Книга - The Scandal Behind the Wedding

The Scandal Behind the Wedding
Bella Frances


A diamond ring to seal the deal…Recently jilted schoolteacher Georgia Blue refuses to mope over her lousy ex – she’s taking on Dubai, one wild party at a time! But escaping a scandalous police raid so wasn’t part of her plan… not to mention her super-hot encounter with fellow party-escapee staggeringly sexy entrepreneur Danny Ryan!Danny might be Dubai’s latest darling, but even he can’t afford to be papped leaving a hotel room with a thoroughly seduced-looking Georgia – not with the business deal of his life about to be closed! A quickie temporary marriage should let them both off the hook – except there’s nothing quick about Danny’s plans for celebrating their wedding night… !












‘We need to make a move now if we’re going to pull this off.’ He stood, swung round alongside her. Cupped her face with his hands. ‘Trust me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of you.’


She almost choked. They were words that should belong in a real marriage proposal. Words that would have her melting and sobbing a grateful ‘yes’. But this was a business marriage and a business deal.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

He smiled. His eyes crinkled and flashed. He dipped his lips and planted a soft, warm kiss on her mouth.

‘Good.’

He kissed her again. Just for a moment. Full on her lips. And her feral cat desire for him sprang up, startling her. What did that add to the mix of this fake marriage? Trouble …




Dear Reader (#u0e031438-62d8-508e-9609-32dc63dc9b71)


How many times have you had a goal in mind, an end point, a glittering prize that seems to be almost within reach? And then, when your fingers finally close around it, you realise it wasn’t what you wanted or, more importantly, what you needed after all.

Well, this is what happens to Dubai’s hottest bachelor—Danny Ryan. Even the planets align for Danny, because all hell is let loose when they don’t, but when a meteor hits his path in the shape of the lovely Georgia he learns that ‘It’s my way or the highway’ isn’t the only rule in town.

At the start of this book, when Georgia walks into a seven-star hotel, I wondered how on earth she would heal his tortured soul. She seems to have it all: beauty, wit, intelligence and strength. Still not enough for an inferno like Danny … But by the end of the book, when she turns out to be a composite of all the most dedicated educators I’ve ever met, I knew he was toast. Above all of her qualities it’s her selfless compassion that shines most brightly. And when you have that as much as she does the only fitting prize is Danny Ryan.

I loved these characters! I hope you do too.

With my warmest wishes

Bella


Unable to sit still without reading, BELLA FRANCES first found romantic fiction at the age of twelve, in between deadly dull knitting patterns and recipes in the pages of her grandmother’s magazines. An obsession was born! But it wasn’t until one long, hot summer, after completing her first degree in English Literature, that she fell upon the legends that are Mills & Boon


books. She has occasionally lifted her head out of them since to do a range of jobs, including barmaid, financial adviser and teacher, as well as to practise (but never perfect) the art of motherhood to two (almost grown-up) cherubs.

Her eclectic collection of wonderful friends have provided more than their fair share of inspiration for heroes, heroines and glamorous locations, and it was while waiting to board a flight home after a particularly lively holiday that the characters for her first competition success in So You Think You Can Write were born.

Bella lives a very energetic life in the UK, but tries desperately to travel for pleasure at least once a month—strictly in the interests of research!

Catch up with her on her website at www.bellafrances.co.uk (http://www.bellafrances.co.uk)




The Scandal

Behind the

Wedding

Bella Frances







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Team O

(the ‘ahead of the game’ years)




Table of Contents


Cover (#ub11282e0-944a-502f-9419-55a0469faac4)

Excerpt (#u6b55e732-b5f0-55e4-9633-bb4f58b3dde7)

Dear Reader

About the Author (#ua4560c6a-b199-5356-905d-d84e5b9261b4)

Title Page (#u7c85de6e-3534-5405-9e30-cf447935105f)

Dedication (#u4f45132c-58f1-503b-99ea-966ca9b2c9f1)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u0e031438-62d8-508e-9609-32dc63dc9b71)


HEART THUDDING THUNDERCLAP-LOUD in her ears, Georgia Blue climbed out of her sand-strewn sedan and tossed the keys to the valet parker. In her best … okay, only vintage Alaïa dress, she looked as if she could actually afford to be a resident here. Crazy how easy it was to pull on a piece of old Lycra, stuff heat-stroked tootsies into razor-sharp slingbacks and strut your way into paradise.

She cut a path through the lobby of the seven-star Al-Jafar, the swish and sway of guests blending into a blur of colour and monochrome. Between the dots of majestic palms and bejewelled pillars the spectacular central fountain bubbled liquid wealth, and in between the couture, the businesswear and the downright casual, black abayas and white kanduras reminded her that, ruby slingbacks aside, she wasn’t in east London any more. Or even anywhere near it.

She passed by the wide, welcoming lounge and straight to the elevators. Times she had sipped iced water with Nick on those sofas flashed through her mind—gorgeous days. When there had still been a chance that old Alaïa might one day make friends with new Alaïa. When the half-carat diamond on her finger had flashed happily, sure that a band of gold would one day join it. Not like now, when her ring was the definition of solitaire. Tucked away with her pride in its little velvet box. Now the best downtime could offer was a beach club Happy Hour in between the two jobs that kept money flowing back home.

And this. This ‘party’. This will-I-won’t-I?, what-have-I-got-to-lose? singles party that her roommate Kirsty had told her about. While the rest of her buddies were all packing their overnight bags to head out of town for a girlie weekend what else was she going to do? Trail social media sites and post fake comments about the awesome time she was having?

No. It was well past time she got a grip on the gloom and took some control back. A singles party was just what she needed. So what if she was dreading it? Could it be that bad?

She poked a seen-much-better-days manicured fingernail to call the elevator. Another luxury that would have to go. Brass doors opened. Smoky mirrors reflected the net result of putting make-up on in a car, on a half-built road, in the middle of a sandstorm, with five minutes to spare. She was Cleopatra-dramatic with the eyes, and the wonky lip-liner round her mouth made it look much more trout than pout.

Her confidence was already borderline neurotic even without a make-up malfunction—enough to tip her over the edge and into the car back home and a hot date with the television. Yes, that sounded perfect.

She paused, swivelled round to leave. A figure appeared behind her, blocking the light and her path back out. Tall, dark and sharp in executive clothes. Super-hot. And even through the haze of her mascara-caked eyelashes he looked kettlebell-fit. She caught his eye before she got a chance to spin round and hide her face between the twin curtains of dark red hair that for once in her life was all soft waves instead of ponytail-sensible. If Babs could see her now she’d never believe it—her tomboy baby sister looking like a drag queen with stage fright.

Georgia stood in the corner, eyes swept down, staring at his shoes. They had to be handmade. And Italian. They stepped inside and turned, with their owner, to face first her and then the control panel in the corner. Noise came next. Voices … male. Laughing and easy and fun. They piled right in through her line of vision. She swept her eyes up past them. The ceiling was so much more interesting.

Young rich men were ten a penny in this town—and this lot brought a noise and a scent that bellowed the fact that they’d been on a liquid-only brunch.

