Perhaps it had been worth coming after all, just to experience this one perfect moment.
In a room full of the very cream of society, he’d singled her out.
Knowing that, wasn’t it time she left her insecurities in the past?
‘They’re not looking at me.’ His hand fell to his side and there was a cynical gleam in his eyes. ‘Or if they are then they’re not seeing me. They’re seeing my wallet. When it comes to dress size they want to see one zero, but when it comes to a man’s wallet they’re rather more ambitious.’
Chantal laughed, and refrained from pointing out that he could be penniless and women would still stare. ‘If you’re so rich that women can’t see past your wallet, then there’s an obvious solution.’ Her eyes twinkling, she stood on tiptoe and spoke softly in his ear, ‘Give away all your money.’
His head turned fractionally, so that his lips almost brushed her cheek. ‘You think I should do that?’
He smelt amazing, Chantal thought dizzily, resting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. ‘It would stop women stereotyping you as a rich, available man.’
‘How do you know I’m available?’
Feeling distinctly light-headed, Chantal stepped away slightly, deciding regretfully that it really was time to move on from this conversation and this man. Before she forgot who she really was. ‘Because if you weren’t, some extremely jealous woman would have stabbed me in the back with her cutlery by now.’
His eyes were on her mouth. ‘So your advice is to give away my money?’
‘Absolutely. Only then can you be sure of a woman’s motives.’
The musicians started to play the seductive, powerful notes of a tango, and Chantal closed her eyes for a moment, wishing they hadn’t chosen that particular moment to perform that number.
It reminded her of Buenos Aires.
She’d spent two months travelling around Argentina, and she loved South American music.
The rhythm was so familiar that her body swayed instinctively, and the next moment the glass was removed from her hand and she felt her mysterious companion slide a hand around her back and pull her close. So close that, had the dance not been a tango, their contact would have drawn comment.
Her eyes opened. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Dancing. With you.’
‘You didn’t ask me.’
‘I never ask a question when I already know the answer. It wastes time.’
‘Arrogant,’ she murmured, and he gave a slow smile.
‘Self-aware.’
‘Over-confident.’ Laughing, she tilted her head to look at him. ‘I might have said no.’ She could feel the warmth of his hand on the bare skin at the base of her spine and the contact sent spirals of heat coursing through her body.
‘You wouldn’t have said no.’
And he was absolutely right.
There was no way she would have been able to say no to this man.
The throbbing, sexy music coiled itself around them and Chantal was breathlessly conscious of the strength and power of his body pressed against hers.
He clasped her hand in his and drew her nearer still, until it felt as though there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t touching him. The music washed over them and he moved in response to that intoxicating rhythm, using subtle changes in pressure to lead her around the dance floor.
She was so aware of him that she couldn’t breathe. He was in her personal space and she felt suffocated and seduced at the same time, intoxicated and drugged by the powerful chemistry that had erupted between them from the first moment they’d met.
What they were doing ceased to feel like dancing. It was—
An exploration of sexuality?
Her body slid over his, his leg following her leg, his hands on her hips. He moved with a confidence and innate sensuality that left her in no doubt that this man would be an incredible lover.
For some lucky woman.
And that woman would never be someone like her.
But for now—just for now—he was hers. And she was going to make the most of the moment.
They danced chest to chest, eyes locked, breath mingling, the heat and their chemistry turning the dance into something close to a primal mating ritual.
Chantal ceased to register the other people on the dance floor and suddenly there was just the two of them, their bodies moving together in perfect understanding as they executed something far deeper and more complex than a few dance steps. It was erotic, passionate and deeply intimate. They’d never met before this evening, and yet instinctively she knew what he wanted from her and moved in response to his demands.
Her senses were heightened and she was lost in the music and the moment as they danced with fluency and sensuality. One moment they were chest to chest and she could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against hers, and then he would turn her and she could feel the seductive slide of his hands over her hips as he moved her body in a dance that only just bordered on the socially acceptable. The movement of his leg drew the silk of her dress up her own leg, and the warmth of his breath against her neck made her shiver. How was it possible to be hot and cold at the same time?
How was it possible to feel this way about a man she’d never met before and wouldn’t ever meet again?
Perhaps that was why, she mused, gasping slightly as he tipped her slightly off balance, forcing her to lean into his body. Because she would never see him again, she could let go and enjoy herself.
For tonight, she was this man’s dance partner.
And dancing with him was shameful, sinful and like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Her mind and body moved into a different place altogether and when the music finally shifted to a different rhythm it took her a moment to register her surroundings and return to reality.
They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then he released her and stepped away from her.
There was a strange light in his dark eyes as he studied her.
‘I’ll fetch us both a drink.’ His tone was noticeably cooler than it had been before they’d danced.
He strode off and she blinked several times, disorientated by the sudden change in his attitude. A moment ago they’d been in another world, just the two of them, and now—
She took a few deep breaths, trying to settle the intense reaction of her body. He seemed angry—but why would he be angry?
It had been his choice to dance, not hers.
And she hadn’t trodden on his toes or fallen on the floor.
Wondering what she’d done to bring about such a change in him, she was about to melt into the background when a woman approached her.
‘I’m Marianna Killington-Forbes.’ She spoke in a lazy English upper-class accent, and the smile that touched her mouth went nowhere near her eyes. ‘You look very familiar. Have we met?’
Oh, yes, they’d met.
Chantal’s legs started to shake as her disguise fell away. She felt naked and exposed, her past no longer safely concealed but rising in front of her like some vile, malevolent demon. She was going to die of embarrassment and humiliation. Right now. Right here. ‘I—’
‘She doesn’t speak much English, Marianna. I told her to stay with me and not wander off, but we were separated in the crowd.’ The heavily accented voice came