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Irritation with herself made her say testily, ‘I barely know you.’
He leant back against the wall of the elevator, hands in his pockets, exuding louche arrogance, and arched an amused brow. ‘Do you really think I’d have alerted a witness to the fact that I’m with you if I was intent on some wicked deed?’
Heat bloomed deep inside Rose at the look in his eyes that told her his head was indeed filled with all sorts of delicious wickedness. But she was the one who was really being wicked here.
The bell pinged then, and Zac straightened up and said, ‘I promise to deliver you straight back to George if you don’t want to stay...’
She was just thinking Stay where? when the doors slid open and she gasped.
Rose stepped out and blinked hard. It was like stepping through the back of a wardrobe into Narnia. If Narnia was under a star-filled Manhattan sky.
It was a garden, with some parts like a wild meadow and others like a very ordered English garden. Rose didn’t even realise she’d walked so far until she saw she was standing right in the middle of a huge green space on a central paved walkway.
The dark smudge of Central Park was visible in the distance and lights twinkled from the buildings around them, giving the illusion of being suspended in mid-air, amongst the tall structures.
‘This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she breathed in awe, thinking poignantly of her mother, who had loved gardens.
‘It took some time to perfect.’
She looked at Zac as understanding dawned. ‘You built this...? How long did it take?’
* * *
Five years, to be precise. But Zac didn’t say that. He led Rose over to an elevated terrace that looked in the opposite direction.
When they were at the railing he guided her in front of him and placed his arms around hers, his hands resting on either side of her on the rail. Trapping her against him.
He gritted his jaw but his body reacted helplessly, rising to the temptation of the provocation of her buttocks against him.
She was tense. Again, not a reaction he was used to with women, who were generally all too eager to capitalise on his exclusive interest.
In a bid to slow the blood rushing to his crotch, he leant forward slightly and pointed. ‘See over there? That’s the Rockefeller Center.’
Her head moved to the left, away from Zac, and he struggled not to press his mouth to her bared neck. The urge to bite that pale skin was almost overwhelming. With some dark humour he figured that he knew how vampires felt. Her scent was light and floral. Sweet. Sexy. Intoxicating.
Curbing his desire, he pointed again to the right. ‘That’s Carnegie Hall. Times Square is just beyond.’
Rose’s face was close to Zac’s now, turning to follow the direction of his finger. She was trembling very lightly, her hands in a white-knuckled grip on the railing.
Her voice was husky. ‘Is this what you do to impress women?’ She huffed a little laugh. ‘I have to admit, it’s working.’
Zac stood up straight, surprised at the immediate indignation he felt. He was no angel, but he resented the insinuation that this was a well-worn routine.
He turned Rose to face him. Her green eyes were huge. Luminous. ‘I don’t bring any women up here. You’re the first.’
* * *
Rose looked up at one of Manhattan’s most desirable men, standing against the backdrop of a glittering city that he could command to do his will with a mere click of his fingers. It was the kind of view most New Yorkers were only lucky enough to see if they queued up to climb the Empire State building or similar tourist attractions. And it was in his backyard.
It was all so unexpected...and especially this amazing, incongruous and wondrous slice of greenery that he’d created, which was so magical.
She desperately wanted to believe he was just spinning her a line, because that would help her feel disgusted with herself—and him. And that would give her the impetus she needed to leave, and walk away.
But she couldn’t move—treacherously. Was he lying? But why would he lie? As if he needed to impress a woman with a mere garden—even if it did soar magically above one of the most vibrant cities in the world. The thought that she really might be the first woman he’d brought here was a little overwhelming and ultimately too seductive to resist.
As if sensing her vacillation, her desire to believe him, Zac cupped her jaw, his fingers light on the back of her neck. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Rose. You’re different...’
She swallowed down an urge to giggle at his understatement. ‘You can say that again.’
Her heart thumped erratically against her breastbone. She wasn’t aware of their surroundings any more, only of the fact that he was looking at her as if she truly was...something special.
For all that she had a soft, romantic core that she didn’t show to the world, and in spite of her unfashionable lack of experience, she was street-smart and had a healthy cynicism about men and love.
You couldn’t be a woman living in the twenty-first century in New York and not know that fairy tales really only existed in movies or books. But Zac Valenti was dangerous, because he made her yearn for something that she’d seen between her parents. He made her think that perhaps the fairy tale was possible...
Zac’s head ducked at that moment, and before Rose could finish her thought his mouth was settling over hers and words and thoughts fused into one blinding white flash of heat.
Fairy tales were the last thing on Rose’s mind now, under the masterful and expert touch of Zac’s hard mouth. Carnality—that was on her mind as heat raced through her bloodstream and into every erogenous zone, breathing fire into her nerve endings until they were tingling and jumping.
