An Heir to Make a Marriage Page 2

  The fact that a sizeable part of Zac’s wealth now came from his new-found career as a hotelier and nightclub owner caused him no little measure of satisfaction—because he knew damn well how much it would enrage his grandmother.

  Not to mention the tabloid headlines that had followed his latest nightclub opening, when the supermodel currently being hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world had been papped leaving his apartment late the next morning, looking thoroughly bedded and sexily dishevelled.

  So why aren’t you returning her calls? asked a snide little voice, which Zac tried to ignore. The sex had been...adequate. But the truth was that their encounter had reminded him a little too forcibly of that feeling of disconnection he’d experienced when he’d discovered the deceit in his family. As if nothing was really real. As if he was a construct...

  But he wasn’t a construct. He was flesh and blood and very real. And those people could send snide looks and whisper all they wanted—because Zac Valenti was enjoying being a constant reminder that they were all part of the façade, just as he had been. A reminder that they were hypocrites and just as liable to fall from grace as he had. Even though he hadn’t really fallen—he’d jumped.

  He rolled his shoulders in the confines of his bespoke three-piece tuxedo suit, feeling claustrophobic and irritated with the insular direction of his thoughts.

  He looked around, seeking distraction.

  A flutter of movement in his peripheral vision made him look to his right. He found his gaze resting on the slender figure of a woman in a long, black, backless dress.

  She was facing away from him—about ten feet away. So far so unremarkable—Zac had seen women dressed in a lot less in the name of fashion, even if her back was remarkably pale and the line of her spine curved temptingly just before it disappeared under her dress. But something about her kept him looking, and as he did, narrowing his gaze, he realised with a jolt of awareness that her dress was seductively sheer.

  She moved then—shifting her weight, stretching up slightly as if she was looking for someone in the crowd—and the dress revealed slim yet obvious curves, the globes of her pert bottom encased in black underwear. His eyes travelled up her long, slender back to where strawberry blonde hair was upswept, revealing a graceful neck.

  The ends of the black ribbon of her mask trailed in the golden-red strands, and Zac had an insane urge to go over and undo it. Turn her around to face him. He wanted to see her.

  He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, wondering what the hell was going on. Women didn’t usually attract his attention without trying.

  Then she turned sideways, towards him, and the jolt of awareness became something much earthier and stronger. The black dress teased at an inordinate amount of pale skin, even though she was covered from neck to ankle, and Zac found that he was holding his breath as his gaze landed on her breasts. They were on the small side, but beautifully shaped, pert and upthrust against the fine material.

  Evidently she wore no bra, as the dress was backless. With that realisation a rush of heat went straight to his groin, and Zac found himself reduced to the kind of hormonal surges a teenage boy might feel, captivated by his first pictures of naked women.

  Her features were mostly obscured by the mask, but he could make out a ripe mouth and delicate jaw. Everything about her was graceful...feminine. She held a full champagne glass in her hand, and from where he stood he could see how white her knuckles were. He realised that she looked uncomfortable, or ill at ease.

  He frowned, but just then a waiter passed by and she quickly stepped forward, put her glass on his tray and turned away again. It was as if she’d made some kind of decision. She started walking in the opposite direction, her movements jerky, almost panicked, but she didn’t get far because a large group of men blocked her. She hovered uncertainly, craning forward as if to try and see another way out.

  Zac’s interest was spiked in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. Because if there was one thing he knew about this crowd, it was that everyone here felt entitled and no one hesitated...over anything. They barrelled through, regardless of niceties. So she was an anomaly, and Zac was suddenly wide awake and deliciously distracted.

  * * *

  Rose was feeling a mixture of sick dread and relief. She couldn’t see Zac Valenti anywhere. And right now she just wanted to get out of there—out of this stifling room full of people dressed like glittering peacocks, where she didn’t belong, in a dress that made her feel like a call girl.

  The stylist Mrs Lyndon-Holt had hired had been like an army officer, barking at Rose to get dressed. When she’d tried to voice her objections the woman had given her a steely look and said, ‘I’ve been given a brief and you’re wearing that dress.’

  Humiliation crawled up Rose’s spine as she thought of the instructions the stylist must have received: She needs to look good enough to catch my son’s eye, but slutty enough to make him believe she’s up for it.

  Relief at the thought that Zac Valenti must have left washed over Rose again. She reassured herself that there was no way he’d have looked at her twice anyway. The man took supermodels as his lovers, for crying out loud! Not pale and freckled maids who worked in big houses and got themselves embroiled in a deception that was utterly heinous.

  Rose was still being comprehensively blocked by a group of men and she balled her hands into fists, determined to push her way through if she had to.

  ‘I sincerely hope you’re not planning on taking a swing at the mayor of New York. I’m sure he’ll let you through if you ask nicely.’

  The voice was deep and sexy and very close to Rose’s ear. She spun around in fright and came face to chest with a tall, powerful body. She had to look up, and up again, to see the man’s face.

  Her heart stopped.

  Even the small black mask couldn’t hide his identity.

