The Billionaire’s Contract Bride
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mario

With love and gratitude for all your support Carol

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘THEY’RE never going to believe us.’ Taking Aiden’s hand, Tabitha stepped out of the car, her mouth literally dropping open as she watched the guests milling on the steps of the grand old Melbourne church like a parade of shimmering peacocks.

‘Why ever not?’ Aiden didn’t look remotely fazed, waving cheerfully to a couple of familiar faces in the crowd.

‘They’re never going to believe us,’ Tabitha repeated, after taking a deep steadying breath, ‘because I don’t look like a society wife.’

‘Thank God,’ Aiden muttered. ‘Anyway, you’re not a society wife; you’re merely pretending to be my girlfriend. So if it’s any consolation, you’re allowed to have sex appeal. They’ll think you’re my last wild fling before I finally settle down.’

‘They’ll see through it straight away,’ Tabitha argued, refusing to believe it could all be so simple. ‘I’m a dancer, Aiden, not an actress. Why on earth did I agree to this?’

‘You had no choice,’ Aiden reminded her, before she could bolt back into the car. They started to walk, albeit slowly, towards the gathering throng. ‘I played the part of your devoted fiancé at your school reunion in return for you accompanying me to my cousin’s wedding. Simple.’

‘No,’ Tabitha said, pulling Aiden’s hand so he had to slow down. ‘Simple would be telling your family that you’re gay. It’s the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake; it’s not a crime any more!’

‘Try telling that to my father. Honestly, Tabitha, it’s better this way, and don’t worry for a second about not looking the part—you look fabulous.’

‘Courtesy of your credit card,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘You shouldn’t have spent all that money, Aiden.’

‘Cheap at half the price; anyway, I wouldn’t dream of throwing you into the snake pit that is my family without a designer frock and shoes. Oh, come on, Tabitha, enjoy yourself. You love a good wedding!’

After slipping into the pew and idly scanning the Order of Service, Tabitha let her jade eyes work the congregation, and though it galled her to admit it she had never been more grateful for the small fortune that had been spent on her outfit. What had seemed appropriate for the multitude of weddings she had attended this year definitely wouldn’t have done today.

Her dress had been a true find, the flimsy chiffon fabric a near perfect match for her Titian hair, which she wore today pinned back from her face but cascading around her shoulders. Her lips and nails were painted a vibrant coral that matched her impossibly high strappy sandals and beaded bag perfectly, and Tabitha felt a million dollars. It was a colour scheme Tabitha would normally never even have considered, with her long red curls and pale skin, yet for once the gushing sales assistant hadn’t been lying: it all went beautifully.

The guests that packed the church seemed to ooze money and style—for the most part, at least. But there were more than a couple of garish fashion mistakes to giggle over that even Tabitha recognised—born, she assumed, from a bottomless wallet and an utter disregard for taste. Aiden took great delight in pointing out each and every one, rather too loudly.

An incredibly tall woman with the widest hat imaginable chose to sit directly in front of Tabitha, which ruined any hope of a decent view of the proceedings. But even with Aiden’s and Tabitha’s combined critical eyes there wasn’t even a hint of a fashion faux pas in sight on this ravishing creature. Height obviously didn’t bother this woman either, judging by the razor-sharp stilettos strapped to her slender feet. Oh, well, Tabitha shrugged, it must be nice to have so much confidence.

Only when the woman turned to watch the bridal procession did Tabitha start with recognition. Amy Dellier was one of the top models in Australia, and, judging by the extremely favourable write-ups in all the glossies Tabitha devotedly devoured, she was all set for international fame. Suddenly the golden chiffon and coral which she had been so pleased with only a few moments ago seemed a rather paltry offering, standing so close to this stunning woman.

As the organ thundered into the ‘Bridal March’ they all stood, every eye turning as the bride entered and started her slow walk down the aisle. Every eye, that was, except Tabitha’s. She had seen more brides this summer than a wedding photographer. Instead, some morbid fascination found her gaze constantly straying to Amy Dellier. She truly was beautiful—stunningly so. Not a line or blemish marred her perfect complexion, and her make-up highlighted the vivid aquamarine of her eyes.

‘Excuse me.’ A deep voice dragged her back to the proceedings. ‘I need to get past.’

The voice was deep and sensual, and as she turned her head Tabitha almost braced herself for disappointment. It probably belonged to some portly fifty-year-old who did voice-over commercials part-time. But there was nothing disappointing about the face that met hers. If Amy Dellier was the epitome of feminine perfection, then standing before Tabitha was the male version. Jet hair was brushed back from a strong haughty face, and high cheekbones forced her attention to the darkest eyes she had ever seen. At first glance they seemed black, but closer inspection revealed a deep indigo, framed with thick black spiky eyelashes. The heady scent of his cologne and his immaculate grooming indicated he was freshly shaven, but the dusky shadow on his strong jaw conjured images of bandanas and tequila, a world away from the sharp expensive suit he was wearing. He looked sultry and masculine—animal, in fact. As if no amount of grooming, money or trappings could ever take away the earthy, primal essence of man.

‘Of course.’ Swallowing nervously, she pushed her legs back against the pew in an attempt to let him past—but her bag was blocking the way, with Aiden’s foot on the strap. Aiden, totally mesmerised by the wedding, was happily oblivious to the obstruction he was causing.

‘Sorry.’ His apology was mere politeness, exactly as one would expect when a stranger had to push past—the same as at the movies, when the inevitable hordes returned with their dripping ice-creams and you had to lift your legs up and squash back into the seat to let them past. Except demi-gods like this never appeared at the movies Tabitha attended—at least not off screen—and this moment seemed to be going on for ever.

If he didn’t want to fall, he had no choice but to steady himself briefly on Tabitha’s bare arm as he stepped over the small bag. The pews were impossibly close, each jammed to capacity with guests. As his hand touched the flesh of her arm Tabitha found she was holding her breath; two spots of colour flamed on her carefully rouged cheeks as he brushed past her, the scent of him filling her nostrils.

Aiden turned then, a smile of recognition on his face as he mouthed hello to this delicious stranger. The bride was passing, and he had no choice but to stand between Tabitha and Aiden as the procession slowly passed.

So slowly.

It was probably only a matter of seconds.

It seemed to last for ever.

Never had she felt such awareness—the whole focus of her attention honing in on this everyday occurrence. Her skin was stinging as she stood next to him, every nerve in her being standing rigid to attention, so painfully aware of his close proximity. But all too soon it was over; the procession had dutifully passed, allowing him to slip into the pew in front and Tabitha to finally breathe again.

He moved directly into the seat reserved next to Amy, and by the way her hand coiled possessively around his she was only too pleased to see him.

Tabitha found herself letting out a disappointed sigh while simultaneously admonishing herself for overreacting. Well, what did you expect? she reasoned. That someone as utterly gorgeous as that would be here alone?

Only she wasn’t talking about Amy Dellier.

‘Dearly beloved…’

The congregation hushed as the service started, but it held no interest for Tabitha. Instead her attention was entirely focused on the delicious sight of the man who had sat himself in front of her. His thick hair was beautifully cut and absolutely black, without even a single grey hair. It sharply tapered into a thick, strong and tanned neck, and his suit was superbly cut over his wide shoulders. As they stood to sing the first hymn Tabitha stared, mesmerised, her eyes unashamedly flicking downward. Despite her height, Amy Dellier seemed almost petite beside her partner; he was incredibly tall. It was no wonder she could get away wearing heels with him around.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Aiden whispered into her ear as the congregation sang heartily.

