An Heir to Make a Marriage(8)

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed the sleek black car crawling beside her and coming to a stop at the same time as she did when she went to cross the road.

A prickling sensation stopped her in her tracks, though, and she looked to see an all too familiar figure emerging from the back of the car, where the door was being held open by a driver.

As if conjured straight out of her thoughts by some nefarious alchemy, Mrs Lyndon-Holt stood resplendent in her designer clothes against the backdrop of the tired Queens street and said superciliously, ‘Won’t you join me in the car, Rose? I think we have some things to discuss.’

* * *

Hours later, dressed in a white shirt, black bow tie and knee-length black skirt, with her unruly hair in a neat bun on the top of her head, Rose held a tray of hors d’oeuvres aloft so that guests could help themselves.

Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cold voice still rang in her head. ‘Do I need to remind you that you signed a legal document? I could sue you for breach of contract if you give up now.’

Rose had protested vociferously in the back of the car, to no avail. She’d even tried to convince the woman that Zac had asked her to leave.

The response to that had been, ‘If Zachary isn’t interested in you then why has he spent the week looking for you?’

Rose’s heart had palpitated, and she’d asked shakily, ‘How can you even know that?’

The other woman had waved a hand dismissively. ‘I know everything my son is involved in. Believe me. And he wants you.’

Stupidly, Rose had given herself away by saying, ‘He does?’

Mrs Lyndon-Holt had snapped impatiently, ‘Of course he’s interested, you stupid girl. By running away from him you’ve ensured his interest. Women do not evade Zachary Lyndon-Holt, and my son seems to have found your particular brand of unsophistication intriguing.’

As if Rose needed that reminder.

Her protests that she hadn’t run away as part of an attempt to entice him had fallen on deaf ears. And Mrs Lyndon-Holt had reminded Rose cruelly of her other concerns when she’d said, ‘Don’t forget who you’re doing this for, Rose. Your father. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for your lack of action, does he?’

In the end, the not so subtle threat of legal action and a reminder of why she’d signed the contract in the first place had had Rose reluctantly accepting a note with an address on it and terse instructions from Mrs Lyndon-Holt as to what to wear.

So that was why she was now serving at a buffet luncheon inside one of Manhattan’s most exclusive addresses, which housed one of the world’s most famous private art collections, only on view to a very select few on occasions like this, once or twice a year.

Rose prayed that Zac wouldn’t appear, and assured herself that even if he did he probably wouldn’t even remember her, in spite of what his mother claimed.

But just as she was thinking that a very perceptible hush went around the room and she looked up to see him entering through the main salon door.

The tray nearly tipped out of her hands and she had to cling on for dear life. Her nerves went haywire and her blood sizzled. He was dressed in a dark grey three-piece suit and listening attentively to something the host was saying as he greeted him.

Rose couldn’t breathe. She was suddenly filled with sheer dread that he would turn his head and see her.

On a panicky reflex, she swung around to try and stay out of his line of vision—and crashed straight into another server who was right behind her. Her tray was already unstable in her hands, and Rose watched helplessly as it collided with the other silver platter and they both tipped up and turned end over end, spraying horrified guests nearby with slivers of exotic hors d’oeuvre fillings before crashing to the undoubtedly priceless oriental carpet on the floor.

A deathly silence filled the air.

* * *

Zac was trying to appear interested in what the host was saying, but as per usual his mind was elsewhere. Specifically fixated on about five foot seven of elsewhere. A woman with slim curves and strawberry blonde hair. And the face of an angel that inspired distinctly un-angelic thoughts and desires.

He still couldn’t believe she’d actually left that night. After looking at him with those wide green eyes and saying okay. He shouldn’t have taken the call. She’d slipped through his fingers like shimmering quicksilver, impossible to hold onto.

No woman had walked away from Zac. Ever. And while that admittedly did add to the intrigue, the insatiable desire she’d roused inside him was unprecedented. And the need to know more about her. And why the hell hadn’t his team found her yet?

