by Abby Green
Feeling more than a little exposed, he took a breath and stepped back. Rose blinked, her long black lashes a contrast to her fair brows. Suddenly Zac wanted to see her in a more contemporary setting, as if that might somehow help defuse this sense of not being connected to reality any more.
He took her hand in his again and started to lead her back to the main part of the lobby, sending a silent signal to the attentive concierge to get his car brought round.
‘Wait...where are we going?’
She was tugging on Zac’s hand and he stopped to face her. There was something he’d never seen before in the depths of those amazing emerald-green eyes. Wariness. Women weren’t wary around Zac. They were confident, seductive. Intent on pursuing him.
Not this one. Bells rang in his head, telling him to be suspicious. But the heat in his body drowned them out. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. There was something about her that called to a very animalistic part of him.
‘We’re going to one of my clubs.’
Rose’s eyes widened slightly. She appeared almost reluctant, but then she said, ‘Okay.’
Zac felt a moment of lightness bubble up inside him. ‘Just...okay? You don’t care which one?’ He did own three of the most successful clubs in Manhattan, after all.
‘Should I?’
Her guileless question caught him unawares. Of course she shouldn’t. But in his experience everyone always wanted to go to the hottest place. The place that was so hot it wasn’t even hot yet.
Zac tugged her closer. ‘I’ll choose, then, shall I?’
She just nodded. He very badly wanted to kiss her right then, but he’d never indulged in public displays of affection in his life, and he was aware of a million pairs of curious eyes on them. So he drew back.
A discreet cough came from nearby. ‘Mr Valenti? Your car is here.’
Zac thanked the man and led Rose outside to where the valet was holding the passenger door open. Zac tipped him and helped Rose into the low-slung silver Falcone sports car.
When he’d got in behind the wheel he looked over to see her staring straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap, still holding on to her mask. She swallowed, the long graceful column of her throat moving up and down. She was tense.
Something alien moved within Zac. Concern. ‘I can take you home, if you’d prefer?’
Personally, he would prefer to walk over hot coals than let her go anywhere out of his sight. But he was not about to admit that weakness.
After a few interminable seconds she turned to look at him and the shadows of the car made her face even more ethereally beautiful. She was pale, but determined. As if she’d made some kind of decision.
She shook her head. ‘No, I want to go with you.’
Zac felt a disturbingly strong flare of triumph. He ignored it and lifted her hand, forcing it to uncurl, slipping his fingers between hers. A relatively chaste gesture, but one that felt positively carnal when he saw how her eyes dilated. He brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles. A sweet, delicate scent filled his nostrils. Tantalising. Innocent.
His body tightened with anticipation.
‘Well, then, let’s go.’
* * *
Rose was very aware that she’d had two opportunities now to decline Zac Valenti’s invitation gracefully and leave. Before this farce continued. But as he’d looked down at her in the lobby she’d been agreeing before she’d been able to stop herself, transfixed by his sheer male beauty.
And what excuse did she have for saying yes just now? None.
But, as Zac’s car purred silently and powerfully through the streets of Manhattan, for the first time in her life Rose felt a very rogue urge to rebel, to do something she wanted. Which was to eke out another few illicit moments in his company.
She’d never felt so intoxicated. It was heady. The way he’d removed her mask...it was the closest she’d ever come to an erotic moment. And then the way he’d looked at her, with such thrillingly explicit intent... Her heart still beat a frantic tattoo.
She’d never had much of a chance to indulge in flirtation with men; her time had been taken up with work and caring for her father. Was it so bad to want a little more of this man’s attention?
Yes, because you know very well that if he knew who you were and why you were here he’d have you out of the car so fast your head would be spinning for a year...
That almost caused Rose to turn in her seat and ask Zac to stop the car, but they were pulling up outside the club now, which appeared to be in the basement of a very tall, gleaming modern building.
Zac looked at her when the car had come to a stop. She was transfixed by his mouth, and imagined what it might be like on hers. On her skin.
‘I’m glad you came with me.’
And just like that all of Rose’s good intentions were blasted to pieces by wicked desire.
He got out of the car and walked around the bonnet, his powerful body sheathed in that amazing suit. He stopped at her door and opened it, which she was grateful for, as she realised that the car was way too fancy and sleek for her to know where the handle was—if there even was something as pedestrian as a handle.
When he’d helped her out she became aware of a long queue of hopefuls outside the roped-off doors of the club. She was also peripherally aware of a flurry of activity between the doormen and someone who looked very officious when they realised who had just arrived. The owner and their boss.
Suddenly there was a cacophony of calls: ‘Zac! Zac!’ And Rose was vaguely aware of him putting his arm around her and shielding her as he all but bundled her through a door beside the main one. It was being held open by one of the bouncers.
When the door had closed behind them he turned to her, concerned. ‘Are you okay? Luckily the paparazzi didn’t get us.’
