He had made it possible for her to move past that terrible night in France and it had been like a weight lifting. The pain of losing them was still there, it always would be, but she could live with that now that the other terrible, relentless ache was gone.
Her head had been so fuzzy with adrenaline and emotion that she still didn’t really know how he’d done it. But one fragment of memory was diamond-bright.
Arlo had rescued her. Again.
Not from a swirling sea, but from herself.
And she wanted to say something—only what? Thank you seemed too anodyne. But she didn’t know how to express the complicated mix of emotions she was feeling. Maybe the right words would just come to her after a glass of champagne...
Wondering if Arlo was ready to go, she turned and headed back into the bedroom.
She stopped in the doorway, her heart skipping a beat.
He was slumped on the sofa, reading a book. His hair was still a little damp from the shower, but he was more than ready, in a dinner jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, matching trousers, another snow-white shirt, and, finishing it off like a ribbon on a birthday present, a perfectly knotted bow tie.
Her stomach did a slow backwards flip.
If only she could spend the evening slowly unwrapping him.
But, taking a second look, she felt her breathing slow. Despite the casual arrangement of his limbs, there was something about how he was sitting...an almost unnatural stillness that hinted at the coiled tension beneath his skin.
Remembering his agitation earlier, she felt a fierce protective urge, cold and potent like a shot of vodka. He was on edge—not that he would admit it. He’d said all he’d wanted to earlier—probably more than he’d wanted, in fact. But she knew. And more importantly, she knew what to do about it. He had given her this beautiful dress, but she would take care of him tonight—that would be her gift to him.
As though sensing her scrutiny, Arlo looked up. Clearing her throat, she took a step forward and did a little twirl. ‘How do I look?’
He got to his feet, his grey eyes sweeping admiringly over her body. ‘Like a goddess,’ he said softly.
He closed the distance between them in two strides and the iron strength of his arm anchored her against him as his lips found hers. Sliding her hands up over his satin lapels, she breathed out shakily against his mouth. Her body was softening...her skin was growing warm, too warm. In another few seconds the small amount of resolve she had would melt away...
‘Arlo—’
He broke away. ‘I know. I know...’
His smile was rigid as she reached up to wipe her lipstick from his mouth. ‘That’s better,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m just going to touch up my lips.’ She was back in less than a minute. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’
‘Not quite.’ He was holding out a slim black velvet box.
Her heart felt suddenly as though it was trying to beat a path through her ribs. ‘What’s that?’ she croaked.
‘Open it and see,’ he said quietly.
Speechless with shock, she stared down at a beautiful diamond bracelet. ‘You shouldn’t have—’ Her lower lip was quivering. ‘No, I mean it. You’ve already given me this beautiful dress.’
‘That was a necessity. So is this, actually.’ Lifting the delicate band, he opened the clasp and slipped it onto her wrist. ‘Don’t you know, darling? It’s the accessories that make the dress.’
That wasn’t true, she thought, glancing down at the smooth blue silk. This dress had been perfect as it was. This was generous, thoughtful, personal.
She felt her heartbeat accelerate. Arlo had wanted to see her reaction, to make her happy. But only because he did things properly, she told herself firmly. And probably that was how he’d been raised. It wasn’t personal.
‘Arlo, you can’t keep buying me things,’ she protested.
‘Why? It gives me pleasure.’ He stared down at her, his grey eyes intent and enveloping. ‘You wouldn’t want to stop giving me pleasure, would you?’
‘No, but I don’t have a gift for you...’
Her voice trailed off as he leaned forward and she felt his lips trace the pulse down her neck. The room blurred and a ribbon of heat uncurled inside her. Would it always be like this with him? So instant, so intense, so annihilating.
More importantly, could it ever be like this with another man?
Arlo lifted his head and the room slowly stopped spinning. ‘We should probably go...’
His hand was warm and firm around hers. She smiled. ‘Then let’s go.’
* * *
Frankie could hear the party as soon as Arlo opened their bedroom door. Downstairs, guests were spilling out of the rooms, and it didn’t take long for her to realise that not only did most of them know Arlo, many of them were surprised to see him.
Clearly he’d been telling the truth about not enjoying big family events.
He hid it well. His face was blank of expression, aside from the occasional stiff smile, but his arm was rigid beneath hers and she could feel his discomfort.
Only, somehow, knowing that he found it so difficult made it easier for her to step forward and smile and talk and laugh.
This was something she enjoyed—something she could do well, she realised. But, more than that, it was her chance to do something for him. Her chance to make him feel as safe and protected as he’d made her feel out on the causeway.
As they made their way to the ballroom Frankie caught her breath. In daylight, the house was astonishing. Now, though, it looked magical. Like an enchanted fairy tale palace.
Canopies of tiny lights hung down the walls behind huge displays of pink and cream roses, and beneath their feet an immaculate checkerboard marble floor gleamed beneath rows of glittering chandeliers.
