But her nerves didn’t. They tied knots in her stomach as she stepped into her sparkly stilettos, added a final touch to her upswept hairstyle and make-up. A delicate necklace of black diamonds flashed at her throat; a matching bracelet adorned her right arm. Her long platinum earrings swung as she studied her reflection side on.
Satisfied, she sorted her bag, then paced to the window to watch the late sunlight turn the River Torrens primrose.
She turned at the sound of the keycard being swiped in the door. Ridiculous to feel her heart pounding as if she was on her first date. She knew she looked fine, that this was exactly the type of gown his partners wore. Anyway, what did it matter what Dane—the king of dressing down—thought?
It mattered.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned. How did he manage to snatch her breath away every time? He wore black trousers and a made-to-measure white silk shirt that once again emphasised his shoulders and clung to his broad chest. His hair was still slightly damp and curled over the collar.
She fought the temptation to walk right on over there and smooth it with her fingers. To lean in and press her lips to that distracting V of tanned skin at his throat. Instead she kept her cool. ‘No tie to a formal function—why do you ignore your own rules, Dane?’
‘Because I can.’
Dane’s answer was vague as his eyes swept down Mariel’s body. God help him. How was he going to function tonight with that siren’s temptation beside him? Because he suddenly seemed to have momentarily lost the power of speech, he motioned her to turn around with his fingers.
White. Floor-length. Skinny. Backless—below backless, in fact, revealing the lower indentation of her spine. Low scooped neckline that dipped…and kept on dipping. Which made him wonder how she kept the whole thing from sliding off her shoulders. A slit up one side that looked as if it had been created by an overzealous pirate’s sword. He had to wonder if she wore panties at all…
‘You want to talk rules?’ he murmured, unable—unwilling—to tear his hungry eyes away. ‘That dress is a rule-breaker. In fact, it should be illegal. One of your creations?’
Dismissing his suggestion with, ‘I don’t wear my own designs,’ she whirled to face him again, the split in the fabric parting to show the long length of one leg. ‘You think it’s too much?’
‘More like not enough.’ He frowned, perplexed at his own reaction. He’d never been a conservative man, and enjoyed a good-looking woman as much as the next man.
‘It’s the latest Veronique design—Sophisticated Style. What’s your problem?’
Problem? He’d always been more than happy to have the object of every man’s desire on his arm. But was he sophisticated enough to make it through the evening knowing every guy would be falling over themselves to catch another eyeful of all that exposed skin? Because it was Mariel’s skin. His own flesh tightened, tingled as heat simmered beneath its surface.
Weird. He didn’t understand himself. On any other woman the gown would have looked stunning. Did look stunning. If tonight hadn’t been so important, if he hadn’t been the one who’d organised the event, he’d have called the whole thing off and suggested a night in. Just the two of them.
Fact was, he didn’t want everyone ogling what he suddenly realised he wanted to ogle himself in the privacy of their own suite. What the hell was happening to him?
‘Don’t you have something…more? A wrap, perhaps?’ Blimey, just listen to yourself. He needed to change his attitude fast if he wanted this evening to go smoothly.
Of course she looked lovely. Gorgeous. He’d be the envy of every man, and possibly every woman, in the room. And he intended to make sure everyone knew it was him she’d be with at the end of the evening.
Mariel stared at the grim-faced man before her. She knew she looked good, the dress wasn’t vulgar, just sexy, so she refused to feel hurt or embarrassed or any of those vulnerable emotions. Temper was preferable, but it wouldn’t be wise moments before they were due downstairs. ‘No, I don’t have a wrap. I don’t need one.’ She barely restrained herself from raising her voice. ‘And, to use your own words, I’m going to wear this dress because I can. And I can—very well.’ She snatched up her bag.
She had to pass him to get to the door, but a light hand on her arm stopped her.
‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all. You look sensational.’
Too little, too late, she thought, but she could try to be gracious—they had an entire evening in the public eye to get through. ‘All right.’ She let him curl her hand around his arm. ‘We’ll put it behind us and try to enjoy the evening.’
But how would the evening end, when the ball was over and an annoyed Cinderella retired to her suite with her suddenly stuffy prince?
Chapter Six
MARIEL watched the floor numbers blink as the elevator descended. They stood apart, but their respective fragrances mingled, their breathing the only sound in a stilted silence until the doors opened and Dane took her hand and wrapped it around his arm once more.
The hotel lobby was alive with light and movement. Airline staff checking in, tourists heading out for the city’s nightspots. Photographers snapping their arrival and that of other important guests, interviewing Dane about this evening’s event and, as expected, their renewed acquaintance.
‘What are your plans now, Ms Davenport?’ asked a journalist, shoving a microphone in her face.
‘I intend to start my own fashion label.’
‘And your relationship with Mr Huntington?’
She met Dane’s eyes and smiled coyly, allowed him to pull her a little closer and encircle her waist. For the publicity. ‘We’re just good friends.’ Let the press put whatever slant on that they chose.
They passed a glorious Chihuly glass sculpture on their way down the pink marble staircase to the ballroom, where black mirrors on the ceiling reflected the glitter from crystal chandeliers, candlelight and a fortune in jewellery. An orchestra was playing light classical, and the scents of fresh flowers mingled with the latest French perfumes while several prominent politicians, including those holding the youth and education portfolios, mingled with society’s elite.
Their table was the closest to the podium and filled with The Important People. She didn’t feel up to any in-depth conversation tonight, and to Mariel’s relief Justin’s wife, Cass, was seated beside her, looking chic in a simple black halterneck gown, her chestnut-brown hair curling softly about her face.
‘I’ve seen your photo in magazines, but it’s exciting to finally meet you in person,’ Cass said when Dane introduced them. ‘And that’s the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I wish I could get into something like that.’
‘Thank you,’ Mariel replied, unable to resist tossing a glance over her shoulder at Dane, who was standing behind her chair with Justin.
Leaning close, he ran his hand lightly over the nape of her neck and halfway down her spine and murmured, ‘I think the challenge will be in the getting out of it.’
‘I heard that, Dane Huntington,’ Cass said, her eyes twinkling up at him.
As she was supposed to, Mariel knew. ‘Indeed it will be,’ she murmured back, then turned to Cass with a smile. ‘So, you and Justin are recently married? I love weddings; tell me about yours.’
As Mariel had predicted, Dane moved away at the mention of nuptials and began conversing with a distinguished elderly man at their table. Justin sat down beside his wife