Chloe's Rescue Mission (11 page)

Drawing several deep breaths and letting them out slowly he sat back and clasped his hands on the back of his head. This was a challenging situation. How did he deal with business challenges?

He faced them head on.

There was only one thing for it. He needed to get back down to business – his own business.

As he strode into the hall, his eyes quickly locked on to Chloe. She was standing with a senior executive from one of the Swiss banks. Correction, she was standing just a little too close to the executive. Fired up, he headed straight in their direction, just managing to slow down enough to avoid cannoning into them. She looked up in surprise. He smiled down at her, his arm hovering behind her back, a fraction of an inch from her warm, fragrant skin. ‘Chloe.’ His eyes dropped to see her mouth curve into a smile. He glanced at the tall, blond Swiss man. ‘Marti, if you don’t mind, I was hoping to coax Chloe back onto the dance floor.’

Something in my stomach did a little bouncing act, cutting off the blood supply to my legs and redirecting it to my face. I hoped the shock wasn’t too evident. Well, shock tinged with excitement, really. I also hoped his lack of fun didn’t follow through into his dancing – there was nothing worse than a bad dancer. ‘I think I could be coaxed,’ I said.

He was so close, I could feel his leg disturbing the fabric of my skirt and now, with an unexpected thrill, I felt his hand graze the edge of my shoulder blade. I stepped back into it, increasing the pressure of his fingertips on my skin. I held out my hand. As he took it, there was a look on his face I couldn’t quite work out.

The band was playing a salsa tune. My eyes widened in surprise, as Duncan demonstrated he knew exactly how to move to the music. He knew how to move extremely well. I smiled to myself. It felt like I was back at the sixth form Christmas party and dancing with the fittest boy in the school.

The rhythm changed everything. My senses were heightened. My dress became like a second skin – I could feel a new sensuality in the way the fabric slipped across my calves and, for the first time this evening, I was aware how the bodice clung supportively to my breasts. The heat from his body was giving off the sultriest of spicy scents – making me want to move closer and inhale deeply. Glancing up, I noticed Duncan’s blue eyes had deepened and were looking intensely at me. I had to look away or he would surely know exactly how I felt. I must dance. Just dance. It was a show – a routine. Don’t look at him, Chloe, dance!

The music ended but Duncan didn’t let me go. I swallowed and focused on the open neck of his shirt. Big mistake. The sprinkling of dark hairs beneath triggered a vision of what I might discover if I could just trace them lower down, and it disturbed me in the most deliciously welcome way imaginable.

‘Chloe. Let’s get some fresh air,’ he said, his deep voice resonating through me.

I nodded. He released the hand he was holding, but the hand at my back slid round and held me against him. He steered me out onto the terrace. The evening was cool, and the air breezed over my dampened skin. I shivered and moved closer to him.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

Cold enough to want to be tucked up somewhere cosy with you, I thought.

‘Here,’ he said, shrugging off his jacket.

I’d always thought that gesture a bit of a cliché in movies. Was I mad? I pulled the jacket on and hugged it to me, soaking up his warmth. The downside was, he didn’t have his arm around me any more.

We walked across the terrace. I sensed we were heading for the rose garden. I was wrong. Duncan led me through to another garden nearer the hotel. In here, the plants were more suited to the climate – Birds of Paradise sprang from rockeries. Tropical. Dramatic. Passionate. I turned to him as he halted.

*

Duncan had planned what he was going to say. He was going to break it to her that he believed putting the theatre into his TV programme was a mistake; he had decided he was going to fund her for a year while she project-managed the regeneration of the theatre; he would set up a working party to assist and advise her but chiefly, he was standing back from the whole project. That was as philanthropic as he was prepared to be for her theatre. She could take it or leave it.

Yes, that was the plan.

Only, Chloe hadn’t been acquainted with the plan. If she had been, she wouldn’t be looking at him now with her lips parted and her eyes studying his mouth, as though judging just how and when to put him out of his misery.

