There was the merest prickling sensation of warning at Darius’s nape, a quiver of awareness down the length of his spine before he looked up and saw the green-eyed blonde standing at the entrance to the nightclub.
Her brother-in-law had referred to her as Andy when the two men had spoken earlier. It seemed far too masculine a name for a woman who looked so totally feminine.
Darius’s narrowed gaze remained fixed on her as her brother-in-law spoke briefly to Stephen, the security man Darius had warned to expect them, before the three of them then followed the security guard into the darkness of the club.
Andy walked ahead of her sister and brother-in-law, her head held high, almost in challenge. Almost as if she knew someone was watching her. As she walked her ash-blonde hair moved silkily about her shoulders.
She was taller than Darius had thought when she was sitting down in the restaurant, possibly five-eight in her stockinged feet, putting her height at about five-ten in the two-inch-heeled black strappy sandals she wore. They were conservative heels, considering that some of the women in the club tonight were wearing heels as high as six or seven inches.
Her black dress was also modest in style; it was sleeveless, yes, revealing those bare and gracefully slender arms, but the curved neckline wasn’t even low enough to reveal the soft swell of the tops of her breasts, and its knee-length was a complete contrast to the bottom-skimming dresses being worn by every other woman in the club.
Darius realised she was even less his usual type than he had initially thought she was.
* * *
‘Andy is a man’s name.’
Andy’s fingers tightened about the stem of her champagne glass at the first sound of that huskily censorious voice coming from just behind her. A sexily throaty voice that she knew instinctively, without even needing to turn and look, belonged to none other than Darius Sterne.
After all, who else could it be?
She was pretty sure she didn’t know anyone else in this place apart from Kim and Colin, who were currently out on the dance floor somewhere. And no doubt the couple were still arguing over the fact that Kim hadn’t wanted to come up to the Midas nightclub at all and Colin had insisted that they had to, that it would be extremely rude of him not to take up his employer’s generous invitation.
It was an argument Andy had stayed out of, mainly because her own feelings on the subject were mixed. Part of her had wanted to go up to the club to see if Darius was there, another part of her had hoped that he wouldn’t be.
His presence behind her had now answered that particular question, at least.
But Darius’s sudden appearance at that private booth, so soon after Colin had persuaded Kim to go and dance with him, the two of them having now totally disappeared into the midst of the other gyrating dancers, made Andy question whether or not Colin working for Midas Enterprises had been the reason they had received special treatment, after all...
She had felt as if she were being watched when they arrived at the club. As if unseen eyes were following her progress as she’d walked to the table ahead of Colin and Kim. Although a surreptitious glance around the room had revealed mild interest from several of the men present, it was not enough to have caused that quiver of awareness down the length of her spine.
Except the feeling had persisted.
Just the thought of being watched by Darius now made Andy shift uncomfortably.
She straightened her shoulders, firmly instructing her fingers to stop their trembling as she composed her expression before she turned to look up at him. There would be no wide eyes and gaping mouth for her.
Instead her breath caught in the back of her throat as she was once again struck by the immediacy of Darius Sterne as he stood just feet behind her.
There was that zing of electricity, of course, but he also looked so very tall and sinfully dark in the dimmed lighting of this part of the room.
Andy had to force herself to meet the intensity of his gaze as she moistened the sudden dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue, before finally answering him. ‘It’s short for Miranda.’
Darius nodded, liking the soft huskiness of her voice. And the name Miranda. It was so much more feminine than Andy. As Miranda herself was totally feminine.
Miranda was also a name that a man could murmur fiercely into the side of a woman’s throat as he thrust into her before climaxing inside her...
He was close enough to Miranda now to be able to reach out and touch the silkiness of her hair. Her skin was pale and luminescent, a soft glow against the black of her dress, and she wore little or no make-up, perhaps mascara and a soft peach lip gloss. He could see now that her eyes weren’t just emerald-green, as he had thought they were earlier, but shot through with shards of gold and blue. They were unusually beautiful eyes for an unusually beautiful woman.
A beautiful woman who had once again succeeded in arousing him at a glance. An arousal that had deepened as he’d watched the moistness of her tongue sweep across the fullness of her lips before she spoke with that sexily husky voice.
A voice he could easily imagine crying out his own name as they climaxed together.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he prompted as a waitress appeared and placed a fourth champagne glass on the table before quietly disappearing again.
Miranda raised blonde brows in the direction of that fourth glass. ‘It would appear that you already have.’
‘It would, wouldn’t it?’ Darius acknowledged as he made no move to sit down but instead moved to stand further inside the booth, his back to the room, at the same time as he blocked Miranda from looking at anything but him.
‘Do we have you to thank for the champagne?’ She held up her glass.
Darius nodded. ‘It’s the same champagne you were drinking with your meal earlier on this evening.’
A frown appeared between those magnificent green eyes. ‘You noticed that from across the room?’