A slight hush as they piled inside and then the doors closed, pushing them closer. They’d noticed her. Over here everybody noticed her—even in her default bare-faced-and-boring look. Paper-pale skin and long auburn hair were not the easiest things to keep under wraps—but add to that an explosion in a make-up factory and a no-imagination-needed dress and she guaranteed herself an audience of gaping man cubs.

‘Excuse me, miss?’

Dark, deep and disquieting, Italian-Shoes-Man’s tones cut through the crush and jolted her eyes back down.

‘Which floor?’

She flashed a glance at the array of illuminated golden circles. At a Dubai-bronzed masculine hand hovering, waiting for her reply.

‘Which floor?’ he repeated patiently.

His accent was hard to place—a native English-speaker, though the soft burr made her think of rugged coastlines and rolling fields. Cosy pubs and pints of stout. Comfort. But the man himself, when she trailed her eyes from outstretched hand to broad shoulder and proud jaw, was clean-line city.

In the crush of boozy testosterone he stood apart. Taller, fiercer. Power oozed like strong cologne and she scented it, unwillingly. Powerful men were hard work. They made demands and expected returns. Their egos took more maintenance than her manicure. She dealt with them enough at work to know they were exactly the kind of men to stay well away from.

And he had those thick, sharp, gull wing brows going on.

She rolled her eyes. There was something deeply unattractive about a man with better eyebrows than you. Nick was like that. But Nick was a jerk—who admittedly waxed, plucked and tinted his eyebrows. Beyond vain. In love with himself and the idea of love. Shallow as that fountain and false as the Dubai Mall ski-slopes. Wow, she’d been such a fool.

‘Miss?’ The still patient tones jolted her back.

‘Fifty-ninth, thank you,’ she said, seeing the circle already illuminated.

Yes, she’d been even more gullible than usual when she’d met Nick. But this guy, even though he was smooth and sleek, actually looked hard and more than a little bit tough—a force. Elemental and real. As if he had stubble because he hadn’t had a chance to shave—not because the men’s magazines were showcasing stubble this season. As if he’d picked up the bump on the side of his nose on a rugby field or in a barroom brawl. As if he’d know exactly how to use those lips.

And the gull wings, now that she saw more closely, were really just thick, naturally well-shaped brows to set off his freakishly perfect blue eyes.

The elevator zoomed, stilled, and then the doors eased open just a few floors higher. There was barely space inside for a blast of cheap perfume but a middle-aged couple thought they’d give it a go. The guys shifted and pressed closer to her. In her heels she was nose to nose with the smallest of them, and they were all pretty tall. She could sense them exchanging looks, then heard a stifled snigger. Whatever. They were totally not getting to her and her manufactured composure.

She was late. She was heading into the unknown. But she was determined to stop being a victim. And she was going to project cool and calm—starting now.

The elevator whooshed and paused again, to deposit the couple, but the guy closest didn’t give back her personal space. Instead he turned round and winked. Really. Winked. She drew her eyes from him and stared straight ahead.

‘Hey, gorgeous, how about it?’

Georgia opened her mouth to flip out her standard, You couldn’t afford me. The line she served up with the pints and shots she passed across the bar of The Tavern—London pub and home to her and Babs since forever. But that would just get her into a conversation, and they were too young, too cocksure and too much the worse for their liquid brunch for her to go anywhere near them.

No, much better if she focussed on chatting to men who were maybe a bit older tonight, a bit quieter, a bit more homely than off-the-charts handsome—maybe a man she could … trust?

After all since Nick had gone, taking with him the stuffing he’d knocked out of her, the last thing she needed was to get all bent out of shape over another hot young dude. Or—worse still—someone like the power furnace in the corner. The one who was burning up the air in this elevator with no more than his presence. A guy like that was an incendiary device. And she wanted a slow burn, not spontaneous combustion. Didn’t she?

She could feel the thudding starting in her ears again as the number fifty-nine remained illuminated. She could feel the tension rise in the tiny cramped space as the guys re-started their testosterone-fuelled rumbling. She could feel Italian-Shoe-Man watching her closely. And she felt her eyes slide to his as she stared right back.

Georgia had to have laid eyes on hundreds and hundreds of men and boys in her twenty-six years of serving drinks, coaching football and teaching pre-schoolers. But the eyes of this man lasered right through her and jolted her harder than if the elevator had just crashed. She felt compelled to stare. She felt as if he could see right inside her. And right here, right now, anyone staring into her mess of homesick, heartsick and sick-to-her-stomach broke, was staring into something she’d much rather keep cloaked.

He didn’t flinch or shift his eyes. They were just—there. Watching … absorbing. But she was smart enough to know that, looking the way he did, he had to have a first-class degree in flirting. No way she could let herself get caught up in something as dangerous as flirting right back. Not when she was looking for a quiet, fade-into-the-background kind of guy. Someone who would cosset her, look after her and smooth her ruffled feathers. Someone who wouldn’t ask her and every other girl within a ten-thousand-mile radius to marry him. Even though this guy looked as if marriage was the last thing on his mind …

He didn’t smile, and when the doors suddenly started to close she was jolted into realising that he was probably just intrigued by how one person could wear so much make-up and not melt under the weight. And her dress, when she glanced down at it, was doing just what Alaïa had intended—flattering and flaunting.

His boozy friend broke the silence.

‘Come on—let’s get to the party. I need to get my hands on some ass …’

‘Tommy, mind your manners. There’s a lady present.’

It was quietly said but everyone hushed instantly. His eyes never left hers and her skin scorched all the way from her hot pinched toes to her hair-laquered head. He looked serious—deadly serious—and she felt a sudden intense kick of adrenalin … or fear … or some other overwhelming feeling. Trouble. That was what it was.

Time to go.

She forced herself to move. Some of them pressed back to give her a little space and she manoeuvred her sharp shoes forward.

Taking a calming breath, she stepped out of the elevator and into a broad, long corridor gleaming with the light from a thousand chandeliers and reflecting miles of pale polished marble. A small gold sign showed two choices—five suites to the left and five suites to the right. She chose left. There was silence now, apart from the light click of her heels.

In a shower of golden light a balcony opened up on her right, overhanging the atrium drop to the outrageous fountain which flowed with unadulterated affluence. The corridor swept ahead, its smooth wall curling out of sight. She clicked round, the echoes following the curve. Finally there were two doors to the left. Equally imperious. She walked right up to one. Another small golden sign: Jumeirah Suite.

This was it.

She reached her hand forward and braced herself for an hour of air-kissing and a super-bright smile.

The door swung open.

Georgia stared blankly from the very large man in western clothes who had opened it to the scene within. Riches, opulence, glamour. People—men and beautiful women. Her feet continued their self-directed path and went right in.

The place was huge. Which was no surprise, really—seven-star hotels would have seven-star suites—with more riches per square inch than Aladdin’s Cave. Still, even after six months in Dubai she was completely unprepared for what she saw.