‘What are you talking about?’ Tabitha flushed, snapping her attention to the hymn book she was holding in front of her.

It didn’t work. ‘You’re supposed to be on page forty-five, Tab.’ Aiden grinned. ‘That, my dear, is my brother Zavier.’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

But Aiden had known her far too long to be fobbed off. ‘You know exactly who I’m talking about, Tabitha, and take it from me—he’d crush you in the palm of his hand.’

Tabitha winced at the expression. ‘Meaning?’

‘Just that. Zavier might be a dream to look at, but he’s bad news.’

Their heads were huddled over the hymn book, and they spoke out of the sides of their mouths, but it wasn’t enough to prevent a few withering looks being cast in their direction. ‘Then it’s just as well I’m not interested,’ Tabitha hissed.

Aiden gave her a knowing look. ‘On your head be it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She sang tunelessly, her eyes straying all too often to the delectable diversion so achingly close in front of her. Despite her recent aversion to weddings, this one was turning out to be a sheer pleasure; even the endless wait while the happy couple went off to sign the register passed in a blur of delicious fantasy. Never had she felt such a strong physical attraction to someone—someone she knew absolutely nothing about. He was completely unattainable, of course. Way, way out of her league.

Despite her protests, Tabitha had to admit that hobnobbing with the seriously rich had its perks. There was no question of standing bored and thirsty as the photographer clicked away for hours. Instead, a small marquee had been set up in Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens and delicious fruit and champagne were being served as the family mingled, disappearing when the photographer called them to do their duty.

Accepting a glass of champagne, Tabitha smiled as she was introduced to Aiden’s parents. Despite Aiden’s gloomy descriptions, Tabitha was instantly won over and utterly in awe of Aidan’s mother, Marjory, who oozed glamour and wealth.

‘A lovely wedding, wasn’t it? Though I’m not sure Simone’s dress was quite the part. I really don’t think thigh-length splits are appropriate attire in a church. What did you think, Jeremy darling?’

Jeremy Chambers had none of his wife’s effervescence. His black eyes were as guarded as Zavier’s, his haughty face as stern and unyielding as his favourite son’s. ‘She looked like any of the other brides I’ve seen this year,’ he answered loudly, not remotely bothered who overheard him.

‘I know the feeling,’ Tabitha groaned, then instantly regretted her comment. ‘I’ve been to rather too many weddings myself this summer,’ she offered by way of explanation, taking a good slurp of her champagne. As Jeremy’s stern gaze turned to her she wished that she’d stayed quiet, but Jeremy actually smiled.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said gloomily. ‘How many have you been to?’

‘Ten,’ Tabitha exaggerated, then did a quick mental calculation. ‘Well, six, at the very least,’ she added, rolling her eyes. ‘All my friends seem to have taken the plunge en masse.’

‘That’s just the start of it,’ Jeremy said knowingly. ‘The next few years will be taken up with christenings, and before you know where you are all your friends’ children are getting married and the whole merry-go-round starts again. Marjory loves weddings, unlike me, and feels duty-bound to attend each and every one—no matter how distant the relative. Speaking of which, I’d best go and say hello to a few. It was a pleasure meeting you, Tabitha.’ He went to shake her hand, but halfway there seemed to change his mind and instead kissed her on the cheek, much to Aiden’s wide-eyed amazement.

‘My goodness, you’ve actually made a hit—my father doesn’t usually like anyone.’

‘He seems charming,’ Tabitha scolded. ‘I can’t believe all the awful things you’ve said about him.’

‘He is charming, if you happen to be the right son—and talk of the devil…’

‘Zavier!’ Marjory exclaimed, kissing him warmly on the cheek. ‘I thought you weren’t ever going to make it to the church. Where on earth did you get to?’

‘Where do you think I got to?’ Tabitha noticed his haughty demeanour was somewhat softened when he addressed his mother. ‘I was working.’

‘But it’s Saturday,’ Marjory protested. ‘Not that that ever stopped you, Zavier. But that’s quite enough about work—I, for one, intend to enjoy myself today. Have you met Tabitha, Aiden’s darling, er…’ the pause was interminable, but Marjory eventually recovered. ‘…er, friend?’

Aiden took a hefty swig of his drink, avoiding Tabitha’s eyes. Only Zavier’s gaze stayed steadily trained on her.

‘Briefly, in the church.’ He offered his hand and she shook it gingerly, noticing how hot and strong his grip was.

‘Where’s Lucy?’ Marjory asked.

‘Amy,’ Zavier corrected, ‘is touching up her make-up.’

‘Lovely girl,’ Marjory said warmly. ‘She’d make a beautiful bride.’

‘Subtle as a brick, as always,’ Zavier groaned.

‘Well, what choice do I have? I’ve got two sons in their thirties,’ she said, her eyes on Tabitha, ‘and not even the tiniest hint at a wedding, let alone grandchildren. Simone’s barely twenty; no wonder Carmella’s grinning from ear to ear.’

‘The reason she’s grinning is because Simone’s actually managed to nab someone rich enough to get them out of debt—not because of her daughter’s eternal happiness.’

‘Ahh!’ Marjory wagged a playful finger. ‘Being out of debt practically ensures eternal happiness.’

‘For you, perhaps,’ Zavier quipped. ‘Anyway, given that you can’t even get Amy’s name right, I think that says a lot for your motives. Forget it.’

‘It would make your father so proud.’

Tabitha was actually enjoying the conversation. She liked the gentle verbal sparring between mother and son, and even Zavier didn’t seem so formidable up against the feisty Marjory. But as she mentioned his father suddenly the temperature seemed to drop, and the affectionate, teasing reply that Tabitha eagerly awaited never came. Zavier Chambers, the epitome of confidence, suddenly seemed lost for words.

‘It would, Zavier,’ Marjory said, a note of urgency in her voice. ‘It’s your father’s dearest wish.’

‘What’s your father’s dearest wish?’ All eyes turned as Amy appeared. Immaculate, gorgeous, wafting expensive perfume, she sidled up to Zavier and wrapped her arm around him. But Zavier barely acknowledged her presence. ‘What did I miss, darling?’ Amy persisted in a low, throaty purr.

‘Nothing,’ Zavier said darkly, shooting his mother a warning look. ‘At least nothing that you have to worry about, Amy.’ And, extracting himself from her clutches, he nodded to the photographer who was hovering on the sidelines. ‘I think we’re wanted.’

Even though she had just checked her make-up, Amy whipped out a mirror from her bag and started dabbing at her lips.

‘Come on, Tabitha.’ Aiden beckoned, but Tabitha shook her head.

‘You go. I’m hardly family.’

‘What’s that got to do with it? Come on.’

But Tabitha was insistent. Immortalising a lie seemed wrong, somehow. ‘The photographer said family only. Please, Aiden, don’t make me feel any worse about this.’

‘You’ll be all right on your own for five minutes?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Aiden, just go. They’re all waiting.’

