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Something deep and unfamiliar inside Rose pulsed to life, disturbingly intense. Hot. It struck her: sexual awareness. It was like being plugged into an electrical socket. Her relatively sheltered life with her father, after her mother had died, hadn’t allowed for much time to mingle with the opposite sex. Rose had been too busy worrying about her father and the deep pit of despair he’d fallen into.
Zac Valenti cocked his head to one side, eyes sparkling, ‘I take it that you can talk?’
Rose found one brain cell that wasn’t still frozen in shock and nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly, and then more strongly, getting a grip on herself, ‘Yes, I can talk.’
‘That’s a relief.’ He held out a hand and smiled. ‘Zac Valenti—pleased to meet you.’
His smile had the wattage of the sun at full blast. Rose had to stop herself from blurting out, I know exactly who you are.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m Rose.’
His hand engulfed hers. Warm and strong. Slightly rough. He was no soft city boy. Between her legs, her flesh jumped in response.
‘Just Rose?’
She was about to supply her second name when she thought of something and panic made her belly swoop. He might recognise her name—she and her father had worked for his family. She thought quickly and said, ‘Murphy. Rose Murphy.’ It had been her mother’s maiden name.
‘With a name and colouring like that you can’t be anything but Irish.’
Rose was sweating. ‘My parents emigrated here just before I was born.’
She pulled her hand back from his. Even though she’d met him now she still couldn’t do this. She was out of her depth, her league...her everything. Shouldn’t men like Zac Valenti have cordons of bodyguards around them? Yet he didn’t. He was like a lone wolf. This had been a crazy plan and one she couldn’t possibly execute.
She stepped back.
‘Where are you going?’
Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. ‘I have to...go...’ she said lamely.
‘Without a dance?’
He extended his hand again and now Rose felt a different kind of panic surge. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘I find that hard to believe—who doesn’t know how to dance?’
Someone who grew up watching the girls in her class go to dance classes and who buried her envy because she knew her parents couldn’t afford to send her.
Suddenly angry at being in this position, and in this place, Rose said sharply, ‘Well, I don’t...and I really should go.’
She turned away, only to feel a hand closing around her arm, tugging her back. Damn the man. Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Already she was feeling remorse for being sharp. This had nothing to do with him. Well, it did...but he wasn’t aware of her nefarious intentions.
Oh, God. She felt nauseous.
He’d put his hands on her arms now, and she looked up into that classically perfect face.
He was concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
Predictably, Rose’s brain cells were scrambling again under that blue gaze. ‘You didn’t. I was being silly—I’m sorry.’
His mouth tipped up again in that sexy way. ‘Was that our first fight?’
Rose’s belly swooped alarmingly. ‘You’re very smooth,’ she remarked dryly, even as she battled surprise that he wasn’t more...arrogant. She’d had no idea he would be so charming or flirtatious. She hadn’t expected to like him.
But then, she thought with uncharacteristic cynicism, if she’d been there as one of the impeccably clad waitresses he really wouldn’t have looked twice at her. And she wasn’t so naive she couldn’t see that underneath the suave exterior were the sharp talons of his own cynicism. A man like him, from a world like this...? His mother was right: they didn’t come more jaded.
He smiled, oblivious to her inner turmoil. ‘I try.’
Then he slid his hands down her arms, slowly enough to make her breath quicken and her skin prickle into goosebumps. Especially when he brushed against the sides of her breasts.
He took her hand in his and started to lead her towards the dance floor, where couples were swaying cheek to cheek to the seductive tones of sultry jazz.
Rose put her other hand over his and tried to tug free. Aware of a lot of curious looks, she whispered desperately, ‘Really, I’ve never—’
He sent her a look over his shoulder, stopping her words. ‘Trust me.’
They were on the dance floor now, and Zac swung Rose round until she was in front of him. She looked at him helplessly. He took her right hand and held it in his and slid his other arm around her back, up high, his hand spreading out over bare skin. And then he pulled her close and she stumbled forward slightly, right into his taut, lean body.