‘I asked the sommelier on my way out of the restaurant,’ he admitted huskily as he slid into the leather seat opposite her, his gaze continuing to hold hers as he poured himself a glass of champagne.
A blush warmed her cheeks and she was the first to look away.
‘We were celebrating.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded. ‘It’s my birthday today.’
Darius found himself scowling. What were the chances of this woman’s birthday being the same day as his mother’s?
‘I’m twenty-three today,’ Miranda supplied abruptly, as if his continued silence unnerved her.
So she was ten years younger than his own thirty-three years, Darius realised—and a lifetime in experience. Yet another reason why he should just get up and walk away from this woman.
‘Would you like to dance?’ he heard himself say instead, his mind, or another, more demanding, part of his anatomy, obviously having other ideas on the subject.
The soft curve of her jaw instantly tensed. ‘No, thank you.’
‘That was a very definite no,’ Darius murmured.
‘I don’t dance in public.’ Those green eyes now met his probing gaze unblinkingly.
Darius looked at her searchingly, noting the increased tension in her shoulders, and the way her fingers had tightened about her champagne glass until the knuckles showed white. Of course, it could be that he made her nervous just by being here, but somehow he thought there was more to it than that.
‘Only in private?’ he prompted softly.
‘Not then, either.’
‘Why not?’ he demanded abruptly.
She blinked at his terseness, before just as quickly regaining her composure. ‘Maybe I’m just no good at it?’
Darius couldn’t believe that when everything about this woman spoke of grace and poise: the delicate arch of her throat, the way
she held herself so elegantly, her fingers long and tapered, her legs slender and shapely. Even her feet and toes appeared graceful in those black strappy sandals. They were graceful and elegant toes he could all too easily imagine moving caressingly along the bare length of his thigh as he made love to her.
‘Now tell me the real reason,’ he bit out harshly.
Andy gave an inner start, not just at Darius’s perception, but also his ability to cut out all unnecessary conversation and just go straight to the point of what he wanted to know. No doubt that stood him in good stead in business, but she found it more than a little disconcerting on a personal level.
Everything about this man was disconcerting on a personal level. The perfect fit of his suit jacket over those wide and muscled shoulders. The flatness of his abdomen beneath the black shirt. The long, long length of his legs.
Those sharply arresting features, dominated by the intensity of that probing topaz gaze as it remained fixed on her so intently.
She forced a smile to her lips. ‘You appear to know my name, and have helped yourself to some of my birthday champagne,’ she added dryly, ‘but so far you haven’t even bothered to introduce yourself.’
‘Let’s not play games, Miranda; we’re both aware that you know exactly who I am.’
Yes, of course Andy knew who he was. She just had absolutely no idea what Darius was doing even talking to her, let alone engaging in what she felt sure was, for him, flirtation.
Just looking at that hard and chiselled face was enough to tell her that this wasn’t a man who would heap flowery compliments and charm on a woman in order to seduce her. That he was far too self-contained, too sure of his own attractiveness, to ever need or want to do that.
But she did believe he was flirting with her now.
Oh, yes, every single nerve-ending in Andy’s body was screaming out that awareness; her nipples were hard buds against the soft material of her dress and there was a heat, a swelling, between her thighs.
Darius Sterne was definitely flirting with her. Andy just had no idea why he was even bothering with someone like her when there were so many glamorously beautiful women in the room. Women who would be only too happy to dance or do anything else with or for him.
‘Of course.’ She nodded. ‘It was very kind of you to extend an invitation to Colin and his family to come up and enjoy your nightclub, Mr Sterne.’
‘I thought I said no games, Miranda,’ he bit out challengingly.
She eyed him warily. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘We both know I invited you to come up to my nightclub, Miranda, so that the two of us could meet,’ he corrected harshly. ‘Your sister and brother-in-law were incidental to that invitation.’
Andy swept a slightly hounded glance in the direction of the dance floor, silently cursing when she still couldn’t see Kim and Colin amongst the writhing bodies, let alone send one of them a silent plea for help. She was finding it more and more difficult to maintain any semblance of polite conversation with a man who just refused to reciprocate that politeness.
‘You still haven’t answered my question as to why it is you don’t dance in public.’
Andy felt decidedly uncomfortable at being the focus of the intensity of this man. It was as if Darius could see into the very depths of her soul. And that by doing so he was also able to see all of her hopes and dreams.
And how most of them had been shattered four years ago.
That notion was ridiculous. This man didn’t know the first thing about her.
‘Hell, now I realise why you seemed familiar to me earlier,’ he murmured slowly. ‘You’re the ballerina Miranda Jacobs.’
So he did know something about her.
He knew everything about her that truly mattered...
Andy drew her breath in sharply. ‘Not any more,’ she bit out stiffly, very aware that her face had paled in shock, and that it was no longer just her hands that were trembling but all of her. ‘Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom!’ She quickly gathered up her black clutch bag before moving along the leather seat, with the intention of making good her escape.
