placing them on her hips as he stepped back.
“The dance is over, Carmen.”
The cold, harsh statement was more chilling than the night air, bringing instant goose bumps to her skin.
Somehow she found her voice. “So what happens now?” It came out in a husky slur.
“I told you I walk alone.”
Another chilling statement, striking ice into her heart.
He lifted a hand and ran light fingertips down her cheek. “This is one man who can take what you give…and leave. But I do thank you…for the pleasure.”
He took another step away from her, his hand gone from her face but still raised in a kind of farewell salute. He paused a moment, as though taking in the image of her—Carmen left against the wall, abandoned by him after he’d taken his pleasure of her…and after he’d given what she’d virtually asked of him.
She didn’t move.
This was the end of it.
He was going.
“The pleasure was mine, too,” she said, driven to match him even now. “Thank you for the dance.”
He inclined his head in what she thought was a nod of respect, then turned and strode away, taking with him the spectre of Carver, the cloak swirling around his swiftly receding figure.
Fantasy…
She stood against the wall for a long time, needing the support as she fought the tremors that shook her. It was better this way, she kept telling herself, better to have the memory and not the disappointment that reality would surely bring.
It might be like an empty memory right now…but it was something.
He’d made her feel like a woman again.
CHAPTER THREE
AS SHE rode the train from North Sydney to Town Hall for her all-important appointment in the city, Katie did her best to keep her nerves under control by thinking positively.
The facts and figures she had marshalled—costs and estimated profits—for her business proposition were neatly organised in the slim-line black leather attaché case she carried. References from previous employers attested to her good character and sense of responsibility. Trustworthy and reliable were tags that were repeatedly emphasised.
She was wearing her one good all-purpose black suit, having teamed a cherry red sweater with it since red was supposedly a power colour. Her hair was clean and shiny and as tidy as her curls ever allowed. Her make-up was minimal. She wore new stockings and sensibly heeled black court shoes.
There was nothing to object to about her appearance or preparation, so hopefully she would clinch a deal that would give her a more interesting and satisfying future than her current situation. Max Fairweather had told her this particular company matched investors to budding businesses. With luck, her bud of an idea could flower into a fleet of specialised taxis for transporting children.
Because of her fear of being rushed or late, it was barely nine o’clock when she stepped off the train. Since her appointment wasn’t until nine-thirty, she walked slowly along George Street, then up Market Street to the address Max had given her. It turned out to be a skyscraper with a very impressive facade of black granite and glass.
Big money here, Katie thought, even more determined to fight for the investment she needed. She took a deep breath and entered the huge lobby. The directory on the wall gave her destination as the eighteenth floor, with either elevator one or two providing an express ascent.
There were still ten minutes to go before her appointment. Reasoning that being overly punctual was not a black mark against her, and the company would surely have a reception area with chairs where she could sit and wait, she pressed the button to summon elevator two.
A few seconds later the doors opened…and shock rooted Katie’s feet to the floor.
Standing inside the compartment, directly facing her, was a man whose identity was unmistakable. She hadn’t seen him for almost ten years but she knew him instantly and her heart quivered from the impact he made on it.
Carver Dane.
Carver…who, in her heart of hearts, had been behind the pirate’s mask…a fantasy, stimulated by a host of frustrations and the wild and wanton desire to feel what she had once felt with him. The mask had let her pretend. The mask had made a dream briefly come true. But that was all it had been. A dream!
The man facing her was the real person!
Shock hit him, too. No doubt she was the last woman in the world he expected to see or wanted to meet. His facial muscles visibly tightened. There was a flare of some violent emotion in his eyes before they narrowed on her in a sharply guarded scrutiny that shot her nerves into a hopelessly agitated state.
Only a few nights ago she’d been fantasising about the intimacy they’d once shared. The raw sexuality she’d indulged in—with a masked stranger who’d strongly reminded her of Carver—suddenly flooded her with embarrassment. Here was her first and only love—in the flesh—and she simply wasn’t prepared to face him, especially when that memory was so fresh.
“Are you coming in, Katie, or would you prefer not to ride this elevator with me?” he asked.
“I…I was wondering if you were stepping out.”
“No.” His mouth curled into a sardonic little smile. “I’m on my way up.”
She flushed, painful old memories rushing over her embarrassment, making it more acute. The expensive suit Carver was wearing was evidence enough that his status had risen beyond anything her father had predicted, but what he was doing here Katie had no idea. While she wrestled with her inner confusion the elevator doors started to slide shut.
Carver reached out and pressed a button to reopen them. “Well?” he challenged, a savage glitter in his dark brown eyes.
A surge of pride got her feet moving. “I’m going up, too,” she declared, stepping into the compartment beside him. She was not her father’s little girl anymore. She was an independent woman, all primed to establish her own business, and she was not about to be intimidated by anything Carver could bring up against her.
He released the button holding the doors. As they closed her into sharing this horribly small space with Carver, Katie fiercely hoped the elevator lived up to its promise of being an express one. She couldn’t bear being with him for long, knowing they couldn’t ever be truly together, not how they’d once been.
“What floor do you want?” he asked.
“Eighteen.” It was easier to let him operate the control panel than lean across him and do it herself. “Thank you.”
“You’re looking good, Katie,” he remarked as the compartment started rising.
She flashed him an acknowledging glance. “So are you.”
“You’re back home with your father?”
“No.
