One Stolen Kiss (3 page)

“
Shotgun wedding, my dear,” Eileen agreed sagely, and prodded Christie’s midriff with a bony knuckle encased in platinum and emerald.

Christie’s eyes widened.

“No, no,” she gasped. “It’s nothing like that!”

“
So you think it’s a good idea?” Adrik continued. Seeing her squirm was vaguely gratifying to some part of him, knowing that however this was played out, the focus would be on her for an excruciating amount of time. That he could enjoy in the mere role of a former mystery artist, while she took centre stage as the bride-to-be of a billionaire who had been hitherto touted in the media as an international playboy. “We announce a formal engagement affair and invite the A-list magazines along. Eileen has kindly offered to organise one of her famous parties.”

“
The London office will just be opening,” said Eileen. “I can call them now. It will gazump the gutter hacks and everything will be official. Before anyone says anything unwise at Mr Dawg’s club later tonight. No young lady should have her engagement party in a nightclub with any old Tom, Dick and Harry papping the photos. Especially not if they’re marrying the most eligible Russian in the Rich List.”

Christie’s hand was over her mouth as the full gravity of the situation seemed to sink in. Adrik wondered for a brief moment if the power of speech had been taken from her completely.

“Lake Como would be nice,” he hinted. “Harder for the paparazzi to get in.”

Hand still over her mouth, Christie nodded mutely.

Adrik grinned, and Eileen’s phone was in her hand faster than anyone would think possible.

“
Roger,” she barked into it, and a number was speed-dialled and promptly answered. “Roger, darling – marvellous news. Have you been on the internet this morning…? Yes, it’s confirmed. The official engagement party is at my house in Lake Como in a fortnight’s time, and yes, you are invited… oh, you naughty boy. Of course I was in on it… You thought Paparazzka was me? Ha! I was done by Andy Warhol, darling… couldn’t face a paintbrush after that… All fees to charity, Adrik says…”

And she reached out to squeeze Christie’s arm reassuringly.

“She’s absolutely adorable, you’ll love her. And I will have a new hat…”

“
This is all right with you?” Adrik asked Christie, who still hadn’t removed her hand from her mouth. Perhaps she was in shock. “I know you are usually a most private person who likes to keep secrets.”

“
Hmm?” Christie dropped her hand. “And I thought you were the recluse?”

Adrik only had to gesture around at the paintings in the gallery.

“There are good secrets and bad secrets,” he told her. “And sometimes there are things that are not secrets, because they are inventions to compensate for lack of facts. The public sees only what we allow them to see. If we do not show them enough of our own secrets and inventions, they will compensate for the gaps themselves. In a most unflattering way, usually.”

“
So it’s like – positive PR?” Christie said, a little warily.

“
Public Relations? Yes, exactly – positive PR. If we create something congruent with a positive image that we present to the public, there will be no instability. And any other story – whether it is a good or bad secret, or another invention – will not be able to dislodge it.”

Some comprehension seemed to be filtering in through her shell-shock.

“Good PR is not about hiding things,” he added.

Eileen had somehow gotten hold of the microphone from Eddie and the banjo-players, and by the noise in the room, Adrik guessed she had already announced that everyone was invited to a top-secret engagement soiree in Lake Como in two weeks’ time. That would already guarantee that the early gossip would match the headlines – and knock aside any seedy rumours of unofficial engagement parties and shotgun weddings.

“You look like you need some air,” he said to Christie, not unkindly. “I hear the nightclub has a roof terrace.”

“
Ah,” Christie replied. She appeared almost numb, and extremely distracted. “Perhaps I will have a better phone signal from there.”

CHAPTER THREE.

Leaving the managers and staff to close up, Christie found herself in the back of a limo with Adrik at her side, and Eileen and Doug (aka ‘Dawg’) seated opposite, heading for the after-party at Doug’s club,
DwG
.

She was glad of the extra company. Every vibration from her phone was a painful taunt. Still more bids were coming in, from folk who hadn’t even attended the event but had heard the news – a sudden influx of bids from London since Eileen’s phone call, and a few from clients in Japan, but a great deal were currently arriving from Moscow. And text messages from other people she knew, ranging from the one word
Congratulations!
to
Is it true?? OMG! We must do lunch!

“
You can turn it off,” Adrik suggested. “I’m not answering mine. You can reply to all of those tomorrow.”

“
I’m waiting for someone to call me back.” She stared blankly at the latest update. “My PR advisor. For the gallery.”

“
Derek Goldman is the best in today’s market,” Eileen put in, making Christie’s blood run hot and cold both at once. “Horribly arrogant little man, but the best. I shall put you both in touch with him.”

My God, Derek does his job well
, Christie realised.
No-one knows we’re connected already…

“
I have it covered,” said Adrik, reaching for Christie’s hand across the leather seat and taking it in his. “After all, we have managed to keep our own affairs private up until now, have we not?”

