It had only taken him a few seconds to throw his costume back on but by the time he’d done that and raced downstairs there’d been no sign of her anywhere. She’d been swallowed up by the night.
What was her game?
Why had she run away like that? Why had she panicked? She’d had plenty of opportunity to change her mind if she’d so wanted—and she hadn’t wanted—that much was patently clear. On the contrary, she’d been perfectly willing all the way—perfectly accommodating—perfectly inviting.
A perfect fit.
He’d been cheated of exploring that knowledge further. He’d been cheated of seeing how far they could take each other. He’d been cheated of seeing her eyes…
Could it be that she’d recognised him? Was that what had scared her off? Suddenly afraid of being with the company founder and CEO she’d fled? But she hadn’t seemed that obtuse—surely she would have realised when he’d been called away suddenly by Enid, if not before, of his true identity? So why would she suddenly panic later on?
He didn’t like it one bit—the prospect of her knowing his identity when he had no idea who she was or where to start looking for her. He studied the man sitting nervously opposite him.
But Sam might.
When the masks had come off he was sure he’d seen Sam dressed up as a nun. There’d been a nun in the group where he’d first seen the woman standing. He might know. And if Sam didn’t someone else had to. She’d been there for hours waiting for him to return. Someone had to have spoken to her, someone had to know who she was.
‘Sam,’ he said, adding a smile for good measure. ‘Did you have a good time on Saturday night?’
Sam chortled and sat up, eager to please. ‘A great time. Wonderful party. Just wonderful. The staff are very grateful to you—’
Damien held up one hand. ‘Good, that’s fine. But I wonder if you can help me with something.’
‘Anything—name it.’
‘Only there’s someone there I meant to catch up with before the end but I missed her. She was dressed up as Cleopatra. Dark hair, white gown—sound familiar at all?’
‘Too right, she does,’ said Sam enthusiastically before he suddenly frowned. ‘Not sure where she got to, actually—one moment she was there and the next—poof—she was gone.’
Damien felt his pulse kick up. He was on the trail. Hot on the trail. She wouldn’t stay out of his clutches for long. ‘And her name,’ he prompted. ‘Can you tell me her name?’
Sam thought for a moment. ‘She did tell me.’ He looked ceilingwards and scratched his chin while Damien resisted the urge to slam his fist into it. If he thought it would jog his memory the fist would have won hands down.
‘Oh, that’s it. I remember now.’ Sam looked triumphant. Damien tried to remain seated.
‘And?’
‘Marie, from the Sydney office I think she said. Didn’t catch a surname. She was a little bit wary of going in—must have been off-putting, not knowing anybody at one of those things. Awkward when you hardly know a soul. She came in with us but then we lost contact with her.’ He frowned, contemplating his nails. ‘Wonder where she got to?’
Damien knew something of where she’d disappeared to. He’d asked her to dance and at first she’d seemed reluctant but then something had changed and she’d moved like warm chocolate in his arms—soft, luscious and ready to be consumed.
Very ready as it later turned out when he’d returned from his calls. She’d waited for him for way longer than what he’d promised. But she’d waited for him as if she could no sooner forsake the hope he’d return than he could abandon the absolute necessity to get back to her.
Then she’d fallen into his arms and the tension had built between them again. The trek to the boardroom had been an exercise in restraint but he’d made it and she was every bit a willing partner when they’d got there. More than willing, he recalled, as she’d practically invited him to enter her. And he had.
It had been like a dream. The sex had been everything he’d anticipated with the promise of more, even more mind-blowing. And then she’d gone and his evening had turned into a nightmare.
Sam continued to prattle on, openly contemplating where Marie might have gone. Damien ignored him, diving instead for his internal phone directory, scouring the lists. The Sydney office wasn’t large and the name didn’t ring any bells but the way this company was growing there was no way he could keep up with all the new staff.
He made one unsuccessful pass through. No luck. Too fast, he decided, and set his eyes to something less than warp speed as he scanned the lists.
No Marie!
He picked up the phone, oblivious to the stream of consciousness coming from Sam’s direction. ‘Enid,’ he snapped as soon as she answered, ‘have we taken on anyone recently in the Sydney office called Marie? There’s no one on the phone lists.’
He waited the few seconds while Enid responded in the negative before then throwing the phone down in disgust.
‘Are you sure it was Marie?’
‘What? Oh, er…’ Sam thought for a moment before nodding his head. ‘Pretty sure. I tend to take more notice of what people say when they’re such stunners, if you get my drift.’
Damien sent him a look that would curdle milk and watched Sam shrink down in his chair with some satisfaction. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought that every other man in the room had felt the same powerful attraction to his mystery woman. ‘No, I’m not sure I do.’
But what Sam had said bothered him. His mystery woman had chosen a fake name to go with her fake outfit. Now how was he going to find her?
It had to be someone who worked in the company. One of maybe three hundred women. Half of them he could write off as being too old, a good percentage of those left didn’t have the same kind of head turning figure. There couldn’t be more than one hundred who’d qualify. He’d find her, whatever it took. And when he found her…
A tap at the door shifted his attention from Sam.
‘You wanted to see me?’
Miss Brown Mouse stood at the door, looking even more timid than her creature companion as her eyes scampered around the room, settling finally somewhere near Sam.
‘Ms Summers,’ Damien said, turning his mind back to business. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.’
She took tentative mouse steps across the room, finally lowering herself into a vacant chair alongside Sam. She was wearing the same brown jacket as the first time he’d met her, but this time with matching trousers. They fitted her better than the skirt; at least they gave some sense that she had legs, decent ones by the look, under all that tweed.
For just a second his gaze narrowed, his thoughts scrambling for sense. Surely she couldn’t be one of the one hundred most likely? He looked to her face, pink and shy, her lips tight and her eyes skittering from side to side.
No, no chance. But she might know who his Cleopatra was. ‘Were you at the ball on the weekend?’
She jumped as if she’d been shot but it was Sam who responded. ‘Philly wasn’t there.’
Damien looked from Sam to Philly. ‘Why was that?’
‘Well, you see,’ she said, licking her lips, not wanting to add lying to her list of transgressions, ‘my mother isn’t well…’
He seemed to think about it for a while and then he nodded.
Philly couldn’t wait to get out of there. She wasn’t sure what had just happened here, but it looked as if she’d managed