“Oh, goodness!” Her voice, when he first heard it, was so much softer than he’d expected. More common, too. “We must have bumped you. I’m terribly sorry. Are you hurt?” She cut across the short distance to the shocked looking waitress and cupped a hand on her wrist.
Enchanted, Luca watched as the blonde leaned closer and whispered something into the waitress’s ear. He had to strain to hear, and only the fact that he was just metres away made it at all possible. “Don’t be upset, it’s not your fault. You’re not the first person to have spilled a drink!”
The waitress smiled nervously, then crouched to the ground.
The blonde’s face reflected her consternation. “Connor, get some towels.”
The banker seemed discomforted, but he hid it swiftly. It was obvious that he wanted to impress the gorgeous woman. Enough to play along with her rescue mission. The band began to play their songs again, the conversations started to swirl in a normal patter, and Luca Abramo allowed himself to admit that he was properly interested.
Not just because she was beautiful.
No. He was interested because she was compassionate. And that was a rare quality indeed, particularly in the social circles he moved in. With that one move, she’d taken herself out of column A and straight into column B, for Bed.
He was only human, after all.
Luca was wryly amused when Connor returned with several extra wait staff instead of the towels. Evidently, getting help was the same to him as being of help. To be fair to the man, he was wearing an expensive tuxedo, and he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would risk his own clothing being destroyed because of a clumsy waitress.
Casually, on the pretence of studying another painting, Luca moved closer.
“I’m such a clutz,” the waitress whispered. “Thank you for being so kind.”
The blonde shook her head. “Not at all. It could have happened to anyone. This place is packed so full there’s barely room to move.”
“Thank you again.”
The waitress moved away, her cheeks flaming, as her colleagues continued to efficiently remove any trace of the accident. And it had been an accident. A simple slip of the hand, the breaking of some glass, the spilling of some drinks. But it was an accident that had formed a resolution in Luca’s mind. And once he made a resolution, he was always certain to see it out.
“Rosie, you are the most soft-hearted person I’ve ever known.” Connor said in a loud whisper. Though his words were perfectly benign, they were delivered in such a tone as to be insulting.
The blonde woman, Rosie apparently, rolled her enormous green eyes. Luca couldn’t help the smile that tickled his lips. She was irreverent and unimpressed. He liked that very much. “What was I meant to do? Stand there and watch? The poor girl was humiliated!”
“So? If I was as bad at my job as she is at hers, I’d be out on my arse.”
Rosie compressed her lips. “Spilling a tray doesn’t mean that she’s bad at her job. It means some guy in here’s had a skinful and knocked her sideways. God, you can be such a snob sometimes.”
Connor seemed to remember that his aim for the evening was to impress Rosie, and he plastered an agreeing mask into place. “Sorry, darling. You’re right. I should have been more helpful.”
Rosie wasn’t buying it. Luca was pleased when she turned up her nose and addressed him in a cool tone. “In all the kerfuffle, my drink seems to have been misplaced. Would you mind?”
Eager to prove his mettle, Connor nodded and strode purposefully in the direction of the bar.
Luca was just about to pounce when Rosie, the woman firmly in his sights, shook her pretty little head and moved in the opposite direction to her date.
Fascinated, he fell into step behind her as she walked with a sexy-as-sin swagger of her hips towards the large glass doors. It was Autumn in London, not exactly balcony weather, but she pushed the glass door outwards and headed into the frigid air regardless.
Luca paused just long enough to grab two glasses of wine from a waiter then followed suit.
* * *
Rosie had wanted to come tonight. No. She’d needed to come. To be amongst people and crowds. She’d needed to prove to herself that she could carry on, much as normal. Despite the hole in her heart, left by the sudden loss of her father, she needed to show everyone that she was the same vivacious, outgoing girl as ever.
But she wasn’t.
She took in a deep, shuddering breath, as she pictured the man she’d loved all her twenty four years. Bertram Darling had taught her so much in life, including humility and egalitarianism. What would he think about her hanging on the arm of a man like Connor? Her smile was humourless. He’d be happy if she was happy. Only she wasn’t. Connor was a waste of time. Just a man she’d fancied years earlier, who was interested in her now that she’d grown into her colt like figure, and large green eyes.
A man she’d known at primary school, before her father had lost his fortune, his wife, and been forced to remove Rosie and put her into the local comprehensive. A man she’d run into quite by chance, at a mutual friend’s Christmas party the year earlier. And her ego had made it impossible to resist his invitation. He was famous for the women he asked out. Now, he was asking her out, and she’d been just flattered enough to accept. And so they’d dated, in a very casual, platonic kind of way. He had made it obvious that he’d like to take things further, but Rosie had been equally firm. She didn’t feel anything for him beyond a mild affection. And even that had changed, of late.
What had been an acceptable way to pass time a few months ago had recently become untenable. Losing her father had shown Rosie who her true friends were. Connor was not one of them. Just as he’d refused to get towels for the poor waitress, he’d never so much as called to see how she had fared after Bertram’s death. As for attending the funeral, there was simply no way he’d venture out of central London for such a morbid affair. Connor clearly had to go, and she’d known it for weeks.
