rhythm, using subtle changes in pressure to lead her around the dance floor.
She was so aware of him that she couldn’t breathe. He was in her personal space and she felt suffocated and seduced at the same time, intoxicated and drugged by the powerful chemistry that had erupted between them from the first moment they’d met.
What they were doing ceased to feel like dancing. It was—
An exploration of sexuality?
Her body slid over his, his leg following her leg, his hands on her hips. He moved with a confidence and innate sensuality that left her in no doubt that this man would be an incredible lover.
For some lucky woman.
And that woman would never be someone like her.
But for now—just for now—he was hers. And she was going to make the most of the moment.
They danced chest to chest, eyes locked, breath mingling, the heat and their chemistry turning the dance into something close to a primal mating ritual.
Chantal ceased to register the other people on the dance floor and suddenly there was just the two of them, their bodies moving together in perfect understanding as they executed something far deeper and more complex than a few dance steps. It was erotic, passionate and deeply intimate. They’d never met before this evening, and yet instinctively she knew what he wanted from her and moved in response to his demands.
Her senses were heightened and she was lost in the music and the moment as they danced with fluency and sensuality. One moment they were chest to chest and she could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against hers, and then he would turn her and she could feel the seductive slide of his hands over her hips as he moved her body in a dance that only just bordered on the socially acceptable. The movement of his leg drew the silk of her dress up her own leg, and the warmth of his breath against her neck made her shiver. How was it possible to be hot and cold at the same time?
How was it possible to feel this way about a man she’d never met before and wouldn’t ever meet again?
Perhaps that was why, she mused, gasping slightly as he tipped her slightly off balance, forcing her to lean into his body. Because she would never see him again, she could let go and enjoy herself.
For tonight, she was this man’s dance partner.
And dancing with him was shameful, sinful and like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Her mind and body moved into a different place altogether and when the music finally shifted to a different rhythm it took her a moment to register her surroundings and return to reality.
They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then he released her and stepped away from her.
There was a strange light in his dark eyes as he studied her.
‘I’ll fetch us both a drink.’ His tone was noticeably cooler than it had been before they’d danced.
He strode off and she blinked several times, disorientated by the sudden change in his attitude. A moment ago they’d been in another world, just the two of them, and now—
She took a few deep breaths, trying to settle the intense reaction of her body. He seemed angry—but why would he be angry?
It had been his choice to dance, not hers.
And she hadn’t trodden on his toes or fallen on the floor.
Wondering what she’d done to bring about such a change in him, she was about to melt into the background when a woman approached her.
‘I’m Marianna Killington-Forbes.’ She spoke in a lazy English upper-class accent, and the smile that touched her mouth went nowhere near her eyes. ‘You look very familiar. Have we met?’
Oh, yes, they’d met.
Chantal’s legs started to shake as her disguise fell away. She felt naked and exposed, her past no longer safely concealed but rising in front of her like some vile, malevolent demon. She was going to die of embarrassment and humiliation. Right now. Right here. ‘I—’
‘She doesn’t speak much English, Marianna. I told her to stay with me and not wander off, but we were separated in the crowd.’ The heavily accented voice came from directly behind her, and Chantal turned to find a man by her side. She guessed him to be in his seventies, but he was still ridiculously handsome and his eyes were kind as he smiled down at her. He said something to her in a language that she didn’t understand and then took her freezing cold hand in his, tucking it firmly into the bend of his arm as he drew her close. ‘Marianna?’ His eyes lost some of their warmth as he looked at her tormentor. ‘Is there something that you wish to say? I can try and translate, if you would like?’
The woman’s mouth tightened. ‘She didn’t seem to be having any problems communicating with Angelos.’
The man smiled. ‘As you no doubt noticed, they use an entirely different method of communication.’
Jealousy flashed in the other woman’s eyes and she turned her attention back to Chantal. ‘Well, I wish you luck with your relationship. The ability not to converse could stand you in good stead, given that Angelos never expects conversation from his women anyway.’
Still frozen with horror that Marianna had recognised her face, Chantal watched with relief as the other woman stalked away, apparently unable to recall her name or exactly how she knew her.
‘You’re shaking.’ The man’s voice was soft, and Chantal clung to his arm, struggling to pull herself together. Desperately hoping that her dance partner wasn’t going to choose that moment to reappear, she took several deep breaths.
‘Do you think—could you just stay with me for a minute?’ Her voice cracked. ‘I don’t want to be left on my own just now.’
‘You are not on your own.’ His hand covered hers, and she felt the warmth of his fingers thaw the chill in her bones.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, so pathetically grateful for his intervention that she almost hugged him on the spot. ‘I don’t know why you did that, but I’ll never forget it. You’ve been so, so kind. How did you know I needed rescuing?’
‘When she walked up to you, your face turned white. I thought you were going to faint. You don’t like her, no?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t like her either,’ the man said firmly. ‘I never could stand that woman. I wonder why she was invited.’
Chantal thought back to the misery of her schooldays. ‘Her daddy is very rich.’
‘Really? He clearly didn’t spend his money feeding his family.’ The man made a disparaging noise. ‘To look at her you’d think she was starved from birth. Her bones should be classified as a lethal weapon. If you bumped into her, you’d be bruised all over.’
Despite her insecurities, Chantal couldn’t help laughing. He was not only kind, he was also funny. She glanced at him curiously, thinking that he reminded her of someone. ‘I’d better leave—’ She started to move, but he tightened his grip on her
