Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
From his vantage point on the balustrade, Odysseus had watched the woman in red stumbling into the ballroom, looking almost as if somebody had pushed her and, unexpectedly, he had been deliciously and unusually fascinated.
By her tiny waist and diminutive frame, yes, both emphasised by the rich hue of the scarlet gown she wore.
But by something else, too. Her movements were jerky, as if she were a puppet whose strings were being pulled.
As he had watched her startled gaze roaming around the groups of exotically clad guests before coming to rest on him, it had crossed his mind that she was behaving like an outsider.
And that struck a chord within him. Because wasn’t that him ?
Always.
Even now.
Despite the billions he had accumulated in his bank accounts, despite the generous contributions he made to his charities, and the party invitations which flooded into his life like a river—deep down wasn’t he the same person he’d always been?
The outcast boy who had never fitted in, who had become a man with those same square-peg qualities.
But he didn’t care how he appeared to others.
He was never diffident, nor apologetic. Not like the woman in red, who had almost jumped out of her skin when one of the staff stopped to say something to her.
His eyes narrowed as he observed the awkward interchange between them and as she glanced up in his direction again, he sensed the appeal emanating from her petite frame.
Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head and she began to move towards him, jerkily negotiating her way through the crowds.
In a swirl of scarlet silk, she made her way up the stairs leading to the balustrade, the official following closely behind.
Odysseus watched as she approached and said, ‘I’m sorry,’ as she brushed past a woman nearby.
But something made him smile as she reached him, for she was even smaller than he’d thought.
‘Hi!’ she exclaimed, her voice bright and slightly brittle, before she added in an undertone, ‘Can you act like you know me? Please?’
His interest very definitely alerted now, he curved his lips into a smile. ‘Of course,’ he murmured softly.
The official stepped forward. ‘Do you know this woman, signor ?’
The man’s tone of entitlement and judgement set Odysseus’s nerves jangling, for he was sensitive to both. ‘Do I know her? I most certainly do. I’ve been standing here waiting for her for the best part of an hour, but you know what women are like,’ he drawled.
She raised herself up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his jaw in a butterfly brush of temptation. ‘Sorry I kept you,’ she said.
‘I’ll forgive you this time, darling ,’ he said, looping his arm around her tiny waist and drawing her into the contours of his body.
Her sigh of relief was audible and he found himself wanting to echo it, because she fitted so deliciously against him, as if she had been designed for no other purpose than that.
Something visceral made him splay his fingers around her waist, which had the effect of making her nestle even closer, giving him the opportunity to breathe in her perfumed warmth.
And he took it. Briefly indulging his senses with her subtle scent before turning to speak to the man in a whisper which every person who had ever crossed him would have recognised, and feared.
‘Is there something wrong?’ he demanded silkily.
‘Er…no.’ The man’s Adam’s apple began to work convulsively. ‘No . Nothing is wrong. My mistake, signor . Scusi. ’
Waylaying the official with a peremptory elevation of his free hand, Odysseus glanced down at the woman by his side. ‘Has he been bothering you, darling ?’
She shook her head. ‘I… No.’
‘Sure?’
A grateful smile curved her scarlet lips. ‘Honestly, it’s okay.’
‘Well, in that case—’ Odysseus slanted the man a look of dismissal ‘—I was just about to ask the lady to dance. So if you wouldn’t mind…?’
‘Sì, sì, signor. Mi dispiace!’ The hapless man backed away before scuttling off and being swallowed up by the crowd.
‘Mission accomplished,’ murmured Odysseus, a quiet sense of satisfaction washing over him as, reluctantly, he removed his hand from her waist. ‘I don’t think he’ll bother you again.’
‘Thank you. That was very…kind of you,’ she said, in that soft English voice, but he could sense her hesitation. As if she didn’t want to go. Which happened to coincide with his own sentiments exactly.
Do you think we should make some moves just for the hell of it, in case he’s watching?’ he suggested silkily. ‘Or would you prefer me to deliver you safely somewhere else? There might be a man waiting for you. Your date, perhaps?’
She shook her head so that the elaborate concoction of feathers fluttered in a blur of scarlet and gold. ‘There’s no man. I’m here on my own, though my friends are here…somewhere,’ she added vaguely.
