turned…only to collide with a hard male frame.
An immediate apology had left her lips, and in the same instant she became aware of the man’s physical impact…his impressive height, breadth of shoulder, his sculptured facial features. Not to mention the fine quality of his clothing, the faint aroma of his cologne. The slight smile curving his sensuously moulded mouth. And foremost, his indisputable aura of power.
Definitely off the Richter scale in terms of the wow factor, she had acknowledged a few minutes later as she rode the lift to the correct floor.
Who was he?
Discovery hadn’t taken long. The family Winstone was well-known in legal and social circles. Zac Winstone was a legend in both.
The fact he sought her out had seemed little short of amazing. So, too, had his invitation to join him for coffee. A week or two later it had been followed by dinner, then a show…
‘Pleasant thoughts, I hope?’
Lisane spared him a stunning smile. ‘Why shouldn’t they be?’
He was something else. Tuned in to her in a way that made her wonder if he’d become adept at reading her mind. Although pure people skills, the ability to weigh up character traits and successfully divine them, contributed much to his success in the court-room. Very little, if anything, seemed to escape him.
Zac curled his fingers through her own, and leant in close. ‘Just remember I get to take you home.’
A teasing light entered her eyes. ‘That’s supposed to see me through the next few hours?’
‘It won’t?’
His place or hers. It hardly mattered which, as long as they shared what remained of the night together.
‘The jury’s still out.’
His soft laughter almost undid her. ‘Let’s commence the tour of duty, shall we?’
Zac’s parents, Max and Felicity Winstone, had just entered the large lounge area, followed, Lisane saw, by Leo Fabrisi, his wife, Charmaine, and their daughter, Allegra.
Two brilliant judges married to two equally qualified solicitors, who had each borne a child destined to follow in their footsteps into law.
There was little doubt the coupling of Zac Winstone with Allegra Fabrisi would make a perfect match. Or that both sets of parents were intent on actively encouraging it. Allegra made no secret that snaring Zac was her prime focus.
Tonight the glamorous barrister had chosen a designer gown in sinful black which hugged her tautly honed curves like a second skin. Long, gleaming hair the colour of rich sable cascaded in loose waves halfway down her back, and even from this distance her make-up resembled perfection.
Wonderful.
Lisane couldn’t compete. Her budget didn’t allow for the purchase of designer originals, or the Manolo Blahnik or Jimmy Choo stilettos that inevitably graced Allegra’s slender feet. And her jewellery was limited to a diamond pendant and matching ear-studs she’d inherited from her mother.
Fortunately, her talents included the skillful use of a sewing machine, and she doubted even the most observant society maven would spot that the exquisite gown in floral silk she wore had been fashioned by her own hand.
Muted music provided a pleasant background to the social chatter abounding among numerous patrons in the large lobby, and Zac’s progress was frequently stalled as they paused to speak with a friend or associate.
Lisane briefly entertained the uncharitable thought that they might escape detection for a while longer, and thus delay a confrontation with the Winstone and Fabrisi parents.
Fat chance.
She watched with detached fascination as Zac’s elegantly attired mother caught sight of her son, and began leading the group of five towards him.
‘Darling.’ Allegra stepped in close and pressed glossy lips to Zac’s cheek. ‘We’re a little late.’ Her mouth performed a pretty teasing pout. ‘Traffic.’ Dark, eloquently warm eyes assumed a cool tinge as she acknowledged the young woman at his side. ‘Lisane.’
She bore Allegra’s studied appraisal with a practised smile before greeting each set of parents with a politeness gained from instilled good manners.
Wealth and social position lent that certain indefinable air some people exuded with an inborn ease acquired almost from birth. Maximilian Winstone, or Max, as he preferred to be known, could trace his ancestors back several centuries to an era of obscene wealth, enormous holdings and a social position almost second to none.
‘Go fetch some champers, darling.’ Allegra issued Zac the directive with a seductive look that was definite overkill. ‘I need something to kick-start the evening.’
There were waiters and waitresses in abundance. Zac merely lifted a hand to catch attention, and within seconds a waiter bearing a tray of filled champagne flutes moved to their group.
Allegra wrinkled her perfectly shaped nose. ‘Not, I think, the house variety.’ She placed a beautifully lacquered nail on Zac’s arm. ‘Shall we adjourn to the bar?’
‘We’re about to be seated.’ His voice was even, yet there was a warning hint beneath the surface.
One Allegra chose to ignore.
‘There’ll be at least thirty minutes of boring speeches before they serve the first course. We’ve plenty of time.’
Lisane felt her body tense. For what? An intimate têteà-tête? To cause a temporary division between her and Zac?
She should be used to Allegra’s ploys, for they occurred at frequent intervals and without doubt were deliberately orchestrated to diminish Lisane’s existence in Zac’s life.
It was a relief to see the ballroom doors swing open, and they joined the mingling guests entering the large room.
Polite, superficially pleasant conversation tempered the evening, and the addition of a further three guests at their table provided some light relief from Allegra’s not so subtle attempts to command Zac’s attention.
The food was superb, although Allegra barely sampled a morsel from each course while sipping Cristal champagne.
Discretion and client privilege ensured that only generalities within the legal system were discussed, and Lisane did her best to appear interested in Charmaine and Allegra’s recount of a recent shopping expedition in Sydney, where it seemed Allegra had been intent on adding to her collection of expensive shoes and bags.
‘Prada, darling,’ Allegra extolled. ‘And the most gorgeous Louis Vuitton.’ She subjected Lisane to a sweeping appraisal. ‘Your gown. Is it a Collette Dinnigan?’
I wish! ‘D’Aubigne.’ It was her late mother’s maiden name, and one she felt entitled to use.
An eyebrow slanted in overt puzzlement. ‘I’m not familiar with the label.’
‘It’s French,’ Lisane enlightened solemnly.
‘Of