Sipping on her drink, she watched as they all lined up; it was easy to tell which side they all belonged to. The Chamberses reminded Tabitha of a Mafia movie—all their suits seemed darker, all the men taller, all their hair cut just that little bit more neatly. The fatal combination of money and a perfect gene pool—only Aiden didn’t quite fit in with the masses. His features were gentler, his gestures more expressive than the tight-lipped brooding looks of his relatives. Zavier stood out also. If the Chambers family were a formidable bunch then Zavier was the pinnacle—taller, darker, and, from the reverent way everyone treated him, the most powerful.

‘So you’ve been relegated to the role of bystander as well?’

Startled, Tabitha turned, only then registering that Amy wasn’t up there amongst them.

‘It’s a bit early in the piece for me to start appearing in family albums,’ Tabitha said lightly, somewhat taken aback that someone so famous was actually talking to her.

‘And a bit late in the piece for me; I think I’ve just been dumped.’

‘Oh.’

‘Bloody Chambers.’ The sob in Amy’s voice was one of raw anguish, and Tabitha watched, startled, as tears slid down the oh-so famous face. With a strangled cry she attempted to run off, but soft grass combined with six-inch heels didn’t make for a dignified exit, and Tabitha cringed as she watched her trip away. ‘It’s the effect I have on women,’ Zavier quipped as he joined Tabitha. ‘They can’t get away quickly enough.’

‘What on earth did you say to her?’ Tabitha asked, even though she knew it was none of her business.

‘Not much. I just pointed out it was pretty stupid for her to be in the family photo when she wasn’t going to be around long enough for the films to be developed.’

‘But that’s horrible,’ Tabitha gasped. ‘Couldn’t you have finished with her in a nicer way?’

Zavier shrugged. ‘Believe me, I tried. Unfortunately she either didn’t want to hear it, or it was beyond her comprehension that a man actually might not want her.’

Tabitha stole a closer look, and knew it must be the former. Zavier had a haughty, effortless arrogance that must be a natural by-product when you were so beautiful. And beautiful just about summed him up: an immaculate prototype that left all others as a pale comparison. No wonder Amy hadn’t wanted to hear it was over. To have known such perfection, no matter how briefly, would ensure a lifetime addiction.

He didn’t seem remotely bothered by her scrutiny, and calmly stood as Tabitha surveyed him. Only when she realised the pause had gone on far too long and that she was obviously staring did Tabitha flush, instantly snapping back to the conversation in hand. She was cross at herself for being caught unguarded, and the scorn in her voice came easily. Gorgeous he might be, but beauty was only skin-deep, and it would serve her well to remember that fact.

‘Well, I think you treated her appallingly.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘My, you do get worked up easily, don’t you? I assume that hair colour didn’t come out of a bottle, then?’ Picking up a mass of curls, he pretended to examine them as Tabitha stood burning with indignation. Suddenly he was close, far too close for comfort, the dark pools of his eyes so near she could see the tiny sapphire flecks in them.

‘Of course it didn’t.’ Flicking his hand away, she felt her hair tumble down over her shoulders. The brush of his hand on hers was electric, and she felt a blush stealing across her chest, working its way up her long, slender neck to meet with the scorching heat of her cheeks. ‘I don’t know why any woman would put up with you.’

‘I can answer that for you.’

Tabitha shook her head angrily. ‘It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Just because you’re rich and good-looking you think you can treat women…’ Her voice tailed off as she realised he was laughing—laughing at her.

‘So I’m good-looking, am I?’

Tabitha snorted and instantly regretted it; the undignified noise hardly did her gorgeous frock justice. ‘You know you are, and you think that gives you a licence to hurt people.’

‘Considering we only met…’ he glanced at the heavy gold watch on his wrist, his eyes narrowing slightly as he did so ‘…an hour ago, you seem to have formed a rather hasty opinion, and from the venom in your voice I’m assuming it’s not a good one. Can I ask why?’

She stood there, searching for an answer. Why had her reaction to him been so violent? Why was she angry at him for so carelessly discarding Amy when if the truth were known Tabitha knew nothing about the circumstances that had led to the conclusion of their relationship? ‘I just don’t like seeing people hurt,’ she said finally, while knowing her response was woefully inadequate.

‘Amy’s not hurt,’ he answered irritably. ‘She got exactly what she wanted from me: her picture in all the social pages and a fast ticket to fame. As for rich and good-looking—I don’t think she has any trouble qualifying for that title either.’

‘She was hurt,’ Tabitha insisted, but Zavier just shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Maybe,’ Zavier conceded, but any surge of triumph for Tabitha was quickly quashed when he carried on talking, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his full sensual mouth. ‘After all, she’s just lost the best lover she’s ever had.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ Tabitha spluttered, her cheeks flaming as her mind danced with the dangerous images that had suddenly flooded her mind.

‘Just truthful. Look, we had a good time while it lasted. Amy wanted more, and I wasn’t prepared to give it to her.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘The grass is a bit damp here to go down on bended knee.’

‘She wanted to get married?’

Zavier nodded.

‘But that’s even worse.’ Tabitha was genuinely appalled. ‘She loves you and you ended it like that?’

But Zavier just shook his head. ‘Who said anything about love?’ He saw the confusion in her eyes and it seemed to amuse him. ‘You think Amy loved me?’

‘Why else would she want to marry you?’

‘Oh, come on, Tabitha—surely you’re not that naïve? For the same reason that you’re here with my brother: money and position. Why let a little detail like love get in the way of a good deal?’

‘But I’m not with Aiden for his money.’ She was stunned that he thought this of her.

‘Please,’ he scoffed.

‘I’m not,’ she retorted furiously, but Zavier wasn’t listening.

‘Sorry I took so long, Mr Chambers.’ A waitress rushed over, a glass of ice and a bottle of mineral water in her hand.

‘Just the bottle will do.’ He took a long drink as Tabitha searched frantically for Aiden. Finally catching sight of him, Tabitha groaned inwardly. The bride was chattering to him now, which meant there was no chance of imminent rescue; she’d just have to make the best of it.

‘So what do you do?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘For a living.’ Her patience was starting to run out now. ‘I mean, I assume that you work?’

His brow furrowed for a moment before he answered. ‘I work in the family business; I would have thought you’d have at least known that.’

Tabitha frowned; there was obviously rather a lot of ground that she hadn’t covered with Aiden, and his brother’s resumé was one of them. Still, she was happy to attempt a recovery. ‘That’s right! Aiden did mention it, of course. I’m useless with names and details like that.’

‘So how did you meet my brother?’

‘At a party.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t have been at work, would it?’ He flashed a very dry, guarded smile. ‘We both know the effect that four-letter word has on my brother.’

‘Aiden does work,’ Tabitha bit back. ‘He’s a very talented artist.’

‘Oh, he’s an artist all right.’ Zavier’s black eyes worked the crowd and they both watched as Aiden knocked back one drink, grabbing a couple more from the passing waiter. ‘Dedicated too,’ Zavier mused. ‘So, what do you do for a living?’

Tabitha swallowed. Normally she loved saying what she did for a living, loved the response it evoked in people, but somehow she couldn’t quite imagine Zavier’s face lighting up with undisguised admiration when she revealed her chosen profession. ‘I dance.’