Twin marble staircases descended with a swirl to a sunken lounge furnished with white leather sofas, overdressed with gold and china-blue satin cushions. On the mezzanines at either side were more seating areas, one with a bar and one with diner-style booths—all pale blue studded leather and filmy white and gold drapes. The wall behind the staircases was made entirely of glass—easily sixty feet of it—and behind that sat the magnificent Persian Gulf, its blue hues melding with the lilacs and oranges of the early evening sun.

But she’d seen a sunset or ten, stepped out on more than her fair share of marble, and lounged on lots of butter-soft leather. So it wasn’t the opulence that was immediately arresting. It was the rest of it that was so striking. Singles? Couples. Reclining on low white leather sofas, drinks in hand, and looking very, very relaxed. Even through the air-con there was a heady sense of hedonism. Strange for a singles’ party—even here.

She looked around for other girls like her, but every girl was occupied—very occupied—with a man.

Georgia’s eyes warred with her brain and her mouth with her feet to figure out which was going to take action first. A woman climbed one of the stairs towards her. Silky black hair and almond-black eyes. Red mouth and red one-shoulder silk dress cut to the thigh. It made her Alaïa feel more like a nun’s habit.

‘Hi—I’m not sure if I’m in the right place. I was told just to show up. This is a singles party, right?’

The stunning woman ignored her. Flicked her a derisory head-to-toe glance, arched the most perfect brow, quirked the most perfect lip and walked right on by. She paused at a bar area, trailed a scarlet nail down the cheek of a corpulent businessman. He placed his hand on her backside and squeezed. Georgia watched, transfixed, as the woman arched her back and allowed him to touch her breast.

She was not the type of woman who sang nursery rhymes to four-year-olds or who had bruises from junior football. These were not homespun girls looking for Mr Right. Oh, no. These women were sophisticated, sexy, and setting out their stalls.

Georgia looked around again for something—anything—to anchor herself to. But the whole scene was just plain weird. How could everyone be hooked up already? Okay, she’d never been to a singles party before, but she’d heard enough stories about speed-dating to figure that not everyone would be coupled up at … what? … seven-thirty p.m. In fact, when she looked a little closer, some couples were actually threes. Uh-oh.

She felt as if she was standing on the deck of a sinking ship and sharks were circling closer. If this was dipping her toe into the dating waters she’d keep herself on the warm, dry land of singlehood, thank you.

Yes, this was definitely a mistake. She’d go back to the complex. She’d have the place all to herself since everyone else would already be on a flight to Ras al Khaimah. She’d soak in the plunge pool. She’d watch TV and text Kirsty to tell her that this was her worst ever piece of dating advice.

Maybe she would see if there were any more companies hiring junior coaches. She still had a couple of week nights free to pick up work, after all. The kids would give her a reason to smile, and any extra cash would be a bonus for Babs. Really—that was what she should be focussing everything on.

It was kind of the girls to suggest she start dating again, but even though she was well over Nick she was well short of the money she wanted to send Babs. Sixty thousand in legal fees and loans was going to take ages to pay—even in tax-free Dubai.

She turned around, ready to leave, more determined than ever to get out of this crazy party. The door opened again. Noise and lots of it—the boozy boys. A crack of command to silence them … dark, disquieting tones … and then cobalt eyes fastened straight onto hers.

She watched as they all piled in. His gang—because there was no doubt that he was the leader—all had their eyes on stilts, as if it was Christmas morning and the gifts were all for them. He stood at the door, letting them go, eyes only on her.

She stalled. She wavered. He waited. And watched. And then he took the decision right out of her hands and walked up to her. Not too fast, not too lazily, but sure and solid—no room for debate.

A slash of white suddenly lit his face, changing it from intense to exceptional as the brightness of his eyes was matched by the brilliance of his smile. He was breathtaking—it almost hurt her eyes to look at him. And to think she’d once thought Nick hot and handsome! This man aced every man-measuring yardstick. He was up close now, and she tipped her head back slightly to look at him. He had that reassuring height that made her feel feminine. A chest broad enough to lay her head on and melt into. Strength and stature … looks and presence. If there were man trophies his shelves would be covered in them.

‘Hi. Good to meet you … again.’

She watched stupidly as he lifted her puppet-like arm and brought her hand to his mouth. His lips were warm with an edge of soft stubble. She felt her eyes widen as he pressed them against her skin and struggled even more to keep up. He lowered her hand, pulled her a little closer and curved his lips into the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. The promise of long, slow and sensual loving was right there in the quirk of his lips. Terrifying.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Georgia.’ She breathed out her name and allowed him to keep her hand in his for a moment, still locked into that stare.

‘Georgia. Beautiful name,’ he said.

Was blue the colour of sin? She thought so—it was laced through his eyes.

‘Danny Ryan.’

‘Hi,’ she said back, finding her voice and a bit of composure.

She shook the hand that he had wrapped in his own and wondered where on earth her default defence mechanisms were. This man was super-league in every sense. Meaning that her run-for-your-life hormones should be pumping, instead of her gooey-girl hormones.

Come on, get back in the game—bath, bed and beyond is where you’re headed. Then a trawl for another job. The last thing you need is to get caught up in something like this with someone like him.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Danny. But I’m afraid I seem to have wound up at the wrong …’ She looked around, wondering how you would actually describe this. ‘I think I’m totally at the wrong party.’

He let her fingers slip away when she tugged her hand free, but held her with that presence, or force-field, or whatever it was.

‘Well, that’s a pity, because I was hoping to get the chance to properly apologise for what happened earlier. The boys have been working flat-out—they’ve had a couple of drinks and are being a bit loose with their tongues. I had a word with them—all of them—before we came in here. I hope you weren’t offended. Apologies—they meant no harm.’

‘Thanks, but since it wasn’t you who offended me there’s no need to apologise—and I am really in the wrong place. So …’

She looked around at his group who’d brought a whole new energy to the place. A place she really didn’t feel very comfortable in—even with the hottest guy in the room so up close and personal. Especially with the hottest guy in the room so up close and personal.

‘So. Yes. Thanks. Nice to meet you but I’m going to head off.’

He frowned slightly. Very slightly. As if he hadn’t quite given her permission to leave. You had to laugh at these guys. Clearly not used to anyone doing anything other than fall into line. But the adrenalin had definitely kicked in now and she’d decided on flight not fight. She was so not going there. What would be the point? He would think that she was a lot more liberal than she was just by virtue of actually being in this crazy place. And even though she badly needed some attention, a little bit of salve for her bruised and battered ego, she’d prefer it was with someone who would settle her down rather than stir her up.

‘Tommy.’

He didn’t so much bark out the name as growl it. And instantly the pain in the neck from the elevator appeared before her. His nose was sunburned and his eyes were slightly glazed. But he was lapdog-ready where his boss was concerned and he issued an instant apology.

‘Really sorry for what I said … and did … in the lift.’

‘Forget it,’ she said, looking away, looking for a clear path out.

But things were beginning to happen. Girls were coming forward, smiling and flirting. Heading right for the guys like homing devices. They were of all races. And all beautiful. Tall, cool, blonde. Hot Latino. Dusky, dramatic, dark. Pouty, elegant, ebony. And, yes, Celtic and pale. A smorgasbord. Were they all single? Really? Or had she arrived at a very different type of party?

