“I’m a walking disaster,” Bella said.

Gil laughed, his eyes warm. “I don’t buy that.”

“Oh, I can get dressed up in my party gear and dazzle the world. Doesn’t stop me making a complete idiot of myself.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about a specific instance, aren’t you? Want to tell me?”

Bella swallowed, shaking her head.

He saw her distress. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yes, it can!”

Dear Reader,

If you have read The Millionaire’s Daughter you will recognize Bella.

I didn’t set out to write a pair of novels. But as I came to the end of Annis’s story, I realized that Bella was at the start of a story of her own. What was more, she had behaved so generously, I really wanted her to have a happy ending, too.

There are a lot of brothers and sisters out there welded together entirely because of their parents’ remarriage. So often they resent it—and each other. But Bella and Annis were born to be sisters, even though there is no blood tie and they have nothing in common but affection. And respect, of course. And a shuddering distaste for blue tulle. I’m crazy about them both.

I hope you enjoy reading these books as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Best wishes,

Sophie Weston

Readers are invited to visit Sophie Weston’s Web site at www.sophie-weston.com.

The Bridesmaid’s Secret
Sophie Weston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘OF COURSE Bella will be your bridesmaid. Why on earth wouldn’t she?’

Annis shuffled sample wedding invitations uneasily. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said vaguely. ‘She’s only been in New York a couple of months. Maybe she’d prefer to settle in properly before making a major trip back to London.’

‘Sure,’ said Bella’s mother. ‘That’s why she didn’t come back at Christmas. But your wedding. That’s different. She’s been waiting to be your bridesmaid all her life.’

Annis smiled reluctantly. ‘You’re right there. Bella was born to wear flowers in her hair.’

Instinctively they both looked at the photograph on the bookcase. It was a black and white studio portrait, all cheekbones and soulful eyes. So it missed the gold in Bella’s hair or the forget-me-not blue of those eyes. But what it caught completely was the fun. The eyes sparkled. There was a naughty tilt to the head. You could tell that, in spite of her solemn pose and the dramatic lighting, laughter was on the point of breaking through. This was a girl who thought life was a party and who wasn’t going to sit still much longer while it went on without her.

Lynda Carew smiled on her absent daughter. ‘Yes, she still loves dressing up, doesn’t she?’

‘Hey, we can’t call it dressing up any more. Now she’s working for Elegance Magazine, she’s a high-fashion babe.’

Lynda suppressed a sigh. ‘She’s certainly found herself the ideal job. I just wish she hadn’t had to go so far away to get it.’

Annis had a feeling that the miles between the Carews’ London home and Elegance Magazine’s Manhattan office was a good part of the reason that Bella had so surprisingly applied for the job in the first place. She did not say so. What was a feeling, after all? Just a faint impression, based on a couple of things Bella had said months ago, which Annis had paid no attention to at the time. Coupled with the things she had not said when Annis had announced that she was marrying Kosta Vitale.

And then that abrupt departure for the US.

But, on the other hand, Bella always did things on the spur of the moment. Miss Spontaneous, that was what her stepfather called her. And she had always been a globe-trotter.

The wedding preparations list forgotten, Annis tapped her teeth with her pen. Heck, maybe it was nothing. Feelings had never been her strong point. It was Bella who understood why people did things, not Annis, the intellectual stepsister she called Brain Box.

‘Annis—’

She looked up. Lynda was watching her narrowly. Annis blinked. She loved and respected her stepmother but it was still sometimes a bit of a shock to bump into one of her moments of shrewdness.

‘Is there something I should know?’ Lynda asked quietly.

It was a question Annis had dreaded for weeks. Partly because she did not know the answer. Partly because sometimes—in the early morning when Kosta was still sleeping and she was awake and dreamily content in his arms—she half wondered if her happiness had somehow been bought at Bella’s expense. She did not quite see how that could have happened. But there was something—

‘No,’ she said now uncertainly.

Lynda was not a dragon but when something was important she did not give up easily.

‘Is something wrong with Bella?’

‘I—’

‘Tell me, Annis.’

Annis looked again at the photograph.

Bella looked back, all suppressed mischief. Her bare shoulders caught the light. Her mouth was not only trying not to laugh, it had a sensual curve which would raise the blood pressure of any man under ninety. A diamond teardrop, a twenty-first birthday present from her doting stepfather, nestled seductively against her neck under a feathery fall of hair.

Of course there was nothing wrong with Bella. She was blonde, gorgeous and twenty-four. She had a job most people only dreamed about. She was living in the most exciting city in the world. She could have any man she wanted. What could possibly be wrong with Bella?

‘No,’ said Annis, convinced at last. ‘Bella’s wonderful.’

She gave Lynda a brilliant smile.

Her stepmother did not respond for a moment.

‘Bella would tell you anything,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘But would you tell me?’

‘If I thought there was something really wrong with Bella I would,’ Annis assured her. ‘But I don’t. Honestly. I’m probably just getting myself stewed up about the wedding. You know what I’m like about performing in front of a lot of people.’

Lynda hesitated. But Annis was certain now and it had its effect. Eventually her stepmother nodded, satisfied.

‘All the more reason for Bella to be a bridesmaid,’ she said practically. ‘You know she gets you out of stage fright.’

Annis remembered adolescent drama groups, school concerts, sailing club votes of thanks. Two minutes before she was due to open her mouth, Annis would freeze. That was when Bella would ram a crown down over the brows of one of the peacock boys, or seize a triangle and dodge among the waiting players, refusing to give it back; once she had slid along the polished floor of the church hall on a tea tray and had brought the wrath of a phalanx of church wardens down on her head; once, memorably, she had nearly lost her dress when a shoelace strap had broken at a critical moment. Annis would dive to the rescue. By the time she’d rush out to do her bit on stage, she’d still have half her mind on Bella. None at all was left for her nerves.

‘Everyone used to think I was a brilliant speaker and Bella was a tearaway,’ she said now, remembering. ‘Nobody noticed that the two went together. No tearaway, no speaker—just a frozen jelly with lockjaw.’

Lynda laughed. ‘You’d better not get lockjaw at the altar. You get that daughter of mine back, you hear me? You need her.’

Annis did not deny it. She took a decision.

‘I’ll phone her now,’ she said with resolution.

The open-plan office was all limed wood and high-tech silver. No desks. Desks were not chic. The journalists used their laptop computers on tables that were minimalist swirls of wood. Some were shaped like commas, some like 1950’s kidney dressing tables. The chairs were somewhere between bar stools and chicken wire. There were lots of mirrors. Every single piece of furniture was on wheels.

‘Fluid. Dynamic. We like to keep everything loose,’ Rita Caruso, head of features and Bella’s boss, had said when she’d introduced her to the room. ‘The décor reminds us that the world is in constant flux.’

That had been in November. By Christmas, Bella had been masterminding office-chair races. The course had been three times from glass wall to glass wall ending with a dash round the three central columns and the prize had been an evening clubbing under Bella’s direction. Everyone agreed that anyone who went out with Bella was in for a unique experience. As in-house lawyer, Clyde, put it, she was never going to be the queen of cool but by thunder she knew her music. And she could dance. And her contact list was fantastic.

At five o’clock she was sitting at a particularly nasty dagger-shaped desk, trying to talk to a stylist in LA and make notes at the same time without sending all her other notes onto the floor. The silver room was supposed to be a paperless office as well. Background music thrummed through state-ofthe-art speakers that looked as if they could make it to the moon under their own steam.