She shivered, and was glad for the involuntary response to the cold night air. If Bertram’s sudden death had taught her anything, it was to be thankful for life. And even there, feeling chilled to the bone, she was grateful for the sensation. Wasn’t it a proof of life, after all? To feel anything, even uncomfortable, was still to feel.
Beneath her, the square mile twinkled and glistened, reminding her of a pretty tableau a child might draw of a fairy town. In the middle of the lights, the Thames ran like a sludgy spill of ink. The ancient river had always seemed more like a benevolent guardian to the fanciful Rosie. A wise old crone who had seen the city’s inhabitants come and go, morphing from one generation to the next, and all the while, the waters swirled with a mocking certainty that change was just around the corner. Don’t get too comfortable, it seemed to whisper with each alteration of the tide.
Nothing and nobody lasted forever.
Foolishly, she felt tears prick at her eyes. She lifted a shaking finger and squeezed the bridge of her nose with a small sigh. It had been a month. A whole month. Why was she still brought to tears whenever she thought of her father?
Her silent contemplation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the door clicking shut behind her. Connor, she thought with a small inward groan. She really would have to talk to him. A few words would be all it took to sever their relationship once and for all. And she would be relieved to see the back of him.
She squeezed her hands together, preparing to spin about and face Connor. She blinked her eyes rapidly first, to be sure any sign of tears was gone, and then slowly turned back towards the party. And froze.
“You’re not Connor,” she said with palpable relief. The sight of the man who stood before her had made her speak in haste. She clamped her lips shut, but left her eyes wide open and free to roam. She’d seen him inside, but that had been at a distance. Up close, he was so much more magnetic, if possible. She studied him shamelessly, from the top of his head, with its halo of dark, waving hair that brushe
d his broad shoulders, to the obviously expensive suit that seemed to have been cut for his strong, masculine body. He was tall. Though Rosie was used to being the smallest person in a room, at just over five and a half feet, this man must have had a good foot of height on her.
It was his face that kept drawing her attention though. Intelligent, assessing eyes, a mouth set in an arrogant smile, cheeks covered in stubble she itched to run her fingers over. His brows were thick and straight, his skin boasted a caramel tan.
“No,” he agreed. “I’m not.” He lifted a wine glass towards her. “Will you have a drink with me?”
There was something about this man that was strangely, spine-tinglingly familiar to her. “Have we met?”
“Unfortunately not. But I intend to rectify that immediately.”
His voice was tinged with a foreign accent. Spanish or Italian, she’d guess. Though it was barely detectable, there was something in the way he lilted his vowels. She’d never been more instantly attracted to a person in her life.
Which was reason enough to walk away immediately.
“I don’t drink with strangers, sorry.” She made to move past him, but he forestalled her by putting his body between her and the door.
“A wise precaution,” he said with a mock sombre nod. “Let me introduce myself so that we are no longer strangers.”
Rosie smiled despite her misgivings. “I should get back in. I’m here with someone.”
“Yes. I saw that.” His dark eyes were teasing her. Assessing her. Joking with her. She felt her skin prickle. “You are not interested in him, though.”
Rosie’s mouth dropped at his arrogant assertion. Though he was correct, it was not really any of his damned business. “He’s… Connor’s a friend.”
“Just a friend?” He pushed, his expression serious.
She toyed with her earring, her face showing her discomfort. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with you.”
“Don’t you?” He scanned her face.
“No.”
His smile was mocking. “I think you do. I think you know why it’s my business and what I want from you. But if not, have a drink with me and I’ll explain it more fully.”
An invisible, unbreakable thread seemed to be weaving its way from her to him, pulling her closer, binding them in that moment. She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip, an unconscious gesture she did when she was tempted by something. Luca followed its progress with a tightening in his gut and a hardening of his arousal. She was impossibly sexy, and yet he suspected she didn’t actually realise it.
“One drink,” she agreed finally, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the wine glass. It was a mistake. The moment she touched the rounded vessel, their fingers connected. The thread that had bound them became a spark of electricity, so highly charged that it sent sparks shooting through her. She covered the gasp that had sprung to her lips, but her eyes clearly showed her surprise.
“Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. With one hand now free, he put an arm around her waist and guided her back to the railing. She fitted perfectly to his side.
It was a strange thought.
Unworthy of him. No one person fitted another perfectly. No single woman was his perfect match. It was simply that she was short and petite, and he large and muscled. Her small curves seemed to morph into his frame. It was sexual attraction, nothing more. She was delicious, and the thought of possessing her filled him with a swirling pit of desire. He took a small step backwards.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, after a pause that served to stretch Rosie’s nerves to breaking point.
Despite her tension, she let out a short laugh at his statement. “So far as pick up lines go, that one is reasonably offensive.”
Luca angled his body to face her. They were so close they were almost touching. If he moved just an inch forward, they would be. But he didn’t want to scare her. Didn’t want the intensity of his desire for her to make her afraid. And so he remained where he was, and kept his face blanked of emotion. “It was intended as a compliment.”