Tommy didn’t hang around—he went straight back to the boys, swung his arms round two stunning girls and moved off, laughing as if this was the best Christmas Day ever.

She looked at Danny Ryan. Oh, no. He must think she was as easy as them. And—worse—he must be looking for that kind of girl. No way a guy like him was single by choice. None. Not a chance. The sands were still shifting. The waters were deep. And deadly. Time to swim for the shore.

‘I’ve got to go.’ She grabbed her bag tightly to her side, made to leave. Didn’t want to be there a moment longer.

‘Wait,’ he said, reaching out for her hand. ‘Why don’t you hang around a bit?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s not going to happen. This is not my kind of party.’

He looked around, frowned. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not at all what I was expecting either.’

He focussed his piercing stare back on her. As if it would compel her to stay.

‘Why don’t we find somewhere a bit more—civilised?’

She tried to look away from those eyes—she really did. But they took some amount of staring—so many blues … not a trace of cloudy grey or mossy green … just blue and black and deep. You could easily lose hours of your life staring into eyes like those—just looking for a flaw. But she didn’t want to waste any more of her life. She wanted to get her life back. Back on track. Back to earning as much as she possibly could, so that she could start to clear some of Babs’s debts and then finally get on a plane and the longed-for flight home.

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll head home. I’m not really in the mood now.’

He swung another glance around, frowned a little more. Seemed to check out what his boys were getting up to.

She did the same and saw that they were getting past first base and straight to third without so much as a casual introduction. This wasn’t a singles party. This was a brothel!

‘Give me a minute—I need to check in with my boys. They don’t know what we’ve wandered into. Then we’ll go somewhere else to fix your mood.’

He pinned her in place with a confident nod and then called a couple of his guys over to chat. She could go—she should go. Nausea was beginning to form in her throat. She knew this kind of party went on—she wasn’t stupid. But she’d never been up close and personal to it. She’d never seen with her own eyes—girls who could be her or her friends—girls dressed for a club night. But the only club they were going to was one that paid their wages.

She didn’t want to judge, but if this was what she thought it was she really didn’t belong here. And she certainly didn’t want to be hooking up with any guy—no matter how gorgeous—at a place like this.

He was still rounding up his team—some of whom looked less than impressed that he was calling time on their fun. Some of the girls stared over at her. If looks could kill …

Definitely time to go. She pulled the strap of her bag tighter, squared her shoulders and headed to the door.

Suddenly there was a noise and the crowd of girls and guys in front of her melted away. She looked up to see the cause of the commotion. Uniformed men. Police. Oh, no—could this get any worse?

Danny Ryan appeared at her side. Grabbed her hand.

‘What’s happening? Why are the police here?’

‘Only one reason I can think of. And it’s not making me feel reassured. Come on.’

He sounded grim. Formidable. And something in her urged her to lean into the strength that he was channelling.

He moved fast towards the stairs. Her slingbacks slipped and clicked, keeping up with his lengthy strides.

‘I could be wrong, but I’d guess this is an unlicensed party and someone has forgotten to pay off the right person. That would explain why there’s more than fizz and canapés on offer.’

‘What? What do you mean? I knew there was something weird going on! I was told this was a singles party—I’m a kindergarten teacher. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything!’

‘None of us can, Georgia. None of us can.’

They landed at the bottom of the long twist of marble and stepped out onto the wide wraparound terrace—complete with plunge pool—stuck on the side of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. Bodies lazed and lounged, still oblivious of the raid upstairs. Bronzed limbs in every conceivable pose.

She looked away. Didn’t want to see any more of what was clearly happening all around her. The unfurling commotion was rapidly turning into a living nightmare. Panic was setting in. She had commitments. She had Babs—her life-saver, who had sacrificed everything to bring her up, to give her a good home and was relying on her and her tax-free salary just to make ends meet. She couldn’t possibly jeopardise that!

‘But you don’t understand—I can’t get into trouble here. I could lose my job. I could get arrested.’

‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone get arrested. Or lose their job.’ He sounded half distracted. ‘Here—this way. I’ve got the perfect place to wait it out.’

They moved now on plush velvet carpet. Her heels sank and she stumbled a little, trying to keep up. He turned, shot her an intense steadying look, and then scooped her close to his side. She heard the rumble of the commotion now above them.

‘What about your team?’

‘I’ve told them what to do and say if they get into trouble. They’ll be fine as long as they remember.’ He paused for another second, gave her another calming look. ‘You’ll be fine too.’

She could only hope so. She’d been warned when she’d arrived in Dubai—they all had—not to get into any trouble. Especially with the police. She worked for an international school with hugely high standards and any fun was to be had within strict boundaries.

But who would believe she was innocent? That she had come to this party thinking she might find a date? She looked just like those girls—with a tight dress and too much make-up. If she got taken to the police station she’d have to tell them where she lived. Then they’d know she worked at the international school. And that would be it. She’d be sent home in disgrace. Or worse. Jailed.

They were out in the hallway again. Same golden light, same bubbling fountain. But one floor down.

A solid door—mother-of-pearl. He slid a key and pulled it open. A private elevator, all glass and brass.

‘In here.’

She wavered. For a moment it felt as if she was on the cusp of the hugest decision of her life.

‘Is this safe? Is it going to be all right?’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Look, you’ll be fine. I know enough people here to get things sorted. I think we’ll be fine up here—away from the main action—until things settle.’

He cocked one eyebrow. “Okay?”

She nodded and followed him—decision made.

Inside, with the doors closed, up it zoomed, flying up the outer edge of the building. They had to be at the very top now—in a penthouse.

Finally the doors opened and, yes, sure enough …

Wow! This was a Honeymoon, Presidential, Penthouse—and then some. An entire picture wall of glass to her right, the perfect array of furniture to lounge upon and view it from to her left—all overhung with a deep, high balcony and lit by enormous silk-shaded lamps. Glimpses of stairs leading to a rooftop terrace, of other rooms—opulent, magnificent, utterly unparalleled. A grand piano here, a twenty-seat table there. Art on the walls that she definitely recognised. She felt as if even the air was weightier, worthier.

He led her inside.

‘Is this okay while we wait?’ He moved in through the space, perfectly at home.

She trailed behind him, wary of this luxury, unease twisting at her gut. She was not the type of girl who ever got into trouble. Not at school. Not at college. Not at home. Never. She knew right from wrong. And the only wrong thing she’d ever done was to believe in her fairytale engagement.

‘Hey. It’s all right.’ Danny stopped. Walked back to face her. Looked right at her and ran his hands up and down her arms.

She gazed up at him, desperately trying to keep it together. ‘I can’t afford to get into trouble. I need my job. It’s all I have.’

He nodded and she felt strangely reassured. She had no reason to trust him, but her instincts told her she was better off in this majestic wonderland with him than back at that party arguing her point alone. And it wasn’t only the fact that he radiated composure. There was no denying the unmistakable sensual tension he was building as he soothed and stroked her arms.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. She licked her lips.

But he shook his head, sucked in a breath through his teeth and led her to the low-seated area. ‘Why don’t you sit here? I’m going to make a couple of calls.’