The guests were pretty impressive too, she thought, her eyes leapfrogging over the men’s immaculate monochrome evening wear to the sparkling dresses and plunging necklines of their wives and girlfriends.
Everyone looked so relaxed and happy.
Everyone but Arlo, she thought, her eyes darting to the man beside her and the lines of tension around his eyes.
‘Here.’ Plucking two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, he handed her one.
‘Thank you—oh, wow!’
Gazing up at the soaring ceiling, Frankie felt as if she’d already drunk the contents of her glass.
Arlo leaned into her, his body warm against the cool skin of her back. ‘My great-great-great-great-grandfather is the one in the middle.’
‘You mean the one kneeling in front of that woman wearing a sheet? I guess he does look a little like you from this angle,’ she said softly.
Looking up at him, she was struck again by his size and his austere, uncompromising features, but most of all by his intense maleness. Other men might be prettier, more symmetrical, more elegant, but Arlo was magnificent. And half a head taller than everyone else.
She felt a slight fluttering pressure against her pelvic bone as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with heat. Taking a breath, she said quickly, ‘So why did he get to be painted on the ceiling?’
Arlo glanced upward. ‘He actually got more than a ceiling. This estate was a gift for his military successes against the French and the Bavarians.’
‘And you followed in his footsteps?’
He met her eyes. ‘Not quite. Although I did get into a fight with a French geologist out at Svalbard a couple of years back.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was uncomplimentary about my sledge.’
Frankie burst out laughing. Watching some of the tension leave his face, she felt her happiness grow brighter than the light from the polished chandeliers.
‘Oh, there you are!’
It was Serena, glamorous in silver lamé, and the warmth in her voi
ce matched her smile. Beside her, Davey was handsome in his dark suit.
‘Davey was worried you’d got lost. He was about to send a search party.’
Arlo shook his cousin’s hand. ‘As if I’d miss the chance to razz you in public.’ He turned to Serena and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You look lovely as always, Lady Fairfax.’
‘Never mind me.’ Turning, she gazed admiringly at Frankie. ‘Look at you. You look absolutely gorgeous. Doesn’t she, Arlo?’
Frankie felt her blood lighten as his eyes rested on her face, his head tilting slightly towards her. ‘Yes, she does.’
* * *
Frankie was more than gorgeous, Arlo thought, pressing his hand flat on her back to steady himself. She was captivatingly lovely. He literally couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
The crème de ciel blue silk not only matched her eyes, it seemed to ripple over her body like water, and he had to concentrate hard on keeping his hands from sliding aside those thin straps.
Later, he told himself firmly, as his cousin Arthur bounded up to greet him. Later in their room, when they were alone, he would strip her naked and take her in his arms and let his body flow into hers.
Right now, he had to get through this.
Although with Frankie by his side it was proving less painful than he’d anticipated. Her excitement was infectious and, standing beside her, he was struck by how easily she got on with people. She made it look so effortless. Considering she didn’t know anyone, she was relaxed and natural and warm—in other words, everything he wasn’t. And it was obvious that she accepted people for who they were.
Just as she had accepted him.
But he could see, too, that she loved being part of a family again—and she was a part of it. She fitted into his world like a hand in a glove.
As if sensing his gaze, Frankie glanced over at him and he felt his heartbeat accelerate. The skin was taut over the curves of her cheekbones, her eyes glittering with a curiosity and eagerness for life. For him.
His breath caught. When she looked at him like that it was tempting to think beyond the here and now, beyond this evening, beyond tomorrow...
Tempting, too, to think of choices made and yet to be made, of tantalising possibilities that had nothing to do with cold and danger or hardship and isolation, so that suddenly it was easy to imagine an alternative, hazy, sun-filled world, where the sky was always the colour of curaçao and Frankie was always in his bed.
But he’d chased that dream before, and all he’d succeeded in doing was breaking Harriet’s heart and proving to himself what he had already known. Feelings could not be relied upon.
So why go there? Why ruin what they had?
This was perfection. A flawless moment frozen in time. It was not for everyone, but for him it was the only way.
From across the room, he heard someone call his name. Glancing over, he saw Arthur holding up his wrist and pointing at his watch.
It was time. The moment he’d been dreading was finally upon him.
Right on cue, a waiter appeared by his side and, picking up the glass of champagne from the tray, Arlo tapped it imperiously with a spoon.
Instantly the conversations around him subsided into silence and, moving purposefully through the crowd, he made his way over to the stage that had been set up for the band.
‘Thank you. Most of you already know me. But for those that don’t my name is Arlo and Davey is my cousin. I know pretty much everything there is to know about him. But today isn’t just about Davey. As you all know, today is Davey and Serena’s tenth wedding anniversary.’
There was a small smattering of applause and a few cheers and he waited until they died away.
‘And I was there, as most of you were, ten years ago, when they made their vows. Vows they have kept faithfully.’ Turning towards his cousin and Serena, he forced his mouth to soften into a smile. ‘As we all knew they would. Their vows were the real deal. Made with love.’
