An Heir To Make A Marriage. Эбби Грин

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      Suddenly there was a cacophony of calls: ‘Zac! Zac!’ And Rose was vaguely aware of him putting his arm around her and shielding her as he all but bundled her through a door beside the main one. It was being held open by one of the bouncers.

      When the door had closed behind them he turned to her, concerned. ‘Are you okay? Luckily the paparazzi didn’t get us.’

      She nodded, her ears still ringing from the shouting. ‘I think so.’

      He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, quirking a smile. ‘I’m more used to people waiting until they’re sure they have been comprehensively papped.’

      Rose shuddered at the very idea of her picture being splashed on the front pages of the tabloids. The thought was horrific. And of course he was referring to the kind of women who were as used to this kind of scene as she was used to a black and white uniform with an apron and to people never looking her in the eye.

      But he was looking her right in the eye now, and it was very hard to regret being here. Even though she knew it was wrong.

      ‘Shall we?’

      He put out a hand, indicating for her to precede him down a narrow corridor, luxuriously carpeted, with dark walls. It screamed sin and decadence, and it was a world away from anything she had ever experienced.

      Another spurt of that dangerously rebellious spirit urged her on. Just a few more minutes, Rose assured herself. And then she would go.

      She walked ahead of Zac, and she could feel the pounding bass beat of the music coming from all around them. They were approaching a door, and as if by magic it was opened by a handsome young man in a suit. He gave a small deferential nod as they walked in.

      She came to a stop inside what was clearly the VIP space, with its velvet banquette seats and gleaming table. There was a railing and steps leading down to the dance floor, which was on the level below. The bottom of the stairs was guarded by another huge bouncer.

      The dance floor was filled with hundreds of scantily clad lithe and gyrating bodies. Everyone looked like a supermodel. The local nightclub near where she’d grown up, on Bliss Street, Queens, could never have prepared Rose for this sophisticated spectacle.

      She was mesmerised for long seconds, and then she felt a prickling sensation across her skin and looked to see Zac leaning with one arm on the railing, staring at her with a small smile. He was holding two delicate flutes filled with sparkling wine and he handed her one.

      She accepted it, hoping she didn’t look like a total wide-eyed hick, and he clinked his glass to hers.

      ‘Here’s to...new friends.’

      ‘New friends...’ she echoed, and took a sip of the golden wine, delighting in the way it fizzed as it slid down her throat. She’d been too nervous to contemplate drinking any of the champagne at the function earlier.

      He took her hand with an ease that set her pulse on fire and led her over to the seat—a semi-circular shape around the table. She felt unaccountably self-conscious and nervous now that it was just the two of them in this dimly lit intimate space.

      She gestured to the heaving dance floor below and asked a little shakily, ‘Is this where you come to survey your kingdom?’

      Somewhere along the way Zac’s bow tie had come rakishly undone and the top button of his shirt was open. As was his waistcoat. There was space between them, but with his snowy white shirt pulled across his flat belly and one arm spread out along the back of the seat, with a hand resting near Rose’s head, she felt as hot as if they were touching. The darkness of his skin was visible through his shirt.

      He shrugged minutely, dragging Rose’s attention north again. Something crossed his face...some indecipherable expression. Almost distaste. But it was gone before she could analyse it.

      ‘It’s a prettier view than the floor of the stock exchange.’

      His words were flippant, but Rose detected something sharp. He gave off a blasé air, but she didn’t think he was for a second. She could tell that he was supremely aware of absolutely everything going on, and she would guess that there wasn’t the smallest thing left to chance.

      ‘I wouldn’t know what that looks like,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been there.’

      Zac’s gaze narrowed on her and her skin felt tight all over.

      ‘So tell me about you. I haven’t seen you around before...’

      She curbed a semi-hysterical giggle. ‘That’s because I’m not really from around here.’

      Zac frowned. ‘But you’re a New Yorker?’

      Rose took another fortifying sip of champagne. Mrs Lyndon-Holt’s cut-glass tones came back to her. ‘Don’t lie—he’ll see through you in an instant. Be honest. He won’t connect you to here. He was gone before you started working for us.’

      Her guts were tangled into a knot. She couldn’t believe it had really come to this. She felt as if at any moment she’d wake up back in that toilet cubicle. Maybe she’d knocked her head as well as her shoulder—

      ‘Rose...?’

      She looked at Zac Valenti. This was no dream. He was as real as she was.

      Illicit excitement vied with fear and guilt. She swallowed. ‘Yes, I’m a New Yorker. From Queens. The truth is...’ She faltered for a moment, tempted to blurt the whole thing out, but then the reminder of her signature on the bottom of that non-disclosure agreement told her that she couldn’t. No matter what happened.

      It was like a slap on the face.

      She couldn’t tell him the full truth but she could tell him this. ‘The fact is that I’m just a maid... I really shouldn’t have been at that function earlier, but my boss gave me a ticket. This isn’t my world. I’m no one special, really.’

      Rose almost hoped that this would be enough to have Zac Valenti recoiling in horror, hastening back to his own kind. But his expression only hardened in a way that she could see wasn’t directed at her.

      ‘It’s as much your world as anyone else’s, believe me.’

      Her insides lurched. She hadn’t expected him to express solidarity, and she was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.

      Then he took her glass out of her hand and put it down on the table alongside his own. He stood up from the seat, pulling Rose with him. ‘I want to show you something.’

      She balked. She wasn’t meant to be prolonging this, but there was something intense in his expression.

      Weakly, she said, ‘But we just got here.’

      He looked at her. ‘Do you really want to stay?’

      Rose ripped her gaze away from his and looked down over the club—it was spectacular and sinfully seductive, but ultimately it left her cold. Like a beautiful picture with no depth.

      She shook her head. ‘No.’

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