his life. But party fatigue had set in some years ago and the whole scene now left him cold.
‘It’s all relative. Fun for you and fun for me? Not compatible.’
‘You think? I bet we could find at least one thing we both enjoy.’
He turned back from the throbbing crowd to face her. Let his eyes drag slowly over that intriguing face. Was she coming on to him—after being so hostile? Did she have a short-term memory problem or a personality disorder to add to the mix?
‘What did you have in mind?’
On anyone else the slight colour that crept over her skin would have suggested a flush of shame, but on her it was lost in the assault to the senses of hair, make-up, outfit and attitude. She was like a caricature. But she had something. He couldn’t put his finger on it—yet. Maybe it was just attitude, or energy. Or overt sensuality. But he’d met a lot of women, for sure, and she did not fit neatly into any of his boxes. That didn’t mean that he wanted to hang out with her at this or any other party, but it might explain why Angelica had decided to add her to her Pandora’s box of friends.
‘What do I have in mind? It’s way too early in the night for me to tie myself down to anything specific.’
He grinned at her. Couldn’t help it. ‘You’ve got an answer for everything, Ms Devine.’
She grinned back, and this time it was natural. Like the sun coming out. Like there might be a natural beauty under all that make-up. That he’d like to see. But he was not going there. Yep, he was single, and until Fern was sorted—probably after Fern was sorted—single he’d stay. He could see no reason not to be. The only thing to be gained from adding emotion to sex was that it helped women to loosen up.
Even when they knew in triplicate that he’d had elective emotional bypass surgery, they still thought that they’d be The One to reverse the procedure. Shame they couldn’t tune in to the notion that he liked himself better that way. No lies. No doubt. No guilt. Just sex. As and when he wanted. But not tonight. There was something about this one that lit up the warning signs in his head. And he was not in the business of ignoring warning signs. Not since he was sixteen.
‘Sadly it’s too late in the night for me to stay on and find out what you’ll tie yourself down to. Or tie yourself up with. I’m going to get the car, and Angelica, and leave you to your fun.’
Though where his sister had got to was another problem. And one that was beginning to annoy him.
‘Anyway, I’m sure Angelica will catch up with you later. It’s been…interesting.’
He leant a hand on her shoulder and leaned down for the obligatory goodbye cheek-kiss. He could smell product—perfume, hairspray, cosmetics. He touched smooth skin. He felt the swell of her fabulous rack press against him. He let his lips linger for a second too long to be strictly platonic. His fingers closed more tightly over her shoulder and he curled his other arm round her waist, drawing her closer into him. He felt a strong urge to grab her by the bottom and scoop her against him. Her body was soft and nestled perfectly, and he moved his lips to her other cheek. But her lips were in the way, so he placed his kiss there. Just one.
She. Was. So. Hot.
Her eyes, when he stepped back, flew open. They were searching. Almost innocent. And again he got the feeling that she was a better actress than she got credit for. Still, it wasn’t his business to stay and find out.
‘Yes, it was…lovely to meet you.’ She seemed out of breath and hitched back on her heels in a stumble.
He steadied her elbow.
‘Don’t you think we should wait here? I’m sure she won’t be long.’
‘No. Much as I’m tempted, I’m beginning to think there’s something up. So—as I said—have fun, take care.’
He whipped out his phone and called for the car. Disappeared into the crowd, eyes on the alert. This night had tested his patience long enough.
In a few seconds the party would begin to reconfigure itself. Blaring noise, pulsing lights, skin, smiles and wild-eyed stares.
What on earth had just happened there?
Tara reached out and gripped the table, her fingers closing round the sticky mess of spilt drinks. Michael’s back was just disappearing into the crowd and she needed to go after him. But she was still reeling from that kiss—it hadn’t even been a proper kiss, just a lip-press. But man alive, he’d aced it!
‘Hey, Tara—you wan’ a drink?’
Definitely—but she had work to do first. She needed to lasso Mr Wonderful and keep him occupied until she got the all-clear.
‘Be back later, Jonny,’ she murmured to her DJ friend, who had just packed up his vinyl. The same friend she had been texting like fury to make sure he hung around after his set—he was the best party animal she knew, but she was going to have to put him on ice for just a little while longer.
She checked her phone as she started the sticky trail through the club. Her foot connected with a shot glass and sent it spinning onto the dance floor—exactly what she should be doing.
Her phone buzzed. Another message.
Michael’s waiting for you at the car. I’ve told him I’m on my way separately with a couple of friends. I’ll drop Fern at mine first, then meet you at his place. Thanks so much for keeping my brother occupied. Hugs, Angelica.
Hugs? Who needed hugs? Fizz! Party! That was what she really wanted. But they were such nice women and—what the hell?—it wouldn’t kill her to miss an hour or so. Actually, it might kill her—walking right into the lion’s den without a stun gun. Guys who looked like that, kissed like that and, even worse, acted like that, were not part of her daily grind. She would need two layers of Kevlar at least.
The car would be out front. She’d have to pass another load of snappers—if they were bothering to stay up. She quickened her pace out onto the stairwell and tottered down carefully. The last thing she wanted was a jpeg of her landing in a heap at his feet.
But it was the slap of the pre-dawn grey-blue light and fresh air that hit her skin. That and the now familiar sight of a super-fit guy in a perfectly cut suit, lolling—yes, actually lolling—against a car that was…large and low and sleek. And he was killing the whole look—she had to hand it to him.
Michael looked at her. He raised one eyebrow. Opened the door and gestured her in. Now, that just riled her all over again. What was wrong with a few manners? She wasn’t asking for anything more than a hello, or a please and thank you. He just couldn’t seem to treat women as anything other than little pets to train and reward. But he was way off if he thought she would roll over like a puppy. After witnessing years of fear and subservience she had honed her bark and her bite to perfection.
‘I’m not stalking you. I said I would come along to catch up with Angelica for a little while. OK?’
‘You’re invited. Happy to escort you.’
He