“Really?” She arched her brows dubiously, lifting her wine to her lips and taking a sip. It was excellent, but that was not the reason her blood was pounding through her body. “In what way?”
“This place is full of people who value money above people. You don’t seem like that.”
A shiver of awareness ran down her spine. “How do you know? We’ve just met.”
“I’m a good judge of character,” he responded with a confident shrug.
She frowned. “Don’t you think I look the part?”
She hadn’t meant to draw his attention to her looks, but it was an invitation to drag his eyes up and down the length of her body. Her started with her feet, clad in sky high heels, then moved over her shapely legs, and the fitted dress that was warm and summery on a night that was not. He paused at the swell of her cleavage, and he longed to reach out and touch her gentle curves. Her décolletage was pale like porcelain. As for her face, up close, he thought she could have been a work of art. Hand crafted by angels to showcase their skills. He wanted to dispense with the small talk and make her his, but he also wanted to enjoy the slow, torturous game of flirtation. “You look the part,” he promised, his voice deep and gravelly. “In fact, I had already dismissed you as just another bored Lady someone or other, looking for suitable stock to breed in with your esteemed line.”
She hid her smile. His cynicism was in perfect accord with her own feelings on the matter. When she’d been forced to leave her prestigious school, she’d realised that her so-called friends had no time for her. They’d been young kids, so she couldn’t really blame them for their actions. But none of their parents had encouraged the children to keep in contact with her. She’d become a pariah, and all because her father had basically been robbed of their fortune. This gorgeous stranger was right. She didn’t belong in this world. Perhaps she never really had. “But now you think otherwise?”
His eyes had dropped to her cleavage again. She felt her nipples strain against the soft fabric and she flushed.
He lifted his gaze to her face with effort. “Yes. Your act of compassion with the waitress was completely spontaneous. A room full of people and you were the only one who took pity on her.”
“Including you,” she pointed out with a wry smile.
He tilted his head. “Si. Including me.”
“So what makes you different to the rest of them, then?” She wondered aloud. But she knew he was different. Even the way he wore his hair was a sign that he didn’t really belong to this world of money and title. Men and women who were fifth generation someone or others. She secretly thought of them as the Roman Numeral brigade, with long, unpronounceable surnames, often hyphenated, followed by numbers.
He was weak, apparently, where Rosie was concerned. He could no longer resist touching her. He lifted a finger and pressed it softly against her cheek. Her skin was even softer than he had fantasised. “I see something I want, and I take it. I don’t care who I offend or upset.”
“Oh?” She whispered into the cool night air. Her breathing was laboured, her whole body seemed to spark with recognition at the simple physical contact.
“Mmm,” he groaned in agreement. “You are a prize worthy of protecting. If I had been your date tonight, you wouldn’t be out on a balcony talking to another man.”
The shiver of awareness was a full-blown shake now. Her body was trembling with desire stoked by his darkly spoken words. There was something incredibly sexy, and slightly menacing, about the declaration.
Fortunately, he seemed to misunderstand the involuntary movement. With a sound of self-derision, he placed his wine on a nearby table, then shook out of his suit jacket. “I’m sorry. You’re freezing. I should have realised before this.”
He draped the jacket around her shoulders, immediately enveloping her with his warmth and fragrance. She breathed in deeply, wondering just what bra
nd of cologne he wore. She’d never known anything like it. Woody, alpine, pure man. Without his jacket, his crisp white shirt exposed his broad shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to a slender waist, to perfection.
“Thank you.” She lifted her eyes to his face, and felt like she’d been sucker punched. The air seemed to sizzle between them, in a way she’d never known it to do before.
All her life, she’d heard about love at first sight. She’d grown up on a diet of fairy tales and mysteries. Even her own parents’ marriage had, at one time, seemed to be living proof of the idea of lightning bolt moments in matters of love. But then, her father had gone broke, and the marriage had become equally bankrupt. Her mother had left.
So much for love at first sight.
And yet, that moment on the balcony was carved out of all time and space. Like a special pocket of reality, just for them. The normal rules didn’t seem to apply. Though she’d only known him for a matter of minutes, she felt a ground-shaking connection. A familiarity that defied explanation, and an attachment that was inexplicable.
“And so? Am I right?”
“Right?” She blinked, trying to remember what they’d been talking about.
“That you do not belong here.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat and lifted her wine glass to her lips, simply for something to do. “Some of them are my friends.” It was a very loose description of the people she knew at the party. “Sort of.”
“But you are not close.”
“No,” she conceded. “Not really. I switched schools when I was still a young girl.”
“I see.” Question after question unfolded in his mind. He forced himself not to rush though. Getting to know this woman was an entirely delicious prospect. Like opening a wonderful present, he wanted to relish the act of unwrapping. “And the man you came with? Connor?”
Her cheeks flushed guiltily. “A friend. More or less.”
Less, if Luca had anything to say about it. “I’m Luca,” he said. But instead of extending his hand in a more traditional greeting, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss against the soft skin of her cheek.
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