The Italian Boss's Secret Child(5)

She wasn't tall yet her legs had to be sensational under the sleek gown  that looked as sheer and fine as gossamer, accentuating the feminine  curves apparent beneath. Golden sandals peeped out below.

The gown ended at her breasts with some sort of twist of the fabric in a  strapless arrangement that hugged her form and had him immediately  calculating how difficult it would be to get off. Her lips were a splash  of red, vibrant and lush and a contrast against the jet-black hair  swishing over her bare shoulders. Coiled bracelets adorned her arms.

Her costume was unmistakeable. She was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. Little wonder emperors had fallen under her spell.

He drank in every detail and his prolonged scrutiny confirmed what he'd known immediately.

He wanted her.

Who was she? With her mask covering her eyes there was no way he could  pin down her identity. Did she work for him or was she someone's  partner?

He scoured the group she was standing in, but no one guarded her  possessively, no one fielded admirers. She had to be alone. No one in  their right mind would let her fly solo in such an outfit. If she was  his date he wouldn't let her out of his sight.

Who was he trying to kid? If she was his date he wouldn't let her out of his bed.

He had to have her.





Two minutes. Just two minutes more and she'd excuse herself. They  wouldn't miss her now. Sister Sam and Humpty were both deep in  conversation with Noddy and Big Ears. She'd leave, make the excuse of a  headache if anyone asked her, but chances were no one would even notice  in this crowd.                       
       
           



       

Escape was at hand.

She placed her barely touched glass of champagne on the tray of a  passing waiter and slid into the crowd, heading for the door. The sudden  hand around her arm told her she hadn't made the clean escape she was  hoping for.

'You're not leaving?'

She stopped dead as the tremor passed through her, but there was no mistake.

It was him!

She'd know Damien DeLuca's autocratic voice anywhere. But now his tone  held something else-interest?-desire? She turned and gasped. Relieved  her mask would hide the shock in her eyes-the admiration in her eyes-she  drank him in. He looked sensational, from the overlapping metal plates  at his shoulders to the carved breastplate and the slatted leather tunic  ending above his knees. His arms were bare, olive-skinned and gleaming,  except for some sort of wide band at his wrist. He held a helmet under  one arm, a sword hung at his side.

A Roman gladiator or an emperor going off to lead his army to war?  Whatever, he looked magnificent. He fitted the part, with his Italian  colouring, hair lazily windswept, curling at his collar and with his  chiselled cheekbones accentuated by the simple mask tied over his eyes.

If she'd thought he'd exuded masculine sex appeal in a suit, that was  nothing to the sheer testosterone surge he gave off in this outfit.

She swallowed and looked back towards the door. His hand still held her  arm and the heat from his grip weakened her resolve to leave.

'Stay, Cleopatra,' he said intently, almost reverently. 'I've been waiting over two thousand years to find you again.'

She shuddered, his words going straight through her in a flush of heat  that seemed to touch and awaken every last extremity of her and then  bounce back, settling at her core, warm and heavy. He reached across and  took her hand.

'Surely you recognise me? Mark Antony?'

He inclined his head and for the first time she allowed herself to  smile. It was Damien-really Damien-and he'd noticed her, amongst all  these people. And not only had he noticed her; if she wasn't mistaken he  was coming on to her.

Her head dipped in response; she couldn't allow herself to speak. Her  brain had too much information to process to cope with making small  conversation. Besides, why spoil this magic? He thought he'd found  Cleopatra. Why let on just yet that she was Philly from marketing? He  wouldn't hang around two minutes if he knew. Tonight she might just  stick to being Cleopatra.

'Come,' he said, tugging on her hand so that she came closer to his  body, closer to the source of that heat, as he gestured to the dimly lit  dance floor beyond. 'Dance with me.'

She didn't have to think about whether or not she should; her feet  drifted after him of their own accord, her plan to exit all but  forgotten. He led her to the dance floor and drew her into his arms, his  hand at her back anchoring her close, his other hand wrapped around  hers, securing it close to his shoulder, his wide shoulder, the armour  enhancing his masculine form.