She nodded, her ears still ringing from the shouting. ‘I think so.’
He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, quirking a smile. ‘I’m more used to people waiting until they’re sure they have been comprehensively papped.’
Rose shuddered at the very idea of her picture being splashed on the front pages of the tabloids. The thought was horrific. And of course he was referring to the kind of women who were as used to this kind of scene as she was used to a black and white uniform with an apron and to people never looking her in the eye.
But he was looking her right in the eye now, and it was very hard to regret being here. Even though she knew it was wrong.
‘Shall we?’
He put out a hand, indicating for her to precede him down a narrow corridor, luxuriously carpeted, with dark walls. It screamed sin and decadence, and it was a world away from anything she had ever experienced.
Another spurt of that dangerously rebellious spirit urged her on. Just a few more minutes, Rose assured herself. And then she would go.
She walked ahead of Zac, and she could feel the pounding bass beat of the music coming from all around them. They were approaching a door, and as if by magic it was opened by a handsome young man in a suit. He gave a small deferential nod as they walked in.
She came to a stop inside what was clearly the VIP space, with its velvet banquette seats and gleaming table. There was a railing and steps leading down to the dance floor, which was on the level below. The bottom of the stairs was guarded by another huge bouncer.
The dance floor was filled with hundreds of scantily clad lithe and gyrating bodies. Everyone looked like a supermodel. The local nightclub near where she’d grown up, on Bliss Street, Queens, could never have prepared Rose for this sophisticated spectacle.
She was mesmerised for long seconds, and then she felt a prickling sensation across her skin and looked to see Zac leaning with one arm on the railing, staring at her with a small smile. He was hol
ding two delicate flutes filled with sparkling wine and he handed her one.
She accepted it, hoping she didn’t look like a total wide-eyed hick, and he clinked his glass to hers.
‘Here’s to...new friends.’
‘New friends...’ she echoed, and took a sip of the golden wine, delighting in the way it fizzed as it slid down her throat. She’d been too nervous to contemplate drinking any of the champagne at the function earlier.
He took her hand with an ease that set her pulse on fire and led her over to the seat—a semi-circular shape around the table. She felt unaccountably self-conscious and nervous now that it was just the two of them in this dimly lit intimate space.
She gestured to the heaving dance floor below and asked a little shakily, ‘Is this where you come to survey your kingdom?’
Somewhere along the way Zac’s bow tie had come rakishly undone and the top button of his shirt was open. As was his waistcoat. There was space between them, but with his snowy white shirt pulled across his flat belly and one arm spread out along the back of the seat, with a hand resting near Rose’s head, she felt as hot as if they were touching. The darkness of his skin was visible through his shirt.
He shrugged minutely, dragging Rose’s attention north again. Something crossed his face...some indecipherable expression. Almost distaste. But it was gone before she could analyse it.
‘It’s a prettier view than the floor of the stock exchange.’
His words were flippant, but Rose detected something sharp. He gave off a blasé air, but she didn’t think he was for a second. She could tell that he was supremely aware of absolutely everything going on, and she would guess that there wasn’t the smallest thing left to chance.
‘I wouldn’t know what that looks like,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been there.’
Zac’s gaze narrowed on her and her skin felt tight all over.
‘So tell me about you. I haven’t seen you around before...’
She curbed a semi-hysterical giggle. ‘That’s because I’m not really from around here.’
Zac frowned. ‘But you’re a New Yorker?’
Rose took another fortifying sip of champagne. Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cut-glass tones came back to her. ‘Don’t lie—he’ll see through you in an instant. Be honest. He won’t connect you to here. He was gone before you started working for us.’
Her guts were tangled into a knot. She couldn’t believe it had really come to this. She felt as if at any moment she’d wake up back in that toilet cubicle. Maybe she’d knocked her head as well as her shoulder—
‘Rose...?’
She looked at Zac Valenti. This was no dream. He was as real as she was.
Illicit excitement vied with fear and guilt. She swallowed. ‘Yes, I’m a New Yorker. From Queens. The truth is...’ She faltered for a moment, tempted to blurt the whole thing out, but then the reminder of her signature on the bottom of that non-disclosure agreement told her that she couldn’t. No matter what happened.
It was like a slap on the face.
She couldn’t tell him the full truth but she could tell him this. ‘The fact is that I’m just a maid... I really shouldn’t have been at that function earlier, but my boss gave me a ticket. This isn’t my world. I’m no one special, really.’
Rose almost hoped that this would be enough to have Zac Valenti recoiling in horror, hastening back to his own kind. But his expression only hardened in a way that she could see wasn’t directed at her.
‘It’s as much your world as anyone else’s, believe me.’
Her insides lurched. She hadn’t expected him to express solidarity, and she was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.
Then he took her glass out of her hand and put it down on the table alongside his own. He stood up from the seat, pulling Rose with him. ‘I want to show you something.’
She balked. She wasn’t meant to be prolonging this, but there was something intense in his expression.
