Dressed to Thrill

She really didn’t want to run with that particular thought…

His grip on her waist was tight and unequivocal. She was just a full-fat version of the calorie-free hors d’oeuvres he’d sampled five minutes earlier. And she hate, hate, hated that he could do that to her.

* * *

Michael felt sure the muscles in his face would spasm any moment now. After the day he’d had, these brutal after-parties were the last thing he needed. But what the hell? He saw Angelica so little that he could stomach hanging out here, since it seemed to be such a big deal to her. Though he hadn’t figured on winding up next to this pocket Miss Whiplash: Tara Devine, wildest little firecracker in the box, renowned for her partying, her comic book curves and her utter lack of self-control.

But more to the point—he scanned the room—thankfully Fernanda had been smart enough to leave all this well enough alone. At least she’d been as good as her word and stayed home. And, despite begging him to let her model this week, she seemed to have retained some of the self-control he’d spent the last sixteen years drilling into her. She was young, she was naïve. And she was allying herself to the vacuous people in this awful industry.

He’d be damned if the sense and intelligence she was blessed with would be wasted on all of this. The place was awash with drugs and drink—these parties always were. He’d had more than his fair share back in the day. And he’d be a fool to think there wouldn’t be predators trying to get his sister hooked up in it.

He glanced down at the mini sex bomb tucked beneath his arm. She seemed to have burst onto this scene overnight—and wasn’t it just typical that his two sisters found her so ‘engaging’. This woman had her own look, all right—strawberry blonde hair with strange streaks of platinum and gold, combed and pinned in a kind of soft beehive—not his thing at all. He could see the curve of her throat as it met the creamiest, most flawless skin of her décolletage. The swathe of ivory satin that skimmed the most talked-about society breasts just enhanced them even further, and he dropped his eyes to take them in again.

What the hell? He was a man.

Angelica was right. Tara’s waist, now that his hand had relaxed and splayed out against her hip, was actually much smaller than he’d thought when he’d ever thought about it—which was never. And her hips in that skirt—what little there was of it—were soft and round. The whole look reminded him of someone. Someone very feminine. Very sexy. She’d turned, was looking up at him, and her eyes were so blue, outlined in thick black make-up that she just didn’t need. Her lips… The reddest, fullest most swollen pout of a mouth he could remember seeing. She was saying something.

‘Yes, Fernanda is an amazing model. She has potential to be world-class—a real supermodel. I’ve booked her for another week. For Paris.’

The fog in his head suddenly cleared. If Fernanda thought he was letting her loose into this circus again she was out of her mind. He’d indulged her notions this once—let her get it out of her system. But no way was she making a career out of this—not when she had the potential to do something worthwhile with her life.

Time for a little distance.

He leaned in to whisper in Tara Devine’s ear. ‘You’d better unbook her, then. No way will my sister be working for you, next week or any other.’ He smiled as he spoke his words right into her ear, felt her stiffen. He lingered a little longer, and could have sworn she shivered. ‘I don’t know what she told you, but she has more important things to do than walk up and down wearing a bunch of crazy clothes.’

‘Wow, you really are a control freak!’ Tara hissed at him out of the corner of her mouth, even while she pouted and posed.

She was playing her coy little games for the snappers. The men in the room—the men who weren’t caught up in this fashion nonsense—were all posturing, their eyes trained right at her and her frankly ridiculous curves.

She smiled at them, turned in his grasp and cupped his cheek. ‘What are you so afraid of? That she’ll actually enjoy herself?’

She leaned right into his ear as she spoke and he felt her lips brush his skin and the press of her breast on his arm. So she wanted to play? He could live with another minute of her company if it taught her a lesson.

He caught her wrist, brought her insolent hand down sharply behind her, so that her back arched into him and the spill of those creamy breasts was even more obvious. She let out a little gasp and he trailed his eyes super-slowly right over her smooth silky skin. The bodice of her satin dress was so low and his view was so good. And damn it if the slow smirk he was feeling didn’t warm him all the way to his groin before he could turn back to the cameras.

He could feel the air in the room shift. He could feel the interest in the scene sharpen.