His voice was low, lilting and calming. But his energy was tense. And she felt it. Oh, yes.

He stood beside her as she sat down warily, felt firm stuffed silk cushions against her back. From a tiny Aladdin’s lamp on the table at her side a drift of scented oil wound around her, languorous and loose. Opposite, ivory orchids in golden pots along the window wall sat like daubs of paint on a canvas of blue, marred only by the gleam and thrust of yet another iconic superstructure rearing up out of the Gulf.

He let go of her hand but trailed his touch up her arm and gently under her chin. She tilted her head to look at him. He locked that gaze on her again. So strong. Unyielding.

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing or why. Touched a finger to her lips, nodded slightly, and then turned. Took a pace away and swiped out his phone.

‘Sarwar? Hey. It’s Danny. Look, I need a favour …’




CHAPTER TWO (#u0e031438-62d8-508e-9609-32dc63dc9b71)


RISK. AND THE management thereof. Normally one of his strong suits. Normally something he took a lot of pride in being very, very good at. The kind of deals he made required it. And although he’d had all of five minutes’ formal training—in other words read some stuff on the net—he’d become so well respected for the completely researched, planned and executed-within-a-hair’s-breadth decisions he made that his view was sought on projects well outside his own corporate boundaries.

So what on earth was he doing, tucked in the penthouse of the Al-Jafar, having bailed out of a highly dodgy party with an utterly gorgeous redhead who had caused chaos since he’d first slapped eyes on her?

Just getting out of her car she had been impressive. She probably didn’t even know that one guy had kerbed his coupé in the parking bay at the entrance as he watched her swing into the hotel. And that another guy had been slapped out of his daydream by his wife as he’d stared open-mouthed at her walking through the lobby. Danny had truly never seen a woman walk with such an unconscious sense of her own sexual allure.

And Tommy in the lift … If it hadn’t been so crass it would have been funny. It was as if the guy had been in a trance. His eyes had roamed all over the lovely Georgia, standing right there, her perfect breasts outlined in easily the sexiest piece of clothing he had ever seen. Okay, it was up to her neck and down to her knees—Dubai-appropriate—but nothing short of a tent could cover a body like that.

Tommy hadn’t even known he’d touched her—or so he’d said when he’d given him ‘the talk’ back in the lift. This was not a town where you stepped out of line in public. You just couldn’t risk it. Even when the eye candy was as sweet as their little lift companion. Even he’d had to fight to keep his eyes respectfully at eye rather than chest level.

But now they had a situation to deal with. And one he’d never imagined when he’d accepted the invitation to come here. He’d thought his views on this kind of thing were well enough known for his business partners to leave out sweeteners like these. Still, this one had been set up by a new guy in town who probably assumed all red-blooded males liked to pay their way. Not him. No way. Never had and never would.

But how the lovely Georgia had ended up there was another thing. She’d looked shocked when they’d arrived. Standing in the middle of all that madness like Joan of Arc. A particularly sexy Joan of Arc, but definitely in a different class from the girls who were offering themselves for rent. She had an air about her … dignity. Now, even with cops prowling all over the place and the fallout that was highly likely, she looked poised as a princess sitting on that sofa.

But he would find out more about her later—he had to focus on damage limitation right now. He clicked off the phone. Sarwar would smooth things. As the General Commander of Police he usually could. He was a handy ally to have—that was for sure. His only other concern was the press—the Dubai snappers were getting a bit invasive and he really didn’t want any photos flying over satellites to his mother’s news feed. He’d spent ten solid years here, building up his reputation, making her proud of him again—the last thing he wanted was for her to have any doubts at all.

After all, he’d built half of this town. Had made getting on here a personal challenge. His engineering skills had got him so far. But his corporate head had netted him contract upon contract and ally upon ally. There weren’t a lot of Westerners who held as much sway as he did. He had some very close friends. Emirati friends. And he’d be damned if he was going to let anything shake his well-crafted reputation now.

He looked over to where Georgia was still sitting on the edge of the sofa, worry painted all over her beautiful face. She was right to be concerned about this. If she was as genuine as he thought she was then she could afford the reputational damage even less than he.

He walked back towards her and she stood up. Her fists were clenched in tight little twists.

‘I checked in with a friend. It’s going to be okay. We just need to sit it out for a while.’

‘Who’s your friend? How does he know what’s going on?’

‘Just a contact. But don’t worry—a contact with a lot of influence. So, as I say, his advice is to wait it out while they sweep the place. Seems they’re taking a bit of a firmer line with that type of party. Someone’s decided to stop turning a blind eye.’

‘Shame he didn’t tell you that before you came.’ It was sharply said.

‘It is, yes—but since I never normally attend these sorts of events he wouldn’t have known to warn me.’

Seemed he had already been judged and sentenced. Normally he wouldn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion of him—other than his folks back home, of course—but for some reason he really wanted to underline the point with her that paying for sex was not his thing.

‘I like to treat my boys when they’ve worked hard—and I got an invite to this party from a business contact. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known what was going on.’ She hesitated. Definitely still wary and more than a little bit cautious. Why did he feel the need to soothe her? But he did. Even with her snippy little tones he wanted to enfold her in his arms and smooth away her worries.

He took another step towards her. ‘I’m glad I did, though, because our paths might not have crossed otherwise.’

She swallowed. His eye fell to the length of her neck, the sheen of her pale skin, the rise of her chest as she breathed. She looked from him to the door, listening. But this was the ultra-luxury penthouse, his home from home, and they were far enough away from the main action that no sounds would penetrate. Sarwar had said all the girls were going to be taken in. But he doubted that they would all go quietly. Better to be well away from that particular action.

‘How long do you think we’ll need to wait?’

‘We can leave any time you like. I guarantee you’ll not get into any difficulties with the police. I just think it politic not to catch the eye of the media or flaunt the position and the influence I have—so, unless you’ve got something more pressing to do, why don’t we enjoy the view? Salvage what we can out of our Friday night?’

He trailed his gaze over her again. Heavy-lidded dark green eyes, clear and vital. Perfect smooth skin with a shimmer of freckles through the make-up. Wide, full mouth … slightly open. He loved her lips. Sensual lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off how plump they looked—wondered how rich and sweet they’d taste. And that thick, soft dark red hair that framed her perfect face … Not to mention the rest of her. She was a beauty. A sensual, beautiful woman.

‘How about a drink? What do you say, Georgia?’

He smiled at her—couldn’t help it. She wore her thoughts on her face, unfiltered. She liked him. But she was still too wary to relax. He’d give her a little time, a little encouragement. It would be worth it. It wasn’t every day that a girl like this fell into his path, albeit unwillingly. For once he might chase. It had been so, so long since he had.

He went over to the bar.

‘Wine? Cocktail? I can do you a mean martini.’

She sat rooted to the couch and only turned her head to watch him. Again that princess posture. ‘A glass of white wine would be fine. Thanks.’

He lifted two bottles from the chiller. Compared them. Chose a fruity dry Italian that had a light effervescence over a mellow Australian. It would be good to lift her spirits a little. Get rid of some of her tension.