He’d cupped both hands around her face now, and his tongue was sliding past her shamefully weak and shy resistance to stroke and explore, urging her mouth open, compelling her to accept him.
The sheer power of his kiss was breathtaking, and so was the arrogance with which he calmly and methodically went about stealing her sanity.
Rose only realised she was clinging on to his waist when her fingers encountered hard, unyielding muscle. The kiss was hard, yet soft, and rough enough to send a thrill through her. She was gasping when Zac left her mouth to kiss along her jawline.
He pulled her closer, one arm wrapped so far around her back that his hand slid under her dress, across her bare skin. His fingers were tantalisingly close to her breast. His other hand undid her hair and Rose could feel it fall down and his fingers exploring, threading through the silken strands, cupping her skull.
Rose let her head fall back, giving him better access to her jaw and neck, and his mouth blazed a trail of fire across her skin.
Dimly, she knew she should be making some kind of effort to stop this, but the temptation to go deeper into this new world of sensations was too great to resist. She felt powerful, feminine. Desirable.
Zac lifted his head from her neck and Rose looked up, dazed. Her breath was coming fast and harsh and her breasts were moving against his chest, making her aware of how hard her nipples were.
His eyes burned a bright blue, his cheeks were flushed, and a lock of hair flopped onto his brow. It made her feel curiously tender amidst the tumult rushing through her system.
Then he subtly moved his hips, and the bold thrust of his erection told her far more starkly just how real this was. And his words.
‘I want you.’
His voice sounded guttural and almost coarse. It should have jarred against this beautiful and civilised backdrop, but it didn’t. Because high on this terrace, overlooking the shining city, Rose felt disconnected from everything but this moment and this man. His coarseness and his arousal resonated deep inside her.
She struggled to put some kind of brake on this crazy, all-consuming urge just to say yes. She put her hands on his chest, forced some space between them. She felt undone, with her hair around her face and her mouth swollen from his kisses.
‘I don’t...do this.’ The words were a hopelessly ineffectual attempt to articulate her confusion.
Zac finally—mercifully—straightened and moved back a little too. His mouth twisted. ‘Would you believe me if I said I don’t do this either?’
The space between them finally restored some of Rose’s functioning brain cells. Because she knew very well that Zac might not have brought a woman up to this garden, but he did do this. Very frequently, if the gossip columns were to be believed.
She stepped back, burningly aware of the telltale dampness between her legs. She folded her arms across her chest, residual heat making her feel prickly. ‘You might not do this here, but you do seduce women elsewhere. So, no, I don’t believe you when you say you “don’t do this”.’
His expression hardened, giving Rose an insight into another, more intimidating side of this man that she hadn’t seen yet.
‘I’m not a monk, but I’m not a player. Women know where they stand with me, and when I take a lover I’m faithful to her for as long as it lasts. We have fun and then we move on. I’m not into commitment.’
I’m not into commitment. Rose hated the swoop of her insides to hear it articulated so baldly.
She lifted her chin. ‘And is that what you’re offering here?’ She cursed herself, feeling impossibly gauche. Show the girl from Queens a cool club and an even cooler secret rooftop garden and she’d be eating out of your hand like a bird. Throw in one of the world’s most gorgeous and eligible bachelors and she’d be ready to do a lot more.
But that’s why you’re here, a snide voice reminded her. So who was she to judge him? He didn’t deserve her judgment!
Rose whirled away from that penetrating blue gaze before he might see something, her stomach in knots and her brain freezing at the thought that what she’d been sent to accomplish had so nearly become a reality...
Zac cursed behind her, and even though she’d only known him a few hours she could already imagine him raking a hand through his hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said frigidly. ‘No doubt you’re used to a more...sophisticated response.’
It’s not that,’ he grated harshly. ‘I’m angry with myself. I’m not in the habit of propositioning women within hours of meeting them.’
Slowly she turned around to face him again. His face was unreadable but his eyes glowed. The knots in her belly loosened. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. This man was proud. Prouder than anyone she’d ever met.
She could at least be honest about this. ‘I don’t even know you.’
Zac’s mouth quirked with that easy sexiness and he leant back against the railing, his hands behind him. Lord and master of all he surveyed. Power and privilege sitting easily on his shoulders.
‘Most people assume they know me.’
Rose felt shy and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘That’s understandable, I guess.’
He turned and faced forward again, leaning on the railing. He looked out over the view for a long moment, and then he looked sideways at her. His voice had a resigned quality. ‘What do you say to a coffee and then I’ll arrange for my driver to take you home?’
