Engaged at The Chatsfield. Melanie Milburne

grinding like a saw. His arm was still around her, a warm band of strength that was as tense as a wire. Even through the layer of her cotton dress she could feel every corded muscle, every lean sinew, all of his latent strength and physical power. His hand was on her right hip, the searing touch of his fingers burning through her body like a brand.

      She had never been this close to him before. Close enough to feel the long, tall, athletic frame of him. Close enough to smell his lemon-based aftershave with its grace note of lime. At six foot three, he towered over her but somehow she fit snugly against him. Her body quivered at the contact. She could feel the electric heat coursing through her as if his sensual energy was powering up hers.

      ‘Gotta run,’ Harriet said as she gave them a fingertip wave. ‘Don’t be late, Juliet. We can’t start tea without you.’

      Juliet stepped out of Marcus’s hold as soon as Harriet had disappeared inside the hotel. ‘I can explain—’

      ‘Mr Bainbridge?’ A person holding a camera with a telephoto lens approached from the other side of Marcus. Other people with cameras and tripods were close behind; moving towards them like a pack of strangely shaped black-and-grey insects.

      ‘How does it feel to be engaged to Hollywood’s new heartthrob Benedict Montague’s little sister?’ the first journalist asked.

      ‘Can we have the first official portrait?’ a second photographer asked.

      ‘Is it true you’ve known Ben since he was eight years old?’ a third asked. ‘That you knew him before he was famous?’

      Marcus reached for Juliet’s hand, his fingers closing over hers so firmly she felt her prop engagement ring bite into her flesh. ‘We have no comment to make. Please excuse us. This is a private moment and we wish to be left alone to enjoy it.’

      Juliet could just imagine what Marcus was going to say when he got her alone, so she was all up for hanging out with the paparazzi for as long as she could. She smiled at the gathered cameramen and -women. ‘A photo? Of course! Where would you like us to stand? Here?’ She shuffled into position, dragging Marcus with her. ‘Smile, darling. Isn’t this fun? I’ve always wanted to be famous. Just wait till I tell Ben we’ve upstaged him.’

      The cameras flashed a few rounds but as soon as a journalist pushed a recording device towards Marcus his rictus smile fell away. ‘That’s it, folks. Time to move on.’

      All but marching Juliet into the hotel, Marcus spoke out of the side of his tautly held mouth as if spitting out bitter-tasting pellets. ‘Are you out of your mind? What the hell is going on?’

      Juliet kept her smile in place as a cameraman had followed them into the hotel to capture a shot of Lucca Chatsfield, who was heading to the bar with a bevy of beautiful women surrounding him like groupies around a rock star. ‘Look, darling,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think he’s gorgeous? No wonder he’s got all those women trailing after him. I’ve heard he’s really charming, too. Maybe you could introduce me to him since you know his father.’

      Marcus glowered at her. ‘Just you wait until I get you alone, young lady.’

      Juliet didn’t have to pretend to shiver in anticipation. It was for real. She hadn’t realised how heart-stoppingly handsome he was when he was het up. He was always so cool and in control. So polite and formal and aloof. But underneath that cool reserve was a man with strong feelings and emotions. With hot-blooded passion.