Your move, honey.

And, boy, did she move. Just as a TV crew arrived. Brilliant.

‘Well, guys, I think it’s safe to say that Señor Cruz has just shown us, in the most obvious way imaginable, that he’s a big fan of Devine Design. You all know that I had the best of times this week—my clothes are for real women, with real bodies. I design beautiful, feminine clothes for beautiful, feminine women. And, hey, sometimes even a super-smooth dude like Mickey here can forget his manners, but we forgive him. He can’t help it.’

She linked her arms through his and through Angelica’s. Angelica was smiling as if her face would split, and for all the world he thought Ms Devine was going to take a bow. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her little speech. He’d obviously upset her ego. Always the same—the brash types were the mushiest inside. So he’d give her this one, but he’d also make sure they moved well out of the range of any more cameras or reporters, just in case she got brave again.

‘Angelica, I’m having the time of my life trying to keep up with all the highbrow conversation in the room. The car will be here in about five minutes. Does that give you enough time to do whatever it is you’re hell-bent on doing?’

Angelica had stopped giggling with her little friend and was scanning the room.

‘Yes, Michael. Of course.’ She suddenly seemed a little tense. ‘I’ll just get you and Tara another drink—wait here.’

Another drink? With Whiplash? He moved to cut that right out of the plan but his sister was off, and it struck him, as it suddenly did at times, just how much she was like their mother in the line of her cheek and the fall of her hair down her back. Such regal quality and such ambassadorial skill. She smoothed and shushed where he bulldozed, and they both knew it. And it worked.

So what angle was she working now? Something was up.

‘Where’s Fern?’

He turned to Tara. She glared at him with those huge blue-black eyes. And then shrugged her shoulders.

‘No idea.’

She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and knocked back a large gulp. Not quite the lady­like sips he was used to seeing in the women he dated.

‘Thirsty?’

‘Bored.’ She pointedly looked away, then knocked back another mouthful.

‘You should get out more.’

She turned to face him. Set a scowl across her face and pursed her plump, pouty lips into an even more furious moue. ‘If it wasn’t for the company I’d be having a wonderful time.’

‘You would?’ She was so easy to snare. He smiled as her scowl deepened. ‘What’s wrong with the company, then?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I can’t be the first person to call you on your appalling manners, surely?’

‘Actually, my manners are the least of your problems.’

It wasn’t like him to be anything other than courteous to women. His mother had been pretty lax about most things, but charm came cheap—the problem was this one got under his skin like a heat rash, and he didn’t want to stop scratching.

‘Meaning…?’

‘You really have to ask?’

She swilled what was left of the golden liquid in the narrow flute, and then tossed it back in one mouthful. He watched her throat constrict as she swallowed, half expecting her to wipe the back of her hand across her mouth like a saloon whore from a fifties Western. Ms Devine was anything but ladylike. And she was getting all fired up—maybe this was going to turn into an interesting party after all.

‘The only problem I can see is that you and your ego are still here. I can’t be the only one who’d much rather you and your dull suit and boots got yourselves the hell out of here.’

Just as she hissed her little putdown another bunch of lovelies fluttered over. ‘Actually, I’m not so sure everyone sees it that way…’

Far too young and, honestly, too far gone, but it was easy to let the charm drip as he kissed and complimented them. Tara stood to the side, pointedly looking away, then whipped out her phone. He watched her face change as her fingers scrolled the screen. She tucked it back in her little cube of a bag and seemed to brace herself. Interesting.

She walked over to him. Slowly. Almost dragging her heels.

‘I’m going to get another drink—would you like one?’

He cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t been expecting that.

‘What happened there? Did you get a text alert to be more pleasant?’

She smiled the fakest smile, but even though he knew she was forcing it, it was still a great smile. Her perfect mouth split to showcase white teeth that were perfect bar the front two, which sat at an offset angle to one another. Quirky. Cute.

‘No, I just thought we should grab a drink to loosen up while we wait. But if you’re too busy I quite understand.’ She nodded to the girls.

‘I’m loose enough, thanks—but don’t let me stop you. I’m going to chase up my sister. Time we left the party to those who still feel the need.’