The rush of disappointment was acute, even though Rose knew she should be welcoming it. Zac was obviously bored rigid. But even that thought couldn’t compel her do the right thing when she had the chance. She longed for a few last seconds basking in his golden aura.
‘Okay, that sounds good.’
She told herself that she welcomed the chance to sober up, even though she’d hardly even drunk. She felt drunk though—drunk on this man.
Zac just nodded, showing no discernible emotion at her acquiescence, and she preceded him back through the garden.
He directed her to a different door this time, not back to the lift. He opened it and indicated for Rose to go first. She went down a spiralling set of stone steps and then he was reaching past her to push open another heavy door. A huge vast space with floor-to-ceiling glass windows was revealed as she stepped over the threshold.
‘This is my apartment.’
Of course he had the apartment below the garden. Above the nightclub. He probably owned the building.
‘Make yourself comfortable. How do you like your coffee?’
Rose was momentarily distracted by the views outside the massive windows. ‘White with one sugar, please.’
She walked into the casual living space, with lots of luxurious-looking sofas and sleek coffee tables, strewn with big photography and art books. A media centre was set up on shelves that formed a dividing wall, with well-thumbed books and DVDs.
The stark minimalism of a quintessential bachelor pad was evident, but it was softened.
‘Coffee?’
Rose jumped at his voice where she’d been standing, looking at his DVDs, and took the cup he held out, noticing that he’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat, so now he was just wearing the open-necked white shirt and trousers.
He gestured with his head towards the shelves. ‘Don’t tell anyone about my predilection for vintage Kung-Fu movies, will you?’
Rose forced a smile and tried to ignore the sensation of her heart turning over. ‘I won’t.’
The lights of the vast city around them lit up the huge space and it was impossibly seductive. She moved towards a window, cupping her hands around the mug in a bid to put some space between them.
Drink the coffee and get out—before you get lost again.
She marvelled at the life of privilege Zac enjoyed. Although he didn’t give off the air of complacency and entitlement that she’d experienced from others. People like his parents...his mother. Her insides cramped.
‘So...when you say you’re a maid...?’
Zac’s words scattered her guilt and Rose looked at him. She had to bite back a smile at his curious expression. She said dryly, ‘It means that I’m one of those invisible workers who tidies up your world so that when you turn around nothing is out of place.’
He winced. ‘Ouch.’
Rose shrugged. ‘It’s the way it is.’
‘You don’t sound bitter,’ he observed.
She glanced at him again. She wasn’t bitter at all. It had never bothered her that she came from a solidly working-class background. She’d had the love of two parents and knew that that was the most important thing in the world. Which was why she had to save her father...
Rose quickly averted her gaze from that incisive blue one. She felt sick and guilty again. She couldn’t do this.
She put down her cup on a nearby table and straightened and looked at him, steeling herself. But her words dried in her mouth. Zac was looking at her with such searing explicitness that a shiver of anticipation raced through her.
She instructed herself with silent desperation. Say, Thank you for the coffee, but I really should be going. Because I never would have met you in a million years if it hadn’t been for—
And then Zac said, ‘Why do I think that you’re about to bolt, and that if you do I’ll never see you again?’
CHAPTER THREE
ZAC’S WORDS IMPACTED on Rose like a punch in the gut. Because I am, and you won’t. She knew that if she walked out of there right now she wouldn’t see him again, because this had been an exercise in madness.
She’d never in a million years expected to find herself in this situation, and maybe that was why she’d agreed to this extreme plan—because it had never entered her head that it could possibly become a reality.
Yet despite that she was there, and what had sprung to life between them was...unprecedented. It called to all of Rose’s unawakened desires. And she knew that if she wanted—against all the odds—she might quite possibly be able to fulfil the demands of his mother.
But she couldn’t do it.
Not now that she’d met him.
She couldn’t deceive this man and use him in whatever power play was going on with his mother. She had no right. And she should never have been tempted. Jocelyn Lyndon-Holt had appealed to her fear and vulnerability. Her lack of resources. And she’d shamelessly taken advantage of Rose’s father’s ill health to do so.
For a moment Rose had been terrified enough to agree. But now, facing the stark reality of putting the plan into action, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she did. She would have to find another way to try and save her father. Which was what she would have had to do anyway. If she walked out of here right now they would be no worse off than if she hadn’t done this. She’d do anything but play with someone else’s life.
She reiterated more firmly, ‘I have to go.’
Bright blue eyes bored into hers and a hand closed around her upper arm. ‘Why? Give me one good reason.’
Anger spiked in Rose—anger that she was in this predicament with the one man she couldn’t have.
She pulled her arm free. ‘Because I’m not meant to be here.’
‘Says who?’
