Her New Year Baby Secret(5)

'Sì, both of these things are true, but if you dance with me, then I am willing to overlook both transgressions.'

'I did mention that I don't want a relationship, didn't I?'

'You did. Sophie, I am also not looking for anything serious and, like  you, I'm not in the habit of picking up strangers in the snow. So if  neither of us is interested in a relationship and neither of us indulges  in one-night stands, then why not get to know each other better?  Retrospectively. Unless you're here with someone else?' His hands curled  into loose fists at the thought, the thrill of possession taking him by  surprise. It was only because they had barely scratched the surface of  their attraction, he reminded himself. Only because spending the evening  with Sophie would be safe and yet satisfying. No expectations beyond  fun and flirtation, although if the evening did end the same way as  their past encounter, he wouldn't complain. His gaze travelled down the  sixties-inspired minidress to the acres of shapely leg, lingering on the  slight swell of her hips. No, he wouldn't be complaining at all.

'No. I'm here with my friends and their husbands and fiancés. They are  all lovely and doing their best to include me, but they're all so madly,  sickeningly in love that I can't help feeling like a spare part.'

She was wavering. Time to press his advantage. 'Then this is fate,' he  said promptly. 'Every time you feel like a spare part, dance with me. We  can have a code.'

Her eyebrows raised. 'A code?'

'Sì, you rub your nose or tug your ear and I will know you need rescuing from the tedium of romance.'

'They don't mean to be tedious.' But the wariness had disappeared from  her face and she was smiling. 'What if you're not watching, when I  signal?'

'Oh, I'll be watching,' he assured her. 'But just in case you forget to  signal, let's make an appointment now to see the new year in together.  I'll meet you...' He paused, trying to think of a landmark in the  ballroom.

'Outside this closet?'

'Perfect. Yes, I'll meet you outside here at eleven.'

'But that's a whole hour before midnight.'

'You owe me half an hour of dancing for running out on me and half an  hour for escaping into a closet. I'm Italian, the hurt to my machismo  could have been catastrophic.'

A dimple flashed in her cheek. 'Okay, eleven it is. Unless I need rescuing, in which case I'll...I'll twizzle my hair. Deal?'

'Deal.' Marco opened the door and held it, standing to one side while  Sophie passed through it, brushing past him as she did so, his body  exploding into awareness at each point she touched. He took her hand as  he stepped out of the small room and raised it to his lips. 'Until  eleven, signorina. I look forward to further making your acquaintance.'                       
       
           



       

Marco leaned against the door as he watched Sophie disappear back into  the ballroom. Yes, she would do very nicely as a distraction, very  nicely indeed. Suddenly he was looking forward to the rest of the  Snowflake Ball after all.





CHAPTER THREE

'WHO IS THAT HOTTIE? What?' Emma looked round at her friends,  indignation flashing in her eyes at their splutters. 'I'm married,  blissfully and happily married, but I still have eyes-and, Sophie...that  man is sizzling. Tell us all.'

Sophie slid into her seat uncomfortably aware that her cheeks were  probably bright red under her friends' scrutiny. 'There's nothing to  tell,' she said, picking up her white linen napkin, dislodging a drift  of small glittery paper snowflakes as she did so. 'I didn't miss the  starter, did I? I'm starving.'

'Tell me my eyes are deceiving me and I didn't just see you emerge from a  closet with him.' Ashleigh leaned in to stare intently at her and  Sophie's cheeks got even hotter if that was possible-she was almost  combusting as it was. 'Ha! You did. Nice work, Soph. Quick work though.  We've only been here for twenty minutes.'

'I didn't go into the closet with him.' Sophie reached for her glass of  champagne and took a much-needed sip, wincing at the unexpectedly dry  taste. She pushed it aside and grabbed some water instead. 'He followed  me in there.'

'He did what? I take it back. He's not hot. He's creepy. Well, kind of both. Do you want me to set Jack on him?'

'I'm sure Lukas would be only too glad to have a word,' Ashleigh chimed  in with a dark look over at the corner Marco had disappeared into.

'Finlay can be very intimidating,' Grace said, smiling dreamily at her  very new and very large pink diamond ring on the third finger of her  left hand.

'No, thanks for the offer, but I don't need defending.' Sophie lowered her voice. 'I know him. He's the guy...'