Bella was conscious of pins and needles in her leg, a crick in her neck and fast-evaporating patience with the prima donna on the other side of the country. In fact she was concentrating so hard on not losing her temper that she did not really register the first call.

‘Hey, English! I’m talking to you.’

Bella looked round then. Behind her, Sally Kubitchek was waving her hands in the air. Bella put a hand over the little microphone suspended from its twenty-first-century Alice band round her head and mouthed a question.

‘Your sister,’ yelled Sally.

‘Ah.’ Bella brought LA back into the conversation. ‘Sorry Anton, something’s come up. I’ll have to call you back.’ In the teeth of his protests, she took off her headset and disconnected the cellular phone.

Sally sat in front of a discreet bank of lights. ‘Take it in Caruso’s room,’ she advised. ‘She’s at the Guggenheim interviewing this month’s millionaire. He gave them something amazing and they’re showing the press tonight. She won’t be back.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

Rita Caruso’s office had one of the few chairs that was both comfortable and immobile. They all used it when they could. Bella flung herself into its leather embrace as the telephone began to purr sycophantically.

She snatched it up. ‘Hi, Annie. How you doing?’

‘Hi, Bella Bug. I’m fine. You?’

‘I’m cool.’

‘How’s the job?’

Bella laughed. ‘I’m licking them into shape.’

‘What?’

‘Well, I’ve had a couple of brushes with the style police but, apart from that, everything’s fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yup. Caruso says I have a nasty British sense of humour. She likes that. It means I write good copy. I even get to have a crack at interviewing one of her millionaires if I’m a good girl. No, correct that. If I’m a malicious and witty girl.’

‘Wow.’ Annis was half amused, half shocked. ‘I’ll buy witty. But you were never malicious.’

‘I’m working on it,’ said Bella blithely.

She stretched her legs. Her four-inch spike heels just about reached Rita Caruso’s desk. She was not a tall girl. But she was going to put her feet on the desk anyway. It was symbolic.

She stretched luxuriously and said, ‘So tell me about you. How’s the wedding?’

‘Growing,’ said Annis is a voice of deep gloom.

Bella grinned. ‘Told you it would. Quiet wedding isn’t in mother’s vocabulary.’

‘For you maybe.’

It was just as well Annis was on the other side of the Atlantic. Bella’s grin did not so much fade as freeze.

Fortunately Annis had no suspicion. ‘But I’m not even her daughter,’ she complained. ‘And I’m too tall for frills and veils. Weddings and I were made for separate universes. But will she listen?’

‘No,’ supplied Bella. ‘The wedding experience pervades every known universe as far as mother is concerned. Even if you bring a sick note, she’ll convince herself you want it really.’ She made a huge effort. Her voice didn’t sound too bad.

That was New York for you. It taught you to come back with a smart remark even if your heart was breaking. Let’s hear it for New York, she thought.

Annis did not detect anything wrong. ‘Too right.’ She hesitated. ‘Er—that’s what I was calling about actually.’

Bella’s hand was clammy on the receiver. Please don’t ask me to come to the wedding. Please, please, please, Annie. It was unashamed panic.

‘Oh?’

‘I need help.’

If Annis had hit her, she could not have winded her more comprehensively.

‘Don’t ask me,’ Bella said, when she got her breath back. She was desperate to keep it at the level of a joke. ‘I’ve never organised a wedding. If you don’t trust mother, try one of Kosta’s glam friends. There must be a wedding consultant in there somewhere.’

‘Probably,’ said Annis with the indifference of a woman so utterly sure that she was adored, she hardly noticed the predatory females who still circled round the fashionable architect who loved her. ‘But it’s not technical advice I want.’

Bella’s throat tightened. ‘Oh?’

‘I want my sister,’ said Annis baldly.

For a moment Bella literally could not speak. Everything inside her screamed No! Oh, this wasn’t fair. This really, really wasn’t fair.

‘Bella Bug? Are you there? Bella?’

‘Yes,’ Bella croaked. She cleared her throat. ‘I mean, yes, I’m here. Glitch on the line.’

‘Well?’

Bella floundered. She felt as if she was drowning.

‘Annie, do you know how hard I had to wheel and deal to get this job? American visas are like gold dust. If I go back, I’m not sure they’ll let me back in,’ she said, improvising desperately. ‘Not to work, anyway. I’m here on this six month exchange thing. This is the first proper career-type job I’ve ever had. I can’t afford to risk it.’

The silence was full of disappointment. Bella felt awful but she did not weaken. She could not afford that either. She could feel the tears on her face. She did not know when had she started crying.

This is stupid, she told herself savagely. She did not say anything at all to Annis.

‘Oh, well, if you can’t, you can’t,’ Annis said eventually. Her voice was muffled.

She was obviously hurt. Damn! thought Bella. Still, better hurt now than have her wedding day ruined by a sister weeping all over the man she was going to marry.

‘Look, I’ve got to go. There’s this guy I need to speak to today. I’ll call you and you can fill me in with the news then. Or email me. That’s what the Net is for,’ said Bella trying to be bracing. Even to her own ears she sounded horridly un-feeling.

‘Yes. Of course. I’ll call you.’

Annis rang off.

Bella put down the phone and blew her nose hard.

If only Annis had not looked after her from the moment Tony Carew had married Lynda. If only she had not taught Bella how to sail. If only she had not played with her and read to her and let her borrow her make-up. And then, later, if only she had not believed in her when everyone else thought Bella was a pretty airhead.

If only she had not fallen in love with the same man.

But she had. And Kosta Vitale, for all his smooth sophistication, had taken one look at Annis and had fallen right back. Clever, heartbreaking Kosta was undoubtedly right. Annis was a woman men fell in love with. Bella was the girl they took to parties.

But that didn’t mean the party girl couldn’t fall in love. She just shouldn’t expect anyone to take her seriously when she did. And she should get over it as fast as she could.

Well, she was trying. She wasn’t doing too badly, either. Sometimes she didn’t think of Kosta for a whole hour at a time. Eventually she would get him out of her system altogether. But not if she had to go back to London and watch him walk down the aisle with Annis. Bella knew herself and she knew she was not up to that yet.

She had never told anyone else that she was in love. She had kept her secret well. She had wished them both all the luck in the world and had danced at their engagement party. But Kosta knew she was in love with him. And every time their eyes had met she’d known he knew, even though he’d said nothing. And her heart hurt all over again.

‘Love,’ said Bella aloud, furiously. ‘Who needs it?’

But she would get over it. Of course she would. As long as Annis and Kosta stayed in London and Bella stayed in New York and forgetfulness had time to work its magic.

‘Annis, I need you to come with me to New York,’ Gilbert de la Court said, without preamble.

Annis was sitting in his office, frowning over a flow chart. She looked up, startled.

‘What?’

He gave one of his rare smiles. ‘I need camouflage.’

At once she was wary. They had worked together for months and she knew his company inside out but she knew next to nothing about his private life.

But he was thirty-three and single. Good-looking, too, when you got past his complete disengagement from the everyday world. Besides, some women found that air of aloof preoccupation the ultimate sexual challenge. Who knew how many women he was juggling in the few hours he spent away from his computer? Now she came to think of it, just last week he had taken three days off. She was not going to get involved in any domestic battles he might have.

So she said firmly, ‘I do management consultancy. You want set-dressing, you go somewhere else.’