Rose glared at Zac and the anger bubbling up inside her was projected easily onto his arrogant tone.
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Not everyone has to bow down to the mighty Zac Valenti.’
Zac’s cheeks flushed with dull colour. ‘I don’t expect everyone to bow down to me.’
But they always will just because of who you are.
That wasn’t fair. Rose’s anger drained away. He was not the object of her ire. He was the object of something else—something much darker and hotter. And if she didn’t get out now... Panic made her jerky as she looked around for her small clutch bag.
She couldn’t see it, and she stopped and took a breath, looked back at Zac. ‘I’m sorry. But I just...really have to go.’
Something in his expression hardened—again that glimpse of a more intimidating side. Intractability.
‘You’re married? You have a lover?’
Shocked, Rose answered with affront. ‘No! Nothing like that.’
Now he folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then tell me, Rose, why do you have to run?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Because it might be approaching midnight, but I don’t think you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes, and you still have both your shoes.’
Something weakened inside Rose—some resistance she was desperately clinging on to. Zac filled her vision, filled every sense with his sheer charisma and masculine allure. And all of it was fixated on her.
She heard herself admitting, ‘I don’t want to leave.’
His stern expression immediately relaxed. He uncrossed his arms and stepped close to her again, cupping her jaw with a hand. ‘Then don’t. Stay, sweet Rose. Stay with me for tonight.’
She looked up into fathoms-deep, clear blue eyes and fell headlong into a dream where she did stay, and spent one beautiful, illicit night with the most exciting man she’d ever met.
A seductive voice whispered over her feverishly hot skin. You can do this if you really want to...take this night and keep it your secret forever.
Just then a shrill sound pierced the thick silence. Rose blinked out of the fantasy being woven in her head and saw Zac’s face tighten with irritation as he plucked a small phone out of his pocket. He looked at the screen and issued a curse.
He glanced at her. ‘I’m sorry, I have to take this for a moment...it’s an important call I’ve been waiting for. But don’t move...’
The phone kept ringing—insistent. Zac was looking at her, commanding her to his will, waiting for her promise that she wouldn’t leave.
Rose finally said, huskily, ‘Okay...’
But as she watched him walk away from her, with that powerful, lithe grace, she knew she’d just uttered a lie. This was her last chance. She had to leave—now.
At least, she told herself as she found her bag and stole out of the apartment, she wouldn’t be adding any further transgressions to her already blackened soul. She wouldn’t be betraying this man.
And she would never see him again.
Her chest grew tight and she bit her lip hard in the lift on her way back down to the ground level—a not so subtle reminder of where she belonged in the world. Not in the lofty heights of fantasy land, but here on the streets, among the millions of other anonymous New Yorkers who never got to taste the rarefied world inhabited by people like Zac Valenti.
Rose left through the main lobby and sent up silent thanks that George, the doorman, appeared to be busy with other residents. He barely spared her a glance.
When she emerged into the street she saw Zac’s car and driver nearby and quickly took off in the other direction, hailing a cab. She knew what she had to do now.
When she returned to the Lyndon-Holt residence, she slipped in through the staff entrance and went straight to the staffroom, where she’d left her own clothes after dressing earlier.
When she’d changed, at the last minute she obeyed a rogue urge, packing up the beautiful sparkly dress, knowing that it was wrong. But it would be the only tangible reminder she would have of a beautiful night with a beautiful man when the possibilities had seemed endless—even if just for a moment.
She crept back out of the house, after leaving a note for Mrs Lyndon-Holt.
I’m sorry, the plan didn’t work.
I’m resigning with immediate effect.
A short while later, on the subway back out to Queens, Rose swayed with the carriage and clutched her bag close on her lap, telling herself that it was ridiculous to feel such a sense of loss. She’d met Zac Valenti and been bathed in the sun of his incredible aura like thousands of other women—for a brief moment.
She was nothing special to him. She’d intrigued him, that was all, with her gauche manners and unsophistication. She was doing the right thing. The only thing she could do. She wanted her father to get better more than anything, but not at the expense of playing with someone else’s life.
* * *
A week later Rose was walking home from doing some shopping with her fast-dwindling savings. Luckily she’d got a job working a few hours a week in a local health food store, but she would need other work—and fast—if she was to try and add to their health insurance so her father would be in with a shot to get on a waiting list for the operation he needed.
But that will take months, a small voice reminded her. Months he doesn’t have.
Rose willed down the panic. She could do this. She was young, healthy. Relatively strong. She would work five jobs if she could find them.
She didn’t regret walking away from her job in the Lyndon-Holt house. No way could she face that woman again. She felt tarnished even knowing what she’d agreed to, knowing what she’d almost done.
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?’