He twisted, poured and extended a glass towards her. Finally she moved—pushing herself up off the low couch and meeting him in the middle of the giant glass wall. He tipped his glass against hers, tried to give her a reassuring smile. Her eyes roamed over his face. Landed on his mouth. Lingered there. So she liked what she saw. Good.

‘You want to go up onto the roof terrace? See if we can hear the oil flow?’

She smiled. Just a little.

‘I’m okay in here, thanks. Humidity is not my hair’s best friend. Anyway, I’m sure your conversation will flow better than any oil.’

‘Yeah, well, hopefully we’ll be out of here before it runs out. Or before Dubai runs out of crazy ideas to net every last tourist on the planet. I’d hate to miss anything.’ He nodded back to the seating area. ‘Are you all right there? Look safe enough for your hair?’

A tiny smile. ‘Deal.’

She nudged her glass against his. She was definitely beginning to warm up. He walked behind her to the sofa, noting her sky-high shoulders settle down a little.

‘Will we start with the obligatory ex-pat back story?’

He eased himself down beside her, put his glass down, stretched out his arms. He’d keep alcohol off the menu until he was off the premises and had an apology in his back pocket for being given that party invitation. He still couldn’t believe he’d been caught up in something like this. He practically had the keys to this city—and thank God the pass to this penthouse, his weekend lair. Because now—when his deal with the Sheikh was at a critical stage—he would allow no one and nothing to get in his way.

He waited until she’d settled herself. Great posture. Great legs. She sipped her wine and watched him.

‘Okay. I’ll go first. My name’s Daniel Leo Ryan. I’m thirty-four years old. I have one younger sister, Frankie. And one older brother, Mark. Italian mother, Irish father, regulation number of aunts and uncles. We hail from County Meath, outside Dublin, Ireland. The family breeds horses. I make buildings.’

That was enough to be going on with. The less savoury details could come later—or not at all.

‘So do you ride? Or race?’

‘I was put on a horse before I could walk. We all were. It’s non-negotiable in our family. Riding, grooming, mucking out. Very little time left for anything else. My brother is involved in the family business. Parents too. Frankie does her own thing—like me.’ Though he was never sure what that was from one month to the next. ‘And you, Georgia? You’re definitely English. No mistaking that. London?’

She smiled at him. Finally. Properly. And it was glorious. A big toothy grin and it suited her.

‘Yes. East End. Cockney. Born and raised in a pub called The Tavern. My full name is Georgia Anne Blue. I’m twenty-six. My mum passed away not long after I was born and my sister Babs—Barbara, but no one calls her that—she’s eighteen years older than me—well, she brought me up. Rented out the pub until she was old enough to take it on herself. Put her whole life on hold for me. Never even had a proper boyfriend until I went to college.’

He nodded. That was a family dynamic he couldn’t begin to imagine. There would be no place for sibling rivalry there—no competition, no fierce jealousy. No judging, comparing, winning. Just a tiny family, pulling together.

‘What a huge sacrifice. You must be very close?’

She nodded, toyed with her glass a little.

‘Totally. I owe her everything. She runs that pub like a dream, but there was no way she was going to allow me to settle for that. I was going to college—end of story.’

He nodded—could sympathise with that. Engineering was not exactly a skill that sat well with breeding thoroughbreds. Law, accountancy, business admin—those were the preferred courses, the ones to which his siblings and cousins had all been directed and obediently fallen into. But obedience had never been his strong suit.

‘And was it Babs who suggested teaching?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. She just wanted me to choose something that would make me happy. I’m quite sporty—I like football and I coach it after school. But I’d never be able to make a living from it.’

He smiled. She smiled. He liked her. Liked how genuine she seemed. Refreshing. He had met so many women out here who were living a fast-paced life. All about the glitz and the glamour. But while she had those in spades she also had depth—and humility. Yes, definitely refreshing.

‘Anyway, my first job was as a nanny, but the family wanted me to live in and I got homesick even though it was only across town. And then Babs encouraged me to aim a bit higher and I looked into teaching in a nursery. And eight years later—here I am!’

‘Here you are. But you’ve not been here long, right? You’ve got absolutely no trace of sun on your skin.’ She had beautiful skin. As if she bathed in cream.

‘I’m really careful in the sun. It’s a … There’s a family issue with sun damage.’

Back to fiddling with her glass.

She looked up at the door as if she’d heard a noise but it was still quiet. He checked his phone. Sarwar had promised to call back when the raid was over and the coast was clear. Nothing.

‘So what brought you out here if it wasn’t the promise of third-degree burns?’

She didn’t move but he sensed her tension return.

‘The short version,’ she began after a few moments, ‘is that I came out here to be with somebody and it didn’t work out.’

He thought about that for a moment. It would have needed to be someone special to uproot her if she got homesick even in her own home town. Should he probe?

‘I’m happy to listen to the long version—if you want. No worries if you don’t.’

She crossed her legs. He could have sworn it was absently, unknowingly, but it gave him the best image of womanhood he’d had in a long time. The way the split in her dress sliced him a view of her toned thigh … She was hotter than the desert in July. He pulled at his collar. Was the air-con even working?

‘It’s not such a great story,’ she said finally, and with such a sigh that he jerked his attention back to her face. ‘The long version is … predictable. I fell for a guy and it turned out to be a bad decision. He … We were engaged. Then we weren’t. Because he wanted to be engaged to someone else. And probably by now he’s been engaged another three times over.’

Danny could not wrap his head around that! Getting engaged once would be one too many times for him. Where was the appeal? Why tie yourself down in marriage when the world had an endless stream of beautiful women? And why commit when you knew said women were only going to let you down?

Sure, there were people who did want commitment—his parents, and in all likelihood his brother Mark. That would be one wedding he wouldn’t attend. But not him. He hated the idea of being stuck in the same place, doing the same thing, with the same people. Even with a beauty. It was bound to end badly.

He’d made up his mind years ago that he was not his parents. He’d wanted out—needed out—and he couldn’t ever see himself going back. He’d moved on. Didn’t want to look back. Or do a U-turn. Going back on a decision—any decision—was a sign of weakness. As spectacularly demonstrated by Georgia’s serial fiancé.

‘Maybe he has shares in a diamond mine?’

‘Or maybe I believe in fairytales.’

‘Ah, now, don’t give yourself a hard time. We all fall for the wrong people sometimes.’

He reached across to squeeze the long, elegant fingers that were rubbing the sides of her wine glass. He liked touching her. The thrum of her energy tuned him right in to her.

‘I did—once. It caused a lot of damage at the time, but it was the rocket I needed to get myself out into the world. It’s sore when it happens, but I bet you’re already heaving a sigh of relief.’

She looked at him. Searching. He wrapped his fingers round her wrist, then smoothed little trails across her skin. She held his eyes. He looked at her lips where she’d just licked them—again. Let his gaze settle there, slow and steady. Absorbed the sensual image. Beautiful. He looked at her breasts. He was sure her nipples were beginning to tighten. And he began to harden. The sexual energy between them was dynamite and he hadn’t even kissed her. But he would.

She looked away, took a sip of wine.