Every thought left her head. Why she was there. What she was there for. Who she was. All she was aware of was how it felt to be held so close to this man, every inch of his tall body, hard and muscled, against her much softer one.
Her breasts were pressed against his chest. His hand was making small subtle movements against the skin of her back. And they were moving, going around in a circle across the floor. Rose couldn’t actually feel her feet. She was floating.
Her nipples had tightened to hard points, pressing against her dress. She’d never been so aware of herself as a woman before. She blushed and ducked her head. A finger came under her chin, tipping her face up again. Even in spite of the mask she could see that Valenti looked incredulous.
He shook his head and frowned. ‘Are you for real?’
‘Of course I’m real,’ Rose answered automatically, becoming aware of her surroundings again as she saw a woman gliding past, a condescending expression in her eyes as she looked Rose over from behind her own ornate mask. She tensed in his arms. ‘Look, Mr Valenti, I really should—’
He pulled her closer and growled, ‘It’s Zac. Mr Valenti makes me sound like an old man. And I’m not an old man—yet.’
She looked up at him and gulped. He most certainly was not an old man. He was young and dynamic and virile. And she couldn’t believe she was in his arms. Even though this had been the exact objective of the evening...
‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘you’re the only woman here who isn’t wearing one piece of jewellery?’
Rose immediately scrambled to think of something to say under that incisive blue gaze. ‘I...er...I’d be afraid of losing something.’
Zac shook his head again in that slightly incredulous way. ‘Your jewels aren’t insured?’
Rose cursed herself. Of course, every woman here would have insured each priceless jewel she owned to within an inch of its life. However, the only precious jewellery she owned was her mother’s engagement ring, and that had more sentimental value than real value.
She affected what she hoped was an air of nonchalance and fudged telling the truth with deflection. ‘The current trend is that less is more.’
Zac’s hand moved then, slowly down her back, his fingers trailing along her spine down to where her back started to curve just above her dress, and her entire body flushed with heat.
He said throatily, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Run—quick, run! said a voice in Rose’s head. She was playing a high-stakes game and she was not remotely prepared or ready. And yet, a small stark voice reminded her, she didn’t have much of a choice. If she wanted her beloved father to get better. To live.
‘What do you say we get out of here? Go somewhere a little less...stuffy.’
Zac’s voice cut through her troubled thoughts and feelings of guilt. She wasn’t a dishonest person and she’d never told a lie in her life. Yet right now she was actively engaged in deceiving this man with every word that came out of her mouth. With her very presence.
But the huge room did feel as if it was closing in on them. The heat was stifling. Weakly choosing more time to think about her predicament, Rose said, ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
Zac smiled, and it had a quality to it that wasn’t remotely civilised. But before she could change her mind he was tugging her off the dance floor, her hand firmly in his, and she had to lift her dress to keep up with him as he cut a swathe through the crowd.
Rose was aware that she could probably just tug her hand out of his and flee, get lost in the crowd and escape through a side entrance, but...treacherously...she didn’t.
CHAPTER TWO
ONCE THEY WERE in the vast marbled lobby, the increased flow of oxygen helped to unlock a delayed dose of cynicism that mocked Zac for being so taken by a woman. Yet even this rush of sanity couldn’t stop the realisation that he hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.
And certainly no woman had ever precipitated this level of arousal. He took her over to a secluded area and as soon as he looked at her he felt any attempt to control his libido turn to dust.
Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was moving up and down rapidly. Cynicism be damned. He didn’t want its protection now—he needed to see her. He took his own mask off and threw it carelessly but expertly into a nearby bin. He saw how her eyes widened on his face and his body pulsed with desire.
‘Now you,’ he said softly. ‘I want to see you.’
For a second she bit her lip, and he had the crazy notion that she was going to refuse and walk away and he’d be left with just her name... But then she nodded a little jerkily and took her hands out of his to lift them to the back of her head.
‘Wait—’ Zac cursed silently. His voice sounded too harsh. Needy.
She looked at him, arms lifted.
‘I want to do it. Turn around.’
