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Juanita resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her friend’s obsessive calorie counting had become a ritual, and Juanita had learned long ago not to question it. “Your call.”
They walked, arm in arm, through the crowded art deco ballroom, unaware of how many admiring glances they drew. At first, when Carrie had lost weight and changed her appearance, she’d been thrilled by the attention. She’d fallen into the trap of accepting every invitation that came her way, so flattered had she been by the unusual degree of interest in her. Years had passed since then, and she was far more confident and choosy. Besides, she was too busy in her job to be out every night of the week.
“There you are,” Tom smiled indulgently at Juanita, as he slipped a very full glass of champagne into her hand. “The band’s just about to start. Drink this so we can dance.”
Juanita wiggled her brows. “If you insist.”
Max’s eyes were drawn to Carrie’s cleavage. She ignored it. After all, the dress practically begged for that kind of attention. It was partly why she’d worn it. “Tom said you like vodka and soda?” He murmured finally, his eyes still struggling to lift higher than her throat.
She nodded and took the offered drink. “Thanks, Max.” She lifted the straw to her lips and drank it quickly.
Max’s voice was sensual. “Another?”
“Why not?” She agreed, as the effects of the alcohol began to bubble through her. “It’s a Friday night. The world is our oyster. For the weekend, at least.” Her smile was effervescent; it lit up her whole face. Max swallowed nervously. The feeling that he was way out of his league hit him once more.
As he ordered the drink, Carrie leaned against the bar, draping her elbows and forming an elegant pose of recline. Tom and Juanita were deep in conversation, and Max was waiting for the in-demand staff to spot him. Which left Carrie free to see and be seen.
She loved society events. The people-watching was a highlight of her week, and events such as this were a top opportunity to mingle. Her business, though fledgling, was successful. In fact, she was in the midst of hunting around for an investor, so she could expand even further. And parties were nothing if not an opportunity to network.
Just a few feet away she could see Elaine McMurtie, the very wealthy heiress who’d just had a sex tape leak online. Some people thought it had been intentional, to raise her profile, but Carrie had known Elaine for years. It was the kind of fame and attention she detested. Besides, the sex tape had been terribly unflattering. She resolved to speak to her, to offer her angry outrage, and had just turned to Tom to make her excuses, when her eyes landed on an intimately familiar figure.
Six years had passed since that night in the rose garden, but she’d never forgotten a single detail about his appearance. Her breath hitched in her throat, as she scanned his gorgeous face, and tuxedo-clad body. He must now have been thirty five years old, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His body still seemed to radiate with the strength and fire of a powerful warrior.
Her nipples tightened beneath her sheer dress, as she remembered how his body had felt, when pressed against hers. How her hips had clung to his, moving to bring his body into the most intimate contact with hers. She lowered her hands to her side, and forced herself to breathe naturally.
She would go and see him, but not until she had one more vodka under her belt. While Tom was still waiting to be served, she took her time studying Gael. He was talking to two men; she didn’t recognise either. They were stuffy looking, compared to her step-brother. Her lips curved at the ridiculous description. For they were no more siblings than they were friends. They were two people who’d kissed one night. He was the man who’d shamed her into seeing what a pathetic loser she was; who’d made her understand that no one would ever want her or take her seriously when she spent her days lying around eating chocolate and reading out-dated romance novels.
Max passed a vodka to her, this time doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes level with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, drinking it as quickly as she had
the first. She put the glass on the bar, and then smiled apologetically at Max. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s one thing I have to do. I’ll be back for a dance in a moment.”
Max’s disappointment was obvious, but Carrie didn’t care. She walked with a slow, seductive sashay, away from the bar, towards the group Gael was in. She was not the gauche, innocent teen he’d embarrassed that night. She had much more experience with men – and men like Gael – now. About ten steps from the group, his eyes lifted unexpectedly and landed smack on her face.
Carrie’s step faltered, and an angry kaleidoscope of butterflies began to flash against her insides. His dark eyes showed his instant fascination, and he subjected her to a slow appraisal. From the top of her fair blonde head, to the swell of her pert breasts, lower still to her hips, and her legs, then back up to her eyes. There was no recognition there. And the realisation was … chilling.
This man Carrie had built up to epic proportions in her mind had no memory of her. His step-sister, and the woman whose fragile feelings he’d trampled all over. As if that initial moment of mortification could get any worse, she felt an even bigger sense of rejection now.
Only … Gael wasn’t rejecting her.
His interest was patently obvious.
She’d done this dance before.
Carrie let a slow, seductive smile lift the corner of her lips, as she slid her own eyes lower, over his perfect frame. When her eyes clashed with his, she left him in little doubt as to her approval. She walked slowly, bringing herself close to their group, and at the last minute, she dovetailed behind him, brushing her body against his in an unmistakable invitation. Then, she swished away, through the crowds, to the large gold framed doors that led to the foyer of the hotel.
If she’d read the situation correctly, and she was sure she had, he would follow. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as she realised that she was about to seduce the man who’d spectacularly turned her down six years earlier. The man who’d practically laughed in her face at the very idea of his wanting her!
She paused just outside the crowded ballroom, ostensibly so that she could admire a picture.
And right on schedule, as expected, she felt him behind her. His frame large, his presence familiar in an elemental way. She turned, slowly, lifting her bright blue eyes to his. “Hello.”
There was something so beautiful and familiar about this woman. She was not simply stunning – far more so than any other woman at the event – she was… captivating. Her walk was fluid grace, every step a ballet in its own right. His body was tight with longing, and he didn’t even know her name.
“Hello.” He repeated. “Are you having a good evening?”
“It just got better,” she responded with a wink. “And you?”
His laugh was low and sensual. It sent shivers running down her spine. Shivers of expectation and desire. “I don’t care for crowds.”
