'You've got to be kidding—I'm back on duty in two and a half hours. We're not all ladies of leisure, you know.'
'I'm only one until Bertha gets back, and besides, you know you love it.'
'At this moment, believe me, I don't! My feet are killing me. If it gets any busier, I'm going to hand in my notice!'
Stephanie laughed and went off to take a bath.
She dressed carefully for dinner with Dean, choosing a daring black dress that clung to the perfect curves of her body. She brushed out her long hair and left it loose to drift silkily around her bare shoulders, then lightly made up her face.
Dean whistled long and low when he saw her, staring, reaching for her, his fingers eagerly tracing the soft lines of her shoulders.
'You look fantastic,' he said hoarsely as he raised his mouth from hers.
'Thank you.' Stephanie smiled at him, hating herself for being almost unmoved by his kiss. What was happening to her? She moved away to collect her handbag. 'I'm ready.'
She watched the ocean as they drove to the casino, chatting absently to Dean. She would book her flight to London tomorrow morning. Perhaps once she had been to England, she would feel like her normal self again. She hated feeling the way she did at the moment; it ruined everything.
The restaurant was full, she noticed, as Dean led her to his table. It had an excellent reputation, and business was booming. A band played in one corner, behind the dance floor, well-dressed couples dancing to the slow, discreet music.
Stephanie ordered a gin and tonic and looked around with interest. The atmosphere in the restaurant was totally different from that in the gaming rooms. Here there was laughter, a relaxed air, talking and dancing. In the gaming rooms there was an intensity, a stillness, a greed in the Carefully blank faces of the players.
Stephanie never gambled, the idea held no appeal for her—she hardly ever went into the other rooms. One of Dean's men appeared by his side as they were ordering, whispering in his ear. Dean rose immediately. 'I'm sorry, honey—I'll be back in a moment.'
She smiled, nodding, used to him being called away when they ate here. She sipped her drink and ordered her meal, even though she didn't feel very hungry.
She idly watched the other diners, easily picking out the serious gamblers—a game she often played. Mostly men, there was an impatience about them, a boredom with their surroundings. They frightened her a little, they were so singlemindedly obsessed, and she pitied the beautiful women who sat so languidly with them.
As promised, Dean returned within minutes.
'Sorted the problem out?' Stephanie asked with a smile, suddenly feeling a rush of affection for him. He was so dear to her, she was closer to him than to anybody else in the world.
She saw the gleaming brightness in his eyes, his love of his work. 'You wouldn't believe it,' he said with a kind of restless excitement in his voice, 'but Luke Baroda is playing the tables. He hasn't lost a franc. That guy has the devil's own luck—he's winning thousands!'
'Luke Baroda?' Stephanie echoed vaguely. The name sounded familiar. Hadn't Dean mentioned him over lunch? She hadn't been listening.
'Luke Baroda,' Dean repeated patiently. 'The property tycoon. He owns chains of hotels in practically every country in the world. I've asked him to join us for a drink later—you don't mind, do you, honey?'
'No, of course not,' She accepted it gracefully as part of Dean's work, although she usually disliked these rich gamblers he introduced her to.
The food arrived at that moment and Dean ate heartily, not noticing that Stephanie barely touched a thing on her plate.
The waiters hovered round them and she sipped her wine, hoping that Dean was not going to play with this property tycoon. There was a wild, reckless streak in Dean, usually well under control, that frightened her. He saw the rare, successful gamblers as a sort of personal challenge. He wanted to beat them, he needed to beat them, and he had lost hundreds of thousands of francs trying.
Stephanie had only watched one of these big games and she had walked out halfway through, unable to bear the tension, the silence, or the shock that the Dean who sat at the table risking huge sums of money was a stranger to her. She had seen a side of his personality that was totally unknown to her that night. He had been completely unaware of her presence, his eyes fixed, his face filmed with sweat. She shivered now, as she thought about it.
The meal finished, they drank coffee and brandy, their conversation light and lazy. Then Stephanie stood up. 'Excuse me,' She smiled at Dean and made for the ladies' room, where she brushed out her hair and checked her make-up.