Slowly her arms came down and she turned, giving him her bare, slender back. Zac had to restrain himself from slipping his hands under the sides of her dress and around to cup her breasts in his palms. Just imagining the scrape of small hard nipples against his skin was enough to send his arousal levels into orbit.
Instead he lifted his hands to where the mask was tied and undid the knot, letting it fall open. She caught the mask in her hand, in front of her face, and Zac slowly turned her around again, a crazy surge of anticipation tightening his gut.
And when she lifted her face to his...he stopped breathing.
She was stunning. But in a way that caught Zac in a different place than when he usually looked at a beautiful woman. She was ethereal...delicate. The faintest trail of freckles sat across her small, straight nose. Her cheekbones were high, elevating her face out of mere prettiness. And her mouth was ripe and full, like a crushed rosebud. Rose, indeed. Not caked in lipstick. Ripe for kissing.
Her eyes held him captive. Huge and green, with tiny flecks of gold.
They stood looking at each other for long silent seconds—until Zac realised that they were still in a public place. He’d never lost himself like this...in a moment. As if she was some fey creature in an enchanted wood who’d captivated him.
Feeling more than a little exposed, he took a breath and stepped back. Rose blinked, her long black lashes a contrast to her fair brows. Suddenly Zac wanted to see her in a more contemporary setting, as if that might somehow help defuse this sense of not being connected to reality any more.
He took her hand in his again and started to lead her back to the main part of the lobby, sending a silent signal to the attentive concierge to get his car brought round.
‘Wait...where are we going?’
She was tugging on Zac’s hand and he stopped to face her. There was something he’d never seen before in the depths of those amazing emerald-green eyes. Wariness. Women weren’t wary around Zac. They were confident, seductive. Intent on pursuing him.
Not this one. Bells rang in his head, telling him to be suspicious. But the heat in his body drowned them out. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. There was something about her that called to a very animalistic part of him.
‘We’re going to one of my clubs.’
Rose’s eyes widened slightly. She appeared almost reluctant, but then she said, ‘Okay.’
Zac felt a moment of lightness bubble up inside him. ‘Just...okay? You don’t care which one?’ He did own three of the most successful clubs in Manhattan, after all.
‘Should I?’
Her guileless question caught him unawares. Of course she shouldn’t. But in his experience everyone always wanted to go to the hottest place. The place that was so hot it wasn’t even hot yet.
Zac tugged her closer. ‘I’ll choose, then, shall I?’
She just nodded. He very badly wanted to kiss her right then, but he’d never indulged in public displays of affection in his life, and he was aware of a million pairs of curious eyes on them. So he drew back.
A discreet cough came from nearby. ‘Mr Valenti? Your car is here.’
Zac thanked the man and led Rose outside to where the valet was holding the passenger door open. Zac tipped him and helped Rose into the low-slung silver Falcone sports car.
When he’d got in behind the wheel he looked over to see her staring straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap, still holding on to her mask. She swallowed, the long graceful column of her throat moving up and down. She was tense.
Something alien moved within Zac. Concern. ‘I can take you home, if you’d prefer?’
Personally, he would prefer to walk over hot coals than let her go anywhere out of his sight. But he was not about to admit that weakness.
After a few interminable seconds she turned to look at him and the shadows of the car made her face even more ethereally beautiful. She was pale, but determined. As if she’d made some kind of decision.
She shook her head. ‘No, I want to go with you.’
Zac felt a disturbingly strong flare of triumph. He ignored it and lifted her hand, forcing it to uncurl, slipping his fingers between hers. A relatively chaste gesture, but one that felt positively carnal when he saw how her eyes dilated. He brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles. A sweet, delicate scent filled his nostrils. Tantalising. Innocent.
His body tightened with anticipation.
‘Well, then, let’s go.’
* * *
Rose was very aware that she’d had two opportunities now to decline Zac Valenti’s invitation gracefully and leave. Before this farce continued. But as he’d looked down at her in the lobby she’d been agreeing before she’d been able to stop herself, transfixed by his sheer male beauty.
