From the walls hung huge tapestries with the scenes of what appeared to be Greek myths—rich and fascinating and, from what he could see, slightly naughty.
With the tapestries behind her, and the burnished gold glow that seemed to come from nowhere but that shrouded the place with a warm intimate hue, she was the golden rose.
Like a tableau they stood—Aphrodite with her attendants. A scene from Greek mythology lifted into the modern-day world.
The photographers kept popping their heads up from behind the lenses as if to check what they were seeing was real. James could hardly believe it himself.
She stood still for a moment longer, the smile of Venus on her lips. She could have been one of the world’s great models if she’d wanted to. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. And the question vexed him—was her beauty all on the outside, or the inside? What was it that made her so beautiful? Her eyes, her skin, her hair, her smile? Or was it the bubbly personality and spirit of generosity? Her natural, calm elegance came with a touch of mischief, of love, of laughter and fun. So irresistible.
And how was it that she could stand here in front of the world and there was no hint of that blush? Surely she must be feeling self-conscious? Who wouldn’t? But thinking on it, he’d only ever seen that blush when right up close to her. When he was right up close to her.
She turned then, and he forgot everything. The dress was a masterpiece, but only a foil to the body beneath. Aside from two very long, very thin straps, there was no back to her dress. Only smooth, golden skin revealed. The material started again fractionally above where the curve of her bottom began. James, like every male in the room, was transfixed.
After a second’s pause in which everyone in the room took a collective breath, the frenzy of camera clicks started again.
Seeming to ignore it, Elissa nodded and the waiting staff moved towards the media pack, offering them the drinks. Then she turned back to face the line-up.
‘The other guests will soon be arriving. If you want to catch them on the red carpet outside, now is your chance to get your spot. Otherwise you can remain here and start the party.’
But they wouldn’t let her go—questions came at her from all directions.
‘How do you like Sydney?’
‘Will you be coming back to Aristo to live or is Australia your new home?’
‘Who designed your dress, Elissa?’
James noticed the slight set to her smile under the onslaught—the first hint of tension she’d let slip and so slight he doubted anyone else would even notice. But he was tuned in to every nuance of her body and expression and he read strain there. She chose to answer the third question.
‘Tino Dranias, a young Aristan designer.’ She gestured with her hand and a man walked past James; he hadn’t realised there was anyone behind him. ‘His work is just wonderful. If you think it looks nice, let me tell you it feels even better on.’
It was the man from the lounge. The one looking as if he’d been up all night. Of course he had—hunched over a sewing machine. James could taste the humble pie already.
‘Tino styled the wait staff tonight too.’ The young designer looked pretty blown away as he smiled into the lenses of over a hundred cameras.
Liss looked as if she’d been doing it all her life—and she had, of course. But still, she had such grace under pressure.
‘What about Australia, Elissa? Is that your new home now?’
The flash in her eyes wouldn’t have been noticed by any of them. Or if it had they couldn’t have interpreted it. But James had seen that look before, when he’d asked her to name one thing she wanted that she didn’t have.
‘I’m enjoying Sydney but I’ll probably move on again soon. I’m not ready to settle into anywhere for long yet.’ Her answer was delivered with the flippant lilt he’d heard often before. But there was an off note in there. She was lying. He was sure of it.
Half the photographers scrummed out to where many paparazzi were already in place to catch the arrival of the guests, while the others remained, snapping the room, the waiters, still trying to get a word from Liss. She moved quickly though, pausing by James on her way. A quick, low mutter in his ear. ‘I know it’s not all about me, James, but they wanted photos and I thought it might help.’
Hell, yes, it helped. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes and he needed to make contact with her—some sort of communication that could carry them through the evening to a time when they could really talk. A compliment might help.
‘You look beautiful. Like Aphrodite.’
That earned him a quick look—one that stabbed. ‘Aphrodite was a vain and selfish creature who cheated on her husband.’
Wrong choice, then. His feeling of guilt trebled.
‘Liss, I—’
‘Better go mingle.’
She turned, smiling keenly into the crowd, and didn’t glance his way again.
The sensation that she was wrong—that he’d been wrong—grew. It was all about her. Everything he was feeling was all about her. And he had to make it right.
Ironically he regretted the media presence. She was keenly aware of them, as was he, and it meant he couldn’t get within any sort of distance—certainly not nearly as close as he’d like.
He lifted a glass from one of the nymphettes’ trays, grimaced weakly at her bright-eyed beauty and decided to get the duty bit out of the way. So he talked to a few of the journalists; they all gushed about the tour they’d been on.
‘And your room is satisfactory?’ Mr Suave Hotel Magnate himself.