He didn’t say a word, not a single word, but his eyes spoke volumes as they slowly travelled her body, one quizzical eyebrow raised in a curiously mocking gesture as she blushed under his scrutiny.

‘Not that type of dancing,’ she flared. ‘I work on the stage.’

‘Classical?’ he asked, in the snobbiest most derisive of tones.

‘A—a bit,’ Tabitha stammered. ‘But mainly modern. Every now and then I even get to do a poor man’s version of the Can-Can.’ The bitter edge to her voice was obvious, even to herself, and she blinked in surprise at her own admission.

A sliver of a smile moved his lips a fraction and his eyes languorously drifted the length of her long legs. ‘Is that the sound of a frustrated leading lady I hear?’

‘Possibly.’ Tabitha shrugged. Hell, why was she feeling like this? Why did one withering stare from him reduce her to a showgirl? ‘But, for your information, I’m actually very good at what I do,’ Tabitha flared. ‘You might mock what your brother and I do for a living, but you don’t have to pull on a suit to put in an honest day’s work. We happen to give a lot of people a lot of pleasure.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do.’ Again those black eyes worked her body, and again Tabitha mentally kicked herself at the opening she had given him.

For something to do Tabitha drained her glass and accepted another from a passing waiter. But still Zavier’s black eyes stayed trained on her, making even the most basic task, such as breathing, seem suddenly terribly complicated.

‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled at her for the first time, but just as Tabitha felt herself relax his cutting voice set the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. ‘I mean, once you get that ring on your finger you’ll be able to hang up your dancing shoes for ever.’

Her jade eyes flashed with anger at his inference. ‘I’ll have you know that I happen to enjoy my job—very much, in fact. If you really think I’m seeing Aiden for the chance to marry into his charming family—’ she flashed a wry smile ‘—you couldn’t be more wrong.’

Her fiery response to his provocative statement did nothing to mar his smooth expression, and he stood there irritatingly calm as Tabitha flushed with anger.

‘We’ll see,’ he said darkly. ‘But something tells me I’m not going to be pleasantly surprised.’

Aiden appeared then, oblivious of the simmering tension. ‘Glad to see you’re getting along.’ He smiled warmly. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous, Zavier?’ He squeezed Tabitha around the waist as he haphazardly deposited a kiss on her cheek.

‘Gorgeous,’ Zavier quipped, his smile belying the menacing look in his eyes. ‘Now, if you two will excuse me?’ He flashed the briefest of nods vaguely in her direction as Tabitha stood there mute. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you.’

Not a pleasure, exactly, Tabitha mused as he walked away, but it had certainly been an experience; the only trouble was, she couldn’t quite decide whether it was one that she wanted to repeat.

CHAPTER TWO

THE meal seemed to go on for ever, the speeches even longer. Tabitha spent most of the time smarting over Zavier’s comments, pushing her food around her plate and drinking rather too much. She hated Zavier Chambers for his cruel suggestion that she was some sort of gold-digger when the actual truth was she was doing his damn family a favour: saving Jeremy Chambers from the news he didn’t want to hear.

Aiden was unusually on edge—an inevitable by-product, Tabitha guessed, of being in such close proximity to his family. His promise to stay by her side all night diminished with each drink he consumed, and rather too much of the night was spent sitting like the proverbial wallflower as Aiden worked the room, only returning to reclaim his glass every now and then.

‘Go easy, Aiden,’ Tabitha said as Aiden knocked back yet another drink.

‘I need a few drinks under my belt to face this lot.’ He gave her an apologetic grin. ‘Sorry, I’m not being very good company, am I? They just set my teeth on edge. How are you finding it?’

Tabitha shrugged. ‘Not bad, but then I’ve only got to deal with it for tonight. I didn’t realise your family was so well heeled—I mean, from what you’d told me I’d guessed that they were wealthy, of course, but nothing like this. You should have warned me.’ She gestured to the room.

The Windsor Hotel was Melbourne’s finest, and the ballroom where the wedding reception was being held was quite simply breathtaking. Everything was divine, from the icy cold champagne and the canapés that had been served as they entered, to the lavish banquet they were now finishing up.

‘Why would I do that? I had enough trouble getting you to come in the first place. If you’d known it was going to be like this wild horses wouldn’t have dragged you here.’

Aiden was right, of course. Here amongst Australia’s élite, with vintage champagne flowing like water, Tabitha felt way out of her depth.

Aiden hiccoughed softly, staring moodily into his drink. ‘Tab?’ he said gently. ‘What’s the matter tonight? And before you say “nothing”, just remember that we’ve been friends too long to pretend everything’s all right when it clearly isn’t. It’s not just the wedding that’s upsetting you, is it? What’s going on?’

She didn’t answer, her long fingers toying with her red curls, coiling them around her fingers in an almost child-like manner.

‘Is it your grandmother?’ As she bit into her lip Aiden knew he’d hit the mark. ‘What’s she done now?’ There was a touch of humour in his voice as he tried to lighten the mood and cajole the problem out of her. ‘Sold the family jewels?’

Tabitha’s eyes weren’t smiling as she looked up. ‘My family’s not like yours, Aiden; we don’t have “family jewels”. Sorry,’ she added, ‘this isn’t your fault.’

‘What isn’t? Come on, Tab, tell me what’s going on.’

‘She remortgaged her house.’ Tabitha let out the long breath she had inadvertently been holding. ‘To pay off all her gambling debts.’

‘You already told me that—last month, if I remember rightly,’ Aiden pointed out. ‘You went to the bank with her and helped organize it. Can’t she manage the repayments?’

‘She withdrew the loan,’ Tabitha started in an unusually shaky voice, ‘and promptly fed it back into the poker machines at the casino.’

‘All of it?’

Aiden’s open mouth and wide eyes weren’t exactly helping, and Tabitha nodded glumly. ‘So now she’s got all the old debts that were causing so many problems plus a massive new one, and it’s all my fault.’

‘How on earth do you work that one out?’

‘I shouldn’t have left her with access to so much money. She’s like a moth to a flame where the casino’s concerned; I don’t even think it’s the gambling she’s addicted to, more the company. I should have made her pay off her bills…’

‘She’s not a child,’ Aiden pointed out, taking Tabitha’s shaking hand.

‘She’s all I’ve got.’ Tears were threatening now, and Tabitha put her hand over her glass as the waiter returned, but Aiden had no such reserve. ‘Just leave the bottle,’ he ordered while waiting for Tabitha to continue. ‘Gran brought me up after Mum and Dad died, devoted her life to me, and now she’s old and lonely and terrified and there’s nothing I can do. I’ve asked the bank for a loan, but the second you put “dancer” down as your occupation you might just as well rip up the application form.’

‘Let me help you.’ He ignored her furiously shaking head. ‘Come on, darling, it would be a drop in the ocean. I haven’t told you my good news yet. I sold a painting yesterday.’

‘Aiden!’ Despite her own problems, Tabitha’s delighted squeal was genuine and, wrapping her arms around Aiden’s neck, she planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘That’s fantastic news.’

‘Please let me help you, Tabitha. You can always pay me back. We’re on our way, darling.’ Aiden grinned. ‘I can feel it.’