And what excuse did she have for saying yes just now? None.
But, as Zac’s car purred silently and powerfully through the streets of Manhattan, for the first time in her life Rose felt a very rogue urge to rebel, to do something she wanted. Which was to eke out another few illicit moments in his company.
She’d never felt so intoxicated. It was heady. The way he’d removed her mask...it was the closest she’d ever come to an erotic moment. And then the way he’d looked at her, with such thrillingly explicit intent... Her heart still beat a frantic tattoo.
She’d never had much of a chance to indulge in flirtation with men; her time had been taken up with work and caring for her father. Was it so bad to want a little more of this man’s attention?
Yes, because you know very well that if he knew who you were and why you were here he’d have you out of the car so fast your head would be spinning for a year...
That almost caused Rose to turn in her seat and ask Zac to stop the car, but they were pulling up outside the club now, which appeared to be in the basement of a very tall, gleaming modern building.
Zac looked at her when the car had come to a stop. She was transfixed by his mouth, and imagined what it might be like on hers. On her skin.
‘I’m glad you came with me.’
And just like that all of Rose’s good intentions were blasted to pieces by wicked desire.
He got out of the car and walked around the bonnet, his powerful body sheathed in that amazing suit. He stopped at her door and opened it, which she was grateful for, as she realised that the car was way too fancy and sleek for her to know where the handle was—if there even was something as pedestrian as a handle.
When he’d helped her out she became aware of a long queue of hopefuls outside the roped-off doors of the club. She was also peripherally aware of a flurry of activity between the doormen and someone who looked very officious when they realised who had just arrived. The owner and their boss.
Suddenly there was a cacophony of calls: ‘Zac! Zac!’ And Rose was vaguely aware of him putting his arm around her and shielding her as he all but bundled her through a door beside the main one. It was being held open by one of the bouncers.
When the door had closed behind them he turned to her, concerned. ‘Are you okay? Luckily the paparazzi didn’t get us.’
She nodded, her ears still ringing from the shouting. ‘I think so.’
He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, quirking a smile. ‘I’m more used to people waiting until they’re sure they have been comprehensively papped.’
Rose shuddered at the very idea of her picture being splashed on the front pages of the tabloids. The thought was horrific. And of course he was referring to the kind of women who were as used to this kind of scene as she was used to a black and white uniform with an apron and to people never looking her in the eye.
But he was looking her right in the eye now, and it was very hard to regret being here. Even though she knew it was wrong.
‘Shall we?’
He put out a hand, indicating for her to precede him down a narrow corridor, luxuriously carpeted, with dark walls. It screamed sin and decadence, and it was a world away from anything she had ever experienced.
Another spurt of that dangerously rebellious spirit urged her on. Just a few more minutes, Rose assured herself. And then she would go.
She walked ahead of Zac, and she could feel the pounding bass beat of the music coming from all around them. They were approaching a door, and as if by magic it was opened by a handsome young man in a suit. He gave a small deferential nod as they walked in.
She came to a stop inside what was clearly the VIP space, with its velvet banquette seats and gleaming table. There was a railing and steps leading down to the dance floor, which was on the level below. The bottom of the stairs was guarded by another huge bouncer.
The dance floor was filled with hundreds of scantily clad lithe and gyrating bodies. Everyone looked like a supermodel. The local nightclub near where she’d grown up, on Bliss Street, Queens, could never have prepared Rose for this sophisticated spectacle.
She was mesmerised for long seconds, and then she felt a prickling sensation across her skin and looked to see Zac leaning with one arm on the railing, staring at her with a small smile. He was holding two delicate flutes filled with sparkling wine and he handed her one.
She accepted it, hoping she didn’t look like a total wide-eyed hick, and he clinked his glass to hers.
‘Here’s to...new friends.’
‘New friends...’ she echoed, and took a sip of the golden wine, delighting in the way it fizzed as it slid down her throat. She’d been too nervous to contemplate drinking any of the champagne at the function earlier.