Only to find that escape circumvented as one of Darius’s hands moved quickly across the table and his fingers clamped about her wrist. Not hard enough to actually hurt her, but definitely firmly enough to prevent her from escaping.
The intensity of his penetrating gaze was enough to cause her protest to die in her throat; she knew instinctively, that Darius simply wasn’t a man who took orders, from anyone.
Andy blinked hastily as her vision blurred. She wouldn’t cry. Not here, and certainly not in front of Darius Sterne. ‘Please let go of my arm, Mr Sterne.’
‘Darius.’
She gave a protesting shake of her head. ‘Please, release me.’
He didn’t remove his hand. Andy instead felt the soft pad of Darius’s thumb move caressingly, soothingly, against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Increasing her physical awareness of him, despite the fact that seconds ago she had just wanted to escape from the painful memories his words had evoked.
‘I was there that night four years ago, Miranda,’ Darius stated evenly, able to feel the wild fluttering of her pulse beneath the pad of his thumb, to see the look of pained shock in those green eyes for exactly what it was, as well as the deathly pallor of her cheeks. ‘I was in the theatre that night,’ he added, so that there could be no doubts left in her mind as to exactly what he was talking about. ‘The night of your accident.’
‘No!’ she protested weakly.
‘Yes.’ Darius nodded grimly, remembering clearly, as if in slow motion, watching the young ballerina on the stage as she seemed to stumble, attempt to stop herself from falling, before losing her balance completely and crashing down off the stage.
The whole audience had gasped, including Darius, followed by a hushed silence as the music and other dancers froze, and they all waited to know the extent of her injuries.
The realisation that she was the same Miranda Jacobs, the up-and-coming ballerina who had been lauded by the press and critics alike but had been forced to retire four years ago, following that aborted performance as Odette in Swan Lake, now explained so much about her.
That recognition Darius had when he looked at her, for one thing.
Her natural, almost ethereal slenderness, for another.
That fluidity of grace she possessed, just walking across a room. A gracefulness that was apparent in everything she did. Sitting, crossing her ankles, or lifting her champagne glass to her lips.
Everything about this woman was innately graceful.
Even the pained vulnerability he could now see in her eyes.
He had touched on a subject that so obviously caused her immense pain and distress.
Not surprising, when just four short years ago Miranda Jacobs had been called the Margot Fonteyn of her age. She had been an absolute joy to watch that night, mesmerisingly so. And that hadn’t been just Darius’s opinion, but also that of all the reviewers and the newspapers the following day as the headlines had delivered the news of the terrible accident on stage that might possibly mark the end of such a young and promising career.
That had been the end to Miranda Jacobs’s career as a professional ballet dancer; those same newspapers had reported just days later that her injuries were so extensive she would never dance professionally again.
Well, that might be true professionally...
Darius stood up abruptly before moving round the table and exerting a light pressure on Miranda’s wrist as he pulled her to her feet beside him. ‘Let’s dance.’
Her expression was panicked as she pulled against that hold on her wrist. ‘No.’
Darius stilled. ‘Is there any medical reason that says you can’t do a slow dance?’
Her eyes flashed
a glittering emerald. ‘I’m not a cripple, Mr Sterne, I’m just no longer capable of dancing in a professional capacity.’
‘Then let’s go.’ His tone brooked no argument as he released her hand to instead place his arm firmly about the slenderness of her waist, holding her possessively into his side as he strode towards the dance floor, deliberately catching the eye of the DJ and giving the other man a barely perceptible nod of his head as he did so.
Mere seconds later the tempo of the music changed to a slow love song.
‘That was convenient,’ Miranda bit out abruptly as the two of them stepped onto the dance floor.
‘No, actually, it was deliberate,’ Darius dismissed unapologetically; he wanted this woman in his arms, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
She gave a protesting shake of her head, the straight curtain of her hair moving about her shoulders as she placed her hands against his chest, with the obvious intention of pushing him away. ‘I really don’t want to dance.’
‘Liar,’ Darius stated arrogantly as he refused to release her; he had felt the increase of the pulse in her wrist, and his arms about her waist now allowed him to feel the fluttering of excitement that ran through the whole of her body. Very like that of a caged and wounded bird longing to be set free.
Damn it, he was starting to sound poetic again!
If nothing else, his mother’s distant behaviour towards him these past twenty years had taught him that women were fickle and cold and not to be trusted with his feelings.
Nor did he become involved, in any way, with women who were complicated, or wounded, as Miranda Jacobs so obviously was. He carried around enough emotional baggage, the rest of his family’s as well as his own, without taking on someone else’s. Hell, he didn’t become involved with women at all, except in the bedroom, and even then only on a purely sexual basis. Just a scratch to his itch.
The Redemption of Darius Sterne Page 3