  Zac Valenti. He hadn’t left. He was right here.

  The mask obscured the upper part of his face, but not the piercing blue eyes glinting down at her. He was famous for his blue eyes. Some called them icy, but right now all she could feel was a disturbing level of heat rising through her body.

  Rose’s first thought was that pictures could never have prepared her for seeing him in the flesh. He towered over her own not inconsiderable five feet seven inches, and his shoulders were broad enough to block out the room behind him.

  His hair was dark golden brown, thick and wavy. He was dark—darker than he looked in pictures—with a hard jaw and a firm and wickedly sensual mouth, currently tipped up sexily at one side.

  He oozed the kind of easy charm and grace that came with impeccable breeding and inestimable wealth. He made Rose think of how she’d imagined Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby when she’d read the book. Aristocratic. Untouchable. Impossibly handsome. A golden being.

  Something deep and unfamiliar inside Rose pulsed to life, disturbingly intense. Hot. It struck her: sexual awareness. It was like being plugged into an electrical socket. Her relatively sheltered life with her father, after her mother had died, hadn’t allowed for much time to mingle with the opposite sex. Rose had been too busy worrying about her father and the deep pit of despair he’d fallen into.

  Zac Valenti cocked his head to one side, eyes sparkling, ‘I take it that you can talk?’

  Rose found one brain cell that wasn’t still frozen in shock and nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly, and then more strongly, getting a grip on herself, ‘Yes, I can talk.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ He held out a hand and smiled. ‘Zac Valenti—pleased to meet you.’

  His smile had the wattage of the sun at full blast. Rose had to stop herself from blurting out, I know exactly who you are.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m Rose.’

  His hand engulfed hers. Warm and strong. Slightly rough. He wa
s no soft city boy. Between her legs, her flesh jumped in response.

  ‘Just Rose?’

  She was about to supply her second name when she thought of something and panic made her belly swoop. He might recognise her name—she and her father had worked for his family. She thought quickly and said, ‘Murphy. Rose Murphy.’ It had been her mother’s maiden name.

  ‘With a name and colouring like that you can’t be anything but Irish.’

  Rose was sweating. ‘My parents emigrated here just before I was born.’

  She pulled her hand back from his. Even though she’d met him now she still couldn’t do this. She was out of her depth, her league...her everything. Shouldn’t men like Zac Valenti have cordons of bodyguards around them? Yet he didn’t. He was like a lone wolf. This had been a crazy plan and one she couldn’t possibly execute.

  She stepped back.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. ‘I have to...go...’ she said lamely.

  ‘Without a dance?’

  He extended his hand again and now Rose felt a different kind of panic surge. ‘I don’t dance.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe—who doesn’t know how to dance?’

  Someone who grew up watching the girls in her class go to dance classes and who buried her envy because she knew her parents couldn’t afford to send her.

  Suddenly angry at being in this position, and in this place, Rose said sharply, ‘Well, I don’t...and I really should go.’

  She turned away, only to feel a hand closing around her arm, tugging her back. Damn the man. Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Already she was feeling remorse for being sharp. This had nothing to do with him. Well, it did...but he wasn’t aware of her nefarious intentions.

  Oh, God. She felt nauseous.

  He’d put his hands on her arms now, and she looked up into that classically perfect face.

  He was concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  Predictably, Rose’s brain cells were scrambling again under that blue gaze. ‘You didn’t. I was being silly—I’m sorry.’

  His mouth tipped up again in that sexy way. ‘Was that our first fight?’

  Rose’s belly swooped alarmingly. ‘You’re very smooth,’ she remarked dryly, even as she battled surprise that he wasn’t more...arrogant. She’d had no idea he would be so charming or flirtatious. She hadn’t expected to like him.

  But then, she thought with uncharacteristic cynicism, if she’d been there as one of the impeccably clad waitresses he really wouldn’t have looked twice at her. And she wasn’t so naive she couldn’t see that underneath the suave exterior were the sharp talons of his own cynicism. A man like him, from a world like this...? His mother was right: they didn’t come more jaded.

  He smiled, oblivious to her inner turmoil. ‘I try.’

  Then he slid his hands down her arms, slowly enough to make her breath quicken and her skin prickle into goosebumps. Especially when he brushed against the sides of her breasts.

  He took her hand in his and started to lead her towards the dance floor, where couples were swaying cheek to cheek to the seductive tones of sultry jazz.

  Rose put her other hand over his and tried to tug free. Aware of a lot of curious looks, she whispered desperately, ‘Really, I’ve never—’

  He sent her a look over his shoulder, stopping her words. ‘Trust me.’

  They were on the dance floor now, and Zac swung Rose round until she was in front of him. She looked at him helplessly. He took her right hand and held it in his and slid his other arm around her back, up high, his hand spreading out over bare skin. And then he pulled her close and she stumbled forward slightly, right into his taut, lean body.

  Every thought left her head. Why she was there. What she was there for. Who she was. All she was aware of was how it felt to be held so close to this man, every inch of his tall body, hard and muscled, against her much softer one.

