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What a little hypocrite you are, Val Montgomery.
She’d reprimanded Desmond Tesfay in a very public place barely half an hour ago. She was currently trying to hunt down her charge, in a chase that might very well result in the loss of a job she needed very badly. And now, after the minutest bit of close contact with him, she was so flustered she hadn’t been able to say a word for the past five minutes.
She hadn’t felt desire in so long that its arrival this evening had startled her with its intensity. But their closeness in the car had sparked it, and she was still unsettled by the strength of its pull. She’d thought those feelings had been squashed long ago, banished by the exhaustion of poverty, of abandonment, of heartbreak. But here it was, burning as brightly inside her as kindling stirred to flame.
She was helpless against it. But she knew better.She knew better.
She wouldn’t slip up again.
Outside, they could see a crowd forming that was clearly there for the same show as Hind, streaming into the Royal Opera House, its soft yellowed light penetrating the dusk of early evening. It looked beautiful in this light, tall and imposing, a fitting background for the fading blue sky behind it. Young fans were dressed in their best in velvet miniskirts or backless, barely-there dresses, light catching the sparkles of youthful enthusiasm. Val suddenly felt very silly, and more than a little old.
Thirty-nine years old today, to be precise. Quite honestly, she’d forgotten, in all the excitement. And she was much too old to allow herself to be lost to fantasy, even for a moment. Desmond’s rich brown eyes and full, curving mouth were the stuff of fantasy, no matter how solid he seemed by her side.
He was a man. A rich and ambitious man. Nothing but trouble in a pretty suit. She’d spent the last eight years working her fingers to the bone so she could be free of men like him for good; so she could finally be completely independent.
“We’ll never find her in this crush,” Val murmured.
“We might not need to. Has she updated anything?”
Val scrolled. Hind was ensconced in one of the opera house’s plush red velvet seats, winking cheekily and flashing her fingers in salute. A background of crimson and gold illuminated her lovely face. At least she’d had the sense to cover the lower half of her face with a rhinestone-studded mask. If her notoriously private fathereversaw these posts, he wouldn’t be able to identify her.
Hopefully.
“She’s inside.”
“Great.” Desmond’s hand was at her back now, hovering close enough for her to feel the heat of him without actually touching her, steering her deftly through the crowds. “We’ll go to the bar, have a drink, and scoop the little stinker up on her way out. Watch your step!”
Everybody in the crowd seemed to be young, female and beautiful, and a few were shooting Desmond appreciative looks. He was oblivious, concentrating on his job of steering Val forward without incident. His jaw was rigid; those limpid, bedroom-sleepy eyes lowered.
“I have a private box here,” he said, so close to her ear that she nearly jumped. A shiver went down her spine as his breath caressed her ear lobe.
“How convenient for you,” she managed, gripping the straps of her handbag for dear life. At the bar, Desmond procured two seats out of thin air. She nodded her thanks, blurted out something inane about needing to powder her nose, and made a run for the ladies’.
Miraculously, the place was empty except for a couple of women chatting in hushed tones while washing their hands. Val ducked into a stall, made use of the facilities and then stood with her dress unzipped for a long moment, willing the air-conditioning to cool her skin.
Her whole body felt primed for touch.
She carefully rolled down her stockings and took off her tight shapewear, then fanned air on her bare skin. She splashed cold water on her wrists and touched them to her face, then patted the skin dry and reapplied a few drops of perfume on her wrists and neck. It smelled far too sweet to match whatever pheromones her body was absolutely vibrating with at the moment. She gave herself a mental shake, then dressed herself, reapplied her lipstick, and prepared to face him again.
She headed back out to the Champagne Bar, determined not to be so silly. She was met by Desmond, who was looking devastatingly handsome and holding aloft two empty glasses.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? He already had that devil-may-care look on his face—the look of a man who couldn’t relate to even a third of what she had to deal with on a daily basis. And he was sporting that charming smile that said everything and nothing. She knew that smile; she’d fallen for a similar one before and look where that had got her.
“You made it clear how serious this is,” he said, handing her a glass, “with the force of an angry monsoon. But you have to admit that this is a little funny—chasing a sixteen-year-old across London, I mean.”
Val felt her mouth creeping up at the side. “It is,” she allowed. “But water for me, please.”
Desmond made a sound of displeasure deep in his throat. “I was going to let you choose the bottle.”
“I’m working,” she said a bit primly. “And so are you, for that matter.”
“Do you not drink?”
“That isn’t the point—”
“I’ll admit to having an ulterior motive,” he said, and stepped aside, offering a hand to assist her onto the barstool. “Can I help you?”