He considered that for a moment in silence. Then he said, ‘Someone’s trying to take over the company.’

His voice was so unemotional, for a moment Annis did not think she had heard him correctly.

He went on levelly, ‘That’s private. I don’t need to tell you that.’

‘No,’ she said, stunned. ‘Do you—I mean—who?’

‘An interesting question.’ Still no emotion.

Annis thought of the legal structure of the company. She had gone through it with a fine-tooth comb only three months ago.

‘They must have someone inside. One of the partners,’ she said, thinking aloud.

‘Quite.’

Her eyes flew to his face, remorseful. He had three partners, every one of them an old and trusted friend. If this thing was true, then it would be a betrayal of more than business ethics.

‘Oh, Gil, I’m so sorry,’ said Annis, distressed.

He gave a barely perceptible shrug.

‘I can deal with it. I just need to get to New York without arousing the insider’s suspicions. I thought—if I said it was part of your analysis of my job but you needed to get it done before your wedding, I would have a sound reason for bringing forward my usual April trip to now.’

‘Camouflage,’ Annis said, enlightened.

‘Yes. Will you do it?’

She hesitated. She had planned to stay in England until the wedding. There was so much to do.

But Bella was in New York. Annis was pretty sure that if she talked to Bella face to face she could get her to change her mind. Maybe even get her to be a bridesmaid. She had not told Lynda yet that Bella had turned her down. Maybe this trip was a golden opportunity.

‘Yes,’ she said with sudden decisiveness. ‘When?’

‘This evening.’

Annis gulped.

‘I’ve had Ellen book you a ticket,’ he said misunderstanding her reaction. ‘All you need is a passport and a toothbrush.’

‘And a briefcase if I’m to be any good as camouflage,’ said Annis tartly. She was recovering. ‘All right. But I’d better get moving.’

She went out to his secretary.

‘Ellen, have you really got an air ticket for me?’

His PA grinned. ‘And a car booked to take you back to London now and then on to Gatwick airport. And some dollar notes. And your hotel reservation in case you miss the flight. Thinks ahead, does Gil.’

She fished out a package from under her desk.

‘High-handed,’ said Annis, ruffled.

‘I know,’ said Ellen, sighing. ‘Wasted on a computer, isn’t he? Tall, dark and handsome and all he thinks about is Watifdotcom. Never even made it to the Christmas party.’

‘Shame,’ said Annis absently. She looked at her watch. ‘Get that car round and I’ll be going. I’ve got people to talk to if I’m going to be on the plane to New York tonight.’

But she was.

And the next morning, in spite of jet lag and Gil’s impassive disapproval, her first call was at the uptown offices of Elegance Magazine.

‘Annie?’ said Bella incredulously on the house phone when the receptionist called up to the office. ‘Annie? It’s truly you? You’re here?’

‘In person. But I’ve got a meeting in a couple of hours. Could we have lunch?’

‘Sure. I’ll just grab my coat. Be down in five minutes.’

It was nearer ten. In that time Bella had the chance to recover from her first surprised delight. She kissed Annis warmly enough but her manner was wary.

Still, she took her by the arm and sped her along the slushy pavements to her favourite Italian restaurant.

‘Why didn’t you say you were coming when we spoke?’ said Bella when they were seated.

‘Didn’t know. I’m working for one of these do-it-now types. He sprang it on me.’

‘Doesn’t sound like you to let a man spring something on you.’

‘You don’t know Gil. He takes single-mindedness to a new plane.’

‘Hope it’s just single-mindedness about work,’ said Bella, trying to tease and, to her own ears, not quite managing it.

Annis didn’t hear anything wrong though. She smiled. ‘Like I said, you don’t know Gil. If he has any feelings, which I doubt, he archived them a long time ago.’

‘Sounds a pain.’

‘No,’ said Annis. ‘No, he’s not a pain. He’s demanding and stimulating and huge fun to work for. He’s just single-minded, like I said.’

‘Single-minded about what?’

‘His work. Computers,’ said Annis, conscious of client confidentiality.

‘Oh.’ Computers bored Bella to tears. ‘What we call a dweeb, over here.’

Annis gave a private smile, remembering Ellen. ‘His staff don’t think so.’

But Bella was not interested in Annis’s client. After they’d ordered, she passed her sister under a quick, critical inspection and was pleased.

‘You’re looking good, Brain Box.’

‘Kosta’s influence,’ said Annis ruefully. ‘He’s cleared out my wardrobe.’

‘And he’s obviously taking care of you,’ said Bella approvingly.

The pain almost went away when she remembered how happy Kosta Vitale made this dear, difficult sister of hers.

‘Yes. He certainly takes care of me.’

When Annis smiled, all the love she felt, all the love she received shone out of her, thought Bella.

‘Good.’

‘Bella—’ But the waiter arrived with their food and whatever Annis was going to say evaporated under a hail of condiments and bottled water and wine.

When he had gone, she said, ‘How are you, though? You look very smart. Beautiful as ever.’ The ‘but’ she did not say hung in the air.

Bella knew what she meant.

Only yesterday Bella had gone to the hair salon. Her blonde hair was sculpted into a shining helmet that hugged her elegant head, then feathered out over her shoulders. To the natural gold, Raul had added just a hint of streaking to give it depth and lightness, as he’d assured her. Her legs were still perfect and her figure enough to bring out any red-blooded man in a sweat of lust. But Bella knew, and Annis would see, that she was thinner than she had been. A lot thinner. Her shoulders looked as fragile as bird’s bones under the elegant little top. And the moment she stopped talking her face, reflected in the tall mirror behind Annis, was drawn.

‘I’m adjusting,’ she said carefully. ‘It can be a bit stressful.’

‘I can see that,’ said Annis, equally careful. ‘What’s your boss like?’

Bella’s face suddenly creased into its irresistible gamine grin. ‘Impressed. For the first time in her life, apparently.’

Annis grinned back. ‘Oh? You must have been writing like an angel.’

‘Nothing to do with me. It’s all down to you.’

‘Explain,’ said Annis, entertained.

‘Well Caruso never wanted this exchange thing. She doesn’t like trainees or foreigners and foreigners begin in New Jersey. But she just loves high-achievers. You and Dad have done it for me.’

‘Me?’ echoed Annis, genuinely taken aback.

‘The consultancy got a name check in the Wall Street Journal. Caruso saw it and asked me if that was my sister. So I said yes and basked in your reflected glory.’ Bella chuckled at Annis’s expression. ‘We don’t only read about fashion and film stars, you know. Caruso has a regular feature, millionaire of the month. Carry on the way you’re going, and I’ll get you a slot.’

‘Thank you,’ said Annis.

Bella laughed aloud.

‘No, I haven’t got the influence yet. But I’m getting there. Caruso has given me a piece to write about what it’s like starting out in New York. It’s called New In Town. It’s in the April edition. I’ll send you a copy.’

‘I’ll buy it.’

‘No need to go that far. I know you never read anything but the financial press.’

‘I told you, Kosta’s educating me.’

Bella flinched. She could not help it. The name came out of nowhere and she was not ready for it.

Fortunately Annis was concentrating on her fettucini and did not notice.

‘I shall expect fan mail, then,’ said Bella after a minimal pause. Her amusement did not even sound forced, she congratulated herself.

‘Count on it.’ Annis stirred her pasta absently. ‘Bella, look, I don’t want to interfere with your job, of course I don’t, but my wedding—’

Bella braced herself. But Annis was talking more to herself than she was to Bella.