A love he envied and feared in equal measure.
He cleared his throat. ‘The kind of love that is an ever-fixed mark—that hasn’t changed and won’t change with the passing of time or be shaken by storms.’
As he looked out across the mass of faces his eyes connected with Frankie’s and he felt as if his heart was dropping away from his body, remembering what he’d said about love to her.
‘And that love is why we love them. Why we love spending time with them. Why we’re all here tonight.’
The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Each one a reminder of how he’d failed in his own marriage—a marriage that had served only to prove that his parents’ rapturous, unfettered joy in one another was beyond his reach.
Someone coughed and he returned his attention to his audience.
‘To sum up: money might make the world go round, but Davey and Serena are proof that love is the coin of the realm. Their love for one another, for their beautiful son Bertie, and for all of us.’ He raised his glass. ‘And now we have a chance to honour that love. So please raise your glasses and join me in a toast to Davey and Serena. For making it all look so easy.’
Everyone chanted out the names and then there was a huge cheer. He felt a relief that was more intoxicating than any champagne flood his veins.
It was over.
‘Thanks, mate.’ It was Davey, his face trembling with emotion. The two men hugged.
Beside him, Serena was wiping tears from her eyes. ‘I knew you’d make me cry.’
Pulling her closer, Arlo kissed her forehead softly. ‘Then you can tick that off the list.’
Serena was a legendary list-maker—particularly when it came to organising events.
‘Now, go and enjoy your party. Take Davey out on the dance floor. That’ll put a smile back on your face.’
‘Great speech.’
It was Frankie. The relief he’d felt moments earlier faded as he looked into her eyes. She looked happier than he’d ever seen her, and somehow sadder too.
‘Thank you.’
She hesitated, seemingly on the point of saying something, and then changed her mind. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to hold her close, to steady his body against hers. Maybe that would stop this feeling of everything slipping beneath his feet.
‘Would you dance with me?’ he asked abruptly.
Her eyes found his and she nodded slowly. Taking her hand, he led her onto the dance floor. He held her close, letting the scent and the softness of her skin envelop him, so that by the end of their second dance his body was rock-hard.
She felt it. Of course she did. And, watching her blue eyes widen and flare, he leaned forward and nipped the soft skin of her throat.
‘Can we go upstairs?’ she whispered. ‘I need you now.’
He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he took her hand and led her off the dance floor. He was dimly aware of people’s faces. Dimly aware that their hunger must be visible to anyone looking. But all he cared about was getting across the ballroom and up to their bedroom as quickly as possible.
This was what he wanted—what they both wanted. It was all they needed from one another.
As they stepped out into the hall she tugged at his arm. ‘Are you sure you want to leave?’
‘I’ve never been more sure of anything,’ he said hoarsely and, sweeping her into his arms, he carried her up the stairs.
When they reached the bedroom door his body was straining for release and, kicking it shut, he loosened his grip, bringing his mouth down on hers as her hands locked in his shirt and she dragged him towards her.
Tightening his arm around her waist, he pushed her back against the door, flattening her body with his. Her fingers were tugging at his waistband and he almost lost his footing as she pulled him free of his trousers and gripped him in her hand, and then he was lifting her and jerking up her dress in one swift
movement.
She shifted against him as he yanked aside her panties and, breathing raggedly, thrust inside her. Opening her mouth to the heat of his kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist, arching against him, panting out his name as he surged into her with hot, liquid force.
* * *
Frankie lifted the shotgun, her heart pounding as she closed her right eye and tried to visualise the path of the clay. It was easy to pick up the basics of shooting, Arlo had told her. But actually to hit the target...
‘Weight on your front foot, bend your knee, stick out your bottom, fire when it’s almost at the top of the curve...’ she muttered to herself, and then, ‘Pull!’ she shouted.
The tiny disc spun into the air and—bang!—disintegrated with a satisfying crack.
Grinning idiotically, she turned to where Arlo and Davey stood watching her. ‘I did it!’
‘Well done,’ said Arlo softly.
Holding the gun upright, she flicked the bolt so the gun broke. ‘I did everything you said and it worked. It actually worked.’
He held her gaze. ‘Yes, it did.’
She did a little dance on the spot. ‘I didn’t think I’d enjoy it that much, but it’s so satisfying.’
Arlo grinned. ‘My turn.’
Frankie watched dry-mouthed as he walked away. He had an enviable air of calm that made it seem as if he was moving at a slower pace than everyone around him. But then he tucked the gun into his shoulder and she felt suddenly weak in the middle as both his body and gun swiftly followed the four clays through the air with smooth, lethal accuracy.
She sighed. ‘Has he always been like this? You know...’
‘I do—and, yes. He’s one of a kind.’ Davey smiled. ‘Last night he was being generous. He’s the one who makes everything look easy.’
He did, Frankie thought, picturing Arlo giving his speech. Look at how he had just stood up in front of all those people and said those beautiful things about Davey and Serena. And love.
Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed Page 14