‘The most amazing view actually.’
Coming from this hardened hack it was some compliment and James knew he had no need to worry about what the reports were going to be like in the papers, magazines and TV shows over the next week.
Liss hadn’t just invited the sycophants. She’d invited some cynics as well. And she’d won them over.
Of course it wasn’t all down to her. The hotel was beautiful, with a fabulous location and outlook. No detail had been spared and whatever the hell they were drinking it tasted damned nice. But without the X-factor of Princess Elissa, the night wouldn’t have been nearly such a success.
‘Have you got all the information you need?’
The guy flashed a little booklet. ‘Press pack from our princess has all the info necessary.’
‘Good.’ James itched to grab it off him and see what she had written.
But now the journalist was looking over to where Liss stood encircled by several guests. ‘She does the decorative bit well, doesn’t she? Still, I guess it’s easy when you’ve never had to do a decent day’s work in your life.’
James paused. Not so much suave but stiff now. ‘On the contrary, Princess Elissa works very hard at both her job and her charity work.’
The hack turned to James, cynical laughter deepening the lines etched into his face. ‘Princess Elissa doesn’t do any charity work.’
James stared at the journalist—then saw his own astonishment reflected as the other man’s expression changed. He clamped his jaw shut and stared him out, deciding not to argue as he saw the million questions leap in the journalist’s eyes. The guy was practically sniffing the air for the story. He opened his mouth, but James got in first, murmuring tightly, ‘Please excuse me, I must see to something.’
James left the ballroom, needing a second to steer clear of journalists and reorder his thoughts, which were suddenly going chaotic—no one knew about her visits? Her volunteering? It wasn’t all for show?
Breathing hard, he found a stack of spare press packs out by Reception. Opening one, he saw it included brochures on the other hotels in the chain as well as a small leaflet about tonight’s event. It listed details of what was being served, the key players in the hotel chain—including his business bio. He flicked through the service listings—the dress designer’s contact details were there, the lighting guy, the DJ. Apparently the additional waiting staff were courtesy of Ellos Modelling Agency.
That explained all the beauties, then.
It got him thinking. She must have put in some hours getting this together—all hours. God, he was an idiot.
Here he was thinking she hadn’t been taking it seriously, had just been partying on. Instead she’d been incredibly focused and incredibly productive.
What else had she been taking seriously? What about him? Had she been taking their affair seriously too?
He hadn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. Right from the start he’d pigeonholed her and based on what? The bitter lens that Jenny had left him with—the warped one. He blinked, refocused and thought—really thought about how things were. The way she’d persevered even when she was so completely hopeless at typing; the effort she’d made with those girls at Atlanta House; those nights in Sydney when he’d watched from his apartment as she’d come home—always alone and not once stumbling in her ridiculous shoes; the way she took him so completely into her—giving everything, wanting to give him maximum pleasure every time. The bad feeling inside simply grew.
He went back to the ball. For a while he did more watching than participating. Cynically studied the socialites and dignitaries and their love-hate relationship with press hounds and paparazzi. Tonight was a love night. They greeted each other, most having encountered many times in the past, with smiles and air kisses and the occasional camera click. It was a night for courting, and photos of ‘my best side’ and time to forget uglier scenes of thrown punches and non-molestation orders.
But there were press people here who were celebrities in their own right, world-famous photographers for whom even the most publicity-shy superstar would beg to sit. It was an incredible line-up. And under the rich tapestries and sublime lighting, they all seemed to glow. It wasn’t just her contacts that made it a success, but the ambience she’d created.
And he’d ruined it—for her and for him. He knew she was hiding her hurt. With one moment of absolute rabid-dog madness he’d severed their connection. Jealousy, he reflected, was an insidious, hideous thing and insecurity utterly destructive.
He hadn’t been fair. He, who prided himself on being just that, on giving people the chance to prove their worth, hadn’t been fair to her at all. Sure, he’d given her chance after chance professionally. But personally? Not one. Just as she’d said.
He’d only been willing to believe the worst—wanting to believe the worst. She’d been right about that too—it was what he’d wanted to see. And why? Because it was a convenient out. He’d allowed the past to blind him. Because he’d felt scared. It had been the most cowardly moment of his life.
Fact was, Princess Elissa Karedes scared him to death. Or, rather, the feelings he had for her did. For those mad moments he’d wanted to believe the worst of her because he didn’t want to let himself be in love with her.
He didn’t want to be hurt.
It was too late—for either of those things.
