As he passed the bar he remembered the last time he and Stacey had met. She’d knocked a drink over his companion by accident, costing him a replacement couture gown. He hadn’t troubled her with the detail, as Stacey had very kindly offered to have the dress cleaned. Naturally that hadn’t suited the woman on his arm at the time, who had seen the incident as an opportunity to add to her greedy haul. It had certainly proved a necessary wake-up call for him. He’d arranged for his PA to deliver the usual pay-off to the woman in the form of an expensive jewel, delivered the next morning, together with a new, far more expensive dress.
Why had fate chosen to put Stacey in his way again?
Or had he put her in his way? His people worked on the finer details of an event, but it was up to him to okay the contract. With a short cynical laugh, he acknowledged that he missed their verbal jousting. No one stood up to him as Stacey did, and he was weary of being fawned over. He craved her stimulating presence, even though she used to drive him crazy with the tricks she played on him at the farm. He missed the looks that passed between them and the electricity that sparked whenever they were close. It was ironic that a man who could buy anything couldn’t buy the one thing he wanted: a few moments of her time.
Money meant nothing to Stacey. She’d proved that on the day he’d bought her favourite horse. He hadn’t realised when her father had offered him the promising colt that the animal had meant so much to Stacey. When transport had arrived to take the horse to his estancia in Spain, he’d offered Stacey the same money he’d paid her father if she would just stop crying. He couldn’t have said anything to annoy her more, and she’d flung everything she could get her hands on at him. It had done him no good at all to point out that the money would pay her college fees.
‘I hate you!’ she’d screamed. ‘You don’t know anything about love. All you care about is money!’ That had hurt because he did know about love. The pain of losing his parents never left him, though he rarely examined that grief, knowing it might swamp him if he did. ‘If you hurt Ludo, I’ll kill you!’ she’d vowed. Staring into Stacey’s wounded green eyes, he’d understood the anguish of someone who relied on a madcap brother and a horse for affection; she was losing one of them, when she couldn’t afford to lose either.
‘Is everything to your satisfaction, Señor Da Silva?’
He swung around to find the hotel manager hovering anxiously behind him. Such was the power Da Silva Inc wielded that however he tried to make things easy for people they literally trembled at the thought of letting him down.
‘If anything falls short in your eyes, Señor Da Silva—’ the manager wrung his hands at the thought ‘—my staff will quickly make it right for you, though I have to say Party Planners has excelled itself. I can’t remember any big event we’ve held here running quite so smoothly.’
‘Thank you for the reassurance, señor,’ Lucas returned politely. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’ As there was still no sign of Stacey, he asked, ‘The team leader of Party Planners—have you seen her?’
‘Ah, yes, señor. Señorita Winner is in the kitchen checking last-minute details.’
The manager looked relieved that he had finally been of help, and Lucas gave his arm a reassuring pat. ‘You and your staff are top class, and I know you will give the party planners every assistance.’
Why hadn’t she come to find him? He ground his jaw as the manager hurried away. Surely the client was important too?
So thinks a man who hasn’t given Stacey’s whereabouts or well-being a passing thought for the past five years, he mused. And yet now I expect her to dance attendance on me?
Frankly, yes. Da Silva Inc was everyone’s most valuable account. To be associated with his company was considered a seal of quality, as well as a guarantee of future success. She should be thanking him, not avoiding him.
Was that his problem? Or was it picturing Stacey as she might be now, a worldly and experienced woman, socially and sexually confident in any setting?
That might be grating on his tetchy psyche, he conceded grudgingly. She’d always had her own mind, and would no doubt appear when she was ready, and not a moment before. And if he didn’t know what to expect, at least he knew what he wanted.
He wanted the wild child Stacey had been as a teenager, the woman who could be infuriating one minute and then caring and tender the next. He wanted all of her and he wanted her now, for, as frustratingly defiant as Stacey was, she could light up a room. Every other woman present would fall short because of her.
Irritating, impossible to ignore, beautiful, vulnerable Stacey…
And that vulnerability was the very reason he couldn’t have her. She’d been through enough. He was no saint. No comfort blanket, either. He was a hard-bitten businessman with ice where his heart used to live, who only cared for his siblings, his staff, and the charities he supported. Beyond that was a vast, uncharted region he had no intention of exploring.
By the time he reached the kitchen he had convinced himself that it would be better if he didn’t see Stacey. There’d be no chance to stand and chat, and a man of his appetite shouldn’t contemplate toying with the sister of his friend. Instead, he sought distraction in the winter wonderland she had created in the ballroom. A champagne fountain, its glasses seemingly precariously balanced, reached all the way to the mezzanine floor. Ice carvers were putting the finishing touches to their life-sized sculptures of horses and riders, while in another corner there was an ice bar—which perfectly suited his mood—where cocktail waiters defied gravity as they practised tossing their bottles about. Turning, he viewed the circular dance floor around which tables were dressed for a lavish banquet. The best chefs in the world would cook for his guests, and had competed for the honour of being chosen for this privilege. Heavy carved crystal glasses sat atop crisp white linen waiting to be filled with vintage wines and champagne, while a forest of candles lit the scene. His chosen colour scheme of green and white had been executed to perfection. The floral displays were both extravagant and stylish. Wait staff had assembled, and the orchestra was tuning up. An excited tension filled the ballroom, promising a night to remember.
Like a finely bred horse held on a short rein, everything around him was on the point of leaping into action. Except his libido, he conceded with a twist of his lips, which he would stamp on tonight.
Everything was on the point of being ready. Stacey loved this moment just before the starting gun went off. She was still dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, ready to help out wherever she could, but she wanted to be showered and dressed as elegantly as she could to witness the excitement of the guests when they saw the room for the first time, and feel the tension of the hard-working chefs and staff as they waited for service to begin. She found this early atmosphere at any event infectious. It always sent a frisson of anticipation rippling down her spine, though tonight that frisson was more of an earthquake at the thought of seeing Lucas again. She couldn’t wait to prove herself, and show what the team could do. She wanted him to know that she’d made it—perhaps not to his level in the financial sense, but she could do this and, more importantly, she loved doing this. What the Da Silva people couldn’t know was that Lady Sarah, the owner of Party Planners, had been taken ill and the bank was threatening to foreclose, but if Stacey could keep things on an even keel tonight, and secure the next contract with Da Silva, the bank had promised to back off. They wouldn’t lose the Da Silva account, of that she was grimly determined. The team had worked too hard. If anything did go wrong, she would take responsibility.
Coming