‘I don’t know what’s happening. You know that we wanted it to be really small, just immediate family and a couple of friends. But I keep bumping into people who tell me they’re coming, though I haven’t asked them and neither has Kosta. And we’re getting wedding presents from people I haven’t seen for twenty years.’ Her voice rose. ‘Lynda says everything’s fine, she’s got it all under control, but she doesn’t listen to me. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked up then, her face pinched. ‘When I said I need you, I wasn’t joking.’

Bella stared at her, horrified.

Suddenly she was swamped by memory. Annis was not the cool-suited businesswoman who’d impressed Rita Caruso any more. She was the Annis who had climbed up to get Bella out of the apple tree when she’d been stuck; the Annis who was scared of heights and clumsy with it, but who had still told Bella to stop crying and not look down; the Annis who had got her back on the ground and then had been violently and noisily sick. Anxious and determined and scared but still the Annis who did not give up just because she didn’t think she could do it.

How could Bella let her down?

Yet how could she not? Surely the best thing for Annis was for Bella to stay away from the man they were both in love with. Annis was going to marry him, after all. Only Bella could not say that she was in love with him, not ever, not out loud. Annis must never know.

‘Oh, Annie.’ She groaned.

‘I mean, if you can’t come over until the wedding, that’s fine. I can moan to you down the phone. Or email, like you said. Just as long as I know you’re part of it. That you’ll be there on the day.’

Bella felt as if she were being torn apart.

‘I don’t know,’ she said wretchedly. ‘It’s so damn complicated…’

‘Can we at least talk about it?’ said Annis.

‘We are talking.’

‘I mean properly. Without you looking at your watch every minute. This evening. What are you doing after work?’

Bella pulled a face. ‘Taking some honoured visitors on the town. I’m supposed to be the best in the department on the guided tour of the Big Apple.’

‘Oh.’ Annis was disappointed but not defeated. She fished in her shoulder bag and brought out a typed sheet. ‘Let’s see.’

She scanned it.

‘What is that?’ said Bella, recoiling.

‘My timetable. My client’s idea. When I told him I was coming to see you, he gave me the day’s itinerary, so I could catch up with him if I got delayed anywhere.’

Bella was revolted. ‘The dweeb,’ she said. ‘Could he also be a control freak by any chance?’

Her sister smiled. ‘He thinks ahead.’ She went back to the list. ‘Dinner, venture capitalists, blah blah blah. No, that won’t do. Hey, what about this? Hombre y Mujer Club, ten-thirty.’

‘If you try and talk at Hombre y Mujer you’ll get burst eardrums,’ said Bella.

‘We don’t have to talk there. Just meet. Then I could come back to your place and we could thrash this thing through.’

That gives me ten hours to find an excuse she’ll believe, thought Bella. Just great.

She said, ‘Fine. I’ll see you there. Now tell me all the gossip.’

And, recognising that she had won a battle, if not the war, Annis allowed herself to be diverted.

Bella kept the conversation light and away from weddings for the rest of lunch but she knew that the evening was going to be heavy. Everyone noticed how silent she was all afternoon. She still teased the post boy, and was merciless with Sally coming back from a fashion shoot with orange sequins on her cheekbones. But her heart wasn’t in it.

‘You in love, English?’ asked Sally, handing her a revised production schedule.

Bella pulled a face. ‘All the time.’

But Sally had a suspicion she wasn’t joking.

‘Doesn’t he like you taking the Japanese on the town tonight? They can get possessive these love-of-your-life types.’

Bella just shook her head and laughed. But Sally noticed in the mirror that as soon as she turned away Bella’s laughter died. The only thing that cheered her up, perversely, was a message from her sister that she was feeling too ill to join her at the club, after all. Bella was concerned, of course she was, but Sally saw she was relieved too.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, calling Annis back at her hotel.

‘Something I ate, I expect. Plus jet lag. I’ll be better tomorrow. Can we meet tomorrow night?’

‘Yeah,’ said Bella, resigned. ‘Sure.’

But she went to the club anyway. The Japanese had been enthusiastic when offered a Latin beat and Hombre y Mujer was one of the classier venues. It was new, with some great music and a terrific sprung floor. The décor wasn’t bad either and the food—if you wanted food—was as hot and spicy as the Cuban beat. A lot of professional dancers went there as well as a lot of Latin Americans. The well-heeled Manhattan crowd had not really found it yet. As a result, said Paco the proprietor, the dancing was as good as you got outside Rio or Havana.

And tonight, thought Bella, she could really dance out her demons. She needed to. She had not felt as desperate as this since the night she never, ever, thought about. The night that had left her with a secret that burned into her soul. A secret she was never going to be able to share. Because Annis was the person she shared her secrets with. Annis was her best friend. And this secret would ensure that friendship ended for ever.

That was why she locked it away. Never looked at it. Went on with her life, just a little damaged, just a little wary. And very, very alone. But alone was all right, Bella told herself. She could handle alone.

So she fluffed out her hair, shook out her shoulders, and sashayed out onto the dance floor.

The hell with tomorrow. Tonight the demons were going back in the box.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN Gil walked into the club, it was already buzzing. He shouldered his way past the queue and nodded to the bouncer on the door.

‘Good evening.’ His clipped English accent was very pronounced. ‘Paco is expecting me.’

‘Oh, yeah. Professor,’ said the bouncer, trying the word out as if it was the first time he had said it in his life. ‘He said to go on up. First landing, door marked Private.’

He held the heavy door open for him. Gil ran up the stairs.

Paco was in his office, sitting at an impressive desk, for all the world like a captain of industry. But when Gil rapped on the door and pushed it open, Paco leaped to his feet and rushed forward like the enthusiastic freshman he had once been.

‘Gil! Great to see you!’ Paco embraced him, then held him at arm’s length. ‘What’s with the suit? You look serious.’

‘And you look like a pirate,’ said Gil, taking in the tight black head scarf and a single earring. He was taken aback.

Paco grinned. ‘Image. Just like they used to tell us in college. Marketing is everything.’

They went way back, he and Gil. They had met in the days when they’d waited tables and had driven delivery trucks to pay their way through college. Paco had graduated from waiter via barman to nightclub owner and, these days, music entrepreneur.

Gil prowled round the room, inspecting huge signed photographs and a couple of framed disks.

‘You’ve certainly made your MBA pay for itself.’

‘You, too, from what I hear.’

Gil swung round neatly. ‘What do you hear?’ He rapped the words out.

Paco looked surprised at the tone. ‘Only what was in the old alumni newsletter. Your company develops cutting-edge research software. That’s what it said.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I see. We’re talking industrial espionage. That’s what you’re doing in New York, isn’t it?’

Gil flung himself down in a chair. ‘Am I that transparent? I must have made it so damned easy—’ He broke off. His jaw was as tight as a vice.

Paco looked alarmed. ‘Hey, I’m just making social conversation here. What’s wrong?’

Gil looked at him for a frowning moment. Then, quite suddenly, he shrugged.

‘My famed judgement of people,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘It’s struck again.’

‘Ah,’ said Paco after the slightest pause.

‘Yes,’ said Gil, answering his unspoken comment. ‘I suppose you thought Rosemary Valieri had taught me all there was to know about duplicitous women? You were wrong.’ He sounded savage.

‘Oh, it’s a woman, is it? The English chick you were supposed to bring tonight?’