‘Oh, come on. Just a little one? I’m sure Angelica will only be another minute.’

‘I’m sure she will too. But I think I’ve indulged her long enough.’

‘You see this as indulgence? People sharing some fun together?’ She swung out her arm, indicating the groups of people chatting, laughing, drinking, dancing.

He’d seen so many similar scenes in so many corners of the globe. At one time in his life this was his life. But party fatigue had set in some years ago and the whole scene now left him cold.

‘It’s all relative. Fun for you and fun for me? Not compatible.’

‘You think? I bet we could find at least one thing we both enjoy.’

He turned back from the throbbing crowd to face her. Let his eyes drag slowly over that intriguing face. Was she coming on to him—after being so hostile? Did she have a short-term memory problem or a personality disorder to add to the mix?

‘What did you have in mind?’

On anyone else the slight colour that crept over her skin would have suggested a flush of shame, but on her it was lost in the assault to the senses of hair, make-up, outfit and attitude. She was like a caricature. But she had something. He couldn’t put his finger on it—yet. Maybe it was just attitude, or energy. Or overt sensuality. But he’d met a lot of women, for sure, and she did not fit neatly into any of his boxes. That didn’t mean that he wanted to hang out with her at this or any other party, but it might explain why Angelica had decided to add her to her Pandora’s box of friends.

‘What do I have in mind? It’s way too early in the night for me to tie myself down to anything specific.’

He grinned at her. Couldn’t help it. ‘You’ve got an answer for everything, Ms Devine.’

She grinned back, and this time it was natural. Like the sun coming out. Like there might be a natural beauty under all that make-up. That he’d like to see. But he was not going there. Yep, he was single, and until Fern was sorted—probably after Fern was sorted—single he’d stay. He could see no reason not to be. The only thing to be gained from adding emotion to sex was that it helped women to loosen up.

Even when they knew in triplicate that he’d had elective emotional bypass surgery, they still thought that they’d be The One to reverse the procedure. Shame they couldn’t tune in to the notion that he liked himself better that way. No lies. No doubt. No guilt. Just sex. As and when he wanted. But not tonight. There was something about this one that lit up the warning signs in his head. And he was not in the business of ignoring warning signs. Not since he was sixteen.

‘Sadly it’s too late in the night for me to stay on and find out what you’ll tie yourself down to. Or tie yourself up with. I’m going to get the car, and Angelica, and leave you to your fun.’

Though where his sister had got to was another problem. And one that was beginning to annoy him.

‘Anyway, I’m sure Angelica will catch up with you later. It’s been…interesting.’

He leant a hand on her shoulder and leaned down for the obligatory goodbye cheek-kiss. He could smell product—perfume, hairspray, cosmetics. He touched smooth skin. He felt the swell of her fabulous rack press against him. He let his lips linger for a second too long to be strictly platonic. His fingers closed more tightly over her shoulder and he curled his other arm round her waist, drawing her closer into him. He felt a strong urge to grab her by the bottom and scoop her against him. Her body was soft and nestled perfectly, and he moved his lips to her other cheek. But her lips were in the way, so he placed his kiss there. Just one.

She. Was. So. Hot.

Her eyes, when he stepped back, flew open. They were searching. Almost innocent. And again he got the feeling that she was a better actress than she got credit for. Still, it wasn’t his business to stay and find out.

‘Yes, it was…lovely to meet you.’ She seemed out of breath and hitched back on her heels in a stumble.

He steadied her elbow.

‘Don’t you think we should wait here? I’m sure she won’t be long.’

‘No. Much as I’m tempted, I’m beginning to think there’s something up. So—as I said—have fun, take care.’

He whipped out his phone and called for the car. Disappeared into the crowd, eyes on the alert. This night had tested his patience long enough.

TWO

In a few seconds the party would begin to reconfigure itself. Blaring noise, pulsing lights, skin, smiles and wild-eyed stares.

What on earth had just happened there?

Tara reached out and gripped the table, her fingers closing round the sticky mess of spilt drinks. Michael’s back was just disappearing into the crowd and she needed to go after him. But she was still reeling from that kiss—it hadn’t even been a proper kiss, just a lip-press. But man alive, he’d aced it!