But Tabitha shook her head. ‘You might be, Aiden, but in my case “on my way out” would be a more apt description.’ Her gloom descended again, but she did her best to keep the bitter note from her voice. ‘I’ve been asked to audition for the next production.’

‘So?’ Aiden shrugged. ‘You’ll walk it.’

‘Maybe, but it’s always been automatic until now—I’ve always had a part. It’s because I’m getting older.’

‘You’re twenty-four years old, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I’m twenty-nine,’ Tabitha corrected, grinning despite herself. ‘And twenty-nine-year-old dancers have a lot to prove. I can’t borrow money from you when I’ve no idea if I’ll be able to pay it back.’

‘Please,’ Aiden insisted, but Tabitha was adamant.

‘No; I mean it, Aiden. I’m going to have to work this one out for myself.’

‘You’re sure?’

She nodded resolutely, and after a brief shrug Aiden let it go. ‘I know it’s abhorrent, seeing all this wealth when your grandmother’s so broke, but money can be a curse, sometimes. The people here are so busy looking over their shoulders, sure everyone’s after their last dollar, they honestly don’t know who their real friends are. For all the highbrow people here you could count the true friends on one hand. If the money disappeared tomorrow so would ninety per cent of the guests, and that’s probably a conservative estimate.’

‘Your brother seems to have the impression that I’d be amongst them.’

Aiden’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tab, I’m sorry if he’s been giving you a hard time, but, though I’m loath to defend him for treating you appallingly, out of everyone here Zavier’s got the most reason to be suspicious of people’s motives, especially where women are concerned. He was let down pretty badly recently.’

‘She must have been mad,’ Tabitha mused.

‘Stay clear, Tab. I mean it. A wonderful warm thing like you wouldn’t last five minutes in his company. I might adore Zavier, but I wouldn’t wish that black heart on my worst enemy. It could only end in tears. Anyway, you’re here with me, remember? Don’t you dare go blowing my cover by making smouldering eyes at my brother.’

Tabitha laughed. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Aiden. He’s already made it abundantly clear what he thinks of me, and I can assure you it wasn’t complimentary.’ She grinned as Aiden winced. ‘Any hot looks passing between us would probably be better described as fuming rather than smouldering. He’s convinced I’m after you for your riches.’

‘God.’ Aiden added a couple more inches to his glass. ‘Zavier couldn’t be further from the mark if he tried; he’d have a fit if he knew the truth.’

Tabitha filled her own glass from the bottle, but unlike Aiden accepted a hefty splash of soda from a passing waiter. ‘He has no idea, then?’

Aiden shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. He tried to talk to me once—a big brother pep-talk would best describe it. You know the type: sort yourself out, grow up, what the hell’s your problem?’ He drained his glass in one gulp. ‘He actually came right out and asked if I was gay.’

‘So why didn’t you tell him then? Would he have given you a hard time?’

Aiden shook his head. ‘Zavier wouldn’t care about something like that. Despite the fact he practically wears a suit and tie to bed he’s pretty laid-back about that sort of thing.’

‘Then why not tell him?’

‘I figured it wouldn’t be fair on him. There’s no way I could tell my father, he’d have a coronary, and it would just be one more thing for Zavier to worry about. He carries the lot of us, you know.’

Tabitha was intrigued and leant closer. ‘In what way?’

‘Zavier runs the business. Dad’s too sick now. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s a walking time bomb—he needs heart surgery, but he’s too much of a risk for an anaesthetic. No surgeon would touch him, particularly with the name Chambers.’

‘But surely he can afford the best treatment?’

Aiden gave a low laugh. ‘And the best lawyers. I’m no cardiac surgeon, but I can see where they’re coming from. He’s just too high-risk to even attempt surgery. And with his heart so weak that’s even more of a reason not to tell him about me. It’s better Zavier doesn’t know—better that no one does.’

‘Well, he doesn’t,’ Tabitha said soothingly. ‘So you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

Still, as she took a sip, her eyes smarting as the liquor warmed its way down, she found her eyes instinctively combing the room, as if constantly drawn to the dark and foreboding man that utterly enthralled her.

He’d only break your heart, she consoled herself. But what a delicious way to go!

The party was getting louder now. People were dancing—kicking up their heels. Aiden swirled Tabitha around the dance floor a couple of times, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it and he was only too happy to get back to the table and his never-ending supply of alcohol.

Tabitha was starting to wonder when they could reasonably make an exit to their hotel room upstairs. Her feet were killing her in the impossibly high sandals, and she thought her face might crack soon with the effort of smiling. There were also a couple of videos on the movie channel she wouldn’t mind watching while Aiden slept off his excesses. She had more than returned Aiden’s favour, and tomorrow she would tell him this had been the first and last time she would play the part of his girlfriend. Zavier’s snide comments had seriously hit a nerve; the whole thing was starting to get out of hand. She would join the family for breakfast, make all the right noises, and then that would be it. Aiden would have to find someone else to fool his family.

Her hopes for a discreet exit were foiled, though, when Marjory descended with a grim-faced Zavier.

‘There you are, darlings. How come you’re not dancing?’

Tabitha forced a bright smile. ‘Aiden’s feeling a bit tired.’

‘Well, that’s no reason for you not to be dancing.’ For an awful moment Tabitha thought Marjory was suggesting they grab their handbags and dance around them together! The reality was far worse. ‘Zavier, why don’t you take Tabitha for a dance?’

She braced herself for rejection. Zavier Chambers didn’t look like the kind of man who did anything he didn’t want to, and after the way he had addressed her earlier she was dismally confident of one thing: dancing with a money-grabbing gold-digger wouldn’t be high on his list of priorities. Not that she wanted to dance; ten minutes alone with this man had truly terrified her.

‘I’d love to.’

She looked up with a start, and as he offered his hand had no choice but to accept. Standing, she turned somewhat anxiously over to Aiden for some support, but he really was the worse for wear now.

Zavier’s hand was hot and dry, closing over hers tightly. As he led her to the dance floor Tabitha had the strangest urge to make a bolt for it, to wrench her hand away and run to the safety of her hotel room. As if sensing her trepidation, he closed his hand more tightly on hers, only letting go when they were in the middle of the tightly packed dance floor.

Slipping his hand around her slender waist, he rested it there. She could feel the heat through her flimsy dress. A couple dancing past bumped her, forcing her closer to him. Zavier gripped her more tightly, steadying her as she toppled slightly.

‘You’re having a terrible night, aren’t you?’ He had to stoop to meet her ear, and as he did he held her closer. His hot breath tickled her earlobes, and despite the heat of the room Tabitha broke out in goosebumps as she felt his hands tighten around the small of her back.

‘Of course I’m not. Everyone’s been charming,’ she lied, in what she hoped was a convincing voice.

But Zavier begged to differ. ‘You’ve been sitting on your own most of the night, trying to pretend you don’t mind. I’ve been watching you.’

That he’d noticed Tabitha found strangely touching; that he’d been watching her she found pleasantly disturbing. But she didn’t answer at first. His hands on her back were having the strangest effect. All she wanted to do was rest her head on his chest, to let the heavy beat of the music fill her, to lose herself in the moment.

‘So this is a sympathy dance?’

‘No, I don’t do anything out of sympathy.’