The warmth of his hand around hers was all the more unexpected because it was such an unfamiliar sensation. Derek never held hands. Public displays of affection were on his ‘PR death’ list. Even private displays of affection didn’t seem to come into his emotional vocabulary. But as Adrik’s thumb caressed her knuckles, she began to wonder what she had been missing.

To her shame, it wasn’t the last two years and an American PR guru she was thinking about. It was the last eleven, and the Russian shipping magnate sitting right beside her.

She looked down and studied the contours of his fingers, closed around her own. She recalled the first time he had taken her hand, in order to lead her onto the dance floor in the ballroom of a Swiss chateau. So long ago it felt like a dream. A dream she had recalled many times, while nothing else lived up to it.

“How about keeping your affairs private from each other?” Doug suggested wryly. “That’s when you need good advice.”

“
There may be one or two secrets yet to emerge,” Adrik admitted, squeezing her hand gently.

“
No secrets.” Christie’s voice was terse.

“
No ring!” Eileen cried, pointing at their hands entwined in Christie’s lap. “We haven’t seen the ring! I must call Roger – it will be another exclusive for the magazine. You must keep it under wraps until my party.”

“
That won’t be problem,” Adrik agreed. “It’s in a safety deposit box. In Switzerland.”

“
Thank goodness.” Eileen clutched her beads to her chest and reached for her phone again. “Roger! Yes, it’s me again, darling. Fabulous things are afoot here…”

“
Safety deposit box?” Christie repeated under her breath. “
Switzerland?
”

“
One even you could not break into, my petal,” Adrik muttered in reply.

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pursed her lips.

“
Oh, I think you do.”

They drew up outside the club’s building, and the doors were opened for them by security staff, ushering them swiftly and efficiently inside to the VIP elevators.

“Straight up to the top terrace,” said Doug, and the burly attendant pressed the button.

Christie sidestepped unintentionally into Adrik as the lift hummed into life, whizzing them upward. He caught and steadied her neatly at his shoulder.

“Sorry,” she murmured, catching his lapel as her heels wobbled on the wool carpet.

“
My pleasure.” His arm tightened around her waist.

The VIP roof terrace had an African vibe and theme, where the staff wore Ethiopian-inspired dress and the music was ambient and relaxing – nothing like the energetic street beats in the main rooms of the penthouse below. The VIP clientele consisted mainly of Christie’s guests, and the venue was so large it was easy for them to have privacy among the grass-roofed canopies and woven partitions, allowing everyone to find themselves a secluded section of the balcony away from the central bar and rooftop pool.

It was into one of these balcony booths that Adrik led Christie. It was lit only by tea-light candles, and had the most incredible view, but the first thing she did was sit down gratefully on the cushioned lounger and slip off her shoes.

“
Thank you.” Adrik tipped the server generously, who had followed with the champagne in an iced bucket and two glasses. “If anyone asks, we’re not here.”

“
No problem, sir.”

They were left alone. Adrik watched, pouring out the drinks, while free of her spiky heels Christie delicately crossed her legs, and rubbed the soles of her feet.

“Here.” He sat down alongside and handed her a glass, then patted his knee. “Put your feet up.”

“
I really shouldn’t…”

“
Put your feet on my lap?” he asked, with a chuckle.

“
No,” she sighed, and to spite him, rearranged herself on the cushions and stretched out to do as he invited, letting her crossed ankles drop onto his thigh. She twiddled the stem of the glass idly, but didn’t take a sip. “I meant, drink any more tonight. I don’t want to sound drunk when he calls back.”

“
Then don’t.” Adrik put his own glass aside, and his fingers, slightly chilled, closed slowly around her stockinged feet. “When who calls back?”

“
I told you,” Christie replied, and wiggled her toes a little to try and ignore the soothing sensation that was coming from his hands as they warmed up, stroking her feet from ankle to toe. “I’m not available.”

“
And he let you go alone to face the lions at your gallery tonight?” Adrik sounded unimpressed.

“
I don’t hold with…” Christie hesitated. “He didn’t know the artist was me either. That’s not his fault.”

“
It’s not the reason he should have been there.” Adrik’s fingertips reached her ankle again, circled around gently and back down. “Soul-mates are there for you all the time. Not just for the life-changing events. For the small things too.”

“
He supports me.” Christie sipped her champagne a little defiantly, before putting it down and picking up her phone again to intercept yet another Russian bid for the paintings. “He says all the right things.”

“
But does he do any of them for you?”

“
That’s really not your business.”

“
Sounds like a no.” He massaged her Achilles’ tendon this time, before resuming the light stroking.

She could already feel the heat from his hands starting to creep up her calves to the back of her knees, sending far more distracting messages up her body than the ones arriving on her cell phone.

