a few glasses will have me giggling inanely,’ Tahlia said dismally. ‘And, after the recent press stories about me, I really could do without being snapped by the paparazzi clearly the worse for drink.’
Crispin gave her an amused glance. ‘Yes, the tabloids do seem to have excelled themselves,’ he agreed. ‘The headline “Gems girl Tahlia Reynolds blamed for marriage break-up of TV soapstar Damian Casson” was particularly attention-grabbing.’
Tahlia flushed. ‘It isn’t true,’ she said tensely. ‘I was set up. I’ve only ever met Damian once, when we were guests at a book launch party held at a hotel. He was knocking back champagne all night and kept pestering me. I told him to get lost. The next morning he came over to my table at breakfast to apologise. We got chatting, and he told me he’d got drunk the previous night after he’d rowed with his wife and she had refused to go to the party with him. When I left, he offered to carry my bag to the car—hence the picture of the two of us emerging from the hotel together. Neither of us had expected the media to be hanging around at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning—or at least,’ she said slowly, ‘I hadn’t expected them to be there.’
Anger formed a tight knot in Tahlia’s chest at the realisation that Damian had undoubtedly been aware of the presence of the media.
‘I was shocked when a journalist asked about our relationship, but Damian told me to leave it to him and he would explain that we were simply friends.’
Instead, the handsome young actor had told the press a pack of lies about their ‘amazing night of sizzling sex’, Tahlia thought bitterly. If Damian’s intention had been to make his wife jealous, it had obviously worked. Beverly Casson had been quoted saying she was ‘distraught’that ‘party girl’Tahlia had stolen her man. The story had been a scoop for the journalists—the sort of thing that would boost sales of the tabloid, and no one seemed to care that it was untrue, or that Tahlia’s reputation was now in tatters.
‘This sort of adverse publicity is one of the drawbacks of allowing myself to be in the public eye,’ she said dully. ‘For months the press have made me out to be a vacuous bimbo who turns up to every event—even the opening of an envelope. It’s the price I’ve had to pay for promoting Reynolds Gems.’
Tahlia bit her lip. When she had graduated from university three years ago her father had made her a partner of his company and given her the role of PR executive. But the global recession had hit Reynolds hard, and in an attempt to raise the company’s profile she had reluctantly agreed to feature in an advertising campaign. She had then appeared in glossy magazines, attended numerous social events, modelling fabulous diamonds and precious gems from the Reynolds Gems collection.
Before she had left for the gallery tonight she had learned that all her hard work had been for nothing.
Peter Reynolds had looked grave as he’d explained that, despite the campaign, profits at all three of Reynolds Gems’ jewellery shops were down. ‘To be frank, Tahlia, Reynolds is facing bankruptcy,’ he’d told her. ‘I’ve approached every major bank and financial institution for help, but they’ve all refused to lend us any more money.’ Tahlia’s heart had ached when her father had dropped his head into his hands in a gesture of utter despair. ‘I’m at rock bottom,’ he’d admitted hoarsely. ‘I’ve no more money left to stave off our creditors. The only glimmer of hope on the horizon is an equity firm, Vantage Investments, who have expressed an interest in buying out the company. I’ve arranged to meet their CEO next week.’
Tahlia could not forget the lines of strain of her father’s face, but she forced her mind back to the present and glanced around the gallery, aware that fretting about Reynolds’ financial situation was not going to help. She had dreaded the prospect of attending the exhibition tonight, when her supposed love-life was headline news, but Rufus Hartman was a close friend from her university days and she could not have missed his first major exhibition.
As she strolled around the gallery with Crispin she was conscious of the curious stares from some of the other guests. ‘I wonder how many people here tonight think I’m a heartless marriage-breaker,’ she muttered bitterly.
‘No one believes a word that’s written in the gutter press,’ Crispin assured her breezily.
Tahlia wished she shared his confidence, but for a moment she was tempted to slink into a quiet corner and remain there for the rest of the night. But that was ridiculous; she had done nothing to be ashamed of. Her hand strayed to her necklace. She had come to the art gallery tonight not simply to support Rufus. She had a job to do, she reminded herself.
Crispin had mentioned that a wealthy Arab prince would be attending the exhibition. Apparently Sheikh Mussada enjoyed buying gifts for his new wife, and Tahlia hoped that if she could catch his attention he might be impressed by the sapphire necklace and request to see more Reynolds Gems jewellery. If Reynolds could earn the patronage of an Arab prince they might not need to sell to Vantage Investments after all, she mused, so lost in her thoughts that she did not realise that Crispin had led her into the second gallery until he addressed a man who was studying one of the paintings.
‘Thanos—I hope you’re enjoying the exhibition. May I introduce you to a fellow art-lover?’ Crispin drew Tahlia forward. ‘This is Tahlia Reynolds. Her company, Reynolds Gems, have sponsored Rufus throughout his career, and she has an expert knowledge of his work.’
Shock ripped through Thanos as he stared at the woman at Crispin Blythe’s side. She had dominated his thoughts for so long that for a few seconds his brain struggled to comprehend that she was standing in front of him, and it took all his formidable will-power to school his expression into one of polite interest rather than murderous rage.
He had arrived in London three days ago, and at a dinner party with friends had been introduced to Crispin, who had invited him to this exhibition at his art gallery. Thanos had no particular interest in art, but these events were always useful for social networking. You never knew who you might meet, he thought derisively, as his eyes raked over Tahlia Reynolds’s slender form.
He recognised her instantly. Hardly surprising when her face was plastered over the front of all the red-top tabloids, he thought sardonically. But the photos of her in the newspapers, even the artfully posed pictures in the glossy magazines, showing her in couture gowns and stunning jewellery, did not do justice to her luminescent beauty. His eyes swept over her close-fitting blue silk cocktail dress, which matched the sapphires at her throat and was cut low to reveal a tantalising glimpse of the upper curve of her breasts.
She was exquisite, he acknowledged grimly. He welcomed the wave of black hatred that surged through him, but to his disgust another, unbidden emotion stirred within him. Nothing had prepared him for the impact of seeing Tahlia in the flesh, and to his fury he felt an unmistakable tug of sexual interest.
An awkward silence hovered in the air after Crispin’s introduction, and as the gallery-owner cleared his throat Thanos acknowledged that he could not give in to his inclination to fasten his hands around Tahlia’s slender neck and squeeze the life from her body.
‘Miss Reynolds,’ he murmured smoothly, extending his hand to her. He noted that she hesitated before she responded, and her hand shook very slightly when she placed it in his. Her fingers were slim, and as pale as milk. It would take a fraction of his strength to crush them in his grasp. He tightened his grip rather more than was necessary, and when her eyes flew to his face he stared at her impassively.
The brief pressure on her fragile bones could not compare with the pain his sister endured every day, he thought savagely. Melina had been in hospital for six long months, and would have to undergo many more weeks of physiotherapy before she
