Chapter Eight #2
‘I’m lending them to you for the sake of appearances.’ Aristide downplayed his generosity with characteristic coolness, not encouraging her to read too much into the gesture.
‘Thank you. They’re absolutely gorgeous,’ she said warmly, appreciative eyes skimming over his lean, strong face. The silence lagged, the atmosphere building as his brilliant dark golden eyes shimmered. He took a step forward.
And then a knock sounded on her door. It was the hairstylist and Tabby bid a harried, reluctant goodbye to Aristide before rushing off to pull on clothes.
Feeling flat out dissatisfied by that untimely interruption, Aristide departed again.
And then he wanted to kick himself because he had also sought Tabby out to tell her about Imogen in advance of the fashion show but had somehow neglected to even open that conversation with her.
He cursed, aware that his own reluctance to relive those years of blindness and betrayal consistently held him back from any desire to share the gory details.
A couple of hours later, Tabby was dressed, groomed far beyond her usual level and feeling as good as she could feel in advance of watching Imogen Ross star as the leading light on the temporary catwalk sat up in the vast hall.
Her dress was midnight blue, saved from being mistaken for black by the iridescent fabric that caught the light with tiny glimmers of green, purple and blue.
It bared her shoulders and much of her slender back, cupping her full breasts and skimming her tummy, which was developing a pronounced curve.
On her feet she wore high-heeled toning sandals and round her neck and dangling from her ears she sported the breathtaking sapphire combination, her hair swept up to show off her jewellery.
Violet was wearing a ravishing golden sheath that enhanced her diminutive slenderness and a stunning diamond necklace glittered at her throat.
The fashion show was fun, typically full of outrageous garments that only a long-legged adolescent could have worn with panache.
But here and there were little gems to be seen in the cut of a sleek red cocktail dress and a fabulous summer raincoat.
Tabby tensed when Imogen strode down the catwalk towards them, flashing her spectacular smile.
And she could see right there and then why Imogen was so famous because even the weird outfit she wore looked fabulous on her perfect body.
Aristide expelled his breath on a slow hiss and leant closer to Tabby to declare, ‘I first met her when I was fifteen. She was seventeen and already well known. I fell for her like a ton of bricks.’
‘I imagine she was incredibly beautiful at that age,’ Tabby muttered, looking at Imogen all those years on, still in full possession of her glorious looks.
‘I changed my whole life to see more of her,’ he admitted in a gruff undertone. ‘I was at boarding school in England and I insisted on moving to one in Paris. I saw her every weekend and holiday for five years—’
‘You were besotted,’ Tabby whispered, grateful that he was finally talking to her but rather wishing he had chosen a better setting. ‘Of course, you were.’
‘I believed everything she told me, even when the story didn’t fit. I ditched my critical thinking and intelligence. I was like a puppet on a string, providing the yacht holidays, the fancy hotels and the designer wardrobe, not to mention the photo opportunities she craved.’
‘Why the self-hatred?’ Tabby chided as the show took a break and refreshments were handed around.
‘Because I should’ve known better. I grew up with women of that ilk, some of whom were my father’s girlfriends, and yet I still didn’t recognise those traits in her,’ Aristide bit out, his lean, hard features grim.
Tabby skated a fingertip down a lean, strong thigh in reproof. ‘Oh, stop beating yourself up about it,’ she urged softly. ‘Being young is supposed to be all about making mistakes and learning from them.’
‘I may have been a fool for love once…but I will never be again,’ Aristide framed in a harsh undertone.
‘My goodness, you take mistakes too seriously,’ Tabby told him briskly. ‘You were very young and you idealised her and naturally you put her on a pedestal. I imagine you were the envy of all your friends with her on your arm and that your ego made you ignore the stories that didn’t quite fit.’
Aristide dealt her a frustrated glance as if her relaxed attitude on such a subject was foreign to him. ‘I trashed my relationship with my father over her.’
‘And you both got over it and moved on, but now it’s time to move on past the whole experience,’ Tabby countered gently. ‘You’re such a perfectionist, Aristide, and you set too high standards for yourself. You were fifteen, you were still a kid when you made those choices, not an adult.’
‘What mistakes did you make at fifteen?’
