A fresh wave of anxiety fuelled her with adrenaline as she met the eyes of the burly man guarding the door to the club. She quietly spoke the code word she had overheard three nights before from one of her bodyguards. The door was opened without comment, revealing plush red carpeted stairs with sleek chrome handrails descending downwards. She paused for a moment, fear of the unknown snaking around her chest and pulling tight. The low hum of music and conversation drifted upwards like a siren’s song.
This was her last night in London, she reminded herself as she took the first step downwards. She owed it to herself to experience at least a taste of the freedom she had stupidly taken for granted before her face graced the front of every newspaper on the globe.
She had felt the walls closing in on her as she’d signed her name on each document that had been presented to her, precious control slipping through her fingers. Perhaps that was why she was acting on impulse for the first time in her life. She was overcome with the need to go somewhere new and be someone anonymous for just a few short hours before doing The Right Thing.
Because, when it came to royal duty, she always did what was asked of her. Whether she liked it or not.
She had felt on edge from the moment she’d ended that fateful phone call with her father. Knowing that she would do as he asked, even if it was not what she wanted. He knew it too. He knew that she always felt the pressure to measure up to her older sisters. It was so much more than simple sibling rivalry. He had always made it clear that she was his least favourite, the daughter he simply tolerated. Her thoughts turned dark, thinking of that fateful day when, as a twelve-year-old, she had finally found out why...
Pausing at the end of the stairway, Cressida took in the image of a sultry blonde in red and took a deep breath as she realised it was her own reflection. Her dark blonde locks fell in soft waves around her face, free from their usual tight ponytail. Her plain black glasses had been replaced by contact lenses. Her jeans and sneakers gone, in favour of a stylish red dress and heels slightly too high for comfort. She had devoted more time and research to tonight’s outfit than she’d given to her most recent thesis. She was good at research. It was the practical application that made her insides shake. But suddenly, standing looking at this strange, almost pretty version of herself, the bands around her chest loosened a little and she felt a hint of that freedom she so craved.
The club was deceptively spacious inside, much larger than it seemed from the narrow building facade. The décor was a modern monochrome with a hint of old world glamour in the large sparkling chandeliers that hung from the ceiling at various points. A small stage with a live jazz band dominated one corner of the large space while a double-sided bar with floor-to-ceiling mirrors glittered in the middle. It was like walking into an old black-and-white movie.
Cressida walked towards the bar as confidently as she could muster, ignoring the painful beat of her heart high up in her throat.
The music was fast paced but sensual, accentuated by a husky-toned singer in a scandalously short dress and elbow-length gloves. As she slid onto a bar stool she spied a line of strategically roped-off areas towards the back, some filled with very beautiful but rather bored-looking people. The nameless secret basement club was known for its A-list clientele and its air of anonymity, according to the conversation she had overheard between her two bodyguards. No paparazzi allowed.
Even though it was a weeknight, the club was filled with people dancing and moving to the music as the lighting curved around them. As she looked on, a famous blonde singer stood up on a table and began to pour a bottle of expensive-looking champagne over the people around her. The group of men and women began dancing and gyrating under the spray, laughing and singing along to the music.
She found herself smiling in wonder at the sight of such ridiculous behaviour. If she were to truly enjoy her freedom, she would just stand and join in with the dancing and no one would look twice at her... The thought came and passed as she took a seat at the end of the long bar, comfortably on the outskirts of the action.
Soon she would probably need to ask for permission before doing something so daring as dancing in public; she felt her mouth curve downwards.
She could refuse the match, of course. This was not some medieval drama where she would be bound and dragged down the aisle, whether she agreed to the union or not. She adored the simple life she had begun to carve out for herself here in London but of course she knew it was not allowed for a member of royalty to take a paid job. She was not meant for such blissful normality as being a teaching assistant, much as she had been delighted to be offered the position. She had a duty to serve the people of Monteverre.
She ordered a white wine, not feeling confident enough to order anything else. She occasionally drank a glass with dinner, but never more. Alcohol dulled her senses in a way that simply did not appeal to her orderly nature. She sipped slowly, feeling slightly at sea amidst the raucous dancing and groupings of people. Mingling had never been a forte of hers. The word itself made her feel twitchy. She remembered herself as a young girl, wishing she was more confident, more natural at being a princess. She had always felt so different to her older sisters, the stereotypical mousy wallflower to their flame-haired beauty. And then one day everything had changed and she had simply stopped trying. She had found comfort in blending into the background where it was safer, where no one looked too closely at her...
You came here to feel free and here you are, hiding in the corner feeling sorry for yourself. She bit her lip hard, swirling the golden liquid in her glass and watching the light play on the surface. She became suddenly aware of a shadow in the reflection of the glass and the delicious scent of a warm, distinctly male cologne.
She looked up.
Goodness...
Tall, dark and handsome simply did not describe the man standing a mere foot away from her. This man was broad, exotic and breathtaking. She swallowed hard as dark, hooded eyes met hers. He didn’t make a move to speak and after a long moment her awkward nature interfered, her voice trembling slightly as she asked, ‘Can I help you?’
