Gael, dressed in black running gear, looking strong and virile. But he was not alone. Alexandra was with him, her long blonde hair loose down her back, her white cotton night gown almost transparent in the morning light. Her nakedness underneath was obvious.
Carrie watched just long enough to have her worst suspicions confirmed – to see her mother’s body cling to Gael’s, her lips seeking his … and for Gael not to push her away.
Her stomach rolled, and she walked away from the window.
In that moment, the innocent girl Carrie was died. She would never be the same again.
CHAPTER THREE
Six years later.
Carrie ran her fingers through her platinum blonde hair, admiring the sexy bell shape in the bathroom mirror. It was quite a change from the week before, when it had fallen in long, silken waves down her back. Now, it was short and daring, a crop that exposed the swan like curve of her neck and flattered her bone structure. She always took great care with her make up, and it was flawless. All the time. From the minute she got out of bed, she began applying the basics, and she ensured it lasted all day. She lifted her lipstick now to top up her cherry red mouth. Her eyes, enormous and blue, were framed by curling lashes and fashionable brows.
As for the dress … she grinned as she took in the dipped front – so low it showed a generous hint of cleavage, and low enough at the back to reveal her entire spine, right down to the swell just above her buttocks. The hem fell to the floor, but it was firm across her thighs, and it showed off her sleek shape in the most flattering way.
“You look gorgeous,” Juanita laughed, putting an arm around Carrie’s svelte waist. “Belle of the ball, as always. But come on, the boys will wonder what’s taking so long.”
Carrie handed the cherry red lipstick to her best friend, and watched as Juanita glided it across her own full pout. No one had been more thrilled by Carrie’s transformation than Juanita. Carrie’s lack of interest in men, partying and what Juanita deemed to be ‘fun’ had been the only point of difference between them. Now, it was non-existent. They enjoyed the same fun. The same games.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Juanita tossed the lipstick back to her friend, then linked arms with her. “Tell me again what we’re celebrating tonight?”
Carrie’s laugh tinkled, like bells in the breeze. “We’re not celebrating, darling. We’re raising funds for a new wing of the paediatric hospital.”
“Right,” Juanita nodded. “I knew it was something good. Can you see Tom and Max?”
Maximillian Sanderson was Carrie’s latest interest. Though ‘interest’ was over-stating it a bit. He was her pursuer. A man who had made it obvious he wanted her, and had been persistent enough to be rewarded, finally, with a date. She hadn’t made up her mind yet if she’d sleep with him. He was handsome, to be sure, but he did very little to get her heart racing.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on their familiar heads. Both blonde, that was where the similarities ended. Maximilian was average height, with broad shoulders and a stocky frame. Tom was lean and long, with glasses he wore on the tip of his nose. “Staking out the bar,” Carrie said with a smile. “Excellent. I hope they’ve got some vodka lined up.”
“You and your vodka,” Juanita said with a laugh. “Why don’t you have a champagne with me tonight?”
Carrie pulled a face. “No, thanks.”
Juanita resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her friend’s obsessive calorie counting had become a ritual, and Juanita had learned long ago not to question it. “Your call.”
They walked, arm in arm, through the crowded art deco ballroom, unaware of how many admiring glances they drew. At first, when Carrie had lost weight and changed her appearance, she’d been thrilled by the attention. She’d fallen into the trap of accepting every invitation that came her way, so flattered had she been by the unusual degree of interest in her. Years had passed since then, and she was far more confident and choosy. Besides, she was too busy in her job to be out every night of the week.
“There you are,” Tom smiled indulgently at Juanita, as he slipped a very full glass of champagne into her hand. “The band’s just about to start. Drink this so we can dance.”
Juanita wiggled her brows. “If you insist.”
Max’s eyes were drawn to Carrie’s cleavage. She ignored it. After all, the dress practically begged for that kind of attention. It was partly why she’d worn it. “Tom said you like vodka and soda?” He murmured finally, his eyes still struggling to lift higher than her throat.