  Her breasts were pressed against his chest. His hand was making small subtle movements against the skin of her back. And they were moving, going around in a circle across the floor. Rose couldn’t actually feel her feet. She was floating.

  Her nipples had tightened to hard points, pressing against her dress. She’d never been so aware of herself as a woman before. She blushed and ducked her head. A finger came under her chin, tipping her face up again. Even in spite of the mask she could see that Valenti looked incredulous.

  He shook his head and frowned. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘Of course I’m real,’ Rose answered automatically, becoming aware of her surroundings again as she saw a woman gliding past, a condescending expression in her eyes as she looked Rose over from behind her own ornate mask. She tensed in his arms. ‘Look, Mr Valenti, I really should—’

  He pulled her closer and growled, ‘It’s Zac. Mr Valenti makes me sound like an old man. And I’m not an old man—yet.’

  She looked up at him and gulped. He most certainly was not an old man. He was young and dynamic and virile. And she couldn’t believe she was in his arms. Even though this had been the exact objective of the evening...

  ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘you’re the only woman here who isn’t wearing one piece of jewellery?’

  Rose immediately scrambled to think of something to say under that incisive blue gaze. ‘I...er...I’d be afraid of losing something.’

  Zac shook his head again in that slightly incredulous way. ‘Your jewels aren’t insured?’

  Rose cursed herself. Of course, every woman here would have insured each priceless jewel she owned to within an inch of its life. However, the only precious jewellery she owned was her mother’s engagement ring, and that had more sentimental value than real value.

  She affected what she hoped was an air of nonchalance and fudged telling the truth with deflection. ‘The current trend is that less is more.’

  Zac’s hand moved then, slowly down her back, his fingers trailing along her spine down to where her back started to curve just above her dress, and her entire body flushed with heat.

  He said throatily, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  Run—quick, run! said a voice in Rose’s head. She was playing a high-stakes game and she was not remotely prepared or ready. And yet, a small stark voice reminded her, she didn’t have much of a choice. If she wanted her beloved father to get better. To live.

  ‘What do you say we get out of here? Go somewhere a little less...stuffy.’

  Zac’s voice cut through her troubled thoughts and feelings of guilt. She wasn’t a dishonest person and she’d never told a lie in her life. Yet right now she was actively engaged in deceiving this man with every word that came out of her mouth. With her very presence.

  But the huge room did feel as if it was closing in on them. The heat was stifling. Weakly choosing more time to think about her predicament, Rose said, ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  Zac smiled, and it had a quality to it that wasn’t remotely civilised. But before she could change her mind he was tugging her off the dance floor, her hand firmly in his, and she had to lift her dress to keep up with him as he cut a swathe through the crowd.

  Rose was aware that she could probably just tug her hand out of his and flee, get lost in the crowd and escape through a side entrance, but...treacherously...she didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONCE THEY WERE in the vast marbled lobby, the increased flow of oxygen helped to unlock a delayed dose of cynicism that mocked Zac for being so taken by a woman. Yet even this rush of sanity couldn’t stop the realisation that he hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

  And certainly no woman had ever precipitated this level of arousal. He took her over to a secluded area and as soon as he looked at her he felt any attempt to control his libido turn to dust.


  Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was moving up and down rapidly. Cynicism be damned. He didn’t want its protection now—he needed to see her. He took his own mask off and threw it carelessly but expertly into a nearby bin. He saw how her eyes widened on his face and his body pulsed with desire.

  ‘Now you,’ he said softly. ‘I want to see you.’

  For a second she bit her lip, and he had the crazy notion that she was going to refuse and walk away and he’d be left with just her name... But then she nodded a little jerkily and took her hands out of his to lift them to the back of her head.

  ‘Wait—’ Zac cursed silently. His voice sounded too harsh. Needy.

  She looked at him, arms lifted.

  ‘I want to do it. Turn around.’

  Slowly her arms came down and she turned, giving him her bare, slender back. Zac had to restrain himself from slipping his hands under the sides of her dress and around to cup her breasts in his palms. Just imagining the scrape of small hard nipples against his skin was enough to send his arousal levels into orbit.

  Instead he lifted his hands to where the mask was tied and undid the knot, letting it fall open. She caught the mask in her hand, in front of her face, and Zac slowly turned her around again, a crazy surge of anticipation tightening his gut.

  And when she lifted her face to his...he stopped breathing.

  She was stunning. But in a way that caught Zac in a different place than when he usually looked at a beautiful woman. She was ethereal...delicate. The faintest trail of freckles sat across her small, straight nose. Her cheekbones were high, elevating her face out of mere prettiness. And her mouth was ripe and full, like a crushed rosebud. Rose, indeed. Not caked in lipstick. Ripe for kissing.

  Her eyes held him captive. Huge and green, with tiny flecks of gold.

  They stood looking at each other for long silent seconds—until Zac realised that they were still in a public place. He’d never lost himself like this...in a moment. As if she was some fey creature in an enchanted wood who’d captivated him.