‘I dyed my hair pink and it didn’t suit me. Mum was furious and my school complained. I chose to study maths because I was good at it, not because I wanted to work in that field. I fell for the boy next door but he couldn’t take his eyes off my sister even though she didn’t know he was alive—’
‘So, nothing came of it,’ Aristide gathered.
‘No, I grew out of him, got a crush on an actor instead. I think your problem likely was that you were a rich, probably spoiled and quite indulged kid, who had the freedom to make life-changing choices at too young an age,’ she admitted.
‘I didn’t have those options and so my mistakes stayed small and relatively risk free. ’
‘At heart, you’re very sensible and steady in a crisis,’ Aristide remarked reflectively. ‘You’ll be a wonderful mother to our children.’
Just as the show kicked off again and the music fired up, Tabby looked at him and her heart pounded at the hot golden shimmer in his gorgeous eyes as they rested on her parted lips.
The tip of her tongue sneaked out to moisten the sudden dryness there and with a muffled groan he reached for her, plunging his mouth down hungrily on hers.
The teasing dance of his tongue against hers sent a red-hot burning shiver from her core up through her in a heated wave.
A faint gasp was wrenched from her and she pulled back, her heart hammering inside her chest, her face flaming with mortified colour.
‘You have no idea how much I want you at this moment,’ Aristide growled in her ear before he leant back again.
And he had no very clear idea of how much she wanted him, Tabby thought ruefully, the heart of her burning, making her press her thighs together as if she could quell that wild craving.
She reddened even more when she collided with her sister’s amused smile and turned her attention back to the show’s evening-wear selection.
The showpiece of the night was Imogen in her most unlikely wedding gown, a sort of goth-schoolgirl dress that bared her legs, those glossy brown pins of hers wrapped in ribboned white high heels.
She looked spectacularly sexy, if not bridal, and the cameras flared and flashed all around them to capture her glamorous image.
Her attention, however, landed repeatedly on Aristide, as if she was expecting to claim his attention, but Aristide was chatting away to Tore and looking nowhere near his former fiancée.
And in that moment, Tabby’s jealous insecurity fell away as if it had never been.
She finally saw that Imogen might want Aristide back but Aristide was no longer interested.
And though she might never hear the full story of their relationship, she no longer cared.
They moved as a party into the ballroom to allow the staff to return the hall to normal. As the music started up, Aristide tugged her beneath his arm. ‘Now, at least, I can hold you close without exciting comment.’
He walked her onto the dance floor.
‘There’s nobody dancing yet!’ she hissed in protest.
‘So?’ Aristide countered in challenge mode.
‘I can’t dance very well…people will notice,’ she muttered shamefacedly.
Gazing to the side of his tall, powerful frame, she glimpsed Imogen beginning to strut her stuff on the floor, clad in something short, silver and very sparkly, a tall, older man in a smart dinner jacket matching her step for step. They were doing salsa or something, Tabby registered uncertainly.
‘Who cares?’ Aristide fielded, single-minded as usual.
‘I care.’
‘But why?’ he replied unanswerably. ‘You don’t know anyone but your sister and husband here.’
‘And she who shouldn’t be named,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘She can dance too.’
‘Ignore her… I do,’ he said very drily.
She shuffled around the floor in the protective circle of his arms, drinking in the evocative scent of his skin, salt and musk and a hint of citrus in the combination.
Slowly she closed her eyes, feeling him shift against her, realising that he was aroused and probably very much not up for any salsa dancing.
That secret knowledge turned her on. Imogen was in the room and he wasn’t looking in the blonde’s direction and he wasn’t craving her either. No, Tabby was the focus of his desire.
She shifted against him, rather suggestively. ‘You’re…er—’
Aristide laughed, unholy amusement brightening his gleaming gaze. ‘Of course. I’ve been in that state since the first moment I laid eyes on you in that dress. You look dazzling in it.’
‘Thanks…’
And they danced and they mingled and had some supper before gravitating out to the freshness of the terrace, where the air cooled Tabby’s overheated body. She breathed in deep, appreciating the faint chill on her exposed skin.
‘I swore I wasn’t going to ask but, er…what happened with Imogen and you at the end?’