She nodded and took the offered drink. “Thanks, Max.” She lifted the straw to her lips and drank it quickly.
Max’s voice was sensual. “Another?”
“Why not?” She agreed, as the effects of the alcohol began to bubble through her. “It’s a Friday night. The world is our oyster. For the weekend, at least.” Her smile was effervescent; it lit up her whole face. Max swallowed nervously. The feeling that he was way out of his league hit him once more.
As he ordered the drink, Carrie leaned against the bar, draping her elbows and forming an elegant pose of recline. Tom and Juanita were deep in conversation, and Max was waiting for the in-demand staff to spot him. Which left Carrie free to see and be seen.
She loved society events. The people-watching was a highlight of her week, and events such as this were a top opportunity to mingle. Her business, though fledgling, was successful. In fact, she was in the midst of hunting around for an investor, so she could expand even further. And parties were nothing if not an opportunity to network.
Just a few feet away she could see Elaine McMurtie, the very wealthy heiress who’d just had a sex tape leak online. Some people thought it had been intentional, to raise her profile, but Carrie had known Elaine for years. It was the kind of fame and attention she detested. Besides, the sex tape had been terribly unflattering. She resolved to speak to her, to offer her angry outrage, and had just turned to Tom to make her excuses, when her eyes landed on an intimately familiar figure.
Six years had passed since that night in the rose garden, but she’d never forgotten a single detail about his appearance. Her breath hitched in her throat, as she scanned his gorgeous face, and tuxedo-clad body. He must now have been thirty five years old, but he hadn’t changed a bit. His body still seemed to radiate with the strength and fire of a powerful warrior.
Her nipples tightened beneath her sheer dress, as she remembered how his body had felt, when pressed against hers. How her hips had clung to his, moving to bring his body into the most intimate contact with hers. She lowered her hands to her side, and forced herself to breathe naturally.
She would go and see him, but not until she had one more vodka under her belt. While Tom was still waiting to be served, she took her time studying Gael. He was talking to two men; she didn’t recognise either. They were stuffy looking, compared to her step-brother. Her lips curved at the ridiculous description. For they were no more siblings than they were friends. They were two people who’d kissed one night. He was the man who’d shamed her into seeing what a pathetic loser she was; who’d made her understand that no one would ever want her or take her seriously when she spent her days lying around eating chocolate and reading out-dated romance novels.
Max passed a vodka to her, this time doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes level with hers. “Thank you,” she murmured, drinking it as quickly as she had the first. She put the glass on the bar, and then smiled apologetically at Max. “I’m sorry, darling, there’s one thing I have to do. I’ll be back for a dance in a moment.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge par
t of her childhood.
From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)
Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.
Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.
BOOKS BY CLARE CONNELLY
SINGLE TITLES
Marrying Her Enemy
The Velasco Lovechild
The Sultan’s Reluctant Princess
The Sultan’s Virgin Bride
The Sheikh’s Arranged Marriage
In the Hands of the Sheikh
One Night with the Sheikh
The Sheikh’s Virgin Hostage
To the Highest Bidder
The Greek Tycoon’s Forbidden Affair
Bought by the Sheikh
The Billionaire’s Christmas Revenge
Tempted by the Billionaire
The Tycoon’s Christmas Captive
His Loving Deception
A Second Chance at Love
The Sheikh’s Christmas Mistress
Love in the Fast Lane
The Medici Mistress
The Tycoon’s Virgin Mistress
All She Wants for Christmas
The Italian Billionaire’s Betrayal
A Bed of Broken Promises
Raising the Soldier’s Son
The Italian’s Innocent Bride
Bartered to the Sheikh
Betrayed by the CEO
COMPENDIUMS
Casacelli Brides
Mediterranean Tycoons
Desert Rulers
Billionaire Bad Boys
Desert Kings
The Greek's Marriage Revenge: To have and to hold until truth do them part... (The Henderson Sisters Book 1) Page 17