She wanted so badly to believe him, wanted to believe it was her stunning good looks that had brought him over—hell, she’d even settle for her witty personality—but the facts spoke for themselves: Marjory had commandeered the whole thing. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was high and slightly breathless.

‘For what?’

Dragging her eyes up, she was stunned to see the change in him; the icy stare had melted, replaced by the moist sheen of lust, but his dilated pupils in no way softened the intensity of his gaze. Running a tongue over her lips, she forced a reply, confused at the sudden shift in his demeanour. ‘For you being forced to dance with me.’

He didn’t say anything at first; then he bent his head and she felt the brush of his face against her hair. All her senses seemed to be standing rigid to attention.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said huskily. ‘After all, it’s only a dance.’

This was the man who thought she was a conniving gold-digger—the man who had blatantly told her he was suspicious of her motives. But he was also the man holding her now, making her feel more of a woman than she had ever felt in her life. Everything about him forced her senses into overdrive: the exotic heady scent of him, the expensive cut of his suit beneath her fingers, the quiet strength of the arms holding her, the scratch of his cheek against hers. She gave up fighting it then. Nestling against his chest, she swayed slowly against him, relaxed under his skilful touch. Closing her eyes she inhaled deeply, every sense in her body attuned to the perfection of the moment.

It wasn’t only a dance.

To describe it as such was a travesty.

CHAPTER THREE

‘LET’S get you upstairs.’ Aiden was slumped over the table but still managing to cling on to his half-empty glass. Shaking him on the shoulder, Tabitha whispered loudly in his ear. ‘Come on, Aiden. People are starting to look—you really ought to be in bed.’

‘Having trouble?’ She could hear the derisive tone in Zavier’s voice as he took in the situation.

‘We’re fine,’ Tabitha said through gritted teeth, unable to meet his eyes after the dance they had shared, confused at the response he had so easily evoked in her and determined not to let him see.

‘You don’t look it,’ he said knowingly.

‘Well, we are. Aiden and I are just about to head off upstairs to bed.’

‘Have you already called for a forklift or did you want me to ring for you?’ His biting sarcasm only inflamed her taut nerves.

‘He’s just tired.’ Tabitha said defensively, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all Zavier.

‘Ah, that’s right; he’s had a busy week at the studio. And there I was assuming that, as per usual, Aiden’s the worse for wear. God, I’m such a cynic sometimes.’

People were really staring now; she could see Jeremy Chambers starting to make his way across the room, a questioning look on his face. A drunken showdown with his father was the last thing Aiden needed—her too, come to that.

Swallowing her pride, Tabitha bit back a smart reply. Jeremy was nearly upon them now, and she had no choice but to accept Zavier’s help if she wanted to avoid a scene.

‘I could use a hand,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘A “please” would be nice.’

She wasn’t that desperate! ‘Look, are you going to help or not?’

He smiled then—a real smile, that for a fleeting moment lit up his face. ‘Okay, come on, let’s get him upstairs.’

Which was easier said than done. They managed to get him out of the function room in a reasonably dignified fashion, but once they got to the lift Aiden slumped on his brother and proceeded to snore loudly.

Tabitha willed the lift to move faster; Zavier’s close proximity in this confined space was not having the most calming effect on her. Still, it was just as well Zavier was there, Tabitha conceded, or she’d never have managed otherwise.

Aiden steadfastly refused to wake up, let alone walk, and in the end Zavier had to resort to giving him a fireman’s lift—something he managed amazingly well, considering Aiden stood well over six feet. Tabitha retrieved the swipe card from Aiden’s top pocket, holding the door open as Zavier made his way in and deposited his younger brother unceremoniously on the bed.

‘Be sure to tell him how badly he behaved in the morning.’

‘Oh, I’ll tell him all right,’ Tabitha said, her annoyance with Aiden apparent in her voice. ‘And thanks for all your help getting him upstairs,’ she added grudgingly.

‘Don’t mention it. I’m just glad he had the foresight to book a room here or we’d be stuck in the back of a taxi now. As you probably gathered, it’s not the first time I’ve had to come to my hapless brother’s rescue. I’m sure it won’t be the last.’ He stared at her then, openly stared, until Tabitha was blushing to the tips of her painted toenails. ‘I would have thought he’d have toned things down a bit by now, though—the love of a good woman and all that.’

‘But I’m not good…’ The words slipped seductively from her mouth before she could stop them, and she saw the start in his eyes at her provocative statement. Stunned, confused at her own behaviour, Tabitha attempted to retrieve herself. ‘I mean from what you said to me at the reception…’

‘Oh, I’m sure you have your good points.’

Despite the fact they were occupying one of the Windsor’s most opulent suites, suddenly the room seemed incredibly small. There was something big going on here—more than just a gentle flirting. Everything about Zavier screamed danger. Every nerve in her tense body seemed to be on high alert, the fight or flight response triggered by his proximity overwhelming her, but there was nowhere to run and, even more disturbing, Tabitha wasn’t sure that she wanted to.

She wanted badly to dazzle him with some witty response, to show she was completely in control, not remotely fazed by his imposing presence, but she wasn’t in control here—far from it. Zavier Chambers seemed to trigger a major physiological reaction in her just being in the same room.

Void of any reply, Tabitha busied herself removing Aiden’s shoes. Pulling a thick blanket from the wardrobe, she covered his limp body.

She was confident Zavier would go now, which would enable her to at least catch her breath again. After all, he had delivered Aiden safely—had done his brotherly duty. There was no reason for him to stay now—no logical one anyway.

‘I ought to put him on his side, in case he’s sick,’ Tabitha said, more to herself than in an attempt at small talk. Pushing her arms under Aiden, she knelt on the bed, pulling his back towards her.

‘Careful—you might hurt yourself.’ In an instant Zavier leant over to help her, his hand catching her arm as he attempted to render assistance. But the contact was too much for Tabitha’s already shot nerves and she pulled her arm back swiftly.

His coolness only exacerbated her nervousness. She felt his eyes flicker over her exposed cleavage, and as if in response her nipples stiffened, protruding against the flimsy fabric. Even as she swallowed nervously she felt as if he was registering the tiny movement in her throat.

‘Tabitha…’ Aiden, slurring his words, struggled to sit up. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it now,’ Tabitha said gently. ‘Just try and sleep.’

Aiden’s squinting eyes locked on her. ‘I mean it, Tab, I’m really sorry. I’ve been thinking,’ he slurred, resting back on the pillow, ‘I should just marry you. You know that? It would solve everything.’

She felt more than saw Zavier stiffen, heard the tiniest hiss come from his lips, and knew that Zavier thought this was a proposal she had somehow engineered. Her own shock at Aiden’s suggestion for a moment put on hold, she attempted to quiet her friend. But it was too late. The words had escaped, seeping through the air like a vile vapour, compounding every last one of Zavier’s suspicions.

‘Don’t be silly.’ Tabitha attempted a light scold, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’

All Aiden could manage was a small shrug before closing his eyes again, but Zavier wanted answers. Reaching over, he shook his brother, rattling him none too gently.

‘Come on, Aiden,’ he quipped, his light voice belying the muscle pounding in his cheek. ‘That’s no way to propose to a lady.’ She saw the tiny snarl as his lips formed around the words. ‘Finish what you’ve started.’

