‘And you both got over it and moved on, but now it’s time to move on past thewholeexperience,’ Tabby countered gently. ‘You’re such a perfectionist, Aristide, and you set too high standards for yourself. You were fifteen, you were still a kid when you made those choices, not an adult.’
‘What mistakes did you make at fifteen?’
‘I dyed my hair pink and it didn’t suit me. Mum was furious and my school complained. I chose to study maths because I was good at it, not because I wanted to work in that field. I fell for the boy next door but he couldn’t take his eyes off my sister even thoughshedidn’t know he was alive—’
‘So, nothing came of it,’ Aristide gathered.
‘No, I grew out of him, got a crush on an actor instead. I think your problem likely was that you were a rich, probably spoiled and quite indulged kid, who had the freedom to make life-changing choices at too young an age,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t have those options and so my mistakes stayed small and relatively risk free.’
‘At heart, you’re very sensible and steady in a crisis,’ Aristide remarked reflectively. ‘You’ll be a wonderful mother to our children.’
Just as the show kicked off again and the music fired up, Tabby looked at him and her heart pounded at the hot golden shimmer in his gorgeous eyes as they rested on her parted lips. The tip of her tongue sneaked out to moisten the sudden dryness there and with a muffled groan he reached for her, plunging his mouth down hungrily on hers. The teasing dance of his tongue against hers sent a red-hot burning shiver from her core up through her in a heated wave. A faint gasp was wrenched from her and she pulled back, her heart hammering inside her chest, her face flaming with mortified colour.
‘You have no idea how much I want you at this moment,’ Aristide growled in her ear before he leant back again.
And he had no very clear idea of how much she wanted him, Tabby thought ruefully, the heart of her burning, making her press her thighs together as if she could quell that wild craving. She reddened even more when she collided with her sister’s amused smile and turned her attention back to the show’s evening-wear selection.
The showpiece of the night was Imogen in her most unlikely wedding gown, a sort of goth-schoolgirl dress that bared her legs, those glossy brown pins of hers wrapped in ribboned white high heels. She looked spectacularly sexy, if not bridal, and the cameras flared and flashed all around them to capture her glamorous image. Her attention, however, landed repeatedly on Aristide, as if she was expecting to claim his attention, but Aristide was chatting away to Tore and looking nowhere near his former fiancée. And in that moment, Tabby’s jealous insecurity fell away as if it had never been. She finally saw that Imogen might want Aristide back but Aristide was no longer interested. And though she might never hear the full story of their relationship, she no longer cared.
They moved as a party into the ballroom to allow the staff to return the hall to normal. As the music started up, Aristide tugged her beneath his arm. ‘Now, at least, I can hold you close without exciting comment.’
He walked her onto the dance floor.
‘There’s nobody dancing yet!’ she hissed in protest.
‘So?’Aristide countered in challenge mode.
‘I can’t dance very well…people will notice,’ she muttered shamefacedly.
Gazing to the side of his tall, powerful frame, she glimpsed Imogen beginning to strut her stuff on the floor, clad in something short, silver and very sparkly, a tall, older man in a smart dinner jacket matching her step for step. They were doing salsa or something, Tabby registered uncertainly.
‘Who cares?’ Aristide fielded, single-minded as usual.
‘I care.’
‘But why?’ he replied unanswerably. ‘You don’t know anyone but your sister and husband here.’
‘And she who shouldn’t be named,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘She can dance too.’
‘Ignore her… I do,’ he said very drily.
She shuffled around the floor in the protective circle of his arms, drinking in the evocative scent of his skin, salt and musk and a hint of citrus in the combination. Slowly she closed her eyes, feeling him shift against her, realising that he was aroused and probably very much not up for any salsa dancing. That secret knowledge turned her on. Imogen was in the room and he wasn’t looking in the blonde’s direction and he wasn’t craving her either. No, Tabby was the focus of his desire.
She shifted against him, rather suggestively. ‘You’re…er—’
Aristide laughed, unholy amusement brightening his gleaming gaze. ‘Of course. I’ve been in that state since the first moment I laid eyes on you in that dress. You look dazzling in it.’
‘Thanks…’
And they danced and they mingled and had some supper before gravitating out to the freshness of the terrace, where the air cooled Tabby’s overheated body. She breathed in deep, appreciating the faint chill on her exposed skin.
‘I swore I wasn’t going to ask but, er…what happened with Imogen and you at the end?’
Aristide grimaced. ‘It was nasty. She told me she was pregnant and we got engaged. We set the wedding date and then my father came to see me. He was very upset and told me that I needed to get a DNA test done before I married her. She was the love of my life,’ he bit out in a raw undertone. ‘He told me that there had always been rumours that there were other men in her life but I was furious and I refused to believe him—’
‘And that’s when you had the big fight,’ she guessed, wretched on his behalf that he had had so much faith in the woman he loved and had then had to live with the knowledge that he had been wrong in his every assumption.
‘Yes. Initially I did nothing but my father’s conviction that her child was not mine played on my mind. I lied to her for the first time,’ he admitted uncomfortably. ‘I told her that I needed a DNA test to ensure my child’s inheritance rights and she insisted that she couldn’t agree to one. That only made me more suspicious. I had her investigated and, sure enough, my father’s convictions were proven. I confronted her. She lied and lied. Eventually she lost her temper and came clean. It wasn’t my child and she already knew that, however she needed a husband for the squeaky-clean advertising campaign that was making her so much money. She couldn’t be pregnant and unmarried without risking losing the contract. I was simply…the fall guy. When I heard she’d miscarried some weeks later, I felt sad for all of us because at one time I had believed that child was mine.’
