, of late.
What had been an acceptable way to pass time a few months ago had recently become untenable. Losing her father had shown Rosie who her true friends were. Connor was not one of them. Just as he’d refused to get towels for the poor waitress, he’d never so much as called to see how she had fared after Bertram’s death. As for attending the funeral, there was simply no way he’d venture out of central London for such a morbid affair. Connor clearly had to go, and she’d known it for weeks.
She shivered, and was glad for the involuntary response to the cold night air. If Bertram’s sudden death had taught her anything, it was to be thankful for life. And even there, feeling chilled to the bone, she was grateful for the sensation. Wasn’t it a proof of life, after all? To feel anything, even uncomfortable, was still to feel.
Beneath her, the square mile twinkled and glistened, reminding her of a pretty tableau a child might draw of a fairy town. In the middle of the lights, the Thames ran like a sludgy spill of ink. The ancient river had always seemed more like a benevolent guardian to the fanciful Rosie. A wise old crone who had seen the city’s inhabitants come and go, morphing from one generation to the next, and all the while, the waters swirled with a mocking certainty that change was just around the corner. Don’t get too comfortable, it seemed to whisper with each alteration of the tide.
Nothing and nobody lasted forever.
Foolishly, she felt tears prick at her eyes. She lifted a shaking finger and squeezed the bridge of her nose with a small sigh. It had been a month. A whole month. Why was she still brought to tears whenever she thought of her father?
Her silent contemplation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the door clicking shut behind her. Connor, she thought with a small inward groan. She really would have to talk to him. A few words would be all it took to sever their relationship once and for all. And she would be relieved to see the back of him.
She squeezed her hands together, preparing to spin about and face Connor. She blinked her eyes rapidly first, to be sure any sign of tears was gone, and then slowly turned back towards the party. And froze.
“You’re not Connor,” she said with palpable relief. The sight of the man who stood before her had made her speak in haste. She clamped her lips shut, but left her eyes wide open and free to roam. She’d seen him inside, but that had been at a distance. Up close, he was so much more magnetic, if possible. She studied him shamelessly, from the top of his head, with its halo of dark, waving hair that brushe
d his broad shoulders, to the obviously expensive suit that seemed to have been cut for his strong, masculine body. He was tall. Though Rosie was used to being the smallest person in a room, at just over five and a half feet, this man must have had a good foot of height on her.
It was his face that kept drawing her attention though. Intelligent, assessing eyes, a mouth set in an arrogant smile, cheeks covered in stubble she itched to run her fingers over. His brows were thick and straight, his skin boasted a caramel tan.
“No,” he agreed. “I’m not.” He lifted a wine glass towards her. “Will you have a drink with me?”
There was something about this man that was strangely, spine-tinglingly familiar to her. “Have we met?”
“Unfortunately not. But I intend to rectify that immediately.”
His voice was tinged with a foreign accent. Spanish or Italian, she’d guess. Though it was barely detectable, there was something in the way he lilted his vowels. She’d never been more instantly attracted to a person in her life.
Which was reason enough to walk away immediately.
“I don’t drink with strangers, sorry.” She made to move past him, but he forestalled her by putting his body between her and the door.
“A wise precaution,” he said with a mock sombre nod. “Let me introduce myself so that we are no longer strangers.”
Rosie smiled despite her misgivings. “I should get back in. I’m here with someone.”
“Yes. I saw that.” His dark eyes were teasing her. Assessing her. Joking with her. She felt her skin prickle. “You are not interested in him, though.”
Rosie’s mouth dropped at his arrogant assertion. Though he was correct, it was not really any of his damned business. “He’s… Connor’s a friend.”
“Just a friend?” He pushed, his expression serious.
