CHAPTER ONE #2
He nodded sardonically. “You know, that thing people do at events like this?” He nodded towards the floor and, sure enough, it was filled with couples.
“Why would I dance with you?” She asked, her tone increasingly standoffish with each moment that passed.
“Because you want to,” he returned without a beat of hesitation. “And because I have just paid two hundred thousand pounds for the pleasure of your company and you feel a sense of obligation.”
“I …” her lips pouted in consternation. “I do,” she agreed slowly. “But I shouldn’t. You chose to bid on me. That was up to you. If you’re having second thoughts …”
“I don’t have second thoughts,” he interrupted smoothly.
He reached for the champagne flute and lifted it to her lips.
“And you will learn to enjoy doing as I say,” he promised darkly, tilting the champagne so that she had only two options.
She could have yanked her head away, but to do so would have caused a scene.
Or she could have opened her red lips and finished the rest of the fine alcohol.
She chose the latter. Kate had never enjoyed drawing attention to herself and the champagne was becoming a necessary crutch to deal with the strange feelings that were bursting through her.
It bubbled and fizzed the whole way down. Her eyes stayed on his face, and she saw satisfaction at her acquiescence written there.
“I was thirsty,” she muttered, her expression one of arch disapproval. His smile sent butterflies banging through her belly.
“Good.” His hand in the small of her back was firm and warm. He guided her effortlessly towards the dance floor and her feet seemed to glide with his of their own volition.
He held her close, tight to his body, and the band switched into a slower song.
Who was this man? She had a vague recollection of having heard his name before.
Like all of the other well-dressed guests she presumed he was wealthy, whether by birth or skill, and that he made a habit of spending time with Europe’s elite.
His accent was a throaty Gallic, a mix of Italian and French that sounded, simply, magical.
He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
It wasn't just his looks though. There was a tortured, haunted quality in the depths of his eyes that sparked something in her soul.
She was mesmerised. Up close, he smelled woody and masculine.
Her throat burned with anxiety and desire.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Arnaud?” Her words were clipped and in control, in direct contrast to how she felt.
God, she was sexy. Even knowing who her father was didn’t change that fact. He ran his fingers over the small of her back and heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Many things, I’m sure.”
She pulled back just far enough to see his face. Her eyes roamed his features in thought. “I should warn you, my secretarial skills are definitely not worth the amount you’ve paid.”
His eyes bore into hers. “Perhaps I am interested in more than your ability to type.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “I’m quite good at spreadsheets,” she said, purposefully misunderstanding him.
His laugh was soft. “I already have two excellent assistants at my disposal.”
She swallowed. “So I’ll be helping them?”
“No, cara. You’ll be with me.”
“With you?” She asked smoothly, though her blood was raging through her body. “Doing what, exactly?”
He deflected the question with a small smile. “Have you worked for the charity for long?”
She was momentarily thrown by the change of topic but she followed him for it gave her a temporary reprieve from the heated seduction that had been swirling around them.
“Less than a year.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
She nodded, and realised it was true. “I like my boss. Melania is an inspiration. She works tirelessly. Her role is stressful and demanding and poorly-paid but she does it because she is on a crusade to improve the lives of kids with cancer. She’s … amazing.”
It was true; he also admired the charity’s founder enormously. But there was something in the way Kate spoke that indicated a more personal affinity with the cause. “And beyond that, this charity matters to you?”
“Of course.” She was back to being cold and controlled. “In the last three years Hope Renewed has become one of the most important children’s organizations in Europe. We help thousands of kids every year, and their families. I feel very fortunate to be a part of that.”
He couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked in his chest. He had made his fortune by reading people. He knew Katherine Beauchamp to be a product of her spoiled, demanding upbringing and yet he sensed a kindness and compassion in her that he hadn’t expected.
“And before this? What did you do?”
Her steps faltered a little. Her smile was forced.
“Oh, this and that. Odd jobs. I did some temp work for a secretarial agency… Worked in bars, too.” Her shrug was studiously casual.
“So you see,” she said, blinking up at him with an attempt at innocence, “you might start to regret your rather generous donation.”