‘No.’ Gil dismissed Annis with a shake of the head. ‘My marketing director. The first non-specialist I brought in. She’s been with us since the start. I thought she was a friend.’

Paco looked at him with a good deal of sympathy. ‘Happens to all of us.’

‘We all thought she was a friend. She’s betrayed the whole team.’

‘Can you sort it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil with cold fury. ‘I only have to divert my attention from important stuff. Work my butt off getting additional funding. Spend hours with corporate lawyers. Lie.’

Paco was amused. ‘That’s what makes business a fun world.’

‘I trusted her.’

‘Big mistake.’ Paco gave him a beer. ‘But we all do it. Don’t beat yourself up.’

‘She’s got some big investors moving in to take over the company. I only found out who today. And how they’re going to do it.’

‘Bad. But you’re sure you can handle it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil. He showed his teeth. ‘Oh, yes.’

Paco was briefly sorry for the unknown marketing director. ‘If anyone can, you can. You were always the most focused guy in the class. Wish you luck, buddy.’ He took a swig of his own beer. ‘Now, what do you want to do? Stick around or go back to the hotel to wheel and deal?’

‘Wheeling and dealing is tomorrow. Tonight I want to release some major adrenaline.’

Paco was enthusiastic. ‘Right on. Have a meal, then boogie. The food’s Brazilian tonight. Chef does a mean feijouada.’

‘Great,’ said Gil, getting to his feet.

‘We got a great couple of DJs tonight. Real enthusiasts, know what I mean? We’ve got the PR crowd, too. Some of those kids can really move.’ He punched Gil lightly on the shoulder. ‘You want to channel aggression, you’re in the right place. Let’s party!’

They ate the spicy food, talking about old friends and new businesses. It was just like being back in college, Gil thought. The same jokes, the same heady sense they could do anything they wanted if they put their minds to it. All the time, the noise from the dance floor rose steadily.

Eventually Paco pushed back his chair. ‘Time I showed myself. Time you hit the floor. Let’s prowl.’

On the floor of the club Paco was different, Gil saw with amusement. The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.

‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.

‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.

They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.

Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.

‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.

Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.

And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—

Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.

She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?

Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.

‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.

Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.

She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.

Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?

Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.

‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’

Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.

‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.

Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’

Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.

And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—

Mine, thought Gil.

He felt exultant yet oddly calm.

‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.

Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.

‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.

He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.

Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.

Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.

The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.

I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.

Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.

Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned her back to her partner, dancing round him provocatively.

Only to find that someone else responded to the provocation.

The first thing she was aware of was a warm hard hand on the bare skin of her midriff. Bella was so startled she almost missed her step. She looked back over her shoulder at the intruder, indignant.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Or she supposed that was what he said. It was too loud to hear him and nearly too dark to read his lips. But she could see them with odd vividness in the flickering shadows. Sculpted, sensually full and yet with a tension to them that spoke of deliberate control. A man of passions, then, but passions carefully mastered.

Bella could have laughed aloud at her fantasy. Especially as his mouth was almost all she could see of him.

In the strobe lighting though she could make out that he was tall and thin as a rake. She was aware of deep, intense eyes that seemed to burn into her. And there was a wicked rhythm to his dancing. Behind him, Bella saw her former partner fling up a hand in rueful farewell and move on to one of the other girls without missing a beat.

Which left her hard up against a body that seemed made of steel.

Pliant steel. She gasped, as he flung her away from him, brought her back. While she was still reeling, he clasped her to him in some routine that he was completely master of. Bella did not know it. Between surprise and lack of familiarity with the steps she floundered. For the first time in years she missed her footing several times.

The stranger bent forward, pushing her head back and said in her ear, ‘Let me lead.’

It went against the grain because Bella was an excellent dancer, but she did. At once, she seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. The steel body moulded hers, signed to her what she was to do, and she responded. They were perfect together.

When the track ended, she turned to face him, out of breath and exhilarated.

‘Who are you?’ they said in unison.

He shook his head. ‘You first.’

He offered her the bottle of water. She drank deeply, then tipped some over her hot forehead. The water dripped down her cheekbones, her throat…She saw him watch a tear-drop slide between her breasts under her scoop-cut top.

He masked it at once but she saw the effect it had on him. It made up a little for being hijacked on the dance floor. She smiled brilliantly at him.

‘Tonight I’m Tina the Tango Dancer. You?’

‘Tonight?’

She shook her head, so that her hair swung wildly. ‘This is New York. You can’t expect me to give out my name to anyone who walks up and grabs me.’

He was amused. ‘But you look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’

She winced. That was what everyone thought. Even her family thought Bella could cope with anything. Love them and leave them, that was Bella. Light-hearted. Adventurous. Never, ever, vulnerable.

And she wasn’t. She wasn’t.

That was why she was in this wonderful town alone, putting her life together and telling herself the loneliness would pass as long as she did not let anyone see it.

The disc jockey was talking, promoting his latest mix. Bella tuned it out.

She said airily, ‘There are edges and edges.’ She passed the bottle back to him. ‘You’re not telling me your name, I notice.’

‘Gil.’

‘Just Gil?’

In spite of his amusement, the dark eyes rested on her bare shoulders as if he was hungry. She saw it. A small curl of awareness thrilled through her.

But he answered coolly enough. ‘If you’re Tina the Tango Dancer, I’m just Gil.’

She liked the hunger. It made her feel alive. Just as the music and the strobe lights and the cold midnight streets outside made her feel alive. As she had forgotten how to feel when she was on her own.

‘Fine,’ she said, preparing to enjoy herself.

The jockey stopped talking. The unforgiving beat started again. At once Bella was moving: hips, shoulders, feet, all talking back to the music.

Gil, whoever he was, began to dance too. But he made it very clear he was not letting her go. Every time she spun and jumped, his hand was there to guide her back to his side.

Exciting, decided Bella.

She grew bolder, challenging him, trusting him not to let her go. His hands were like iron as she bent away from him, her hair brushing the floor. She straightened, laughing delightedly.

At the end of the set, she was hot and breathless. Gil looked down at her, his eyes glinting. He was not even breathing hard.

He must be very fit.

One of the Japanese visitors came up. Even without his tie, he was still impressively courteous. He made a little breathless bow.

‘You have been most kind. We thank you.’

Bella read the signs. ‘You’re ready to go?’

Mr Ito was regretful. But there was an early plane to catch.

‘No problem,’ said Bella, detaching herself from Gil and dismissing him from her mind. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

She was piqued that Gil did not try to stop her. After all that possessive machismo on the dance floor she would have expected him at least to ask for her phone number.

She would not have given it to him. Of course she would not. But he should have asked. But when she looked round the tall thin figure was nowhere to be seen.

She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

In the cloakroom, Rosa, one of the other club regulars, was fluffing out her hair.

‘Who’s the hunk?’ she asked Bella in the mirror.

Bella shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

‘Thought you were going for the big one there.’

‘Big one?’

‘Don’t be so prim and English! I thought you were going to let him have a date. For once.’

‘You know me. Easy come, easy go.’

‘You danced so well together.’

Bella gave her an ironic look. She knew quite well what Rosa was talking about. ‘It doesn’t always follow.’

Rosa laughed.

Bella retrieved her outdoor things. Her coat was a thick wool mix and ankle length. Her scarf was cashmere and her gloves were lined with mink. New York in February was not kind to bare flesh. She even slipped her strappy sandals into her bag and pulled on fur-lined boots.