Suddenly there was a loud metallic clatter, and Zac jerked his head around to see two trays spewing their contents and crashing to the floor. At the same moment that he was sending up silent thanks for being released from the attention of his host he was also noticing a very distinctive reddish blonde head of hair near the area of sudden carnage. Tucked up into a bun. Above a long neck.

His insides clenched—hard. It couldn’t be her. But then she turned her head ever so slightly in his direction and he saw a familiar profile. Paler than pale skin...

It was her. Recognition washed over him in a dizzying sweep of heat and relief. Zac was not letting her slip through his fingers again.

* * *

Rose had gone cold and clammy, all fingers and thumbs as she tried to gather up the detritus of expensive canapés. The other server hissed at her. ‘What is wrong with you? You’ve probably cost us both our jobs and I need this work.’

Rose’s gut lurched and she looked at the other girl’s blazingly angry expression. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know—’

‘Now,’ an assured and deep voice cut in, ‘I don’t think anyone is going to lose their jobs over a simple accident—are they, Mr Wakefield?’

Rose went still. That voice. Right above her head. His voice. She looked to her left and saw expensively shod feet.

Someone else was saying something brightly—‘Not at all. Please, let’s just move aside and get this cleared up.’—and then Rose felt a hand under her upper arm, curling around it, and she was being urged upwards.

All the way up until she was standing in front of a familiar broad chest. She couldn’t find enough breath to suck into her lungs. She was barely aware of people cleaning up and Zac leading her away from the site of the accident. She was surprised her legs were working; she couldn’t feel them.

He was opening a door and urging her through, into a dark-panelled room full of books. Rose felt as if she was in a dream, and put it down to the fact that she was probably hyperventilating.

‘Are you okay?’

She finally looked up and those blue eyes were even brighter than she remembered. His jaw was clean-shaven. She wanted to touch it. She expected he had to shave twice a day to keep it like this. He’d had stubble that night of the ball—she could remember the slight burn on her skin after they’d kissed.

She nodded. ‘You...you recognise me?’

Zac’s mouth quirked. ‘I met you a week ago, Rose. My memory still functions pretty well. And you were memorable—even if you did run.’

Thankfully the haze cleared from her head. She pulled her arm free and stepped back into the room.

Zac leaned against the door and put his hands in his pockets. As nonchalantly as if he owned the place.

‘You said you’d stay.’ He sounded accusing.

Rose was defensive. ‘I didn’t...exactly. I said, okay. But I knew I had to leave...’

‘Why?’

Rose turned to avoid that incisive gaze. She felt as if she was being torn in two: torn between the part of her that was euphoric to see him again and the part of her that knew it was all a set-up.

She turned back to face him and gestured with a hand to her uniform and practical flat black shoes. ‘Because this is who I am.’ That, at least, was true. ‘I’m not in your league, Mr Valenti, and I think you’re only attracted to me because I’m a bit different.’

Zac straightened from the door, tension in his form. ‘You’re different, all right, and it’s because you outshine any of those other women out there.’

Rose looked at him, helpless against his sheer power to suck her in again. ‘Please, don’t say that. It’s not true.’

He prowled closer, and Rose backed away until she had to stop because there was a wall of books at her back. He crowded her, but she didn’t feel threatened. She felt as if she was unfurling from the inside out. Like a flower blooming in the sun.

‘I thought we’d moved on from Mr Valenti?’

He reached out and with deft fingers undid the bun on the top of her head. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. He sifted through it and Rose felt ridiculously like purring.

‘I prefer it like this...a little wild and untamed.’

Her heart thudded against her breastbone.

Zac’s blue eyes speared her to the spot then. ‘You’re a hard woman to find—do you know that?’

‘You looked for me?’ Rose hadn’t really believed it, and to hear it confirmed, by him, was intoxicating.

He nodded. ‘I couldn’t get you out of my head or forget how you tasted...so sweet.’

Rose struggled not to let her legs turn to jelly and collapse under her. ‘That’s just because I left...you’re not used to women walking away.’