Three faces stared at her blankly.

She sighed. It wasn't as if there had been many-or indeed any-guys since  she'd moved to London. 'The guy. From a few weeks ago. The export party  guy. You know, in the snow... Italian, we went to a bar...'

'Oh, the one-night-stand guy?' Ashleigh exclaimed.

'Just a little louder, Ash, I don't think he heard you over on the other  side of the room, but just one more decibel should do it.'

'What's he doing here? It must be fate.'

'No, Grace, it's not fate. It's embarrassing, that's what it is. I  didn't expect to see him again, that's the whole point of a one-night  stand.'

'Ah, but the real question is are you going to see him again? Now that  he's the one-night stand and the quickie-in-the-closet guy?' Emma's eyes  were twinkling.

'We did not have a quickie in the closet. Your mind! Call yourself a Countess?'

'It's My Lady to you.' But Emma's smile was rueful. Her friends hadn't  got tired of teasing her about her newly acquired title. Sophie wasn't  sure they ever would.

'You didn't answer the question, Sophie. Are you going to see him again?'

'Look, just because the three of you are all besotted doesn't mean that  I'm looking to settle down. I've been there and done that and it very  much didn't agree with me. I have agreed to dance with him later. But  that's all I want. Honestly.'

But the scepticism on all three faces showed that none of them believed  her. And she didn't blame them because she wasn't entirely sure she  believed herself. Oh, she didn't want or need what her friends had, she  wasn't hankering after a diamond ring the size of Ashleigh's or Emma's,  nor, beautiful as it was, did she want to wear Grace's huge pink  diamond. She was quite happy with a ring-free third finger, thank you  very much. In fact Sophie's ambitions were as far from domestic bliss as  it was possible to get. She wanted to make something of herself. Prove  to her family-prove to herself-that she hadn't thrown her life, her  chances away when she'd moved in with Harry. She didn't have the time or  the inclination for romance.

But shocking as it had been to see Marco, it hadn't been unpleasant.  After all, Emma was right: he was smoking hot. Smoking hot and charming.  Smoking hot, charming and very, very good in bed. Not that she was  planning to sleep with him again. Once was an excusable lapse, twice  would be something far too much like a relationship.

But a dance wouldn't hurt-would it?                       
       
           



       

* * *

Sophie had had no intention of using any of the secret signs Marco had  suggested. She kept her hands firmly on her lap, on her knife and fork,  or wrapped around her water glass to ensure that she didn't  inadvertently summon him over. But, as the night wore on, her resolve  wavered. It wasn't that her friends and their partners intentionally  excluded her, but they just couldn't help themselves. They kept  separating off into cosy little pairs to sway intimately on the dance  floor, no matter what the music, or to indulge in some very public  displays of affection over the smoked salmon starter. In some ways it  was worse when they emerged from their love-struck idyll and remembered  Sophie's presence, tumbling over themselves to apologise and making  Sophie feel even more like a third-or seventh-wheel than ever.

Then when the men sauntered off to the bar between courses, leaving the  four friends alone, the conversation turned, inevitably Sophie supposed,  to Grace's and Ashleigh's forthcoming weddings.

'Definitely a church wedding,' Grace said. 'Probably in Scotland,  although it would be a shame not to hold the reception at The Armstrong.  After all, that's where we met. The only thing is a church can be a  little limiting. Do you think it would be okay for the bridesmaids to  wear short dresses in a church?'

'The bridesmaids were in minidresses at the last church wedding I  attended. They were certainly effective.' So effective that Harry,  Sophie's ex, hadn't been able to take his eyes off the head bridesmaid  as she had paraded down the aisle all tumbled hair and bronzed, lithe  legs. Nor, it had transpired just a few hours later, had he been able to  keep his hands off her either. Sophie swallowed, reaching for her water  blindly to try to mask the metallic taste she always noticed when she  thought about that night. The taste of humiliation. Not just because  Harry had treated her like that; if she was honest with herself, he'd  behaved like that for far too many years. Nor was it because he had  chosen to do so in front of all of their friends; after all, Sophie had  spent many occasions making excuses for him or turning a well-practised  blind eye. No, the scalding shame she still experienced every day was  because it had taken such a blatant humiliation to force her to act, to  realise that this bad boy couldn't be redeemed and he wasn't worth one  more of her tears.