“I was thirsty,” she muttered, her expression one of arch disapproval. His smile sent butterflies banging through her belly.
“Good.” His hand in the small of her back was firm and warm. He guided her effortlessly towards the dance floor and her feet seemed to glide with his of their own volition.
He held her close, tight to his body, and the band switched into a slower song.
Who was this man? She had a vague recollection of having heard his name before. Like all of the other well-dressed guests she presumed he was wealthy, whether by birth or skill, and that he made a habit of spending time with Europe’s elite. His accent was a throaty Gallic, a mix of Italian and French that sounded, simply, magical.
He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. It wasn't just his looks though. There was a tortured, haunted quality in the depths of his eyes that sparked something in her soul. She was mesmerised. Up close, he smelled woody and masculine. Her throat burned with anxiety and desire.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Arnaud?” Her words were clipped and in control, in direct contrast to how she felt.
God, she was sexy. Even knowing who her father was didn’t change that fact. He ran his fingers over the small of her back and heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Many things, I’m sure.”
She pulled back just far enough to see his face. Her eyes roamed his features in thought. “I should warn you, my secretarial skills are definitely not worth the amount you’ve paid.”
His eyes bore into hers. “Perhaps I am interested in more than your ability to type.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “I’m quite good at spreadsheets,” she said, purposefully misunderstanding him.
His laugh was soft. “I already have two excellent assistants at my disposal.”
She swallowed. “So I’ll be helping them?”
“No,cara.You’ll be with me.”
“With you?” She asked smoothly, though her blood was raging through her body. “Doing what, exactly?”
He deflected the question with a small smile. “Have you worked for the charity for long?”
She was momentarily thrown by the change of topic but she followed him for it gave her a temporary reprieve from the heated seduction that had been swirling around them.
“Less than a year.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
She nodded, and realised it was true. “I like my boss. Melania is an inspiration. She works tirelessly. Her role is stressful and demanding and poorly-paid but she does it because she is on a crusade to improve the lives of kids with cancer. She’s … amazing.”
It was true; he also admired the charity’s founder enormously. But there was something in the way Kate spoke that indicated a more personal affinity with the cause. “And beyond that, this charity matters to you?”
“Of course.” She was back to being cold and controlled. “In the last three years Hope Renewed has become one of the most important children’s organizations in Europe. We help thousands of kids every year, and their families. I feel very fortunate to be a part of that.”
He couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked in his chest. He had made his fortune by reading people. He knew Katherine Beauchamp to be a product of her spoiled,demanding upbringing and yet he sensed a kindness and compassion in her that he hadn’t expected.
“And before this? What did you do?”
Her steps faltered a little. Her smile was forced. “Oh, this and that. Odd jobs. I did some temp work for a secretarial agency… Worked in bars, too.” Her shrug was studiously casual. “So you see,” she said, blinking up at him with an attempt at innocence, “you might start to regret your rather generous donation.”
His smile was like butter on warm toast and it made her tummy just as gooey. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the sensitive lobe of her ear. “It was not a donation,” he murmured, his eyes locking to hers. “It was a payment. And I intend to collect immediately.”
Something swirled inside of her; a thrill of desire and a slick of warning heat. “Oh?” She murmured, but he was looking beyond her, signaling something over her shoulder. She stopped dancing and turned in time to see him take another glass of champagne from a tray. He put a hand around her waist and guided her swiftly from the dance floor, to one of the dark recesses created by the crenellations in the wall.
Kate’s heart was hammering inside her chest. She looked at him with a sense of loss; not of him, but of herself. Something was shifting in her being; it was as though an elemental part of her body was responding to his, and she was powerless to stop it.
“You do realize I’m not actually for sale, don’t you?” She said, her back pressed against the cold wall, her hands planted by her side.
He nodded gravely. “Your time, however, is; and I’ve bought two days of it.”
