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CHAPTER FOUR
‘PUTTHISON.’ He held out a fine silk scarf towards Bea, pale pink and turquoise, unmistakably designer.
Bea frowned, looking down at her outfit with a frown. ‘Why?’
He focused on her hair then lifted the scarf, wrapping it over her head, letting the ends drape behind her. His hands fussed to ensure it was tightly tucked and then he nodded, stepping back to admire his work. ‘So you don’t get windswept.’
Bea turned to follow his gaze towards a low black speedboat.
Of course it made sense, yet, years earlier, her family had taken a taxi to the airport, not travelled by water despite being in Venice.
With a sensation of fluttering nerves, she put her hand in Ares’s so he could hand her down onto the boat. A man stood, wearing jeans and a dark shirt, a lightweight cardigan over the top and a beret on his head.
‘Enrico,’ Ares greeted, following Bea into the boat with a lithe motion. The engine purred beneath them and the sun cast spots of gold across the water as it dipped nearer to the horizon.
It was a warm enough evening but, as the boat began to move, Ares shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, holding it towards Bea. She shook her head instinctively, afraid to be engulfed in something that was still warm from his body, terrified of being wrapped in his masculine aroma. Ares, though, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Perceiving the fine goosebumps on her arms, he slipped the jacket over her shoulders, his hands lingering there a second longer than might have been, strictly speaking, necessary.
Bea concentrated on remembering that he was the most important client the firm had, and he was annoyed at having been let down. That was the only reason she’d accepted this proposition.
‘Would arriving alone to the ball really have been so bad?’ she prompted, having to shout above the roaring wind.
His eyes probed hers, his smile a sensual lift of one side of his lips. ‘I prefer having company.’
‘You’re the opposite to me,’ Bea said with a small smile, turning away from him. She presumed the boat would swallow her words, but if she’d stayed looking at him she would have seen a speculative glint ignite in Ares’s eyes.
Murano was recognisable first, the low-set red and brown buildings familiar to Bea from a long-ago trip to a glass factory there. A few minutes later and the boat tacked south, then swept into a wide canal surrounded on both sides by Gothic-style buildings, the Moorish influence apparent in the curved windows and ornate decorative screens. She held her breath as they passed beneath a bridge, tourists above it waving and smiling. She waved back then looked to Ares instinctively to find his eyes trained on her. He hadn’t waved at them.
She felt gauche and silly, focusing instead on the view ahead. Enrico, the driver, reached the Grand Canal, pausing to allow a water taxi to pass, then several gondolas, before he pushed across, moving in a northerly direction. She didn’t need to ask where the ball was being held. A few hundred metres away stood a grand old palace, peach in colour with white detailing and a red tiled roof. Several balconies were adorned with candelabras and musicians playing string instruments, so the sound of an orchestra filled the canal. A crowd had formed out the front, including a group of paparazzi.
Instincts honed long ago fired to life. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, but it did little to quell the flipping in her belly. How she hated the press!
Ares’s hand in the small of her back didn’t help. Enrico slowed down the boat, pulling in behind another speedboat which was disposing of its elegant guests, a similarly attired driver helping them onto the platform. Ares moved to stand in front of Bea, his fingers working at the scarf until it was freed, but he didn’t move away. He stood in front of her, staring at her, reading her, watching her, so her lungs refused to work properly and all she could do was watch him right back.
‘Am I—?’ She frowned, painfully aware of how often she’d let her mother down at events like this, and not wanting to do the same to Ares tonight. ‘Do I look okay?’
His face bore a mask of confusion. ‘Okay? Have I not already told you that you are beautiful?’
She shook her head, brushing aside his praise. ‘I’m serious, Ares. I haven’t been to anything like this in years.’
‘Why not?’
Heat infused her cheeks. How to answer that? ‘There hasn’t been the need.’ Her voice held a warning note.
‘You look almost perfect.’ He dropped the scarf onto a nearby seat, then put his hands on her lapels.
‘Oh.’ Belatedly she remembered that he’d provided his tux jacket for her to stay warm. ‘Yes, of course.’ She shrugged out of it as he slid it from her, standing where he was as he replaced it on his body. His scent still lingered though, and he stood close enough that his warmth did too. Enrico lurched the boat forward as space became available and Bea almost fell—she would have done so, had it not been for Ares’s lightning-fast instincts. He shot out a hand, catching her behind the back, his legs like two powerful trunks securing them both to the centre of the boat, his body rigid as he drew her to him. It was the work of an instant, a quick movement to steady her, then he stepped away again, giving Enrico space to throw some ropes to staff atop the platform. The action drew the boat closer, and then Ares was holding out a hand to help Bea off.
She felt strangely shy as she put hers in his, glad when she reached relatively dry land and could relinquish his hand. The pins and needles stayed. Ares practically leaped from the boat, his natural athleticism easy to appreciate.
The sight of him was distracting enough that for a moment Bea didn’t realise the photographers’ lenses were trained on them—or rather, him—but when they began to call his name she instinctively shrank away, seeking to put distance between them.
Except Ares was too quick for that. His arm curved around her waist, drawing her to his side, fitting her perfectly against the muscular strength of his body, so that, despite the horrible feeling of being photographed, she was reassured by his proximity. Her mother’s voice crashed into Bea’s mind.
‘Smile, darling. But don’t show your teeth—your jawline is very horse-like. Straighten those shoulders—never hunch!’
It was over blessedly fast. Another boat pulled up, carrying a bona fide Hollywood celebrity, so Bea and Ares were allowed to walk in peace towards the double doors at the entrance to the famous palazzo. Hewn from ancient timber, thick enough to withstand any number of attacks, they were held open and guarded on either side by staff dressed in white tuxedo tops and slim-fitting black trousers. As they crossed the threshold, Bea used the move inside as an excuse to put some space between herself and Ares. After all, this wasn’t a date.
The look he threw her was laced with mockery.