Since she was in charge of tonight’s official entertainment, she had a limousine on stand-by. She fished her tiny phone out of her recovered shoulder bag and dialled the chauffeur.

‘Ready to go Arnie. Back to the hotel. Can you drop me off after? Great.’

Rosa was reapplying lip-gloss.

‘Going to see him again?

‘He didn’t ask.’

‘So?’ Rosa lowered the lip-gloss and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘What’s wrong with asking yourself? This is the twenty-first century you know.’

Bella flinched.

‘Yeah, so they say. But I’ve been there, done that and it didn’t work.’

‘Can’t have done it right,’ said Rosa with conviction.

Oh, I did it right. He just didn’t want me. He wanted my sister.

She said aloud, ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Her voice was colourless.

‘So why not go for the tall guy?’

Because I’m never doing that again, ever.

‘Maybe I will. But not tonight. I’ve got to get the honoured visitors home.’

Rosa accepted that. She was serious about her career too.

‘Shame.’ She put away her make-up and gave a last encouraging lift to her big hair. ‘See you Saturday?’

Saturday was the club’s big night. Bella had been a regular ever since she’d arrived in New York.

‘Count on it,’ she said, throwing off the glooms.

The guests were effusive in their thanks. She stood outside the gleaming modern hotel shaking hands and bowing until she thought her face would freeze. But eventually they went inside and she got thankfully back into the limo.

The driver was looking in his rear mirror.

‘Who’s the guy?’

‘What?’

He jerked his head. ‘Just got out of a yellow cab. He’s coming over.’

Bella turned to look. A cab pulled away. In its wake it left a figure, just out of the hotel’s neon, solitary in the deserted street.

He looks cold, Bella thought, then, involuntarily, He looks lonely. As lonely as me?

The man was tall as a tree, a black figure in the blue dark. His shoes were polished, though. She could see the reflection of the hotel’s starburst sign skimming across his toes as he moved. It made him look as if he was walking through water.

Like a ghost, or one of the ancient gods, temporarily lost on earth. It was oddly powerful. Bella shivered.

‘Don’t know him,’ she said positively.

But he came over, his heels clipping on the icy pavement. He bent down by her door.

Arnie did not lower the window. He shifted on the seat bracing himself unobtrusively. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

Bella was realising that she did recognise the dark figure after all. It was the man who had not asked for her phone number.

‘Trouble? I don’t think so. He was at the club.’

Gil rapped on the window. Arnie looked across and flicked an experienced eye over him.

‘Well, he may be a nut but he’s not a bum. That’s a thousand-dollar coat. Want to talk to him?’

That dance had been exciting. It had made her feel alive. For those hectic minutes in his arms she had even forgotten the soul-killing loneliness.

‘Yes,’ said Bella.

She got out.

Arnie sat back watchfully. He did not turn off the engine.

Bella huddled her coat around her. She was a New York babe now, meeting sexy strangers with a watchful humour. She gathered her sophistication round her as tightly as the coat.

‘This isn’t coincidence, right?’ Bella said to the tall dark shadow.

Gil nodded. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound it. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘And that’s your excuse for following me?’

‘Reason. Not excuse.’

‘Word games,’ said Bella dismissively. She pulled her coat tighter. ‘There are laws on stalking you know.’ But she sounded more curious than threatening and she knew it.

For a moment he looked completely blank. Then he gave a great shout of laughter.

‘I didn’t think of that. God, this town is paranoid.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with this town. I’d say the same in London or Paris.’

‘If you think I’m a stalker, why did you get out of the car?’ he countered.

It was unanswerable. She stamped her feet, not entirely against the cold, though early morning ice was frosting the kerb. The hotel would send someone out to clear the ice soon, Bella knew.

She said, ‘I got out of the car because I didn’t want you to make a scene.’

He was unimpressed. ‘Why should you care if I make a fool of myself?’

‘I care if you make a fool of me. I’ve just delivered some influential people here. I don’t want them thinking I’m—’ She stopped, realising too late where it was taking her.

‘The sort of girl who gets out a car to talk to strangers at two in the morning,’ he supplied helpfully.

Bella glared.

He was all innocence. ‘What?’

She gave up. ‘All right. What do you want?’

‘To talk.’

‘We talked.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ he said calmly. ‘We exchanged pheromones. Very rewarding but now I’d like to go somewhere warm and talk.’

She thought of Rosa’s tolerant comments in the cloakroom. Did this man think that they’d danced together so well she would let him take her to bed?

She said furiously, ‘No way.’

He blinked. Then, infuriatingly, he gave her a reassuring smile. Reassuring! As if she, Bella Carew, sophisticate of three continents, needed reassurance. As if she couldn’t handle herself, no matter what a man chose to throw at her.

‘I didn’t say it had to be private. We can go to an all-night diner somewhere if you want.’

Bella looked up and down the upper east side boulevard with exaggerated irony.

‘Oh, sure. You see an all-night diner anywhere?’

‘Well, let’s go into the hotel. They must have a coffee shop.’

‘Oh, great. And my boss’s business contacts wander in and see me chatting to this evening’s pick up? No, thank you.’

She put a hand on the door handle.

He said urgently, ‘Don’t go.’

It stilled her. But only for a moment.

Not looking at him, she said, ‘You should have asked for my phone number like a normal person.’

He drove one gloved hand hard into the palm of the other. ‘I haven’t got time.’

Bella fumbled in her shoulder bag. The spiky heel of a sandal scratched her wrist. She ignored it and found a business card. Swinging round, she held it out to him.

‘Try that.’

He did not take it. He was looking at her very straightly, half impatient, half pleading.

‘I mean it. My day is solid with meetings and I have to fly out tomorrow to deal with a crisis at home. I only have tonight.’

It sounded melodramatic in the dark and freezing street. Somehow Bella did not think he was a melodramatic man under normal circumstances. Once again she had the impression of someone utterly alone.

It was a feeling she knew.

She thrust the business card into her coat pocket and said abruptly, ‘All right. Arnie will find us a diner. Get in.’

But in fact she gave the chauffeur directions to an all-night café in her own area of the Village. Close enough to run for home if she had to, she thought, defending her decision to herself.

Arnie grunted disapprovingly. But he had been on duty since the morning and he wanted to go home. Bella had persuaded him to a late, late coffee in the past and she knew his habits. Now they had unloaded their guests he would want his bed as much as she wanted not to be alone. He did not protest too hard, and dropped them at the little Italian café two blocks from her building.

Gil Whoever-he-was had the manners as well as the overcoat of a gentleman, Bella found. He held the door to the café open for her. There were a few diners, mostly drivers of delivery trucks in jeans snatching a break before getting back onto the empty early morning roads. Gil led the way past them, then stood until she had seated herself. She slid along the wooden bench against the wall but he did not crowd in beside her. He took a chair on the other side of the table and smiled at the heavy-eyed waitress who joined them.

‘What would you like?’ he asked Bella. ‘Breakfast?’

She shook her head, making a discovery. ‘You’re English.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t hold it against me. Coffee? Water?’

It sounded as if he did not realise that she was English too. That pleased her obscurely, and not just because she had been working on her mid-Atlantic accent.

‘Gallons of water. And herbal tea.’

‘Sure.’ The waitress knew her. She was in here often enough between her late night forays with out-of-town business contacts and her early morning runs when she gave up on sleeping. The waitress knew which herbal tea without asking. ‘You?’