She stared at herself in the long gilt-edged mirrors. She looked cool, composed, her fair hair tumbling around her shoulders. That strange mood still sat on her, changing her viewpoint on life, somehow changing everything.
Another woman entered the room as she was examining her reflection, middle-aged, beautifully- coiffured, her wrists and throat glittering with diamonds.
Stephanie smiled and left, to make her way back to the table. There was a man sitting with Dean now, his back to her as she approached. He had wide, powerful shoulders, she noted, not concealed by the expensively- tailored white dinner jacket he wore.
His hair was almost black, thick, touching the white collar in stark contrast. Dean was talking, his face earnest, respectful.
So this was the big winner, the property tycoon— Luke somebody-or-other. At least he had good shoulders, Stephanie thought wryly—which was more than could be said for most of them. Dean was falling over himself to impress, and she sighed as she reached his side.
Both men rose. Dean slid his arm around her shoulders, his fingers caressing her bare skin, blatantly possessive.
'Stephanie, I'd like you to meet Luke Baroda.' To the man, he smiled, 'Stephanie Maxwell, my fiancee.'
Stephanie pinned a polite smile on her face and held out her hand. But the breath caught in her throat as she looked up into lazy, hooded green eyes. He was the disturbing stranger at the traffic lights!
Her smile disappeared. She felt panicky. His hand, strong and tanned, closed around hers.
'Miss Maxwell,' He inclined his head, the light gleaming in his nearly-black hair, his mouth faintly amused. She knew he remembered the incident that afternoon.
'How . . . How do you do, Mr Baroda.' Her voice came out small and stupidly breathless. He was tall, taller than Dean, his body lean and powerful. She had to tilt back her head to look into his face.
He released her hand and they sat down. He and Dean were talking, but Stephanie wasn't listening. She glanced covertly at him. His face was hard, serious, the soft lighting in the restaurant emphasising the lean angles of his bones, the strength of his jaw, the shadows beneath his cheekbones. His mouth was firm and sensual, promising expertise. He was very, very attractive, there was something about him that riveted her attention.
He turned his head suddenly and caught her looking at him. He did not smile, simply stared at her, and Stephanie, unable to drag her eyes away, felt the colour pouring into her cheeks. Those eyes were incredible, she thought shakily, mesmerising, faintly cynical, charming. She looked into them and saw his strength, his self-assurance, a potent sexuality that made her colour rise higher and her stomach turn over.
She leaned closer to Dean as though seeking protection from this dark, somehow threatening stranger.
'Would you care to dance, Miss Maxwell?' Luke Baroda's voice was low, almost expressionless, and she heard the question with something akin to fear trembling inside her.
She looked at Dean. 'I. . . . No, I. . . .' She needed an excuse to refuse. Dean, say something! she thought desperately.
Luke Baroda watched her, reading her mind. 'I'm sure your fiance won't object to one dance,' he drawled mockingly, in challenge.
Dean laughed, patting her arm. 'Go ahead, honey,' he said lightly, carefully. Very clever, Stephanie thought bitterly as she stood up and allowed Luke Baroda to steer her on to the dance floor.
She
did not look up at him, but felt the light touch of his hand against her waist as they began to move to the music. Luke Baroda held her closely, the dance floor was crowded, enforcing their intimacy. She felt the muscles of his shoulder tensing beneath her hand, inhaled the clean male scent of his body mingling with a faint attractive cologne.
She could hear her heart beating faster than usual, her throat aching with a strange tension. She wanted to get away—away from him. He was dangerous. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. He was staring down at her, unnerving her. She did not look up.
'You dance superbly,' he said, his voice amused, his mouth close to her hair.
'Thank you.' It was he who was dancing superbly, she was merely following.
She dared to look up at him then, and her heart began to pound.
'Are .. . are you here on holiday?' she asked, for something to say, not really interested.
'Why do you ask? You don't give a damn,' he replied coolly.