‘It would solve everything,’ Aiden mumbled. ‘Dad would see a marriage before he dies—’ he squinted at Tabitha, who stood mortified ‘—and your gambling debts would be taken care of, darling. I know how worried you…’ He never finished his sentence, instead choosing that moment to go into a deep and rather noisy sleep.

‘I can explain…’ Tabitha started. ‘It’s not how it seems.’

Zavier flashed her a thin smile. ‘I’m sure it’s far worse.’

‘It isn’t. The gambling debts—’

He halted her with one flick of his manicured hand, his gold watch glinting in the bedside light. ‘I don’t give a damn what trouble you’re in. You, Miss Reece, don’t concern me—not one iota. But understand this.’ His voice was menacing. ‘Stay away from my brother. Marry him and I’ll expose you for what you are—a cheap, conniving gold-digger. Do I make myself clear?’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ he hissed. Coming around the bed, he stood over her, stepping uninvited into her personal space, so close she could feel the scorn of his words on her cheek—so close, so vividly near, even the batting of his eyelids seemed to be happening in slow motion. ‘You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you? You think the Chambers family are going to be the answer to whatever mess you’ve got yourself into.’

‘I don’t.’ She was trying to defend herself, trying to form an argument, but his presence, his closeness, wasn’t just intimidating her now; it was overwhelming her, fogging her mind with dangerous images. The scent she had inhaled on the dance floor was stifling her now, conjuring recollections of their one dance, and her subconscious responded as it had when he held her. ‘I don’t,’ she said again, dragging her eyes up to meet his, trying to sound as if she meant it, trying to ignore the surge of adrenaline cascading through her body—the high alert of imminent impact.

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. Already he was wearing the dusky growth of a five o’clock shadow, and she imagined the scratch of his cheek on hers, the roughness behind his kiss. Though she hated the venom of his attack, Tabitha was curiously excited, high on adrenaline and champagne and the heady cocktail of hormones his presence haplessly triggered.

His hand moved up slowly and she stood frozen. Only the none too gentle sound of Aiden’s snoring broke the silence—only that and the pounding in her temples as he traced a finger along her white collarbone, exploring the hollows of her neck, his fingers brushing under her curls.

And she waited.

Waited for him to jerk her towards him, to expel the tension with the roughest of kisses. She licked her lips, her pink tongue bobbing out involuntarily, moistening her flesh in anticipation.

‘I might have known.’ In one harsh movement, one harsh sentence, reality invaded and his fingers flipped out the designer label on her dress. ‘Is that the going price for a date these days?’

His words confused her. Struggling to understand his meaning, she stepped back, the distance giving her a chance to collect her thoughts as the contempt in his eyes flared.

‘I sign off Aiden’s credit cards,’ he explained nastily. ‘I should have worked it out earlier. Your outfit is the only tasteful thing about you.’

‘Get out.’

‘Oh, I’m going, and in the morning, Tabitha, so are you. As far from my family as humanely possible if you know what’s good for you.’

Only when the door was safely closed, when only the heavy masculine scent of him remained, did Tabitha breathe again.

Not trusting her legs to stand, she sat on the edge of the sofa, practically trembling just at the thought of him. He was vile, loathsome, full of his own self-importance—and yet… Never had a man made such an impact on her. Those few moments on the dance floor with him had tapped rivers of passion she hadn’t even realised existed. His eyes had seemed to tear through her, his mouth, his smell…

And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it! Even if she could stretch the boundaries of truth and imagine someone as completely stunning as Zavier Chambers ever in a million years being attracted to her, she was supposed to be his brother’s gold-digging girlfriend—with a gambling problem to boot! Completely out of bounds by anyone’s standards.

Stretching out on the long sofa, she lay staring at the ceiling, almost weeping with frustration at the unfairness of it all. Even the movie channel held no attraction now. What was the point? The real thing had been in this very room only moments before!

It was only a few seconds later when she realised she’d left her bag down at the party.

Rolling on to her side, she battled with the urge to go and retrieve it—battled with the urge to return to the party and a chance of glimpsing Zavier again. It would look stupid, she reasoned. He would surely realise the motive behind it. But her reasoning, however logical, however sensible, was no match for her desire—her need to somehow finish whatever dangerous game had been started, to put him right, to draw a conclusion or open Pandora’s box.

She simply couldn’t just leave it there.

Opening the door, Tabitha made her way along the thickly carpeted corridor, her heart beating loudly, her pulse rapid and out of time with the music pounding below.

The dark, shadowy figure making its way towards her was so broad, so tall, it could only belong to one person.

A couple more steps and his face came into focus, his eyes glittering and dark, a curious look of triumph on his face.

‘Looking for this?’ He held up her bag, the splash of feminine colour an enticing contrast against such a masculine backdrop. ‘I was back down at the party and I saw it lying under the table.’

‘Thank you.’ She accepted the bag but didn’t turn back, unable to tear her eyes away from his penetrating gaze.

‘Fancy a nightcap?’

Even as Tabitha nodded her acceptance she knew he didn’t intend to take her back down to the bar, and for that moment at least she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

His room was amazingly tidy. A few heavy bottles and brushes adorned the dresser, and a half-drunk glass of whisky was on the coffee table. Tabitha noticed the ice-cubes undissolved; he hadn’t gone straight back down to the wedding after he’d left her.

His eyes followed hers to the glass; his steady voice answered the unasked question.

‘I was trying to figure out a legitimate excuse to see you again tonight. Contrary to the lecture I’ll be delivering to Aiden in the morning, sometimes the answer does come in a bottle.’ He looked at her bemused expression. ‘I was sitting here thinking about you, wondering if I could risk ringing you, then it dawned on me you didn’t have your bag…’

‘Why did you need an excuse? I mean, why did you want to see me again? Haven’t you quite finished lecturing me?’

‘Lectures over.’

Could this be happening to her? Had Zavier Chambers sat nursing his whisky filled with the same trembling desire that had overcome her as she lay on the sofa? Surely it wasn’t possible? ‘So why did you come looking for me?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’

She had stared at the glass long enough. Dragging her eyes up to his, she was shocked and strangely excited to see the same blatant desire emanating from them that had turned her to liquid on the dance floor. ‘I thought you hated me.’

He shook his head slowly, deliberately. ‘It’s a rather more basic feeling you evoke in me at the moment.’

How could this be happening to her? How could someone as charismatic and overtly sexual as Zavier possibly be interested in her, possibly want her? He could have any woman he wanted. He held her gaze, pinning her with his eyes. Everything about tonight seemed surreal, as if she were caught up in some strange erotic dream.

‘Come here.’ His voice was low, his request direct.

Tabitha knew that she should have left right there and then—picked up her bag, thanked him for his help and got the hell out of there.

But she didn’t.

Tentatively she stepped towards him, drawn by an overwhelming longing that transcended all else.

She was completely out of her depth, overcome with desire. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined acting so boldly, yet Zavier imbued in her a feeling of wantonness—desires so basic, feelings so overwhelming that for now she couldn’t even begin to deal with the consequences, couldn’t contemplate anything other than what was happening right here and now. One look into his dark brooding eyes and a whole lifetime of scruples needed rewriting.

‘Dance.’

