Chloe's Rescue Mission

by Dean, Rosie

  For the final number, the mood of the music changed and the women headed over to the audience to capture a man each to join them on the dance floor. No sooner had they secured their prey, than the young man was approaching our table. Please God, not me, I thought, hoping the table between us might be a good enough barrier. Apparently not. He walked around it, bowed to me and took my hand. Since I’d already informed the audience of my many performances on the stage, I had absolutely no excuse for playing it coy. In fact, I suspected this whole thing was a set up.

  Smiling politely, I stood to join him.

  *

  Duncan felt a mild kick in his pulse as he watched Chloe being guided into the spotlight. Wearing that beautiful dress and walking with such serenity, one might be forgiven for thinking she danced flamenco every night. As the guitarist began and the dancers clapped a staccato rhythm, she clapped too, and held the gaze of her partner as if he were the centre of her world. Within seconds, the dancers were leading their partners in a simple routine. Duncan was only just aware of the two men clowning around but he couldn’t take his eyes off Chloe. She moved naturally, her hips swinging suggestively to the flamenco beat and her arms holding perfect positions.

  As if her partner knew she was capable of more, he pulled her to him and span with her; turned her under his arm and swept around her like a matador with a cape. Wherever he led her, she followed and whatever emotion he gave out, she gave right back.

  Duncan’s foot flexed repeatedly beneath the table. He wouldn’t have thought watching something so obviously staged could affect him as much as it did. It was his body he wanted pressed against hers. And he wanted to be the one responsible for all the passion she was portraying now – but he wanted it for real.

  He swallowed. How was he ever going to keep a lid on this? Recently he’d noticed the way his life felt so skewed when she was around, and it bugged him.

  As the dance ended, he watched her curtsey to the audience. She caught Duncan’s eye, briefly, before turning back to her partner who bent to kiss her hand and escorted her back to the table.

  As soon as the dancers had left, a jazz band was revealed on stage. His guests, inspired by the professionals and fuelled by bottles of Rioja, headed to the dance floor. Duncan turned to Philippe and asked, ‘So, are you going to the Ryder Cup again?’ Talking golf was always easy with Philippe.

  ‘Yes, I’m hoping to get a few people together. Do you want to join us or…’ Philippe’s voice faded out as Duncan became conscious of Chloe heading in their direction. ‘Hmm?’ Philippe concluded, clearly expecting a response.

  Duncan nodded. ‘Great idea,’ as Chloe rested her hand on Philippe’s shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to them both before focussing on Philippe. ‘I’m on a promise for a dance – is now a good time?’

  The Frenchman’s eyes lit up. ‘Chérie, any time would be a good time.’

  He turned to Duncan. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I leave you for a while? I am afraid, Chloe and I have a prior engagement.’

  Duncan knew damned well Philippe wasn’t remotely afraid – he was all puffed up like a peacock. He watched as they made their way between the tables, Philippe leading Chloe as he did so. The back of her dress dipped in a curving ‘V’ to within centimetres of the fabulous derrière that he’d watched moving through the pool earlier. Her hairstyle, this evening, revealed a long, elegant neck against which he saw the shimmer of her pendant earrings as they swung heavily from her ears. Why was he picturing removing one of them and running his tongue over the soft lobe?

  Duncan put his bunched napkin onto the table and made his way to the bar, where he ordered a large, single-malt whisky. With the glass in his hand, he made a half-turn to scan the dance floor. He saw Philippe’s hand planted squarely in the centre of her back – skin on skin. It was an innocent ballroom hold, but it didn’t stop Duncan’s irritation escalating. As he saw Chloe laugh at something Philippe had said, and Philippe draw her more closely in, he knocked back the whisky and headed out onto the terrace.

  Just days ago, she’d seemed a bright, unpretentious young woman with a mission to rescue her grandfather’s theatre. Now…now, she’d become a siren, an enchantress and too bloody sexy for her own good.

