Buffy leaned over as she took Josh Rogan’s hand, giving him an eyeful, but unlike most men who would find the view irresistible, Josh smiled into her face and repeated her name with a happy lilt that could have been applied to a Matilda or a Beatrice. If he was receiving Buffy’s signals, he had no intention of answering them.
The other three couples in their group were given the same treatment by Josh Rogan as he was introduced to them. James could find no fault in his manner. The response to him was instinctively positive, an attractive person putting out pleasant vibrations and getting them back.
‘What business are you in, Josh?’ Hank Gidley, the last one to be introduced, inquired with keen interest.
‘Fine wines. Import and export,’ came the answer that allowed James to slot him into place, though it wasn’t the place he’d first imagined. However, it did explain the polished savoire-faire displayed so far. Josh Rogan was used to dealing with customers who could afford to buy fine wines and he probably charmed them into buying whatever he wanted to sell.
‘Oh, I thought you’d be in modelling like me,’ Buffy gushed.
The dark eyes twinkled at her wickedly. ‘Like everyone else, I admire external beauty, Buffy, but I’m really into tasting superb content.’ And he swung his gaze to Lucy as though she provided the taste he most relished.
She grinned at him—grinned like a Cheshire cat who’d just been fed lashings of cream—and James felt his stomach clenching with outrage. Here he’d been worrying about her, while she had been revelling in being tasted by this wine buff, no doubt with much sensual appreciation. Which explained why her hips had been swaying with that smirk of satisfaction about them.
‘Time to go in to our table,’ he announced tersely, and wrapped Buffy’s arm around his to lead off their little procession.
Nothing was going to plan this evening.
Nothing!
And he didn’t like it one bit.
CHAPTER THREE
AS THEY followed James and Buffy into the auditorium, Lucy was still laughing inside at the way Josh had complimented her content. It was all she could do not to burst out in spluttering amusement. James had been positively tight-faced about Josh preferring her to his trophy woman, and Buffy Tanner’s jaw had literally dropped at being so cavalierly dismissed in favour of Lucy Worthington.
A double blow to ego, she thought sweetly, and it served them both right—James for calling her his punctilious secretary on what was supposedly her night off, and Buffy Tanner for thinking she could vamp Josh right under Lucy’s nose.
However, her amusement didn’t last long. As they trailed after the leading couple towards their designated table, Lucy had to concede Buffy looked absolutely stunning, even the back view of her which she was swishing in front of Josh right now. The white beaded evening dress she barely wore was cut almost to her free-flowing buttocks, leaving a lovely curve of naked spine on display, and her shining mane of black ringlets dangled to just below her shoulder-blades, tempting touch.
The gleaming expanse of naked skin was without blemish, and Lucy couldn’t really bring herself to believe there was any cellulite hidden under the clingy fabric that moved so enticingly with every step forward. It was all very well to feel smugly pleased that Buffy couldn’t hook Josh with her seductive padding, but she did have James securely at her side.
With so much femininity on display and available to him, why would James even bother to look at his commonplace secretary in a different light? It wasn’t really feasible, Lucy decided, although Josh had certainly delivered a surprise impact out there in the foyer. That, in itself, was some balm to her wounded pride.
She told herself to be content with it because miracles were not about to happen on her behalf tonight. Better to concentrate on enjoying herself with Josh than burn herself up, hankering after what was never going to be with James Hancock.
The auditorium seemed vast—a sea of tables for ten set around a dance-floor. Four hundred guests were pouring in, settling around the starched white table-cloths which added the required class to the gleaming cutlery and glasses and the centre-pieces of angel candles set in clusters of perfect camellias. Countless silver stars hung from the ceiling, a reminder that this ball was being held by the Starwish Foundation to raise funds for children with cancer.
James had organised the entertainment, free of charge, and a young, up-and-coming band was on stage, enthusiastically playing a jazzy number to get everyone in a party mood. Behind the musicians on an elevated platform was a gleaming red convertible, an Alpha Spider sports car which was to be raffled tonight, a prize to promote the idea that in every heart is a hope for something special to magically happen to them.
A wish come true was the theme of the charity ball, but Lucy couldn’t, in all honesty, believe her wish that James could suddenly find her desirable had any possibility of coming true. He might wonder how a man like Josh could find her attractive, but why would that niggle of curiosity alter what he felt—or rather, didn’t feel—towards his secretary?
Sex appeal was a chemistry thing and Lucy just didn’t have the right elements to spark that kind of interest from him. Eight months of purely platonic treatment should have drummed that into her.
Ahead of them, James ushered Buffy to a chair at a table which had a direct view of centre-stage, one row back from the dance-floor. A prime position, Lucy thought, which, of course, James was adept at manoeuvring for himself.
‘You next to me, Lucy,’ he directed, nodding to his left, having already seated Buffy on his right.
Lucy was dumbstruck and instantly agitated by having to be so close to him all night. It would be sheer torture for her, almost touching, forced to hear how he spoke to Buffy, made excruciatingly aware of the contrast in his manner towards herself.
She had expected him to give his friends the more favoured places facing the stage. She was, after all, only his secretary. However, no-one protested as he organised the rest of the seating and Josh led her around to their designated chairs, murmuring in her ear, ‘Guests of honour, Lucy love. Score one to us.’
Lucy couldn’t accept that highly hopeful interpretation. It was too far out of step with the all too painful truth of what she knew. She suspected a purpose that had nothing to do with any newly noticed womanly charms. The moment James settled on the chair beside her she muttered to him, ‘Why did you put me here?’
His blue eyes sliced to her with a glittering intent that cut into her heart. ‘Why not?’
‘You said I wasn’t wanted for work tonight.’
‘You aren’t.’
‘You’ve placed me on hand, right next to you.’
One eyebrow lifted in mocking challenge. ‘Is that offensive to you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she quickly denied, although she hated—violently hated—being trapped in this position.
‘Is it beyond the realms of your imagination that I might enjoy your company outside of work?’
Lucy flushed, intensely embarrassed by a directness that hit on her own secret desires. ‘You’ve got company,’ she pointed out, nodding to Buffy who