‘I…’

Her eyes drifted up and the very moment they connected with his, all his resolve disappeared. Before common sense had any chance of stealing the moment, he pulled her to him and brought his mouth down on hers. Her little cry registered in his brain a split second after he had savoured the softness of her lips. Concerned, he pulled back but any worries were instantly dispelled when he felt her hands link behind his neck and draw him closer. Her mouth was beneath his – her tongue caressing his so exquisitely, he couldn’t help responding fully; tasting and exploring hers, totally without inhibition.

*

I couldn’t have enough of him. You’d have thought I’d spent the last year in a convent on bromide. I pressed myself up against his chest, desperate to feel the crush across my breasts; my hips were rammed forward to meet his. The firmness of his body against mine, his heat and the crazy wildness of his kisses revved me so highly, I laced my fingers into his hair, locking our position so he couldn’t get away. Not that he wanted to – that was evident. His hands flattened against my back and flexed on my skin. He moved slightly to capture one of my legs between his own – leaving me in absolutely no doubt of his intention. Next his hands slid down and warmed my buttocks then, with a gentle pull, moulded me right up against him.

There was only one place this could lead and, whilst it was certainly a dream destination, I knew I was not ready to make that journey. Oh yes, physically, I had my bags packed and one foot on the bus – but mentally, I was still hovering in the hall porch.

As if I’d transmitted the thought to Duncan, his hands slackened over my body and the commitment in his kissing subsided. As he leaned his forehead against mine, I could hear the ragged pull of his breath and feel it on my face. We stood for a moment, sharing the same small space and the same air. But what about thoughts – did we share those, too? My hands slid down to his chest, my fingertips moving gently over the hard muscles, my thumb drifting across to slip between two shirt buttons to the skin beneath.

He stepped back, and caught my hands in his. Now was the moment when he would lift them to his lips and kiss them gently.

Or so I thought.

Instead, he pulled my hands away from his body and stared down at them, a crease gouged between his brows. His voice was rough. ‘We shouldn’t...’

Oh God. Of course. But…

‘Why?’

He shook his head as if he didn’t really know.

I hazarded a guess. ‘Are you involved with someone else?’

Still frowning, he pushed me farther away from him. As he dropped my hands he said rather crisply, ‘I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.’

‘Really?’ I ran my hands over my hips. ‘Well, Duncan, you just did. And you started it.’

‘It was a mistake.’

A mistake? How did bringing me to a secluded garden and kissing the glory out of me qualify as a mistake? What about all those other showbiz personalities he was so frequently seen with; the ones who’d helped him gain such a lurid reputation? A sobering thought came to mind. Was his real objection the fact that I just wasn’t good enough?

‘What’s the matter, Duncan – would it be different if I were one of your A-list celebrity blondes, instead of some forgotten actor’s granddaughter? Is being seen with me going to tarnish your image?’

‘What? You seriously think I date women for the good of my image?’ His eyes narrowed, becoming meaner – not mischievous and exciting like before. ‘It’s usually women dating me to improve theirs.’ Then something registered behind his eyes and his mouth hardened. ‘Oh, wait a minute,’ he nodded his head, very slowly. ‘Is this all part of your strategy for raising the profile of the theatre?’ His Scottish accent suddenly became stronger. ‘T’be plastered all over the tabloids as my latest squeeze. Dear God, Chloe! I hadn’t realised you were that desperate for publicity.’

The cheek of him. ‘No!’ I was surprised how loud my voice sounded in this cloistered environment.

‘Jeez!’ Duncan ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve seen some smooth operators in my time, Chloe. But I have to say, you take the bloody biscuit!’

My back stiffened. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, here. You asked me to dance, and you’re the one who suggested taking a walk. You had your arm round me, remember?’

‘I did exactly what you wanted, and you know it!’

Yes. Surprisingly, I had wanted it. His accuracy stymied any response from me – even if my motives weren’t even close to what he was suggesting.

‘Chloe, you’ve been playing me all night. Don’t tell me you chose that dress with any other intention. Well, congratulations. You got a result!’

‘A result!’ I snapped, finally finding my voice. ‘I don’t believe you just said that.’

‘I didn’t notice you fighting me off.’

‘Well, forgive me,’ I said, unrepentantly, ‘I was under the impression we were on the same page, here.’

‘And what page would that be, Miss Steele? Page seven of the daily red-tops? Any page in
Gossip
magazine?’

