more I tried to push it away, the faster my weighty emotions churned. Going where I didn’t want them to go. Towards Damian Mortimer, and the suspicion that the plan I’d hatched during the pre-production meeting two weeks ago had indeed altered.
That I wasn’t in complete control.
Margret’s arrival with a tray of the most exquisite seafood bisque and crusty bread I’d ever tasted, followed by a mouth-watering crème brûlée, distracted me for a blessed half an hour.
I was fresh out of the shower when she returned to clear away the dishes, and I stopped in surprise as she wheeled in a clothes rail on which hung an expensive-looking garment bag. ‘Monsieur asked me to give you this.’ She handed me a note.
I waited till she left before I opened it and read Damian’s bold scrawl.
See you in an hour. Wear the red ensemble. My fantasy. My rules.
I’d accepted that Damian’s fantasy might require its own unique accoutrements. The evidence of it sent decadent shivers down my spine as I went to the rail and slowly pulled down the zip of the garment bag.
The red dress was stunning, complete with a plunging neckline and an honest-to-God sweeping train. Sky-high strappy red-soled shoes with sparkling diamanté buckles winked at me from the bottom of the bag. I was so absorbed with the shoes I almost didn’t spot the black satin bag hanging to the side.
With fingers that trembled like a schoolgirl’s, I opened the bag. A pair of long red silk gloves spilled out. The bag still felt weighted. I reached in and gasped as my fingers encountered cold stone.
The diamond necklace was beautiful, its sparkle flawless.
I sucked in an uneven breath, not entirely sure why this fantasy I wasn’t even fully aware of intensified my heart’s tremble. Attempting to ignore the puzzling sensation, I reached into the bag for the last items. Bra. Garter belt. Stockings. No panties.
Shaky laughter ripped from me as I started to dress.
I was securing the necklace when he knocked. With a quick exhale, I swayed to the door and opened it.
No other man looked better than Damian in a tuxedo, I was convinced. I forgot to breathe as I took him in from slicked-back hair to shiny handmade shoes.
It took him longer to return the scrutiny, and the heat in his eyes made me tremble all over again. ‘Neve. You look...’ he stopped and visibly swallowed ‘...breathtaking.’
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I replied huskily.
After another heated appraisal, he held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
I slipped my gloved hand in his, noting the ease of the action, the giddy lightening of my heart, the fit of our fingers.
He kissed the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his arm.
Our progress down the hall to the grand staircase was unhurried, giving me time to study him, to note that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. There was an edgy set to his jaw and a little strain around his eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’
He turned his head and I glimpsed a stern little light in his eyes before he visibly shook it off. ‘I won’t let anything ruin our evening,’ he replied cryptically.
We’d reached the top of the grand staircase by then. I needed to concentrate before I fell on my ass so I let him guide me down the stairs to the second floor and along the west hallway.
The room we entered was immense, a grand ballroom transformed into a miniature early century opera house, with elegant drapery on the walls and a raised platform for a performance.
A large mezzanine overlooked the ballroom.
‘I wanted to see what Sam and Tyler could do with a larger area than just a suite—to see if there are more possibilities to the business plan. We’re going up there.’ Damian led me up a spiral staircase to the mezzanine where two elegant armchairs had been placed near the balcony. It gave a perfect view of the stage and on each chair lay an embossed programme. At the far end, something large and shrouded stood at the back of the room.
I didn’t ask what it was, sure it would be revealed in time. I sat down, then froze as Damian lifted a bottle of champagne from a nearby ice bucket. His gaze met mine as he manoeuvred the cork, popped it and poured out two glasses.
‘Why now?’ I asked when he handed me a glass.
His lashes swept down for a long moment before he exhaled. ‘Because...it’s you,’ he said simply.
That shifting and shaking inside me intensified. Almost too late I recognised it for what it was. An emotional earthquake, shifting my axis, rearranging my preconceptions and goals in a way that shocked and awed.
‘Ready?’
With a nervous swallow that had nothing to do with what was about to happen and everything to do with the metamorphosis occurring inside me, I nodded.
He sat down and pressed a button.
The stage lit up as the area around our seats dimmed.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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