The Scandal Behind the Wedding. Bella Frances

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      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