I took a deep breath before speaking quietly and precisely. ‘Duncan, you brought me out here,’ I gestured to the beautiful garden around us. ‘You set the pace. How does that put me in the wrong?’

‘Come off it. I’ve seen plenty of women do a number on me in the past. I know the moves.’

‘Really? Then with all your vast experience, you should have known to leave well alone, shouldn’t you?’

I hitched up my skirt and strode past him through the archway.

*

Duncan shoved his hands into his pockets and stood, head bowed, listening to the sound of her heels retreating along the terrace. He shook his head. Up until now, he had found Chloe to be one of the most transparent women he’d met in a long time. Memories of lunch at Juniper Cottage flashed into his mind.

Hadn’t he judged her to be one of the good ones? The only manipulation he’d witnessed in her, had been up-front, on TV, asking for help to save her grandfather’s theatre. Hadn’t he considered her to be totally lacking in guile?

He groaned.

Her footsteps stopped and within seconds started heading back his way. He turned, just as she appeared, her arm outstretched holding his jacket.

‘Your jacket. Thank you.’

As he took it from her, their hands touched, briefly. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe,’ he said, quietly. ‘I was out of order.’

She looked momentarily taken aback. ‘You were.’ Her hair was slightly mussed and she was breathing quickly. And, even in this dim light, he could see her lips were flushed. The memory of their kiss began eroding his resolve. As if sensing this, she stepped back and fixed her eyes on his chest. ‘But, I agree, Duncan – business and pleasure don’t mix. It won’t happen again. Goodnight.’

As she turned to go, loosened strands of hair drifted across her neck, and all Duncan could think was how much he wanted to follow her, wrap her up in his jacket and carry her inside.

*

I was woken by a knock at the door. Squinting at my watch, I saw it was already eight o’clock. Dragging myself from the bed I pulled a towel around me and opened the door. Outside, a porter was carrying a tray with a domed food cover and tea service. I offered him a feeble smile.

‘Your breakfast, Miss Steele.’

Breakfast? The fug in my brain shifted.

Of course. After returning to my room last night, I’d helped myself to the mini-bar. Then, buoyed up by a cocktail of spirits, I’d blithely ticked a number of boxes on the room-service card, and hung it on the door handle.

I stepped back and let him carry the tray into my room.

As soon as he’d gone, I drew back the curtains and flinched at the sunshine. Although there was a stainless steel cover over my plate, it wasn’t enough to contain the aroma of bacon and eggs. Funny how, last night, the vodka and gin had given me such an appetite. Pity I couldn’t have eaten it then – I might not be suffering so badly now.

Beth always said you had to eat your way through a hangover. Gingerly, I lifted the cover on the plate. It was the neatest breakfast arrangement I’d ever seen. Three trimmed rashers were lined up alongside two perfectly poached eggs, sliced tomato, black pudding, hash browns, baked beans and mushrooms.

What had I been thinking?

I felt about as much like eating this as I’d felt like sitting my science GCSE. But like my exam, it was in front of me and I had to tackle it. Surprisingly, once I’d managed to swallow the first tomato and a forkful of bacon and egg, I got the taste for it and focused on enjoying it. This was, after all, my last morning in Spain. And in a few hours, heaven help me, I’d be back on that jet with Duncan.

Duncan.

For the umpteenth time since last night, I witnessed an involuntary action-replay of our glorious kiss – followed by our not-so-glorious disagreement. I closed my eyes. His accusation that I might be deliberately trying to ensnare him for publicity was like a blow to the solar plexus. How could my motives have been so horribly misconstrued?

‘He’s arrogant, egotistical, self-important…Oooh!’

Had I given such a bad impression he could even think me capable of it?

I drew a deep breath. Well. This was a first: Chloe Steele – femme fatale. That was usually Beth’s role.

I let out another groan. I’d really enjoyed dancing with him and I’d relished every moment of our few moments in the garden. It had been as delicious as it had been unexpected.

Okay, I might have fantasised about something like it before – but then, I’d also fantasised about winning an Oscar and marrying Prince Harry. I wasn’t used to my fantasies becoming a reality. Correction: I wasn’t used to reality exceeding my fantasies.