“You haven’t had your feet massaged before?” he asked quietly, and she realised she hadn’t even responded to his previous dig. The tip of his finger trailed around her ankle-bone again, teasing through the sheer nude stockings.

“
Of course,” she muttered indignantly. “I’ve been to a spa. They do feet along with everything else.”

“
So he doesn’t do all of the right things for you.”

“
You just don’t understand how things happen in New York,” she scoffed, and checked another message on her cell, with an inward groan. Yet another
‘Go girl! Great news! Let’s do lunch!’

“
I don’t think New Yorkers understand how things work in the rest of the world,” he remarked, and his thumbs pressed into the most tender pads of her soles, rubbing the tension out of them. She caught her breath. “Too hard?”

“
Um, no. That’s lovely…” She reached for her glass instead of the phone, and took a larger gulp. “Wow… You’re really good at this… you could be a masseur.”

“
Hmm. Potential job description as compliment. That sounds very New Yorker.” He resumed the stroking again for a moment, and then tweaked the tip of one stocking at the end of her toes. “I think these need to come off. To stop unnecessary friction. You might have a blister already. I should check in case I make things worse.”

“
If you must…” Christie put her glass back while her phone vibrated with more emails alongside, and retrieved it once more.
Damn.
Still nothing from Derek. Perhaps she should try his email instead…

Adrik smirked at her dismissive reply, and let one of his hands slide up as far as the back of her knee and down again while she typed into her phone.

“You are sure?” he prompted.

“
Whatever…” Christie muttered. Should she start with
Hi
or
Dear Derek
or something else? What didn’t sound too desperate or panicky, or worse – drunk? Something casual?
Hey D, have you heard the crazy rumour about me? Wild, huh?
She doubted that would work. And not as solid as something like a report of an arrest to encourage him to come flying in like a knight to her rescue, in shining small-print reading glasses.

Adrik’s fingers traced a small circle in the bend of her knee, and back down her calf to her ankle. A delayed reaction flowed up her body, and the glowing screen in front of her eyes went vague and blurry. Not unlike her reaction to hearing his voice for the first time again earlier, only even stronger than that.

Her grip on the phone weakened, as his hand began its trail upward again. This time, after pausing in the curve of her knee, his splayed fingers brushed higher, beneath her skirt, and skimmed the very top of her stocking, millimetres from touching her bare skin, before sliding down again.

As his hand closed around her foot once more, Christie’s phone suddenly vibrated with another message, and flew out of her hands straight into her half-full champagne glass.

“I think you should turn that thing off,” Adrik suggested, while her heart tried to batter its way out of her chest. “Before one of us gets injured.”

“
It’s fine,” she squeaked, shaking the drips off after fishing it out. “Just lost concentration for a second.”

His hand was already at the back of her knee on the return journey up, inscribing small agonising circles through the thin fabric.

“Put it down,” he warned, his eyes dark in the candlelight.

She let the phone slip from her grasp. Her hands were suddenly powerless to hold onto it.

Adrik’s fingers outlined the edge of her stocking a second time. Little sparks of electricity seemed to jump from her skin, trying to catch onto him, and as he retreated once more a soft moan escaped her, her head falling back onto the pillows of the lounger.

“
All right?” he asked abruptly.

Christie gazed up at the stars through the woven grass canopy, and risked a deep breath.
Oh God.
He was doing it again…

“
Is this your idea of revenge?” she managed to say.

“
We can talk about the diamonds now, if you like.” The little circles were now being drawn along the edge of her stocking-top, towards the fastener, and very slowly around it, several times as if he was passing the time while thinking. “I’m more concerned about your possible blisters right at this moment.”

“
You want to check my feet for blisters?” Christie repeated, in disbelief. “If this is how you persuade me to do that, what…”

“
What would I do to persuade you to talk about the diamonds?” Adrik said. “That would be telling. I don’t think you would do as well as you are doing now.”

Christie bit down on her lip as the fastener popped open, and the cool night air greeted her skin as his descending hand took the stocking with it this time, easing it smoothly down over her knee. His other hand cupped the bareness of her calf as the wisp of clothing drifted from her toes, sending more heat shooting up her body.

“I’m going to have to keep this,” he said, flourishing the stocking before tucking it away into an inside pocket. “I still don’t think I trust you enough.”

That sent the heat straight to her face, knowing exactly what he was referring to. But there was no concession for her yet either, as he started on the other one in the same way.

Somewhere on the floor her phone buzzed, and was ignored.

“
Supposing you thought I was completely innocent?” she suggested, trying to block the sensations as they quadrupled inside her, the gentle night breeze tickling the bare skin of one leg, while his fingers worked their magic on the other. “Would you be here now? Would you have been thinking of me at all since?”