‘You’re right. It’s much more important that I get home and get on with life.’

‘So what’s keeping you here?’

‘Money.’ She lanced him with a hard stare. ‘Purely money. That probably makes me sound terrible. But it’s not money for the sake of money. It’s—it’s Babs. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but she owes a ton of money.’ She sighed. ‘After years of self-sacrifice for me she met a guy. A sleazy, slimy guy. She married him and gave him a share in The Tavern. She also invested in his building firm. And when she should have been looking forward to financial security, winding down, that worthless piece of garbage conned her and robbed her and covered his tracks so well that when she tried to get back her share of the business they’d built up he had already liquidated it and started re-trading. With Babs the Younger.’

She paused and looked down at her lap. Ah, hell, if that wasn’t her chin wobbling … She was trying to hide it but there was no denying the hitch in her voice and the flush over her cheeks. He moved forward, lifted her glass and put it down on the table.

She swiped a hand under each eye. ‘I’m fine. Sorry—I’m fine.’ She looked away and then back at him, her eyes glassy and with a fixed bright smile. ‘I just miss her. I want to go home and I can’t. I’m stuck here until I’ve earned enough to clear her debts. All sixty thousand pounds of it.’

He could no more stop himself from gathering her into his arms than stop breathing. Selfless. On top of every physical attribute she had she was out here to earn money for someone else. Far too nice for the likes of him.

But he understood that aching loneliness. He’d felt it when he’d got here. More than that—he’d relished it. It had proved that he’d got away, taken the first step. He knew how real it was for others, though. He loved Dubai now. Loved its pace and its vibe and its outrageous ambition. Sure sometimes, occasionally, the yearn for grey rain and green moss had him hopping on a flight home, just to inhale the sweet smell of damp Irish earth and sit for long, uncomplicated hours in the company of quiet, uncomplicated people. But as soon as his family knew he was back and started bearing down on him he hopped right back on the plane.

But Georgia Anne Blue … She was a family girl. And she was now in the middle of a nasty piece of action that, all joking aside, could result in jail time. Of course she was emotional!

‘Georgia.’ He folded his arms round her but she held herself tense.

‘I’m honestly fine—it’s fine.’

‘Sure it is. But everyone needs a little comfort sometimes. I miss my sister too. We’re a long way from home. We all get lonely, Georgia.’

That seemed to undo her. She literally wilted in his arms—a flower without water. He stood her up. Her cheek landed on his chest. He scooped her closer, let his hand cradle her head and pressed his arm across her back. Steadied her and held her while she let soft sobs rack her body. She held her arms bent, tight against him, hands still in fists. Long moments of silent sadness.

‘I’m sorry—I don’t know where that came from.’

She pulled back a little and he felt his shirt wet with tears. That undid him. He hated to see a girl upset. In his iron-clad armour it was the one thing that could really pierce a hole. He blamed his sister Frankie for that—she always knew how to get to him.

‘I know where it came from. And it’s fine to let it go.’

She looked up at him, her dark green eyes glassy as a forest pool. Her lip wobbled again and she buried her head. This time she wrapped her arms around him.

‘Thank you. I’m sorry.’

‘Shh.’ The last thing she needed to do was thank him. There was nothing he would rather do than hold her and soothe her. And his body was all the evidence she needed that he was getting payback. Holding her close was playing with fire. And he was calculating the risks attached to that right now.

He hardened—fast and fierce. He leant down and breathed in her scent: flowers from her hair, sweet spice from her neck. He felt her body through the thin fabric of her dress as he held her. Slim, strong, soft. He dropped his arm to her waist and the sensation of the curve of her body hugged close sent him another sharp kick of lust.

She must have realised how aroused he’d got—she pulled back and looked up at him as if she was weighing up her odds, testing him for trust. He’d show her she could trust him …

It would have been nice to start slow, to brush his lips against hers and gently learn their shape. But steady and sweet had bailed out and he was riding the crest of a giant wave of lust. He snaked his hands through the thick red waves of her hair and scooped her mouth right under his. Fierce. He felt his body absorb the sensation of her curves. Not enough. His tongue took over—fired right between her open startled lips and plunged and tangled with hers.

She was shocked. Then she moaned. Then she settled even closer and her tongue met his with a hunger that fired his blood.

What a kiss.

Wild stabbing darts with their tongues—shallow at first and then duelling. Every thrust had him harder. Their mouths open wider, to taste more and more. He took and tasted her like a starving man. On and on they kissed. He heard her moan as if it was a surrender from her soul. Felt his face and her face wet from their mouths. Felt such a desperate need to feel her flesh that he dropped his hands to her full, plump cheeks and squeezed hard.

He pressed her closer and she opened her thighs to him. He ground himself against her, taking whatever pressure he could get against his length. He could feel a delicious tension start to build and knew he was losing control. She nestled herself hard against him, snaked her arms up and gripped the back of his neck. And, oh, that let him feel those breasts against him. He put his hands on them. Right on them. Filled his hands. Felt firm, hot flesh and hard buds through the fabric. Felt as if he’d never get enough.

He stared at her dress, tugged the V apart and slid his hands inside, pulling the cup of her bra out of the way, exposing a bare white breast.

‘Danny—stop!’

She pulled away and he was stunned. His head thick. An uppercut of lust to the brain. Literally reeling with what had just happened.

‘I heard a noise,’ she whispered, fixing her bra, closing up her dress.

He stared at her stupidly. She couldn’t really want to stop this now—could she?

‘It’s all right. It’s the penthouse. No one can come in.’

She stared—huge dark eyes.

‘Trust me. You’re safe in here.’

There was a knock at the door.

She stepped further away, looked from him to the door and back again. ‘It’s the police. It must be.’

‘Georgia, calm down—it’s fine. I told you.’

But she was panicked. The knock came again. He shook his head, walked to the door. Unlocked it and opened it. In the wide landing in front of the elevator stood two cops. No one and nothing else. They passed on the information that the place had been cleared. Sarwar had been as good as his word.

Just so long as the paps weren’t hovering.

He nodded at the guys and went back inside.

‘What’s happening? Is it all right? Am I able to go home now?’ She was smoothing down her dress, patting her hair.

‘All sorted. If that’s what you want to do you can go—any time you like.’

She looked at him. ‘Oh …’

He faced her, still semi-aroused. But she was elsewhere now—her mind was in a different place. Spooked.

He pulled out his phone, fumbled with the screen, irritated.

‘All right.’

‘All right? I’d like to finish our “discussion”.’

She swallowed, looked at her shoes. He looked at her shoes. Red, pointed … perfect Friday night shoes.

‘I … I think I should just go. I’d rather put all this behind me.’

She thought she should go? She could think what she wanted for now. He’d make his mind up in a little while.

‘You need a lift somewhere?’

She glanced at the two discarded glasses that sat on the table. Neither of them had had any more than a sip of alcohol. ‘No, thanks. My car’s parked.’

‘Okay.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s head down, then.’