'Polite conversation, Mr Baroda—something you obviously know little about.'
Her suddenly-angry eyes met his, and incredibly, he smiled, his mouth curving, etching deep lines in his tanned face.
'You're very beautiful,' he said softly, his green eyes lazily assessing. Stephanie felt herself blushing, jumping as his hard thigh accidently brushed hers.
'Flattery?' she queried scornfully.
'Polite conversation, Miss Maxwell. Isn't that what you wanted?' He was teasing her, and despite herself, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.
Luke Baroda's eyes narrowed on that smile and as their eyes met again, they were both suddenly serious, a powerful tension crackling between them, cutting them off from the rest of the room, from the rest of the world.
The music had stopped, she realised moments later. Luke Baroda's hands dropped from her body and they made their way back to the table.
Dean was smiling as they sat down. He looked pleased, Stephanie thought, and slid her hand into his, relieved that the dance was over. There was something about Luke Baroda that worried her, though it was purely instinctive. He knew too much. She had never met anyone quite like him before.
He was watching her now, as she leaned towards Dean, his eyes narrowed, assessing.
She wanted to go. But Dean was still going all out to impress and Stephanie could see that Luke Baroda was totally aware of Dean's tactics. Her dislike of him grew as she saw the cynicism in his eyes. She felt totally panic-stricken when Dean rose to take an important telephone call in his office. She felt the ridiculous urge to run after him. There was no way she wanted to be left alone with this tall, powerful stranger, and glancing at him, she was aware that he knew how she was feeling.
He stared at her, noting the nervous way her hands played with her glass, the flickering of her eyelids. He glanced at the sapphire engagement ring on her finger and asked casually, 'How long have you been engaged?'
He was making polite conversation again, she thought, but at least this was safe ground.
'Six months,' she replied, flashing him a brief, polite smile before looking away.
His face was expressionless. 'And when will you be getting married?'
'We haven't set the date yet.' Her voice was cold. She felt very defensive. Luke Baroda smiled, as though he found her answer amusing, but said nothing.
Stephanie watched as he lit a cigar, watched the fragrant smoke drifting from his lips. There was an unhurried grace in all his actions that inexplicably alarmed her. He was too sure.
'How long have you known Sangster?'
Stephanie frowned. Why was he asking all these questions? 'I've known Dean since I was a child—not that it's any of your business,' she added with a flash of daring.
'You're little more than a child now.' There was a sudden quality of tenderness in his voice that made her heart turn over.
'I'm twenty-one!' she told him indignantly, her breathing irregular and fast.
Luke Baroda smiled again, still staring at her intently. 'As old as that?' The green eyes mocked.
'I believe you won tonight,' she said politely, changing the subject, and stared away from him across the crowded room.
'I always win.'
'Always?' His calm arrogance infuriated her.
'Yes—hasn't your fiance told you that?'
He was making fun of her and she glared at him. 'I '
'I'm sorry, darling,' Dean was beside them. She had not even noticed his approach. 'This is going to take longer than I expected—I'll probably be tied up for the next hour or so.'
Consciously trying to ignore Luke Baroda's probing gaze, Stephanie stared up into Dean's face.
'I'll take a taxi home,' she said with a brilliant, fevered smile. There was no way she was going to spend the next hour in Luke Baroda's company. 'I'm a little tired, anyway. I'll see you tomorrow.'
Dean's eyes burned regretfully down into hers. 'Sure?'
'Yes, it's getting late.'
'I will be more than happy to give Miss Maxwell a life home.' Luke Baroda's cool voice cut between them like a knife, his suggestion shocking Stephanie to the core. She smiled slightly, a polite refusal hovering on her lips, but Dean would not allow it. He would refuse for her.
'Well, if you're sure... .' Her head jerked up in astonishment as she heard Dean's voice.
'My pleasure.' Luke Baroda sounded cool, uncaring.