‘So, nothing to stop you from dancing with me.’ A slow smile curved his lips. ‘If you want to?’
Grace swallowed. If she wanted to! But daydreaming about marching up to the masked man to demand he whirl her around the floor was one thing—actually going through with it was quite another.
Because up close, he was even more arresting.
The firm jut of his jaw was dark, the curve of his lips shockingly sensual.
And his eyes were incredible. The most unusual shade of piercing blue—brilliant and burning, like the flames of that old-fashioned gas fire in England which her nana used to have.
And he was still waiting for an answer. Better she indicated her hopeless lack of ability, rather than making a fool of herself in front of so many people.
‘I’m not very good at dancing,’ she admitted.
‘In that case, I will teach you.’ Behind his mask, his blue eyes gleamed. ‘I’m a very good teacher.’
His soft boast was underpinned with sensual promise and her body was reacting to his words in the most disturbing way.
Beneath the boned bodice of her dress, her breasts were tightening, the nipples puckering into exquisite little nubs.
Was it normal to respond to someone in this way, when you barely knew them?
Was she risking making a complete fool of herself?
Maybe it was that which made her hesitate to leave the fairy tale intact in case she ruined it…
‘I might step on your toes?’
‘I won’t let you.’
She stared up into his masked face, so mesmerised by the curve of his lips that she completely forgot her self-consciousness. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘I will lift you up before your tiny foot makes contact with mine.’
‘How do you know my foot is tiny?’
‘Because the rest of you is. Small and perfectly formed.’
Stupidly, she blushed. ‘Actually, I’m heavier than I look.’
‘Ah. Shall we test it out?’
‘Go on, then,’ she agreed recklessly.
He gave a soft laugh before placing his hands on her hips and lifting her up into the air, before putting her down again, seemingly oblivious to the wild tremble of excitement which rippled over her skin. ‘You were saying?’
Grace’s heart was racing so fast she could barely get the words out. ‘I can’t believe you just did that!’
‘You liked it,’ he observed softly.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I did.’
The air between them was thrumming with a sense of expectation so potent that Grace forgot to be shy, or nervous.
Because this was flirting, she realised.
Real, grown-up flirting. She’d witnessed it all her life because the Italians had managed to turn it into an art form, but had never properly engaged in it herself.
She was always too self-conscious—too aware of her shortcomings and responsibilities—not to mention the fact that she’d never met anyone she’d particularly wanted to flirt with.
Her job meant that she led a monastic sort of life, which made her fade into the background in so many ways.
But now? Now she was having X-rated thoughts about a man in breeches, which she couldn’t help noticing were lying so tautly and provocatively across his powerful thighs.
‘Shouldn’t we…I don’t know…introduce ourselves? I’m Grace,’ she added, resisting the desire to hold her hand out to be shaken.
‘Odysseus,’ he replied silkily.
She nodded. Of course. She’d been trying to work out the origin of that delicious accent, which sounded like a mixture of gravel and honey. ‘That’s Greek.’
‘So it is.’ Suddenly his gaze was hard and piercing. ‘And?’
What were the rules of flirting? she wondered, with a novice’s desperation. Wasn’t she supposed to dazzle him with her humour and wit? ‘Isn’t there something about having to beware of Greeks?’
‘Only if they’re bearing gifts, which I’m not, and if you’re angling for one, let me warn you that it’s way too soon for that, darling . So stop blushing,’ he instructed softly. ‘And come and dance with me.’
Grace was acutely aware of eyes watching them as he led her downstairs to the dance floor.
Or rather, they were watching him —every eye drawn to his tall and powerful frame.
This section of the ballroom was still relatively quiet and the string quartet was playing an Italian melody she knew very well, but it sounded as if she were hearing it for the first time.
She moved into his arms and the sensation was distracting.
No. It was more than that. It was electrifying .
This time, the touch of his hands on her waist felt shockingly intimate—and annoyingly frustrating—as if his fingers were burning through the delicate fabric of her dress and branding her with his touch.
Beneath the heavy swathes of silk-satin, she could feel her skin growing hot as she moved in time to the music.
How could she have worried about something as unimportant as taking the right steps when dancing with him felt so easy?
She looked up to find his blue eyes studying her with amusement. ‘So what was all the fuss about?’