  He walked across the terrace, hurrying down the steps, past the ornate gardens to the end and through the archway into The Rose Garden. He would sit there for a while and put things back in perspective. In each hotel he owned, he had created a quiet rose garden – somewhere for people to sit and enjoy the fragrance of roses. For him, these and the colours of heathers provided an oasis of calm and a link with his homeland, where he could go to think. The scent would soothe him, and tonight he would get on top of this absurd reaction Chloe triggered in him.

  He sat, his chest rising and falling, his jaw aching from being clenched too tightly. His eyes flitting from plant to plant, unseeingly. He stood up, ran his hand around the back of his neck and sat down again, releasing his bow tie and unbuttoning his collar. He leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands.

  Drawing several deep breaths and letting them out slowly he sat back and clasped his hands on the back of his head. This was a challenging situation. How did he deal with business challenges?

  He faced them head on.

  There was only one thing for it. He needed to get back down to business – his own business.

  As he strode into the hall, his eyes quickly locked on to Chloe. She was standing with a senior executive from one of the Swiss banks. Correction, she was standing just a little too close to the executive. Fired up, he headed straight in their direction, just managing to slow down enough to avoid cannoning into them. She looked up in surprise. He smiled down at her, his arm hovering behind her back, a fraction of an inch from her warm, fragrant skin. ‘Chloe.’ His eyes dropped to see her mouth curve into a smile. He glanced at the tall, blond Swiss man. ‘Marti, if you don’t mind, I was hoping to coax Chloe back onto the dance floor.’

  Chapter 11

  Something in my stomach did a little bouncing act, cutting off the blood supply to my legs and redirecting it to my face. I hoped the shock wasn’t too evident. Well, shock tinged with excitement, really. I also hoped his lack of fun didn’t follow through into his dancing – there was nothing worse than a bad dancer. ‘I think I could be coaxed,’ I said.

  He was so close, I could feel his leg disturbing the fabric of my skirt and now, with an unexpected thrill, I felt his hand graze the edge of my shoulder blade. I stepped back into it, increasing the pressure of his fingertips on my skin. I held out my hand. As he took it, there was a look on his face I couldn’t quite work out.

  The band was playing a salsa tune. My eyes widened in surprise, as Duncan demonstrated he knew exactly how to move to the music. He knew how to move extremely well. I smiled to myself. It felt like I was back at the sixth form Christmas party and dancing with the fittest boy in the school.

  The rhythm changed everything. My senses were heightened. My dress became like a second skin – I could feel a new sensuality in the way the fabric slipped across my calves and, for the first time this evening, I was aware how the bodice clung supportively to my breasts. The heat from his body was giving off the sultriest of spicy scents – making me want to move closer and inhale deeply. Glancing up, I noticed Duncan’s blue eyes had deepened and were looking intensely at me. I had to look away or he would surely know exactly how I felt. I must dance. Just dance. It was a show – a routine. Don’t look at him, Chloe, dance!

  The music ended but Duncan didn’t let me go. I swallowed and focused on the open neck of his shirt. Big mistake. The sprinkling of dark hairs beneath triggered a vision of what I might discover if I could just trace them lower down, and it disturbed me in the most deliciously welcome way imaginable.

  ‘Chloe. Let’s get some fresh air,’ he said, his deep voice resonating through me.

  I nodded. He released the hand he was holding, but the hand at my back slid round and held
me against him. He steered me out onto the terrace. The evening was cool, and the air breezed over my dampened skin. I shivered and moved closer to him.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  Cold enough to want to be tucked up somewhere cosy with you, I thought.

  ‘Here,’ he said, shrugging off his jacket.

  I’d always thought that gesture a bit of a cliché in movies. Was I mad? I pulled the jacket on and hugged it to me, soaking up his warmth. The downside was, he didn’t have his arm around me any more.

  We walked across the terrace. I sensed we were heading for the rose garden. I was wrong. Duncan led me through to another garden nearer the hotel. In here, the plants were more suited to the climate – Birds of Paradise sprang from rockeries. Tropical. Dramatic. Passionate. I turned to him as he halted.

  *

  Duncan had planned what he was going to say. He was going to break it to her that he believed putting the theatre into his TV programme was a mistake; he had decided he was going to fund her for a year while she project-managed the regeneration of the theatre; he would set up a working party to assist and advise her but chiefly, he was standing back from the whole project. That was as philanthropic as he was prepared to be for her theatre. She could take it or leave it.