Weakly, she said, ‘But we just got here.’
He looked at her. ‘Do you really want to stay?’
Rose ripped her gaze away from his and looked down over the club—it was spectacular and sinfully seductive, but ultimately it left her cold. Like a beautiful picture with no depth.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
A small smile touched his mouth and then he was leading her back the way they’d come—except instead of going back out to the entrance of the club Zac was going through a secret door that led them into a massive and hushed lobby.
A man in uniform jumped to attention from behind a security desk as soon as he saw Zac. ‘Mr Valenti, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
Zac lifted a hand. ‘Relax, George, I’m good.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Valenti.’ He nodded at Rose. ‘Ma’am.’
They were stepping into a lift now, and flutters of trepidation mocked Rose’s inability to do what she knew she should: leave. Angry with her own weakness, she pulled her hand free and tried not to be so aware of Zac in the small space, but it was hard when he dominated it.
‘Where are we going, exactly?’
He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright enough to hurt. ‘Trust me.’
He’d said that twice now. This man was a complete stranger to her, and yet she was allowing him to lead her astray as easily as if she was a lemming going over a cliff.
Irritation with herself made her say testily, ‘I barely know you.’
He leant back against the wall of the elevator, hands in his pockets, exuding louche arrogance, and arched an amused brow. ‘Do you really think I’d have alerted a witness to the fact that I’m with you if I was intent on some wicked deed?’
Heat bloomed deep inside Rose at the look in his eyes that told her his head was indeed filled with all sorts of delicious wickedness. But she was the one who was really being wicked here.
The bell pinged then, and Zac straightened up and said, ‘I promise to deliver you straight back to George if you don’t want to stay...’
She was just thinking Stay where? when the doors slid open and she gasped.
Rose stepped out and blinked hard. It was like stepping through the back of a wardrobe into Narnia. If Narnia was under a star-filled Manhattan sky.
It was a garden, with some parts like a wild meadow and others like a very ordered English garden. Rose didn’t even realise she’d walked so far until she saw she was standing right in the middle of a huge green space on a central paved walkway.
The dark smudge of Central Park was visible in the distance and lights twinkled from the buildings around them, giving the illusion of being suspended in mid-air, amongst the tall structures.
‘This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she breathed in awe, thinking poignantly of her mother, who had loved gardens.
‘It took some time to perfect.’
She looked at Zac as understanding dawned. ‘You built this...? How long did it take?’
* * *
Five years, to be precise. But Zac didn’t say that. He led Rose over to an elevated terrace that looked in the opposite direction.
When they were at the railing he guided her in front of him and placed his arms around hers, his hands resting on either side of her on the rail. Trapping her against him.
He gritted his jaw but his body reacted helplessly, rising to the temptation of the provocation of her buttocks against him.
She was tense. Again, not a reaction he was used to with women, who were generally all too eager to capitalise on his exclusive interest.
In a bid to slow the blood rushing to his crotch, he leant forward slightly and pointed. ‘See over there? That’s the Rockefeller Center.’
Her head moved to the left, away from Zac, and he struggled not to press his mouth to her bared neck. Th
e urge to bite that pale skin was almost overwhelming. With some dark humour he figured that he knew how vampires felt. Her scent was light and floral. Sweet. Sexy. Intoxicating.
Curbing his desire, he pointed again to the right. ‘That’s Carnegie Hall. Times Square is just beyond.’
Rose’s face was close to Zac’s now, turning to follow the direction of his finger. She was trembling very lightly, her hands in a white-knuckled grip on the railing.
Her voice was husky. ‘Is this what you do to impress women?’ She huffed a little laugh. ‘I have to admit, it’s working.’
Zac stood up straight, surprised at the immediate indignation he felt. He was no angel, but he resented the insinuation that this was a well-worn routine.
He turned Rose to face him. Her green eyes were huge. Luminous. ‘I don’t bring any women up here. You’re the first.’
* * *
Rose looked up at one of Manhattan’s most desirable men, standing against the backdrop of a glittering city that he could command to do his will with a mere click of his fingers. It was the kind of view most New Yorkers were only lucky enough to see if they queued up to climb the Empire State building or similar tourist attractions. And it was in his backyard.
It was all so unexpected...and especially this amazing, incongruous and wondrous slice of greenery that he’d created, which was so magical.
She desperately wanted to believe he was just spinning her a line, because that would help her feel disgusted with herself—and him. And that would give her the impetus she needed to leave, and walk away.
But she couldn’t move—treacherously. Was he lying? But why would he lie? As if he needed to impress a woman with a mere garden—even if it did soar magically above one of the most vibrant cities in the world. The thought that she really might be the first woman he’d brought here was a little overwhelming and ultimately too seductive to resist.
As if sensing her vacillation, her desire to believe him, Zac cupped her jaw, his fingers light on the back of her neck. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Rose. You’re different...’