‘Hey, Tara—you wan’ a drink?’

Definitely—but she had work to do first. She needed to lasso Mr Wonderful and keep him occupied until she got the all-clear.

‘Be back later, Jonny,’ she murmured to her DJ friend, who had just packed up his vinyl. The same friend she had been texting like fury to make sure he hung around after his set—he was the best party animal she knew, but she was going to have to put him on ice for just a little while longer.

She checked her phone as she started the sticky trail through the club. Her foot connected with a shot glass and sent it spinning onto the dance floor—exactly what she should be doing.

Her phone buzzed. Another message.

Michael’s waiting for you at the car. I’ve told him I’m on my way separately with a couple of friends. I’ll drop Fern at mine first, then meet you at his place. Thanks so much for keeping my brother occupied. Hugs, Angelica.

Hugs? Who needed hugs? Fizz! Party! That was what she really wanted. But they were such nice women and—what the hell?—it wouldn’t kill her to miss an hour or so. Actually, it might kill her—walking right into the lion’s den without a stun gun. Guys who looked like that, kissed like that and, even worse, acted like that, were not part of her daily grind. She would need two layers of Kevlar at least.

The car would be out front. She’d have to pass another load of snappers—if they were bothering to stay up. She quickened her pace out onto the stairwell and tottered down carefully. The last thing she wanted was a jpeg of her landing in a heap at his feet.

But it was the slap of the pre-dawn grey-blue light and fresh air that hit her skin. That and the now familiar sight of a super-fit guy in a perfectly cut suit, lolling—yes, actually lolling—against a car that was…large and low and sleek. And he was killing the whole look—she had to hand it to him.

Michael looked at her. He raised one eyebrow. Opened the door and gestured her in. Now, that just riled her all over again. What was wrong with a few manners? She wasn’t asking for anything more than a hello, or a please and thank you. He just couldn’t seem to treat women as anything other than little pets to train and reward. But he was way off if he thought she would roll over like a puppy. After witnessing years of fear and subservience she had honed her bark and her bite to perfection.

‘I’m not stalking you. I said I would come along to catch up with Angelica for a little while. OK?’

‘You’re invited. Happy to escort you.’

He was looking over her head—checking out who was watching.

‘Embarrassed to be seen with me?’

He did a perfect mock gasp through his perfect teeth. Smirked. ‘Now who’s defensive?’

‘Not defensive…’ she said, bending into the car and knocking the top of her damn hair on the doorframe.

He slung himself inside after her and she scooted further along the seat. The backs of her thighs felt the cool of the leather, but the heat from his left leg where it sat open, relaxed and rock-hard, seeped right across the inch or so of space between them. She couldn’t keep her eyes off it.

‘Just perceptive.’

He cocked her a look, his arm stretched across the back of the seat and his hand just lying on his other thigh. The car started up and she noted other taxis and cars for a moment. Coming and going. And she was going further away from the club—her home away from home.

‘You’re perceiving too much, then. There’s no subtext—I’m out tonight to spend time with my sister. We don’t see a lot of each other at the moment—she’s mainly in London and I’m mainly in Barcelona, for Fern’s school and business. So…’

He looked at her for a long moment and she nearly had to look away—his gaze was that intense.

‘I’m here for them. Always.’ Finally he drew his eyes from her and stared out of the window. ‘But Angelica has her London circle, so it’s all cool. She’ll catch us up.’

He turned back round, actually shifted his leg up a bit on the seat until it was pressing against hers. She moved back, crossed her legs, stared straight ahead. He had turned that intense look back on her.

‘No, I’m definitely not embarrassed to be seen with you.’

She flicked her eyes and couldn’t help but twist him a little smile. She should know better, but he was a work of art. Maybe not her type—but undeniably attractive, and undeniably good at working women. Thank goodness she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for him.

‘That’s such a relief.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t look relieved. You look uptight and anxious.’

She felt that—and worse. She’d had—what? Three glasses of champagne over three hours? At the party of the season? And now she was in what might as well have been a hearse, heading to a party for two that neither of them wanted to attend.