'You're beautiful,' he said, his voice low and husky.

His words tripped her heartbeat. Beautiful. No one had told her that for  a very long time. She had to remember to breathe and when she did it  was with a gasp that immediately rewarded her with the scent of  him-masculine, clean and enriched with the smell of leather. But not  just his scent. She was sure she could just about taste him.

He started swaying to the song, taking her with him, their bodies moving in unison as the music took them away.

Heaven. This must be what heaven was like. Sheer bliss. She closed her  eyes, allowing herself to be carried along by the music and by the man  who held her in his arms with such strength, yet such tenderness.

Suddenly he stopped. She blinked her eyes open, the music still playing,  and saw Damien's head swivelled to the side. He was talking to someone;  it looked like a geisha but the voice was unmistakably Enid's. She  caught a snatch of her words here and there-London-crisis-and Damien  rattled off something in response and the geisha disappeared.

He turned his face back to hers, the line of his mouth grim, tension replacing the liquid heat she'd felt within his grasp.

'I have to take a phone call.'

His arms continued to surround her and he stared at her as if he was  wavering between the phone call and the woman in his arms. 'I'll be  back. Ten minutes max.' He hesitated. 'Maybe twenty.'

She looked up at him, his face so close to her own, and she knew she  would wait forever if it meant feeling like this again. Then he dipped  his head and his lips brushed hers, so gently that his breath was as  much a part of the kiss, as much a part of the sensation, as his lips.                       
       
           



       

'So beautiful,' he whispered, his voice suddenly rougher. 'Wait for me.' He smiled and let her go.

And then he was gone.

It was like being in a vacuum. Damien had gone, all too quickly, and she  felt cold, suddenly bereft of his heat. But he'd be back. He'd promised  he'd be back. And that knowledge started the warmth pooling inside her  all over again.

For a moment longer she stood, all by herself, in the centre of the  crowded dance floor, couples jostling for space all around until she  realised she had to move.

Ten minutes, he'd said. Maybe twenty. Where should she wait for him? How would he find her?

She made her way to the bar, ordered a mineral water and held the iced  glass to her cheeks, trying to think about the time, trying not to think  about the time. How many minutes now-five?-ten? She wanted to be back  in his arms and every minute he was away felt like for ever.

The band finished its set and the dancers dispersed as someone took over  the microphone. A stand-up comic. Good. At least that might take her  mind off the time.





Damien cursed, loud and emphatic, before turning the microphone on the  speaker telephone back up. It was worse than he'd thought. Enid sat  nearby, armed with pen and paper and tactfully ignoring his comments,  her delicately made-up white face giving nothing away.

He raked a hand through his hair, waiting for someone to pick up,  snagging it on the mask. He tore it off, flinging it down on the desk of  the makeshift office. It was actually a storeroom but with her usual  efficient style Enid had already organised a couple of chairs, a phone  and a fax machine. He didn't need a computer-this was no time for email.  He wanted action.

Of all the times for Delucatek's United Kingdom agent to collapse. The  news had been splashed in London's Saturday papers and now there were a  hundred clients all screaming for help. Okay, these things happened in  business. He'd dealt with worse before and no doubt there'd be worse to  come, but why did it have to be tonight? Why now? Already he'd been here  forty minutes but he wasn't going anywhere until he'd cornered his  agent's CEO. There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask him.

He picked up a pencil, tapping it furiously on the table as he waited.

Strains of laughter drifted in from the nearby auditorium and his mind  wandered back to the ball and the woman he'd left behind. She was  waiting for him. Or at least he hoped she was.

He could still feel her in his arms, the magic way her body floated into  his, matching his moves and the music so that her sweet body flowed,  her curves swaying to the rhythm. How he'd like to feel that body sway  to a different rhythm, how he'd like to feel her body dance to a  different music, a music they would make together. His body ached just  thinking about it. He was a normal man; he liked sex. But it had been a  long time since he'd wanted anyone as much as he wanted her.