He picked one of the coffee options at random, not taking his eyes off Bella.

When the waitress had gone he leaned forward.

‘OK, Tina the Tango Dancer. Cards on the table.’

For some reason, Bella’s stomach felt as if it was in a free-falling lift.

‘At last,’ she said loudly to disguise it.

‘When I saw you in the club, I thought, I know that girl.’

‘You don’t,’ she said positively. ‘I’d have remembered.’

He was impatient. ‘I know I don’t. So would I.’

‘You need a better chat-up line,’ Bella advised him.

He ignored that, frowning at the salt-cellar. ‘I’m not putting this well. Maybe what I meant was, I am going to know this girl.’

He looked up quickly. She did not look away quickly enough. There was a jolt like electricity to an exposed nerve.

‘An improvement,’ she said flippantly, recovering.

Not fast enough.

‘You felt it too,’ he said on a note of discovery.

‘No, I—’

‘Maybe not then. Later. When?’ She saw him reviewing their brief acquaintance. ‘Outside the hotel. Then. You knew then there was something about me you—recognised.’

Bella shook her head vehemently. She was trying to forget the little moment that had tripped her up when she had thought he was lonely, and in recognising that loneliness had been forced to acknowledge her own.

The waitress brought their drinks. He looked at his double latte as if he had never seen one before.

‘It’s coffee made with milk,’ she said kindly. ‘Not as strong as the stuff they put in cappuccino.’

‘Don’t change the subject. You knew, didn’t you?’

The lemon and ginger tea was too hot to drink. Bella refused to meet his eyes and pressed herself back against the wall.

She could not ever remember feeling so out of her depth. She was a seasoned flirt. She was also glamorous and sociable. Men had approached her in every conceivable way. Some had interested her, some hadn’t, but she had never felt so uncertain. Her head was whirling and her pulses were thundering as if this was somehow momentous.

As if she was afraid of something in herself. Something completely new.

She said, as much to herself as him, ‘All I knew was that you were a great dancer and I love to dance.’

He leaned forward. She could feel him willing her to look up. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her bent head. It was as physical as if he had touched her.

She said loudly, ‘That’s all.’

There were a couple of shift workers sitting at a corner table, stocking up on breakfast before they went into work. Bella saw them look across curiously.

They must look completely out of place—Gil in his dark, expensive coat and handmade shoes, she with the remains of her party make-up and a cropped top under her winter-weight coat. Completely out of place but a matching couple among the truckers and shift workers. It was a long time since she had felt part of a couple.

As if he could read her mind, he smiled.

‘No,’ he said quite gently. ‘That’s not all. You know it. I know it. It’s bad timing but I know it. No point in lying about it.’

Bella looked at her fingernails. ‘I don’t believe in bad timing,’ she announced. ‘There’s only bad priorities.’

Gil looked amused. ‘You sound like my management consultant.’

Bella flinched. ‘My sister is a management consultant,’ she said after a moment.

‘And you’re telling me the consultant’s solution would be to change my flight?’

‘Maybe. If you’ve changed your priorities.’ She stopped herself abruptly. ‘Heck, what do I know? I’m not the brain box of the family.’

His eyes were not only intense, they were very shrewd.

‘So what are you in the family? The beauty?’

Bella gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You could say so. Much good it’s done me.’

His smile was a caress. ‘It’s pretty damned good for everyone else.’

‘Oh.’ The compliment took her aback. He had not seemed to be the sort of man to pay compliments. ‘Thank you.’

He lifted his cup of coffee, toasting her silently. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

This time it did not sound so much of a compliment. More a kind of assessment, like her mother taking stock of what she had in her store cupboard.

Bella said slowly, ‘You don’t sound pleased about it.’

He made an impatient movement. ‘Pleased? Hell, no. It’s just another added complication.’

Bella stared. ‘Complication of what, for heaven’s sake?’

‘You, me and the advanced class in pair-bonding,’ Gil answered literally

‘What?’

‘Well, we skipped stages two through five right there on the dance floor tonight.’

Bella sat bolt upright.

‘No, we didn’t. We didn’t skip one single stage,’ she said outraged. ‘Your chat-up technique definitely needs attention.’

‘No technique,’ he said, spreading his hands eloquently.

‘You can say that again,’ muttered Bella

‘Not when it’s important. This isn’t a game. And, anyway, I’m not a player,’ he added with a grimace. ‘Not usually.’

‘So what are you?’

He leaned forward, suddenly not laughing at all. ‘A man in a hurry.’

Bella met his eyes. She did not want to. But she could not withstand that silent insistence. She saw he meant it.

He took her gloved hand and held it between both of his, as if that would somehow make her understand.

‘I can’t tell you how awful the timing is. Not just the flight tomorrow—no, today. Everything. I can’t tell you how much I’ve got to clear up before I can even think about dating.’

Bella withdrew her hand. ‘You’re married,’ she said flatly.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. ‘What?’

She felt a mild triumph. He was so totally blank. He had not seen that coming. Even now he could not quite believe she had seen through him.

Suddenly Bella began to feel in control again. She almost forgave him his deception. She was still a sophisticate in three continents. Nobody need feel sorry for her.

‘Your wife doesn’t understand you?’ she suggested tolerantly. She had heard it before and, oddly, it was one of the things she could deal with, unlike the roller-coaster of uncertainty that Gil Whoever-he-was had put her on up to now. ‘The moment you saw me you knew I was the sort of girl who would appreciate how hard you have to work. Or how much you have to travel. Or the time you have to spend with clients.’

He was utterly silenced.

She raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Is that one of the steps you think we skipped at Hombre?’

For the first time he looked at her as if she was a stranger.

‘Go out with a lot of married men, do you?’ he asked at last, slowly.

‘You don’t have to go out with them to get to know the spiel.’

His face was unfreezing again. The wide, full-lipped mouth was still eloquent even in the crude neon lighting of the diner. It gave him the brooding mystery of one of the Regency rake poets. And the air of a man who would say any damned thing he liked.

She was still startled when he said coolly, ‘Are you naturally cynical? Or has somebody hurt you?’

She jumped as if she had driven a splinter under her fingernail. He watched, interested.

‘Still in recovery, are you?’

Bella folded her lips into a thin line to stop them trembling. ‘None of your business.’

‘Don’t worry. You’ll get over it. We all do.’

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to him any more. No matter how exciting he was on the dance floor, this was altogether too dangerous to her peace of mind.

She drained her cup and looked at her watch.

He sighed. ‘All right. I’m insensitive. Always was. But I’ll be sensitive later, when there’s time. Tonight—’

‘This morning,’ corrected Bella with a wide, false smile. ‘And late. I really need to get home.’

She stood up.

He said, ‘Stay. Just for five minutes.’

But she was not looking at him. Not at the wide dark eyes that could go from melting to mocking with such disconcerting speed. Not at the mobile, expressive mouth. Not at his un-gloved hands.

‘But we still don’t know anything about each other.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said drily. ‘You’ve taken a few layers of skin off me. How much more do you want?’

She eased out from behind the table and pulled her big shoulder bag in front of her.

‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know as much as I want.’

She held out her hand to him to shake hands and say goodbye. He did not take it.

Instead he got up too and threw some notes down on the table without looking.

‘At least let me get you a cab.’

She shook her head. ‘Not necessary. I only live a couple of blocks. I can walk. If we see a cab, you’d do much better to take it yourself.’