‘I’ll cope.’

‘Sure you will. You’re hard as nails. You can cope with anything.’

She spun round to see him watching her. Baiting her.

‘Anything you could throw at me, that’s for sure.’

His eyes lit up. His smile tilted and as the car sped along and the lights from outside brightened, then dimmed, then brightened, she saw his wicked, wicked mouth mock her. She saw it and she felt it. That same heavy tension she’d sensed twice around him now. She had to get a grip—it was beginning to feel as if her comfort zone was somewhere about two miles back. Where her immunity to men was second nature—normally.

‘You’re a very interesting person, Tara.’

It felt as if he had put his hand on her jaw, turned her to face him, but his hands were in plain view and it was some deep, feminine instinct that had her moulding herself to his will. Thankfully she was ruled by her head and not by her gut. Fortunately she could remember how to deal with very persuasive men…

She turned away, saw the back of the driver’s head. Noted his eyes flick to hers in the mirror. He probably saw scenes like this every night of his life. What a shame she wasn’t going to oblige this evening.

‘So I’m told.’

‘But I get the feeling you don’t really know yourself yet.’

She felt her jaw tighten and her teeth clench. How arrogant.

‘That patronising comment doesn’t even deserve an answer.’

‘But I’m pretty sure you’d like to give me one anyway.’

She shifted right round on her seat. He was watching her, smiling softly.

‘What would you know about me at all?’

His eyes never left hers. Dark and demanding. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, and that swell of fog or emotion or awareness bloomed around them again. She felt as if she was breathing in his air. As if something of herself was seeping into his space.

‘Just what I say. You’re a very interesting person but you don’t fully know yourself yet…or you wouldn’t be battling the attraction that clearly exists between us.’

‘You must have some ego to think that every girl who rides in the back of your car wants to kiss you.’

He shrugged. ‘I think you do.’

Still he stared, and still she stared back.

‘Because you dropped one on me as you were leaving and I didn’t slap your face? That doesn’t mean I want to repeat it.’

‘You don’t want to repeat it?’

A low, quiet probe.

The car had stopped. She didn’t know if they were at lights or at their destination. But nothing could drag her eyes away from his to check. A shadow was cast across his face, lighting only the mocking twist of his mouth. But his eyes flashed like polished coals in the darkness.

She swallowed. ‘Not a chance.’

He was utterly still, completely and intensely present. She knew he could read her, but the chance of her admitting that? Zero. Even as she thought it the urge to feel his lips and taste his mouth swept over her. A shocking pleasure pulse throbbed between her legs. The air swirled thicker. She was definitely not in her comfort zone any more.

‘Better get the party started, then.’

He broke it. Moved fluidly to the door handle. Stepped outside and held out a hand for her. She ignored it and gripped the doorframe instead. Stepped out and straightened in the lemony light of early dawn. The most sober, most disconcerted she had been at this time of day since…since she’d started realising that hedonism and ambition could be neatly packaged together. Since she’d purposely and deliberately burned every bridge that led her back to small-town, small-minded Ireland.

So what if her family looked down on her? She knew the truth. She knew she had a cast-iron marketing campaign that made her unpalatable to them and delicious to others.

She smoothed down her dress and touched her hand to the back of her hair. She dreaded to think what her face was like—lipstick probably smudged all over her mouth and the panda eyes slipping south. Who knew? That might be her best form of defence.

He was watching, waiting. Chivalrous, she supposed. A doorman stood sentry and a plush carpet swept ahead. The car behind them moved off and she had a sudden image of walking into this nineteenth-century apartment block with him, black suit, and her, white dress, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

Boy, she needed a drink.

She couldn’t even look at him in the elevator. Didn’t make small talk and didn’t let the intense air-sharing affect her in any way. No way.

When the lift slowed to a stop she watched as the doors eased open and she stepped out and waited. He indicated left and she walked at his side as if he was showing her to a vault. He unlocked the door with a keypad and held it open for her. She took one step inside the room. Not as expected. No cherry floors, leather and chrome. There was smooth carpet, richly coloured rugs and silk-covered chaises.