looked down, dimly aware of his size ten and a halves on the tips of Sasha’s shiny red shoes. ‘Sorry.’ He moved back onto the floor, noticing the score had changed, as had the rhythm of the music. He willed himself to focus on something other than the sexy stranger.
There was always more than enough work to fill his mind. Tracking down the next challenge, the delving and the searching for weaknesses in a company, the thrill involved in acquiring it, and the dissecting and selling off to make every dollar spent multiply for him.
What sort of job would Miss Femme Fatale have? A model? A designer? Or maybe she survived as a professional heartbreaker, progressing from one relationship to the next, consuming both bank balance and heart? A fleeting urge to find a place for her in his company surged from his loins—he could see her occasionally, often, always…
‘Excuse me,’ said a silky voice. A perfectly manicured, unvarnished fingernail tapped Sasha’s shoulder.
Mark looked directly into deep blue eyes that were unafraid to gaze right back at him. His breath caught in his throat. The sexual magnetism that made the stranger so confident radiated from her. Drew him in. Stoked a growing fire deep inside him.
Mark couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her ivory face had a soft flush, as though an artist had carved her delicate features from marble then dabbed her cheeks with colour. Her dusky-rose lips were full and tempting, and her royal blue eyes danced over him in a way that sent bolts of desire coursing through his body. A small scar interrupted one finely arched eyebrow, suggesting she was indeed human after all and not some exquisite work of art.
Sasha dropped Mark’s hand and swung around, her face set grimly to confront the interloper. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m cutting in.’ The stranger’s voice rang with command as she unhesitatingly took Mark’s hand and stepped into his arms. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
Mark tried to hide his amazement.
He didn’t hesitate.
He slid his hand around her waist and the heat of her body ignited his blood and mind to fantasy again. He encased her slender fingers in his and swept her across the dance floor.
A tremor of excitement ripped through him at her light touch on his shoulder. Her appeal was devastating, and her creamy skin felt as smooth and silky under his hands as it looked.
The sensations that radiated from her warm hand to his took him by surprise, while his other hand at the small of her back threatened to fall lower.
Mark took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweetly intoxicating scent of roses that surrounded his stranger.
He couldn’t pick out what it was about her that made his body react to her. He’d seen many beautiful women before, and even had a few throw themselves at him. But this woman, she was different, and the need to find out exactly how pounded deep in his chest. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Clare had been irked Mark King hadn’t noticed her grand entrance, but the thrill of knowing he’d been watching her was enough to give her the extra bit of courage she needed to take the plunge and cut in. Now she had him where she wanted him.
‘I was bored.’ She raised one shoulder in the slightest hint of a shrug. The swell of satisfaction was bolstering. King was lured by the bait; all she had to do was get him to take the hook and reel him in. Guys were so easy to interest.
‘Bored?’ The comment seemed to surprise him.
‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed softly, glancing around at her audience. Clare hadn’t expected her outfit to attract quite so much attention, but it served the purpose, and maybe the attention everyone else was giving her would motivate King and his over-sized ego right into her ambush.
After what Mark King had done, she was going to stuff and mount him, nailed directly through the heart. He wouldn’t know what had hit him.
King would look sensational mounted on her apartment wall, she thought crazily. His jet-black hair and olive skin would go well with her decor. His strong jawline, handsome square face, and the generous mouth that promised to be as seductive as the rest of him, would be far more interesting to look at as she sipped her morning tea than her print of Cézanne’s Still Life.
‘Why would a woman as beautiful as you be bored?’
The rich timbre of his voice tingled down her spine. She shrugged, allowing a smile to touch her lips. ‘Don’t you ever feel that there aren’t any challenges left in life?’
King’s gunmetal-grey eyes glinted mischievously. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ He pulled her closer to him, her soft curves moulding to the contours of his hard body.
They fitted so well together, she thought traitorously, then rejected the notion. She wasn’t going to think of the enemy that way—and he was the enemy. What he’d done was unforgivable. She’d had it with men and their games. This was the last straw in a series of griefs and it was well past time she evened the score.
He expertly swept her around in a circle, as if he were as much at home on the dance floor as in the boardroom. She supposed he thought he was God’s gift to women. He held her firmly, the warmth of his embrace so male, so bracing, so damned annoying.
Clare hadn’t expected him to be quite like this. She’d expected someone colder—not this hot-blooded specimen that called to her primal urges. It was no wonder that women succumbed so easily to his charm.
She could feel the hard muscle of his shoulders under his black suit, feel the power in his body, feel the promise throbbing from him that he’d be an experience to remember.
Clare wasn’t about to lose her head, though. She’d had enough knocks in life to know the truth about men and relationships—all liars and all lies. No matter what he could make her body feel, what magic he might weave, she was impervious.
The anguish her last boyfriend, Josh, had left her with had cured her of any romantic notions. She bit her lip at the unwelcome surge of pain that accompanied her memories. It amazed her how she had been drawn into believing in love—the quiet dinners, the beach walks, the moving in. And then bam! It was over. And she hadn’t had an inkling that something was wrong until she’d found Josh packing.
How could she have been so blind? He’d been slipping away from her the moment he moved in: right into someone else’s loving arms. And she’d been too busy to notice.
She could have done something, she figured. Changed somehow. If she’d realised. He was married now, to that woman. Her neck muscles tightened—she’d never feel his cheating lips again.
She’d been a gullible fool. But not this time. Clare was prepared. Forewarned. Steeled for this. And she was glad she could look Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous straight in the eye, thanks to her generous heels.
The music stopped and they stepped apart, applauding the orchestra with the rest of the crowd. She had to concede that the Excelsior’s grand ballroom made the perfect location for King’s charity dinner. The polished timber floors, the extravagant chandeliers of imported crystal and the twenty-piece orchestra all furthered his cause—to romance the money from his guests’ pockets.
Clare leant towards King and brushed her lips against his warm cheek. ‘Are you game for one?’ she whispered.
His