Mesmerised, she nodded, her hand reaching out for him, desperate to feel him again, to revisit the magic they had created on the dance floor. But Zavier had other ideas. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.

‘No. Dance for me.’

His eyes left hers for the briefest impatient moment, his fingers working a remote control and the room filling with the low sensual throb of bass, the straining tears of a violin. And though it moved her, though the music fuelled her, it didn’t even come close to the rush of desire that flooded her as his gaze returned.

‘I can’t.’ Her tongue flicked over dry lips. ‘I can’t,’ she said again when he didn’t answer. ‘You’ll laugh at me.’

Again he shook his head. ‘I’m not laughing, Tabitha; I want to see you dance. Dance for me like you do when you’re alone.’

He knew! Like a child caught singing into a hairbrush, she felt the sting of embarrassment. It was as if he had an open ticket to her mind, her dreams—as if he had seen her pushing back the coffee table at home, pulling the curtains and dancing as she would have if only her ambitions had been fulfilled.

It was the most ridiculous of requests, one that under absolutely any other circumstance would have been laughable. But there was no mirth in his voice, not even a note of challenge, just the thick throb of lust and a million fantasies that needed to be fulfilled, imbuing her with the confidence of a woman who could fulfil them, the empowering realisation that though it was Zavier calling the shots it was she, Tabitha, fulfilling them.

The straps on her sandals were fiddly, her hair falling forward as her shaking hands worked the tiny buckles. She was incredulous that she was even contemplating obliging him, but as the music filled the room it overtook her awkwardness, the throbbing sensual rhythm fuelling her. Slowly she slid her toes up the long length of her calf, the wraparound dress falling apart to reveal taut flexed muscles. Instinctively tightening her stomach, she felt the imaginary string that pulled dancers taller snap taut. She let the music take over, washing over her body as, like liquid silk, she moved to the beat, swaying, turning, dancing the most private of dances for the most captive of audiences. And when the music slowed, when, breathless, her body glimmering, she dared to look at him, the blaze of desire emanating from his expressive eyes took the last of her breath away.

‘Come here.’

It was the second time he had beckoned her, the second time he had summoned her, and Tabitha knew the interlude was over—knew this time when she went to him exactly how the scene would end.

Tabitha had never been promiscuous; to date her relationships had always been taken seriously. She wasn’t a woman who could be bought with meals and flowers, her heart wasn’t something to be given away lightly, but as she crossed the room, as she took that tentative step off the cliff-edge and into areas unknown, her mind was whirring, her love-life passing before her eyes in those fateful final moments before passion completely took over.

With blinding realisation she knew why she was doing this—or, more importantly, why she wanted to do this. Meals, flowers—they all made her feel wanted, feminine, sexy. Zavier Chambers had done in a few hours what most men took months to achieve. He had made her feel completely a woman.

He stood absolutely still as she crossed the room, drawing her towards him with an animal magnetism, but as she drew nearer his arms shot up, pulling her close, dragging her from her cliff-edge as if one split second was too long to be apart.

The weight of his lips on hers was explosive, hungry. She almost cried out at the impact of him against her, her lips parting as he probed her with his tongue. She could taste the lingering traces of whisky, the sharp scent of his maleness filling her senses.

His hair was thick and silken under her fingers, his thighs hard and solid as he pulled her nearer, and she could feel his arousal, urgent and solid. Pulling at her hairclips, he threw them almost angrily to the floor, his fingers spilling her Titian curls, coaxing them around her face. Pushing her head back, he let his lips explore her neck, scratching the soft skin with his chin as his sensual mouth located the flickering pulse there.

He pulled away. ‘Are you sure?’

His voice was thick, rasping, and the question was thoughtful. But she was beyond any rationale. The whys and wherefores would have to wait; for now only the moment mattered. She stood quivering, only his arms holding her up. The only thing she was sure about was that if he stopped kissing her now, stopped ravishing her, adoring her with his body, she would die with frustration. Her voice came out gasping, unsteady. ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘don’t stop.’

For the first time since their lips had met she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his pupils dilated, desire burning in every facet of his being.

‘Don’t stop,’ she urged again.

It was all the affirmation he needed to continue and, swooping her into his embrace, Zavier carried her towards the bedroom. Ripping back the smooth counter-pane, he laid her on the huge bed.

What Tabitha had expected she had no idea—for him to tear at her clothes, for her to rip at his shirt? But the animal passion that had gripped them in the lounge suite dimmed a notch, replaced instead by a sensual hum, an almost reverent admiration as he slowly pulled down her zipper, savouring each first glimpse of her exposed flesh.

Planting slow, deep kisses on her shoulders, he pulled down her straps, exploring her clavicle with his tongue. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the chiffon slipped over her breasts. Her pink nipples begged for the coolness of his tongue, flicking each taut nipple until it was swollen and aching, dancing to his probing attendance. Down ever down, he moved, across the white hollow of her stomach to the glistening silken Titian curls hiding her amber treasure box, which he opened with wonder, his tongue working its magic again, making her gasp as he brought her ever nearer to the brink of oblivion. Then, abating slightly, leaving her hovering on the brink, on the edge of the universe, he worked slowly on the delicately freckled expanse of flesh that spilled out over her sheer stockings.

With cat-like grace he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he undid his shirt, and though the music had stopped long ago his hips gyrated slowly to a beat of their own. Only his eyes were still, watching her reaction at the first glimpse of the ebony mat of hair on his chest, inking down over his flat stomach. She heard his zipper slide down, followed the plane of ebony as his trousers slid down his solid thighs, revealing the first heady glimpse of his manhood, trapped and writhing in his underwear. She reached towards him, her trembling hand aching, desperate to touch him, but Zavier shook his head, taunting her a while longer as he slowly took off the last remnants of clothing.

It was the most sensual thing she had ever witnessed, a teasing ritual that whetted her appetite. What she had expected from his lovemaking she hadn’t dared even imagine. A cool aloofness, perhaps, a distance despite their closeness? Not this teasing disrobing for her benefit, this naked display of sensuality, this sheer, delicious decadence. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, the rough hair on his thighs scratching through the silk of her stockings as he parted her legs, diving into her with such precision and force that she cried out in abandonment, her legs coiling around his waist, whilst her coral-painted nails dug into his taut buttocks.

And finally the only dance left was the dance of lovers entwined, their bodies making music of their own, dancing to a private rhythm, a jazz of harmonic idioms in tune with each other, improvising as they went. The rhythm filled them, fuelled them, spurring them on, finding out what worked, what mixed—and it all did. Every last cell in their bodies seemed to be sated with desire until she could hold back no longer. Every pulse in her body had aligned, focusing towards her very epicentre as he exploded within her. Gasping, her body throbbing, she opened her eyes. She needed to see him at this moment—see the man who had brought her to this magical place. For he was the perfection she craved, he was the ultimate fantasy, and she was living it, loving it.

To close her eyes now would only taint the dream.

‘What about Aiden?’

His question filtered through the haze, unwelcome and unexpected, the harshness in his voice such a stark contrast to the husky endearments of only moments before.

‘Tabitha?’

She heard the impatient note, the summons for an explanation. Pulling up the heavy white sheet, she tucked it around her, her eyes darting to his, reeling with shock at the contempt so visible, stunned at the change in his demeanour.

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