His smile was like butter on warm toast and it made her tummy just as gooey. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the sensitive lobe of her ear. “It was not a donation,” he murmured, his eyes locking to hers. “It was a payment. And I intend to collect immediately.”
Something swirled inside of her; a thrill of desire and a slick of warning heat.
“Oh?” She murmured, but he was looking beyond her, signaling something over her shoulder.
She stopped dancing and turned in time to see him take another glass of champagne from a tray.
He put a hand around her waist and guided her swiftly from the dance floor, to one of the dark recesses created by the crenellations in the wall.
Kate’s heart was hammering inside her chest. She looked at him with a sense of loss; not of him, but of herself. Something was shifting in her being; it was as though an elemental part of her body was responding to his, and she was powerless to stop it.
“You do realize I’m not actually for sale, don’t you?” She said, her back pressed against the cold wall, her hands planted by her side.
He nodded gravely. “Your time, however, is; and I’ve bought two days of it.”
She swallowed; he enjoyed watching her fine pale neck knot beneath his gaze. “But that’s for secretarial work …”
“That wasn’t definitively specified.” He pointed out. “And nor is it required.”
He lifted the champagne to her lips but this time she kept them clamped firmly shut.
His smile was darkly haunted. She watched as he dipped his finger in the champagne and then dribbled some of the bubbling liquid over her shoulder.
It was cold; she jumped the smallest amount.
He dropped his lips to the same spot and tasted her.
The contrast of the cold drink and his warm, moist mouth made her groan against him.
“What are you doing?” She asked softly, her hands lifting to the black lapel of his tuxedo and clamping around the fabric to hold him close.
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lifted the champagne to her mouth, and again she refused to drink it.
But he poured it anyway, watching with undisguised fascination as it dribbled down her chin, her exposed décolletage to the valley formed by her petite breasts.
And down it went still, over her stomach, to the lace underpants she wore.
She gasped as it made contact with her sensitive flesh.
“What are you doing?” She repeated, as his lips dropped to chase the champagne on her décolletage.
“I would like to drink this from your body, if you'll let me.”
Kate shook her head, but her fingers were tightening in his jacket. “That would be crazy.”
“It is your decision,” he murmured, strumming her sides with his fingers. She shook her head. It didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like an option, and only one option was open to her.
“I don’t know you,” she said, but her eyes were staring at him helplessly and her hand was dropping to link through his.
“You will,” he promised, catching her fingers and pulling her behind him.
He moved so fast that she almost had to run to keep up.
At the entrance to the ballroom, she ducked her head to avoid being seen by her colleague Saphire.
It was not necessary; Saphire was staring into space, seemingly miles away.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief as they emerged from the beautiful villa. There were valet cars parked in the grounds; Kate knew because she’d personally interviewed and selected the valet staff.
But Benedetto nodded instead towards a shining black motorbike propped insolently in the driveway.
“This?” She squeaked, all the words of warning her father had drummed into her over the years flashing back to the forefront of her consciousness.
In answer, he pulled the helmet from the seat and settled it on her head. She stared up at him as he tightened it into place, then he threw one powerful leg over the bike and throttled the engine to life.
“Hop on,” he called over his shoulder, his eyes not meeting hers.
“My dad would have kittens,” she said, more to herself than him. Her father hated motorbikes, and with good reason given the way her mother had died.
The reference to her father set Benedetto’s heart heaving. He watched her pretty face cross with emotion and his resolve strengthened. This was necessary.
Kate took one last look at the gorgeous castle and then settled herself behind him. She wrapped her hands around his waist, and felt the powerful vibrations of the engine begin to evoke a dark, desperate need inside of her.
“Where are we going?” She shouted to be heard over the engine.
“My place.”
Well, get there fast, she thought. And she laughed, because she’d discovered when she ran away that flirting with danger was a good thing.
It made her feel brave and alive in a way she never had her whole life.
And that night, with the stars glistening their approval and her arms wrapped around his strong torso, Kate Jones felt Katherine Beauchamp blowing out of her soul.
She held him tight and she laughed a little more.
Being reckless felt good. And the motorbike was only the beginning …