CHAPTER SIX
DAMON GALE STALKED the perimeter of the crowded ballroom, dodging another cluster of smiling women whose feathered masks neither softened nor hid their hunger as they stared at him.
He shouldn’t have discarded his mask so soon.
Turning his back on another wordless invitation, he sipped his champagne, wishing it contained a stronger liquor. Women wanted more from him than he ever wanted from them. Always. While they agreed to a fling—fully informed of his limits—when it ended, recriminations and resentment came.
You’re heartless.
He smiled cynically as the echo rang in his head. His last ex had thrown that old chestnut at him a few months ago. And, yes, he was. Heartless and happy with it.
And what did it matter? For tonight business, not pleasure, beckoned. Tonight he was drawing a line beneath a decades-old disaster and tomorrow he’d walk away from this gilded paradise without a backwards glance. Just coming back had made old wounds hurt like fresh hits.
But for now he’d endured the outrageously opulent entrance, navigated his way up the marble staircase and walked through not one but five antechambers. Each room was larger and more ornate than the last, until finally he’d reached this gleaming monstrosity of a ballroom. The internal balcony overlooking the vast room already brimmed with celebrities and socialites eager to display themselves and spy on others.
Palisades palace was designed to reflect the glory of the royal family and make the average commoner feel as inconsequential as possible. It was supposed to invoke awe and envy. Frankly all the paintings, tapestries and gilded carvings exhausted Damon’s eyes. He itched to ditch his dinner jacket and hit one of the trail runs along the pristine coastline that he far preferred to this sumptuous palace, but he needed to stay and play nice for just a little while longer.
Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the lens of an official photographer. He had no desire to feature in anyone’s social media feed or society blog. He’d been forced to attend too many of these sorts of occasions in years past, as the proof of the supposed strength of his parents’ union and thus to maximise any political inroads they could make from their connections.
The bitterness of their falsity soured the champagne.
Fortunately his career wasn’t dependent upon the interest and approval of the wealthy and powerful. Thanks to his augmented reality software company, he was as wealthy as any of the patrons in attendance at this palace tonight. But even so, he was here to make the old-school grace and favour system work for him just this once. Grimly he glanced over to where he’d left his half-sister only ten minutes ago. The investors he’d introduced her to were actively listening to her earnest, intelligent conversation, asking questions, clearly interested in what she was saying.
That introduction was all she’d agreed to accept from him. She’d refused his offer to fund her research himself and, while it irritated him, he didn’t blame her. After all, they barely knew each other and neither of them wanted to dwell on the cancerous and numerous scars of their parents’ infidelities. She had her pride and he respected her for it. But he’d been determined to try to help heal two decades of hurt and heartache caused by lies and deception, even in some small way, given his father’s total lack of remorse. From the intensity of that discussion, it seemed his job was done.
Now Damon turned away from the crowds, seeking solace in solitude for a moment before he could escape completely.
Symmetrical marble columns lined the length of the room. On one side they bracketed doors to the internal courtyard currently lit by lights strung in the trees. But on the other side the columns stood like sentries guarding shadowy alcoves.
A wisp of blue caught his eye as he approached the nearest column and he veered nearer. A woman stood veiled in the recess, her attention tightly focused on a group of revellers a few feet away. Her hair was ten shades of blue, hung to her waist and was most definitely a wig. A feathery mask covered half her face like an intimate web of black lace. Her shoulders, cheekbones and lips sparkled in a swirling combination of blue and silver powder.
Damon paused, unable to ignore the way her long dress emphasised every millimetre of her lithe body, clinging to her luscious curves and long legs. Despite that sparkling powder, he could see the tan of her skin and it suggested she was more mermaid than waif. She definitely spent time in the sun and that toned body didn’t come from sitting on a spread towel doing nothing.
She was fit—in all interpretations of the word—but it was her undeniable femininity that stole his breath. Her pointed chin and high cheekbones and perfectly pouted lips were pure prettiness and delicacy, while her bountiful breasts were barely contained in the too-tight bodice of her midnight-blue dress.
She hadn’t noticed him as she stood still and alone, watching the crowd. So he watched her. Her mask didn’t hide her emotions—while her intentions were not obvious, her anxiety was. Something about her stark isolation softened that hard knot tied fast in his chest and set a challenge at the same time.
He was seized by the desire to make her smile.
He was also seized by the urge to span his hands around her narrow waist and pull her close so he could feel the graceful combination of softness and strength that her figure promised.
He smiled ruefully as raw warmth coursed through his veins. Its unexpected ferocity was vastly better than the cold ash clogging his lungs when he’d first arrived. Perhaps there could be a moment of pleasure here after all, now his business was concluded and that personal debt paid.
He
