The Bridesmaid's Secret. Sophie Weston

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СКАЧАТЬ The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.

      ‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.

      ‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.

      They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.

      Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.

      ‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.

      Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.

      And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—

      Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.

      She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

      She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?

      Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.

      ‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.

      Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.

      She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.

      Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?

      Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.

      ‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’

      Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.

      ‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.

      Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’

      Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.

      And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—

      Mine, thought Gil.

      He felt exultant yet oddly calm.

      ‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.

      Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.

      ‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.

      He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.

      Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.

      Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.

      The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.

      I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.

      Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.

      Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned her back to her partner, dancing round him provocatively.

      Only to find that someone else responded to the provocation.

      The first thing she was aware of was a warm hard hand on the bare skin of her midriff. Bella was so startled she almost missed her step. She looked back over her shoulder at the intruder, indignant.

      ‘Hi,’ he said.

      Or she supposed that was what he said. It was too loud to hear him and nearly too dark to read his lips. But she could see them with odd vividness in the flickering shadows. Sculpted, sensually full and yet with a tension to them that spoke of deliberate control. A man of passions, then, but passions carefully mastered.

      Bella could have laughed aloud at her fantasy. Especially as his mouth was almost all she could see of him.

      In the strobe lighting though she could make out that he was tall and thin as a rake. She was aware of deep, intense eyes that seemed to burn into her. And there was a wicked rhythm to his dancing. Behind him, Bella saw her former partner fling up a hand in rueful farewell and move on to one of the other girls without missing a beat.

      Which left her hard up against a body that seemed made of steel.

      Pliant steel. She gasped, as he flung her away from him, brought her back. While she was still reeling, he clasped her to him in some routine that he was completely master СКАЧАТЬ