The sensual mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I’ll walk you.’

She shrugged, indifferent. They went out into the street.

‘You’re not the least bit worried, are you? You think you can handle me,’ he said in an odd voice.

Bella huddled her coat up round her ears. She was only too aware that, underneath it, she was wearing silken straps and a bare midriff.

‘You’re not going to jump on me in the middle of the street. It’s too cold.’

‘Cold is the ultimate passion killer?’

His breath turned to smoke in the icy air. She was conscious of a sudden flicker of that awareness again. Under her chilly flesh there was warmth and it was turning to him.

She said breathlessly, ‘Usually works, yes.’

She was striding out, almost running. To speed up her circulation, she assured herself. Not to get away from the disturbing feeling that if she let him put his arm round her he could keep her safe and warm for ever.

He kept pace with her without effort. She remembered how, in the club, she had had the sensation of extreme fitness. Now it was confirmed. He kept up a steady monologue.

‘I’m thirty-three. No wife. No dependants of any kind. I live in Cambridge—that’s Cambridge, England—but I travel a lot. I don’t like being tied down. And I only do one thing at a time.’

‘What do you do?’ Bella said, in spite of herself.

He seemed to hesitate. But it was so brief that she could not be sure.

‘Research,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m a sort of boffin.’

She snorted derisively. ‘A boffin with a management consultant on the staff? What do you research into? How to make a million on the Internet?’

He looked annoyed. At least, she was not looking into his face but he felt annoyed. His long legs ate up the paving stones until she had to break into a trot to keep up with him.

‘You’ve got a good memory. I barely mentioned my management consultant.’

She was puffing. ‘I told you I knew something about you.’

‘You told me you knew as much as you wanted to.’ He sounded angry and suspicious. ‘Was that it? Man with a management consultant must be a good bet?’

Bella was furious. ‘What do you think I am, an industrial spy?’ she panted.

He stopped suddenly and swung round on her. ‘Well?’

She stopped too with relief. She had a stitch. Pride prevented her from putting a hand to it. But not all the pride in the world could stop her grateful in-draught of breath.

‘If you remember you were the one who came on to me,’ she pointed out when she could speak. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of you half the evening.’

They were two doors from the brownstone where she had the top-floor apartment.

‘And now I’m home. So goodnight.’

She offered an ironic handshake. It did not turn out like that. He took her hand and pulled her towards him.

Bella felt her feet skid on the icy pavement. She fell forward into his arms.

In a second that seemed like a lifetime, she saw his eyes widen. Then narrow…focus on her mouth…grow dark with desire…

Bella found that it was not too cold for a kiss. A kiss so passionate that it seemed to light up the sky. A kiss so intimate that it set her blood humming, reminding her that under the coat she was nearly naked. A kiss so new that it left her shaken and silenced when he put her away from him.

It seemed to have shaken him too. He looked down at her, unsmiling.

Under his breath he said, ‘This is crazy.’

‘Yes,’ said Bella, stunned.

He looked at the stone steps to her front door.

‘Let me come up.’

She nearly did. So nearly. And not because she did not want to be alone in the cold blue morning.

But then she looked at that curly rakish mouth and got a grip.

‘Oh, you can’t risk me prising any more of your secrets out of you,’ she said nastily.

And ran away from him, her feet slipping every which way on the icy surface. Bella did not care. She had her key out as she ran up the steps. She did not know if he tried to follow her. But she closed the door and leaned against it with her heart hammering.

‘The sooner he gets on that damned flight of his the better,’ she muttered.

She ran all the way up the stairs to her flat as if he was watching her and it was a point of honour not to stop and look back.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS an interesting night.

For weeks, months, every time Bella had closed her eyes, she had seen nothing but her own horrible mistakes. This time there was someone else in her head. Well, he was so insistent, he might as well have been in her head. Everything he’d said echoed.

‘You look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’

What made him say that? Was it true?

‘We exchanged pheromones.’

‘Oh we did,’ said Bella into the privacy of her mangled pillows. She would never have admitted it to anyone else. She shivered and pulled the duvet up to her chin.

‘You felt it too.’

She sat up and the duvet fell. ‘No I didn’t,’ she said loudly.

‘Let me come up.’

And if she had?

This is crazy, she told herself. Too much emotion followed by too much salsa. I have never reacted to a man like that in my life. It isn’t even as if I’m looking for a relationship. I know I’ve got to get over Kosta before I can do that. If I ever do.

So what on earth is going on?

She could not answer that. She tried, for hours it seemed. At six-thirty she gave up. The sky was still dark but the midnight blackness had gone.

Traffic started to rumble. The undefeated birds who stuck it out through the New York winter started to twitter. Bella usually left crumbs and water for them on the fire escape. Every morning she went out and broke the ice in the bowl.

Reminded now, she untangled herself from the covers. She pulled on track-suit bottoms, Aran sweater, gloves, and woolly hat and began to struggle with the dead-bolts.

‘Let me come up.’

She had not let any man into this eyrie of hers. Privacy might be painful but it was precious. Until now she had not been tempted. Why had Gil Whoever-he-was been the first to offer that dark temptation?

The trouble was, that bit was easy. He was gorgeous. All that dark intensity. The way he moved. The way he kissed.

Forget the way he kissed, Bella advised herself dourly. He’s leaving New York and just as well. How many complications do you want in your life at one time?

She got the door open. The small birds retreated to a neighbour’s guttering and sat there, lined up like a border patrol, watching her. She picked up the stick she kept for the purpose and smashed the ice. It was thinner than it had been last week. So there was no accounting for the violence with which she went at it. Bella shivered, put the stick down and clapped her gloved hands together.

What was it about him?

All right, he was a good dancer. So were half the men in New York. Anyway, she couldn’t let a man get under her guard just because he knew how to slide his hips round hers. It was crazy. Even in her former days of extreme party-going, she had never lost sleep over a guy she had danced with once.

The birds watched her. She fetched the wild birdseed she had bought to augment her stale bread and scattered it. A lot missed the old plate she had designated as a bird feeder and fell through the ironwork. A few of the braver birds left their guttering and started picking among the seeds four floors below.

The little flock pushed and jostled and flew at each other. They looked like children in a playground before school. Small struggles but basically companionable. Bella smiled, remembering how she’d set up a skipping game she had learned on the street when she’d gone to the first smart school that her stepfather, Tony, had sent her to. She had not done too badly at fitting into the new rich crowd. She was not doing too badly at fitting in here either, come to that. It was just—

The cold of exile struck suddenly, as it always did. It was shocking as a knife slash. Bella bit her cold lip until it bled.

But it was her own fault. She need not have been alone this morning.

‘Let me come up.’

Her blood still hummed, like the crazy moment when she so nearly had done just that.

Yet, if she had, she would still have been alone this morning, Bella thought. Even if he was still here, she would have been alone. She had been alone ever since Annis and Kosta fell in love. And she started to pretend.

I’ll be pretending for the rest of my life, she thought desolately.

Bella was shivering badly. She went back inside and flung the bolts into place.

But she did not want to go back to the rumpled, lonely bed. Instead she made herself some coffee and sat at the breakfast bar. She had flung her notebooks down there yesterday. Now she pulled them towards her, starting to rough out another of her New in Town columns. Rita Caruso had not commissioned it but what the heck? If she had a piece ready and they had a slot to fill, it might come in handy. At least it took her mind off the irresolvable dilemma of what on earth was going on last night.

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