His expression changed fleetingly to one of mild surprise, making her wonder if he had mistaken her for someone else. His gaze moved down to take in her long legs crossed on the high barstool before returning to her face. She half hoped he had made a mistake, then perhaps he would leave and she might be able to breathe normally again.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ He gestured to the empty barstool beside her. His voice was a deep accented rumble.
‘No. I’m here alone,’ she said quickly, then worried if that made her seem a little bit needy. ‘I mean, the seat is yours. If you want it, that is. It’s...not mine, either way.’ She felt her cheeks heat. She was a babbling idiot.
A tension-filled silence followed and the stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly as though he were waiting for her to say something more. A strange bewildered expression crossed his face as he moved to sit back onto a barstool, leaving the seat between them empty.
Cressida frowned, one hand idly tracing the edge of her glass as she shot a sidelong glance towards the mysterious hunk. Nipping at her bottom lip with her teeth, she took a slow sip of her wine to cool her suddenly dry throat. He was handsome, there was no denying it, with warm mahogany-toned skin and jet black stubble shadowing his jawline.
The shadow that began on his jawline continued down a strong throat to disappear into the open collar of a perfect white shirt. A white shirt that covered the broadest shoulders she had ever seen...
She moved her gaze back up to find a pair of dark eyes watching her. Startled, she inhaled sharply and promptly breathed in a mouthful of wine. Her throat convulsed in a series of loud embarrassing coughs and she was vaguely aware of a napkin appearing in her peripheral vision. She prayed her eye make-up hadn’t run and silently willed the dark stranger to disappear so that she didn’t have to continue her embarrass
ment any longer.
She froze as he placed a glass of water into her hands, the heat of his fingers scorching her skin for a few short seconds. The cold water calmed both her raw throat and her overheated brain.
Cressida looked up to find he had moved to the seat directly beside her. This close, she could see tiny flecks of gold in his deep brown irises. The way he was looking at her so intently made her feel as though she had walked under a spotlight. She was too warm, too exposed.
‘Thank you,’ she blurted, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘For the water.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ His eyes did not leave hers. ‘However, I believe it is now irresponsible of me to leave you unsupervised while you finish your drink.’
‘I must seem quite ridiculous, really.’ Cressida half laughed, feeling rather blinded under the intense spotlight of his attention.
‘That’s the last word I would use,’ he said silkily, tilting his head to one side.
She managed a slight smile, wondering again why he had chosen to sit with her. Men like him did not show interest in women like her; it was hard not to be suspicious. Not that she was here seeking male attention; far from it. Tonight was simply about freedom, she reminded herself with a firm shrug of her shoulders.
‘I find myself wondering...’ his dark voice rumbled somewhere close to her ear ‘...what might have brought you here tonight to this particular club?’
Cressida felt the vibration of his deep voice travel down to her toes. She shifted in her seat. ‘The same reason as everyone else, I assume. It’s an escape.’
‘You are looking to escape something?’
‘If I say the outside world, is that rather a cliché?’ She grimaced with a half laugh, feeling herself relax slightly. ‘I must go back eventually, of course.’
He seemed thoughtful for a moment. ‘While you are here, what do you plan to do?’
‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.’ She laughed, shocked at how feminine she sounded. ‘I’m trying to be spontaneous for once. Perhaps I might dance?’
‘Alone?’
‘If no one asked me, I suppose I would have to dance alone.’ It was hardly a suggestive statement, but still she felt herself blush a little, knowing she suddenly wanted him to ask her to dance. What on earth had come over her?
She had never flirted with a man before—she wasn’t even sure if this qualified as flirting—but it definitely felt different to any previous conversations with a member of the opposite sex. What was she even doing? She was promised to another man, both morally and legally. She might not have met her fiancé yet, but she still knew where the boundaries stood. But a simple dance...that was hardly improper. Maybe it was the wine, though she knew herself that two sips could hardly provide enough stimulant. It was becoming intoxicating, feeling so free. That was the only explanation. It was making her feel different, bolder.
‘By all means, then. You should dance,’ he said.
‘Yes, I would love to.’ She smiled, feeling the sense of bravado heighten further. She slid off the barstool, biting her lower lip as he made no move to stand.
You should dance, he had said, not we. Silly girl.
She smiled a little too widely before turning to take a few steps towards the crowded dance floor. Throwing a final look over her shoulder as she walked away, she found herself momentarily pinned by a dark gaze. Heat sizzled through the air, seeming to settle somewhere in the region of her solar plexus.
Her painfully shy nature and workaholic tendencies had stopped her from ever having a dating life. So much so that the opposite sex might well have become a foreign species altogether, apart from her interactions with her bodyguards and driver. She could read and write fluently in eight languages and yet she could not formulate a simple sentence in English to ask a man if he wanted to dance with her. It was so utterly ridiculous that she laughed. Her laughter caught the attention of a blond-haired man nearby and he moved to dance beside her.
She smiled back briefly and continued dancing, distracted by wondering if he was still sitting at the bar, watching her. It was a ridiculous thought, that a complete stranger might feel the same hum of attraction after a moment of idle conversation. It was not as though she planned to do anything about it, but she had to admit it felt nice being noticed.
