holding her upright as she sagged back against the wall and let the door slam back into place.
He was gone. And she was free, safe—for now.
But it was only a temporary reprieve. There was no way she could hold off having Jett—in the form of Nairo Moreno—back in her life while he still wanted to see Rose Cavalliero. Right now he had no idea that she was the Rose he’d come to talk to, but she couldn’t hope to let that last for very much longer. He would put two and two together, and when he did, then he would be back.
She had to get rid of him; she couldn’t cope with him intruding into her life. Not just because of the past but because of the shocking effect he still had on her today.
Slowly her hand crept up to her face, covering the spot where Nairo’s fingertip had touched her. She almost expected it to have etched a brand into her skin, marking her as his. He had done that long ago, hadn’t he? He had touched her life and encircled her with bands of emotional and sexual steel so that she had never been able to break free. Even now, all these years later, he could still invade her life and if she wasn’t careful he would leave it in ruins all over again.
HE SHOULD NEVER have let himself touch her.
Nairo slid his car into the nearest empty parking space, stamped on the brakes with uncharacteristic lack of care and switched off the engine. His concentration had been shot all afternoon, in a way so untypical of him that it felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a form of madness. The tips of his fingers still seemed to burn with the imprint of that touch, the connection of skin on skin, even though it was hours since he had walked out of the shop and left Red behind. He was sure that if he brought his hand close to his face he would still inhale the perfume of her skin, the fresh, unique combination that was this woman mixed with the light floral scent she had worn.
Or perhaps that was because the cloud of her personal body perfume seemed to enclose him ever since he had realised just who she was. It had been like that after they had first become lovers. In the squat she had always washed every day, even in the freezing water that was all they had available, and the scent of her skin had been the only thing that was fresh or clean in the grubby little room that they had called ‘home’.
Waking up each morning to find her curled against him, the soft hair, longer and redder than she wore it now, falling over her face, had made him feel as if life was worth living at a time when he had had serious doubts on that matter.
She’d had her own problems too. Running from an aggressive and abusive stepfather, a mother who had been too weak to protect her, she had still given him a reason to wake up—if only because waking up usually meant another opportunity to take her in his arms, and give in to the heated passion that burned into his soul every time he touched her.
He had even thought about changing his life for her.
‘Change—for her—hah!’
The words punched into the air as he pushed open the door to the hall where the wedding fayre was being held, the violence of the movement expressing the way the memories burned like acid.
He had thought about change—had even taken the first steps towards it—and she...she had just walked out on him, never looking back. She’d also added an extra little sting to her departure that had come close to ruining every chance he had had of rebuilding what was left of his relationship with his family.
The burn of that memory almost had him turning and marching right back out again. He wanted nothing to do with Red—and yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her betrayal, her desertion, demanded some sort of retribution and yet he had no wish to tangle himself up with her all over again. He had just about found peace after ten years’ hard work. Did he really want to stick his head right back in the lion’s mouth and risk it all over again?
But the promise he had made to Esmeralda held him prisoner. He had sworn he would bring her this designer she had set her heart on, and he was not going back on his word. Only with that contract secured and his sister happy would he consider just how he would deal with Red.
The sound of the buzz of many voices from the end of the corridor told him just where the event was being held and had him heading towards the glass-paned door.
The noise of conversation hit him along with a strong wave of perfume—a heady mixture of so many different fragrances. The room was full of women of all ages, shapes and sizes. There were flowers everywhere too, and a small runway set up in the centre of the hall with a white floor, leading to a fall of heavy velvet curtains in rich red. The colours of the flowers, the curtains, the women’s dresses and suits whirled and blurred into a kaleidoscopic haze.
‘And now, ladies, we have a special treat for you...’
The voice was immediately familiar and Nairo cursed under his breath. Because there she was again. The woman he had known as Red.
If he had felt that she had grown into a beautiful woman when he had first seen her in the boutique, then this was even worse. Now she was groomed, and sleek, elegant in a silky peacock-blue shift dress, simple and sleeveless, that clung lovingly all the way from the softly scooped neck, over the curves of breasts and hips to end just above her knees and reveal a heart-jolting slender length of leg. The ridiculously high-heeled shoes were exactly the same colour as the dress, except for a perky little white bow at the toe. The whole effect had him clenching his hands into tight fists and pushing them deep into the pockets of his trousers as he fought with his immediate and primitive response.
He’d thought he’d put her out of his mind. He’d tried his damnedest to do just that, but it had taken only one look, one touch, and it had become obvious just why he’d been hooked in that way. She’d had the power to entrance him as a skinny girl and now she’d grown up, matured, he was swamped by a hunger he hadn’t felt before or since. Then he’d been naïve enough to label it with a softer emotion because then he’d been fool enough to believe that emotion existed. He’d soon learned his lesson.
Now was not the time he wanted to remember how he had once been able to hold one slender foot in his hand, lift it to his mouth and kiss it from the long, delicate toes all the way up to where her legs disappeared under her skirt...
...and beyond.
Infierno! He could feel an unwanted heat flooding his body, hardening him and making his heart pulse in a hungry response to the erotic memory that had him in its grip. Violently he shook his head to drive it away and only succeeded in drawing the attention of the women closest to him. Their expressions of surprise and the widening of their eyes a sure giveaway of how unexpected his presence was, here in this ultra-feminine environment.
Nairo ruthlessly determined to ignore them—he had no interest in any woman here except for Red—and the important designer, wherever she was. He pointedly directed his gaze towards the runway, and the woman on it, her auburn hair gleaming glossily under the spotlight.
He watched Red lift the microphone again and announce, ‘As I said—a real treat—for the first time ever an exclusive preview of my brand-new designs for spring.’
My.
The word exploded inside Nairo’s head, battering at his thoughts. My brand-new designs...
Of course—he’d been a complete fool. How could he have not realised? It had all been there in front