Stephanie looked at Dean and saw his uncertainty. He didn't want her to go with Luke Baroda, but on the other hand, he could not refuse without appearing petty. Luke Baroda was an important, influential man, a man Dean needed to impress. Dean bent his fair head and slowly brushed Stephanie's lips with his own. It was a warning to the lean powerful man who watched the kiss with blank eyes.
'I'll ring you tomorrow, honey.'
Stephanie did not answer. She felt a stab of irritation at Dean's weakness and she certainly had no intention of letting Luke Baroda drive her home. She walked from the casino with her head held high, aware of the dark, disturbing man at her side. As the warm night air hit them, she turned to him, swallowing nervously as she looked into his dark shadowed face.
'There's really no need. .. .'
'Stephanie.' He placed a long, hard finger gently across her lips. 'It suits you.' He mused, a wicked amusement glinting in his eyes.
'Mr Baroda. .. She was shocked, trembling at his casual touch, yet held still by his magnetism, by the sheer force of his smile.
'You know my name, use it.'
'I. . .1 want to get a taxi,' she muttered, very flustered.
'I'm driving you home,' he told her calmly, and sliding a hand beneath her elbow, guided her gently but firmly towards his low, black car.
'But I don't know you,' she said angrily, as she slid into a luxurious leather seat.
Luke Baroda slid in beside her seconds later and turned to her in the darkness.
'You have nothing to fear from me,' he said gently.
Stephanie stared at him, her heart beating very fast. She trusted him, she realised with a shock, trusted him and yet feared him—a crazy combination of feelings. So, defeatedly, she gave him her address, explaining how to get to the beach house, then settled back nervously into her seat as the powerful car roared into life, shooting out of town towards the coast road.
She was desperately aware of the man beside her as she stared blindly out through the windscreen, aware of every movement he made. She glanced at his hard profile from beneath her lashes. She could read no expression in his face at all. He was silent, seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts.
She thought of Dean and sighed. He should have known that she did not want to be left alone with Luke Baroda. He should have known.
'You must have known that he wouldn't refuse.' Luke Baroda's cool ironic voice made her jump. She glared at him. Could he read her mind?
'I beg your pardon?' she said stiffly.
'You don't know him at all, do you?' His eyes met hers for a brief second, hard, intent, probing, and Ste
phanie's mouth tightened fiercely.
'Why don't you mind your own business?' she demanded.
'You don't deny it, then.' There was a cold amusement in the words.
'I don't have to deny anything. Dean and I are very close.. ..'
'But you're not lovers.'
'How the hell do you know?' She was so angry, her blue eyes glittered, her body turned in the seat towards him. Who did he think he was, anyway? A stranger who had no right to be making such personal remarks.
The car slowed, gliding to a standstill. She was home, she realised, and it had taken no time at all.
Luke Baroda looked at her angry little face and smiled.
'Oh, I know,' he said softly. 'You wear your innocence like a cloak.' He reached out his hand and touched her silken hair.
Stephanie felt her heart pounding, her mouth drying. She shook her head and his hand dropped. She felt utterly confused by what he had said to her.
'I don't understand. . ..' she whispered, caught in some strange spell that bound them together in the warm darkness of the car.
'No?' There was a moment's silence, then, 'You won't marry Sangster,' he told her in a cool, sure voice. 'Because I want you, Stephanie—and I always get what I want.'
Her eyes widened in pure alarm, a shuddering fire tearing through her body. The calm certainty in his voice and the darkness of his eyes spoke of premonition. Every word he had said was enforced by the hard Jines of his face and she felt frightened to death.
'Go to hell!' she whispered shakily, and stumbling out of the car, ran towards the beach house as though the devil himself was after her.
CHAPTER TWO
LONDON was veiled in dull, grey rain when Stephanie arrived. She stared out of the tiny window on the plane and felt miserable. She had forgotten how grey London was. It was difficult to believe that above the heavy clouds through which the plane had ploughed on its descent, the sun shone in an incredibly blue and purple sunset sky.
Ten years was a long time, but she still remembered tiny details, like the smell of the English air, the dark light and the fact that it was so cold even though it was supposed to be summer time.
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