They left the penthouse and headed back into the elevator. The doors closed between them and the magnificent Persian Gulf. His mind was playing catch-up as he stared out at the rose-gold sun sinking fast into sapphire-blue. Diamond-white iconic buildings held shards of every other precious jewel and metal, all polished to precision and laid out for people to worship and desire. It was some town. And he was proud that his fingerprints were all over it.

They stepped out onto the fifty-ninth floor. Better not to go straight to the lobby. He wanted to see the place cleared for himself. Passed the open door of the Jumeirah Suite. There was nobody lazing or relaxing now—only empty glasses to show that anyone had been there. A vacuum.

Her shoes clicked as she walked. He put his hand out and grasped hers, squeezed it. They moved along the marble corridor to the internal elevators. Noise bubbled up from downstairs—the chatter of everyday hotel life. He still grasped her hand. Toyed with what he was going to do next.

They paused when they got to the elevators. Both stared at their fuzzy outlines in the burnished gold doors. He let go of her hand and pulled her close. But she held herself back. He hadn’t expected that.

The elevator doors opened. She tucked her head down and went in.

He pressed the button and the doors closed.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

The elevator sped down, landed softly. She stood apart. He reached for her hand again but she shook her head.

‘Danny I’ve … It’s been … I’m grateful to you for helping me out but I just want to go home now and forget that this ever happened.’

She extended her hand for a handshake and he nearly laughed. Okay—that he really hadn’t expected.

‘No problem, Georgia. You’re a lovely woman. I was happy to help.’

She shook his hand. Firmly. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

He nearly let her go at that. Nearly. But they’d had the hottest kiss he’d ever known. Had been heading fast to what he was sure was going to be the hottest sex. He wasn’t letting her go just like that.

He pulled her up sharply, out of sight, inside the elevator. Put his mouth right over hers and kissed her the way he knew she needed to be kissed.

She wanted to say goodbye with a handshake?

He kissed her just long enough to have her moan and soften against him and then he pulled back. Twisted her a smile that told her she’d had a lucky escape.

But she eyeballed him, wiped her mouth. ‘Bye, Danny.’

She turned on her heel. His eyes fell to her backside, swinging as she stepped away. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

And then his eyes fell on the photographers who were sitting in the lobby, cameras trained covertly. He knew it. Oh, hell …

He stepped forward. Grabbed her.

‘Georgia, come with me.’

‘I don’t think so, Danny. I think we’ve—’

‘Georgia, don’t argue. There’s paparazzi over there and if you don’t want your picture to be going global any time, come with me. Now. I need to know what they know, what other pictures they’ve got—and so do you.’

She stared with panicked doe eyes up at him and he got that kick to his guts again. Protect her. He needed to protect her. He took her hand in his—no argument. Walked. Brisk. Together. Striding. Out past the fountain, the guests and the bellhops and into the darkening night.




CHAPTER THREE (#u0e031438-62d8-508e-9609-32dc63dc9b71)


JUST WHEN SHE’D thought she was in the clear. Just when she’d thought she could go home and soak away the mind-blowing night she’d just had. The shock of that party. The raid. The run. The man. The man …

She felt his hand wrapped round hers. Felt the firm, unyielding strength seep right into her. She walked at his side, matching his stride. Heads turned to watch them. She kept her gaze high. He drew glances and glares from the people exiting their cars and heading into the hotel. And there at the corner, where limos were disappearing to be valet-parked, was a posse of photographers.

‘There are more of them,’ she said, panic ringing clear in her own ears.

‘Yep.’

He was focussed. Intense as the sultry night.

‘Car’s here.’

‘I have a car.’

‘I know. But we’re not going to start discussing whose car we travel in now, are we? We’re going to get in mine and get the hell out of here.’

For a heartbeat she wavered. She could still call the valet for her own. Get in it and head back to the complex. Close the door and hope for the best. But the change in Danny as he strode forward to the sleek black sports car was making her think that they were by no means in the clear. And though he seemed to have the police in his pocket the paparazzi were a whole different animal.

‘Okay. I’ll come with you.’

He raised one of those perfect brows as if to ask if there was any other choice.

Slipping into the bucket seat took her aback. So low her knees knocked against the dashboard.

He slipped his hand to the side, pressed a button that sent her seat back. ‘Comfortable?’

She grasped the seatbelt that had slid itself forward and clasped it in place, looking at his face, reading it for clues. He was utterly composed. There was even a hint of a smile. But she sensed the change in him—even if he masked it better than a black veil.

‘Thanks. Where are we going?’

‘To limit some damage.’

‘What damage?’

‘That’s the part I don’t know yet.’

‘You’re saying words that scare me but you’re acting as if we’re off for a picnic.’

‘I don’t think it’ll be a picnic, but there won’t be anything scary.’ He turned and fired his stare at her. ‘Have no fear about that.’

She continued to watch the side of his face in the flare of streetlights that shone as they passed. They scooted effortlessly along Sheikh Zayed Road. Alongside the road signs and streetlights huge illuminated monoliths loomed, then passed. Taxis, SUVs and the occasional truck switched in and out of lanes. His driving, like everything else, inspired confidence, and she let herself sink back into the leather, sure that he’d be able to negotiate any of the manic moves that sometimes had to be dealt with on the roads out here.

‘We’re not being followed.’

She stared at him. Then turned her head to try and peer out of the tiny rear window. All she could see were lights. ‘You thought we were? Being followed?’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘It was possible.’

Another somersault in her mind. ‘Why? Who cares about us? Why would anyone want to follow us?’

His jaw was definitely tight and getting tighter. He drew in a breath, then twisted her a bemused look. ‘When they’ve taken enough pictures of the WAGs they come looking for the rich.’ His hand tightened on the wheel. ‘And rich ex-pats in trouble—beautiful ex-pats in trouble—sell papers. Here and at home.’

‘But you said we weren’t in trouble!’

‘With the police—no. But if those snappers have pictures of me or you anywhere near that suite then both our reputations will be in question.’

She stared. Her mouth had dropped. ‘So I could still lose my job?’

He took his hand off the wheel. Laid it on her hand, resting on her thigh. Rubbed and soothed. ‘Yes. You could lose your job. And I could lose myself the biggest contract I’ve been working towards for the last ten years. That’s why we need to get our mitigation.’

He cut a swift track into another lane and took them off on a slip road to another row of illuminated sky-high obelisks. He slowed, pulled in and stopped. An avenue of palms. Staff in attendance. Another exclusive hotel.

‘Public, but very restricted. Definitely no photographers. Come on.’

She was struggling to keep up but he was already out of the car and heading round it. The valet opened her door and she did her best to get out. No need as Danny hooked a hand under her elbow and steered her up and into the hotel so quickly she was sitting in a booth and sipping mineral water before she could even catch her breath.

His phone rang. He excused himself with a look and walked away, talking quickly. She watched him pace, overawed all over again. She felt as if she was playing catch-up, just being in his company. He seemed to move so fast—assured and swift. His mind raced as fast as his car. Tenacious and fiercely intelligent—you could tell just by looking at the concentration in his face even as he took his call.

So she’d thought she could climb into her own life raft and row herself to safety? Make out with the most amazing man she had ever met—would





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bella-frances/the-scandal-behind-the-wedding/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.