In the background, she registered the beat shifting seamlessly into a soft, seductive ballad. She let her gaze drift around the dance floor just as a handful of couples moved close and began moulding their bodies together sensually. She looked away for a moment then looked back, transfixed by the sight of a couple melting together in a haze of locked lips and intertwined limbs, all the while maintaining a perfect rhythm.
Without warning, the blond man moved close. A chunky arm snaked around her waist and she froze. She took a step away, trying to think of a kind way to decline the dance without hurting his feelings, but he moved with her, not forcefully but still determined to get close. Needing to be free of the situation, she placed her hand calmly against the man’s chest, shaking her head to show that she was leaving. Worried he wasn’t going to take the hint, she turned fully and took a few steps away from the dance floor, only to be blocked by a wall of warm, hard muscle.
‘Waiting for me?’ The stranger’s deep voice was like a balm to her nerves as he extended a hand towards her. To her surprise, she instantly placed her hand in his, allowing herself to be drawn into the delicious warm scent of his cologne until their bodies were mere inches apart. She was vaguely aware of the other man disappearing into the crowd, but it was becoming increasingly harder to form a coherent thought as a strong male arm moved slowly around her waist.
The smooth, steady rhythm of the music seemed to pound through the wall of her chest before joining her own erratic heartbeat. He pulled her close. So close that the smooth dark skin of his open collar was directly in her eye line, mere inches away. The tips of her breasts pressed momentarily against a wall of warm hard muscle before he moved back slightly. Her free hand hovered uncertainly for a moment before she bravely moved it upwards to link around his neck, her fingers resting between warm skin and the thick dark hair of his nape as he led her into an easy rhythm.
She had been given the finest dancing lessons as a young teenager to prepare her for the many occasions that a princess was required to perform a simple waltz or foxtrot. Nine times out of ten she tripped over her own feet, of course, but she knew the basics. But none of that could have prepared her for this moment. They seemed to dance for hours, moving in perfect unison. He was an excellent lead, confident and strong. He held her in such a way that she almost felt graceful for the first time in her life. His hands did not wander from their place on her waist; he didn’t even try to pull her too close against him. She felt safe, she realised. What a strange thing to feel in the arms of a man she barely knew.
Her dark stranger bent his head and for a moment she wondered if he planned to kiss her. She held her breath, relaxing when instead his mouth stopped somewhere just above her earlobe.
‘In my country, dancing like this is considered a very intimate act.’ His voice was a soft rumble that sent an earthquake of shivers down her spine.
‘Is that so?’ Cressida breathed, hardly believing that such a husky murmur had just escaped her own suddenly dry throat. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
A mischievous smile played on his lips. ‘You can’t?’
‘People dance all of the time. It’s hardly dangerous.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ he murmured. ‘Swaying like this...pressed so close... I can see how it would be seen as temptation.’
‘Temptation for what...?’ Her feverish brain wondered momentarily at his choice of words before realisation dawned with all the grace of a sledgehammer. She clumsily missed a step but her dancing partner barely reacted, correcting her misstep with graceful ease and continuing as though nothing had occurred.
&
nbsp; ‘It is usually only married couples who might dance like this,’ he continued, oblivious to her embarrassment. ‘Or perhaps those who are engaged to be married.’
She barely registered his words as her mind focused on the heat of his hand as it began to move higher on her waist, resting ever so slightly on the bared skin of her lower back. It was as though the movement of his hand shifted some kind of invisible barrier between them. She looked up, meeting the visible heat in his eyes for a long silent moment. The air seemed to pulse with heat along with the slow seductive crooning of the jazz in the background.
Suddenly it felt as though every inch of her front was glued to a wall of warm hard muscle. Her body felt heated and loose in his arms, her mind telling her to move closer. A tiny fragment of her logical brain warned her to walk away. She ignored it.
‘I doubt anyone else in here considers slow dancing to be such an important act.’ She kept her tone even, trying to maintain some level of worldly composure in the face of her body’s ridiculous reaction.
‘I had quite forgotten that there was anyone else here at all,’ he said softly.
Cressida looked up to meet his eyes; they were dark and earnest, no trace of humour or sarcasm. She felt her cheeks heat, her eyes lowering to rest comfortably on his chin. This was it, she told herself sternly—this was the moment where she should thank him for a lovely dance and make a calm and graceful exit.
The dance had been perfect, she told herself sternly—exactly what she had needed. She had sought a little excitement on her night of freedom and now she would leave London tomorrow and go happily to her duty. She could forget about this night, forget about this handsome stranger and easily go on for ever without wondering...
Suddenly she became aware that they had stopped dancing. The music had got faster and the other couples moved around the spot where they stood, entirely still in their embrace. She looked up. He was still watching her with that impenetrable gaze in a moment that seemed to stretch on as though separate from time entirely. His fingers flexed slightly at her waist, sending tingles up her spine.
Untamed Billionaire's Innocent Bride (Conveniently Wed!) Page 17
