The Italian Boss's Secret Child(6)

There was something about her. Something special. That body, those lush  lips. The way she'd come as Cleopatra, Mark Antony's seductress. That  had to be fate.

He glanced again at his watch. What if she'd found someone else? The  thought of her with another man-holding her, dancing with her, maybe  even …  His teeth ground together. She'd tasted so sweet, so ripe. The  mere idea that someone else was sampling her mouth or even something  more …

The pencil in his hand snapped in two.

At the other end of the line the phone rang out. Damien slammed down the  receiver and checked his notes for the next number. He'd track this guy  down and get him to take responsibility for this mess if it killed him.





He wasn't coming back. The sad truth hit her like a blow to the gut.  Almost two hours now. The comedian had finished, the band had done  another two brackets, leaving taped music in its wake, and it was clear  there was no way Damien was coming back. Either whatever had called him  away was taking more time than he'd anticipated or he'd found someone  else and changed his mind.

There was no question as to which scenario was the most likely. She'd been kidding herself to think she was that special.

It was getting late. She should go home. Staying here longer just  increased the feeling of bitterness, the sense of overwhelming loss that  gradually but irrevocably gnawed away at her earlier euphoria.

He wasn't coming back.

She had one last look around the ballroom. The party was in full swing  and laughter and music filled the air. Her evening hadn't been a total  loss. She'd chatted with a few people, sticking to safe topics like  costumes and the party. She'd enjoyed the comedian. Even the lavishly  spread tables, covered with all manner of finger food and nibbles, had  proved a diversion, at least for her eyes, helping for a little while to  take her mind off the time and its passing.                       
       
           



       

But now it was time to go home. There was no point staying. She put her glass down and turned towards the exit.

'Would you care to dance with me?'

She smiled her thanks at the six foot tall kangaroo looking down at her and shook her head. 'I was just leaving but thank you.'

'Just one dance before you go? Come on, it'll be fun. You ever danced with a kangaroo before?'

'Um, no actually.'

'Then now's your chance.' The kangaroo held out its paw.

She laughed a little and slipped her arm through his furry one. 'Well,  if you put it like that.' One dance wouldn't hurt. It would be nothing  like dancing with Damien had been, but it might be fun, and it would be  something to tell her mother in the morning. She'd certainly enjoy a  story like this.

Kanga made it to the dance floor in a combination of skips and hops that  had Philly laughing before they'd even begun. When he started to move  to the music she couldn't stop. She was either being buffeted by the  huge hind legs of his costume or he'd swing around and collect her with  his tail. It was impossible not to have fun.





She was still here.

For a while he'd been unable to find her, scared beyond belief that  she'd already left when he didn't even know who she was. But then his  eyes had been drawn to the dance floor and there she was.

My God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her smile was so  wide her whole face lit up and she moved so well to the fast rock and  roll number, her body picking up the beat and making it her own.

He checked out her partner and discounted him in the same glance. He  could deal with Skippy. He'd dealt with much stronger adversaries, like  the CEO he'd finally caught up with. He was history in the business  community from here on in.

He moved closer, sensing the music track was nearing its end, preparing  to cut in before anyone else had a chance to get anywhere near her. He'd  wasted enough time tonight. Now he was going to make her his.





What made her look around? There was no way she could have heard a thing  over the loud music, but something made her turn. Something made her  look.

Not something.

Someone.

Her steps faltered in time with the skip of her heartbeat.

Damien. He was back and he was heading straight towards her. He'd come  back for her. She sucked in a breath, watching his approach. He looked  like a triumphant general returning from war. She was unaware she'd  stopped dancing until Kanga tapped her on the shoulder with his paw.

'You tired? It's like an oven inside here. I'm getting a drink. Want one?'

She was aware her head was shaking but only just. Every other part of  her concentrated on Damien's purposeful approach, her body tingling in  mounting anticipation with each step he took closer. His eyes were still  masked but she could tell his focus didn't leave her. It was empowering  knowing that he could no more take his eyes off her than she could from  him.

'Okay, then. Thanks for the dance.' Kanga bounded off to find  refreshments as Damien reached her side. He took one of her hands,  lifted it to his mouth and held it there, pressed to his lips.

Finally he removed his mouth. 'Now,' he said, 'where were we?'

His grip was firm, his hand warm and strong. The fast rock and roll  number came to an end as, without letting go of her hand, he drew her  closer. For a few seconds he just stood, looking at her, ignoring the  jostling of the crowd around him, waiting for the new track to cut in.

She couldn't move. Even if he hadn't had a grip on her hand, she wasn't  going anywhere. From under his mask the heat from his gaze pulled her  like a magnet. Her body responded, breasts swelling, nipples tightening,  as his sheer presence touched her in places his eyes couldn't.

When the gentle strains of guitar playing signalled the start of a slow  Robbie Williams ballad Damien pulled her gently into his arms and  suddenly he was all around her. His chest, solid and warm, pressing  against hers, his thighs firm, his arms encasing her, modelling her like  clay to his form while he swayed to the music.

She gave in to the pressure and let her head fall against his chest to  rest upon the plates that covered it. It wasn't exactly comfortable but  she didn't care. When she breathed in it was his scent, natural and  masculine, that intoxicated her senses.

His large hands held her close, one cradling her shoulder, the other  firm at the small of her back, and his head rested over hers as they  moved together to the music, their bodies as close as they could be with  clothes on.

He breathed deep, unable to get a hold on her scent-frustrating for  someone who prided himself on knowing them backwards. She was wearing a  wig-that didn't help-but there was some kind of rich perfume, something  exotic, just like she was. Something else lurked below too, but the  signals were blurry and he couldn't quite make it out. Whatever it was,  she smelt all woman. He liked that.                       
       
           



       

The rest of her he could make out just fine. She fitted him perfectly.  Something told him she'd fit him everywhere perfectly. She moulded to  his body as if she was made for it. The jut of her breasts, soft but  firm against his chest, the dip to her waist and the flare of her hips.  She was perfect.

His hands moved slowly over her back, exploring, taking inventory. He  liked what he felt as she followed his swaying rhythm, her body curvy  and sensual and just the way he liked them.

The only thing he hated was the mask she wore. He'd do away with that the first chance he got.

Besides, he wanted to see her eyes when she came.

He stiffened at the thought and the reality of his situation hit him  like a brick. He wasn't sure how the Romans had coped, but the thought  of his costume betraying his desire on the dance floor in front of five  hundred employees and their partners wasn't appealing. He had to get  them both out of here, now, while he could still think straight.

The music track had reached its climax. He was vaguely envious as it  wound down to a slow refrain. There was no way he was winding down any  time soon-unless this woman had something to do with it. And if he had  any say she'd have everything to do with it!

'Let's get out of here,' he whispered, nibbling on her ear.

She felt too weak to respond, lost in the multitude of new and wonderful sensations she was being bombarded with.

Was this how seduction felt? Never before had she felt such liquid heat  pooling inside her. This total absence of real thought, all mind  function replaced by body function and totally concentrated on one  thing, the fruition of one act. One utterly irresistible, inevitable  act.

She wanted more of what he was doing to her, more of what he was making her feel. She wanted him.

This was new-to feel such intense longing and desire for any one man!  Passion like she'd never before experienced. Bryce had never once made  her feel like this in their entire two-year relationship. He'd always  made her feel that lovemaking was an obligation.