He took her hand with an ease that set her pulse on fire and led her over to the seat—a semi-circular shape around the table. She felt unaccountably self-conscious and nervous now that it was just the two of them in this dimly lit intimate space.
She gestured to the heaving dance floor below and asked a little shakily, ‘Is this where you come to survey your kingdom?’
Somewhere along the way Zac’s bow tie had come rakishly undone and the top button of his shirt was open. As was his waistcoat. There was space between them, but with his snowy white shirt pulled across his flat belly and one arm spread out along the back of the seat, with a hand resting near Rose’s head, she felt as hot as if they were touching. The darkness of his skin was visible through his shirt.
He shrugged minutely, dragging Rose’s attention north again. Something crossed his face...some indecipherable expression. Almost distaste. But it was gone before she could analyse it.
‘It’s a prettier view than the floor of the stock exchange.’
His words were flippant, but Rose detected something sharp. He gave off a blasé air, but she didn’t think he was for a second. She could tell that he was supremely aware of absolutely everything going on, and she would guess that there wasn’t the smallest thing left to chance.
‘I wouldn’t know what that looks like,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been there.’
Zac’s gaze narrowed on her and her skin felt tight all over.
‘So tell me about you. I haven’t seen you around before...’
She curbed a semi-hysterical giggle. ‘That’s because I’m not really from around here.’
Zac frowned. ‘But you’re a New Yorker?’
Rose took another fortifying sip of champagne. Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cut-glass tones came back to her. ‘Don’t lie—he’ll see through you in an instant. Be honest. He won’t connect you to here. He was gone before you started working for us.’
Her guts were tangled into a knot. She couldn’t believe it had really come to this. She felt as if at any moment she’d wake up back in that toilet cubicle. Maybe she’d knocked her head as well as her shoulder—
‘Rose...?’
She looked at Zac Valenti. This was no dream. He was as real as she was.
Illicit excitement vied with fear and guilt. She swallowed. ‘Yes, I’m a New Yorker. From Queens. The truth is...’ She faltered for a moment, tempted to blurt the whole thing out, but then the reminder of her signature on the bottom of that non-disclosure agreement told her that she couldn’t. No matter what happened.
It was like a slap on the face.
She couldn’t tell him the full truth but she could tell him this. ‘The fact is that I’m just a maid... I really shouldn’t have been at that function earlier, but my boss gave me a ticket. This isn’t my world. I’m no one special, really.’
Rose almost hoped that this would be enough to have Zac Valenti recoiling in horror, hastening back to his own kind. But his expression only hardened in a way that she could see wasn’t directed at her.
‘It’s as much your world as anyone else’s, believe me.’
Her insides lurched. She hadn’t expected him to express solidarity, and she was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.
Then he took her glass out of her hand and put it down on the table alongside his own. He stood up from the seat, pulling Rose with him. ‘I want to show you something.’
She balked. She wasn’t meant to be prolonging this, but there was something intense in his expression.
Weakly, she said, ‘But we just got here.’
He looked at her. ‘Do you really want to stay?’
Rose ripped her gaze away from his and looked down over the club—it was spectacular and sinfully seductive, but ultimately it left her cold. Like a beautiful picture with no depth.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
A small smile touched his mouth and then he was leading her back the way they’d come—except instead of going back out to the entrance of the club Zac was going through a secret door that led them into a massive and hushed lobby.
A man in uniform jumped to attention from behind a security desk as soon as he saw Zac. ‘Mr Valenti, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
Zac lifted a hand. ‘Relax, George, I’m good.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Valenti.’ He nodded at Rose. ‘Ma’am.’
They were stepping into a lift now, and flutters of trepidation mocked Rose’s inability to do what she knew she should: leave. Angry with her own weakness, she pulled her hand free and tried not to be so aware of Zac in the small space, but it was hard when he dominated it.
‘Where are we going, exactly?’
He looked down at her, his blue eyes bright enough to hurt. ‘Trust me.’
He’d said that twice now. This man was a complete stranger to her, and yet she was allowing him to lead her astray as easily as if she was a lemming going over a cliff.