Swallowing down a rude retort, she nevertheless deemed it wise to take his advice, and groaned when she saw in the mirror her swollen mouth and dishevelled hair. Diego was right, she looked utterly ravished. Her inability to resist him was humiliating. She must not allow him to kiss her again, she told herself sternly. From now on she would be a model of businesslike efficiency, and she was determined to organise a PR campaign for DC Diamonds that would impress Diego with her professionalism.
CLARE RAN HER hand down her gold-sequined dress, relieved to find that the low-cut evening gown with a side-split skirt, which she had worried was too flamboyant and revealing, was a perfect outfit to wear to Diego’s nightclub and casino, Kasbah.
The club was a huge venue with numerous bars and dance floors, an enormous gambling suite equipped with poker tables, roulette wheels and slot machines, and in the centre of the club was a revolving stage lit by glittering chandeliers suspended from the marquee-like ceiling. The decor was over-the-top opulent and had been designed to represent a Sultan’s harem. Rich purple carpets, gold silk wallpaper and plush velvet seating gave the interior a sensual feel that was enhanced by discreet lighting and the throb of deep bass music.
Diego had arrived at the club before Clare. His PA had explained that he wanted to watch the final rehearsal by the dancers who would be performing during the evening. Juliana had also told her that the party was a fund-raising event for the Future Bright Foundation—a charity set up by Diego and his business partner Cruz Delgado to provide education and college funds for young people living in favelas.
It had been left to Miguel to drive Clare to the club. The bodyguard had obviously detected that she felt wary of him and had reiterated Diego’s assurance that he would protect her with his life if necessary.
‘Diego said you and he were friends many years ago. Where did the two of you meet?’ she’d asked, thinking that she might learn more about Diego’s past.
But Miguel had given her an odd look and murmured, ‘You’ll have to ask Diego that question.’
Clare told herself that the mystery surrounding Diego was none of her business. In a few weeks she would go home to England and never see him again. Unless she was pregnant with his child. The thought slipped into her mind and she felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. There was no point worrying about it when the chances that she had conceived were so unlikely, but she couldn’t stop wondering if Diego’s baby was developing inside her.
She forced her mind back to the present. The guests would be starting to arrive soon and she was wondering what her duties as Diego’s hostess would entail. She caught sight of him up on the stage surrounded by a group of exotic female dancers whose costumes comprised of a few strategically placed ostrich feathers.
The girls crowded around Diego, and it wasn’t hard to understand why, Clare thought ruefully. He looked amazing in a black dinner suit and white silk shirt, and his tousled, over-long hair and the shadow of blond stubble on his jaw gave him a raw sex appeal that was dangerously attractive.
Although her stiletto heels made no sound on the thick carpet, he turned his head as she approached, as if a sixth sense had alerted him to her presence.
‘Clare.’ There was a strange huskiness in his voice and the glitter in his silver eyes sent a frisson of sexual awareness down her spine. He did not take his gaze from her as he clapped his hands and the dancers left the stage in a flurry of feathers and a flash of lissom thighs.
‘Juliana said I would find you hard at work,’ Clare said drily. ‘At a rough estimate, I’d guess that you have slept with at least ten of the twenty girls in the dance troupe.’
He grinned. ‘But not all at the same time.’ The expression in his eyes became feral as he studied her. ‘I knew when I picked that dress that you would look stunning in it.’
‘How did you know my size?’
‘I asked your sister.’ He stepped closer and murmured in her ear, ‘Besides, I have an excellent memory of your body, querida.’
Fortunately the guests began to arrive and Diego moved to greet them, but Clare’s hope that she would be able to disappear amongst the crowd was thwarted when he slipped his arm around her waist and kept her clamped to his side.
‘Tonight you are my hostess,’ he reminded her when she suggested he might want to circulate on his own and chat to the countless beautiful women who watched him hungrily as if they wanted to devour him.
‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re using me as a shield? Aren’t you flattered that you could have just about any woman in the room without even having to try?’
She looked up at his handsome face, expecting to see his mouth curve into an indolent smile, but he trapped her gaze and the heat in his eyes burned her. ‘There is only one woman I want but she told me she’s not interested,’ he said softly.
Clare was aware of the pulse at the base of her throat beating so hard she was afraid it was visible through her skin. She reminded herself that Diego was a womaniser and he was flirting with her because it was second nature to him. But sexual chemistry had sizzled between them in the steamy rainforest and it was no less potent in the semi-dark nightclub with the thudding beat of the music echoing the frantic thud of her heart. She opened her mouth to reiterate what she had told him in his office, that she would not be his mistress at any price. But instead she heard herself murmur, ‘I said I wasn’t for sale. I never said I wasn’t interested.’
* * *
What the hell had Clare meant by that? Diego wondered as he watched her walk away from him. He was damned sure she had deliberately made an excuse that she needed to visit the bathroom, and he was tempted to go after her, lock them both in a cubicle and take her up against the wall with all the finesse of a hormone-fuelled teenager.
He raked a hand through his hair, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips and the taut curves of her bottom beneath her twinkling sequin-covered dress. He couldn’t remember when he had wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. But perhaps his inexplicable possessive feeling was because there was a possibility that she was carrying his child, he told himself.
His common sense urged him to put her out of his mind. As she had pointed out, he could take his pick from any of the single females at the party, and probably a few married ones, he thought sardonically. Money was a powerful aphrodisiac, but even before he’d become a multimillionaire women had desired him; strangely, and it was a funny thing, the less he had cared, the more they’d pursued him.
Clare was the only woman who had ever stood up to him. She had even stood up to the ruthless drugs lord, Rigo. He admired her, Diego acknowledged. Hell, he liked her as well as desired her, and he knew, because he always knew with women, that she was halfway to falling in love with him. What troubled him most was the realisation that he did not want to hurt her, which of course he would. He wasn’t looking for love. The blank space in his memory of what had happened when he was seventeen hid a truth about himself that he did not want to uncover. It was safer to be a playboy who did not give a damn about anyone.
Across the room he caught the eye of one of his ex-mistresses. Belinda was an attractive blonde, wearing a minuscule dress that showed off her long legs. Like most of his exes, Diego had parted from her on good terms and her body language sent him a message that she was available. He started to walk towards Belinda but then he noticed Clare standing by the bar and scanning the room for him.
The bright lights above the bar danced over her long auburn hair, which fell in rippling waves down her back and shone like silk. Santa Mãe, she looked as if she had been poured into the gold dress that hugged her tiny waist and framed her full breasts. She was tying him in knots, Diego acknowledged grimly. The only way to get her out of his system was to get her into his bed.
*