  Yes, that was the plan.

  Only, Chloe hadn’t been acquainted with the plan. If she had been, she wouldn’t be looking at him now with her lips parted and her eyes studying his mouth, as though judging just how and when to put him out of his misery.

  ‘I…’

  Her eyes drifted up and the very moment they connected with his, all his resolve disappeared. Before common sense had any chance of stealing the moment, he pulled her to him and brought his mouth down on hers. Her little cry registered in his brain a split second after he had savoured the softness of her lips. Concerned, he pulled back but any worries were instantly dispelled when he felt her hands link behind his neck and draw him closer. Her mouth was beneath his – her tongue caressing his so exquisitely, he couldn’t help responding fully; tasting and exploring hers, totally without inhibition.

  *

  I couldn’t have enough of him. You’d have thought I’d spent the last year in a convent on bromide. I pressed myself up against his chest, desperate to feel the crush across my breasts; my hips were rammed forward to meet his. The firmness of his body against mine, his heat and the crazy wildness of his kisses revved me so highly, I laced my fingers into his hair, locking our position so he couldn’t get away. Not that he wanted to – that was evident. His hands flattened against my back and flexed on my skin. He moved slightly to capture one of my legs between his own – leaving me in absolutely no doubt of his intention. Next his hands slid down and warmed my buttocks then, with a gentle pull, moulded me right up against him.

  There was only one place this could lead and, whilst it was certainly a dream destination, I knew I was not ready to make that journey. Oh yes, physically, I had my bags packed and one foot on the bus – but mentally, I was still hovering in the hall porch.

  As if I’d transmitted the thought to Duncan, his hands slackened over my body and the commitment in his kissing subsided. As he leaned his forehead against mine, I could hear the ragged pull of his breath and feel it on my face. We stood for a moment, sharing the same small space and the same air. But what about thoughts – did we share those, too? My hands slid down to his chest, my fingertips moving gently over the hard muscles, my thumb drifting across to slip between two shirt buttons to the skin beneath.

  He stepped back, and caught my hands in his. Now was the moment when he would lift them to his lips and kiss them gently.

  Or so I thought.

  Instead, he pulled my hands away from his body and stared down at them, a crease gouged between his brows. His voice was rough. ‘We shouldn’t...’

  Oh God. Of course. But…

  ‘Why?’

  He shook his head as if he didn’t really know.

  I hazarded a guess. ‘Are you involved with someone else?’

  Still frowning, he pushed me farther away from him. As he dropped my hands he said rather crisply, ‘I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘Really?’ I ran my hands over my hips. ‘Well, Duncan, you just did. And you started it.’

  ‘It was a mistake.’

  A mistake? How did bringing me to a secluded garden and kissing the glory out of me qualify as a mistake? What about all those other showbiz personalities he was so frequently seen with; the ones who’d helped him gain such a lurid reputation? A sobering thought came to mind. Was his real objection the fact that I just wasn’t good enough?

  ‘What’s the matter, Duncan – would it be different if I were one of your A-list celebrity blondes, instead of some forgotten actor’s granddaughter? Is being seen with me going to tarnish your image?’

  ‘What? You seriously think I date women for the good of my image?’ His eyes narrowed, becoming meaner – not mischievous and exciting like before. ‘It’s usually women dating me to improve theirs.’ Then something registered behind his eyes and his mouth hardened. ‘Oh, wait a minute,’ he nodded his head, very slowly. ‘Is this all part of your strategy for raising the profile of the theatre?’ His Scottish accent suddenly became stronger. ‘T’be plastered all over the tabloids as my latest squeeze. Dear God, Chloe! I hadn’t realised you were that desperate for publicity.’

  The cheek of him. ‘No!’ I was surprised how loud my voice sounded in this cloistered environment.

  ‘Jeez!’ Duncan ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve seen some smooth operators in my time, Chloe. But I have to say, you take the bloody biscuit!’

  My back stiffened. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, here. You asked me to dance, and you’re the one who suggested taking a walk. You had your arm round me, remember?’

  ‘I did exactly what you wanted, and you know it!’

  Yes. Surprisingly, I had wanted it. His accuracy stymied any response from me – even if my motives weren’t even close to what he was suggesting.

  ‘Chloe, you’ve been playing me all night. Don’t tell me you chose that dress with any other intention. Well, congratulations. You got a result!’

  ‘A result!’ I snapped, finally finding my voice. ‘I don’t believe you just said that.’

  ‘I didn’t notice you fighting me off.’

  ‘Well, forgive me,’ I said, unrepentantly, ‘I was under the impression we were on the same page, here.’

  ‘And what page would that be, Miss Steele? Page seven of the daily red-tops? Any page in Gossip magazine?’

  I took a deep breath before speaking quietly and precisely. ‘Duncan, you brought me out here,’ I gestured to the beautiful garden around us. ‘You set the pace. How does that put me in the wrong?’

  ‘Come off it. I’ve seen plenty of women do a number on me in the past. I know the moves.’

  ‘Really? Then with all your vast experience, you should have known to leave well alone, shouldn’t you?’

  I hitched up my skirt and strode past him through the archway.

  *

  Duncan shoved his hands into his pockets and stood, head bowed, listening to the sound of her heels retreating along the terrace. He shook his head. Up until now, he had found Chloe to be one of the most transparent women he’d met in a long time. Memories of lunch at Juniper Cottage flashed into his mind.

  Hadn’t he judged her to be one of the good ones? The only manipulation he’d witnessed in her, had been up-front, on TV, asking for help to save her grandfather’s theatre. Hadn’t he considered her to be totally lacking in guile?

  He groaned.

  Her footsteps stopped and within seconds started heading back his way. He turned, just as she appeared, her arm outstretched holding his jacket.

  ‘Your jacket. Thank you.’

  As he took it from her, their hands touched, briefly. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe,’ he said, quietly. ‘I was out of order.’

  She looked momenta
rily taken aback. ‘You were.’ Her hair was slightly mussed and she was breathing quickly. And, even in this dim light, he could see her lips were flushed. The memory of their kiss began eroding his resolve. As if sensing this, she stepped back and fixed her eyes on his chest. ‘But, I agree, Duncan – business and pleasure don’t mix. It won’t happen again. Goodnight.’

  As she turned to go, loosened strands of hair drifted across her neck, and all Duncan could think was how much he wanted to follow her, wrap her up in his jacket and carry her inside.

  *

  I was woken by a knock at the door. Squinting at my watch, I saw it was already eight o’clock. Dragging myself from the bed I pulled a towel around me and opened the door. Outside, a porter was carrying a tray with a domed food cover and tea service. I offered him a feeble smile.

  ‘Your breakfast, Miss Steele.’

  Breakfast? The fug in my brain shifted.

  Of course. After returning to my room last night, I’d helped myself to the mini-bar. Then, buoyed up by a cocktail of spirits, I’d blithely ticked a number of boxes on the room-service card, and hung it on the door handle.

  I stepped back and let him carry the tray into my room.

  As soon as he’d gone, I drew back the curtains and flinched at the sunshine. Although there was a stainless steel cover over my plate, it wasn’t enough to contain the aroma of bacon and eggs. Funny how, last night, the vodka and gin had given me such an appetite. Pity I couldn’t have eaten it then – I might not be suffering so badly now.

  Beth always said you had to eat your way through a hangover. Gingerly, I lifted the cover on the plate. It was the neatest breakfast arrangement I’d ever seen. Three trimmed rashers were lined up alongside two perfectly poached eggs, sliced tomato, black pudding, hash browns, baked beans and mushrooms.

  What had I been thinking?

  I felt about as much like eating this as I’d felt like sitting my science GCSE. But like my exam, it was in front of me and I had to tackle it. Surprisingly, once I’d managed to swallow the first tomato and a forkful of bacon and egg, I got the taste for it and focused on enjoying it. This was, after all, my last morning in Spain. And in a few hours, heaven help me, I’d be back on that jet with Duncan.