The hours dragged. He hadn’t gone near her all evening because when he did he didn’t want anyone else around. What was going to happen between them was utterly private. This was her moment in the sun. The party had been such a success and he knew the media coverage would be good—he wasn’t about to blow all her hard work on creating a bigger ripple than the king and the palace maid rumour. And if he got closer than five feet to her right now, there’d be one hell of a scandal.
Seeing her across the room, he knew the effort she’d put in—her integrity was obvious. She glowed with the self-belief, the pride, the dignity in a job well done.
The self-hatred, the humiliation and the hurt in having screwed up something far more important ate into him.
Damn the press. He had to move, had to fight—he knew now it was his life on the line.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LISS worked the party and smiled more than she’d ever smiled in her life. Worked hard to appear happy on the outside when on the inside she was totally torn apart. James had hardly said a word to her all evening. She’d turned away from him right at the start and he hadn’t been near since.
And she was tired. She didn’t want to see the party through to its final moment—even though she knew it was a success. While one part of her could almost celebrate, the rest of her just wanted to run away and let her broken heart bleed openly. She faced the fact it was going to be at least another couple of hours before that could happen and mentally squared her shoulders. She’d discovered the depth of her own strength this last week. She just hoped she’d never have to use it again. Right now she’d go once more into the social round.
He caught her just as she was about to join another group. Took her elbow and turned her away from the others. Her whole arm sizzled and at his fierce expression her heart broke all over again.
‘I was going to wait until the end of the evening to talk to you.’ He spoke low in her ear. ‘But I find I can’t. Can we have a quick meeting now?’
She nodded, not wanting to, but not wanting a public scene. She walked with him, down the corridor back to the suite of meeting rooms. He ushered her into one and locked the door behind them. The same damn room as last week. She moved into the middle of it; he followed. She wouldn’t look up at him, not wanting to see the cold condemnation she was sure would be there. What had she done wrong this time?
‘The guy coming out of your room was the dress designer, wasn’t he?’
Her vision splintered. She didn’t want to go over this. Didn’t want him to drag her through the barbs once more. But she nodded, couldn’t trust her voice not to break.
‘I saw him at the photo shoot you had. I figure he’s probably gay.’
‘He’s not gay.’ It was a whisper. She wished she could get some kind of perverse pleasure from telling him that, but all she felt was hurt.
‘No? But he’s not your type anyway, is he?’
She shook her head. He should know that.
‘Am I your type, Liss?’
She froze, knotted her hands together as her skin ran both hot and cold. ‘I don’t want to talk about that…’ The words rushed out, and then she rushed too, pushing past him, wanting to get away.
He grabbed her mid-flight, his fingers clenching on her upper arms as he pulled her towards him. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words flew rough and hard. His hands gripped harder. ‘I’m sorry.’
She stopped, kept her head low. All she could see was the white of his shirt jerking across his chest. His fingers loosened just a little.
‘Listen to me,’ he said fiercely. Then he breathed for a bit. ‘Please.’
She didn’t reply, but didn’t try to pull away either. What was he sorry for? What did he want to say to her? She could hardly hear for the hope and the fear thundering in her ears.
It was another moment before he spoke again. Then it came out, slow, quiet. ‘You once asked if my mum and I had fallen out. We had—big time in a never-talk-about-it kind of way. It happened the day I came home from school early and found her at home with her lover. She was having an affair, right under my father’s nose, jeopardising our whole family.’ He spoke faster. ‘She knew I knew. But it didn’t end. And after a while I figured out it hadn’t been the only one. Nor was it the last.’ His bitterness was palpable as he paused. ‘I’ve never told anybody that, Liss. Not even him.’
Stunned, Liss looked up. As she looked at the torment in his eyes her heart ached for the boy he’d been—for his loss of innocence and the burden he must have felt.
‘I was so angry with him for not noticing. How could he not have known? And I was determined no woman would ever make a fool of me the way my mother had my dad.’
He grimaced. And Liss’s heart sank lower when she saw the self-mockery in his eyes. Oh, no. She lifted her hands, placing them on his chest, wanting to support him.
His gaze dropped, but he kept talking. ‘A couple of years ago I was in a serious relationship. Jenny was popular, a social butterfly, loved attention. What I didn’t know was that behind my back she was screwing around. She got lazy
with the latest and pictures of them together were published in the gossip mags. The rest of the world knew before I did—and the media revelled in it.’
Liss flinched. Opened her mouth, but he started talking again, even faster, and she couldn’t interrupt, wanting to understand so badly.
‘I refused to be hurt like that again, or so humiliated. I decided I was never getting serious with a woman, I’d just have the odd fling when the opportunity arose. And certainly I wasn’t going to get involved with another butterfly type.’
He looked at her then, stormy apology heavy in his eyes. ‘And then you waltzed in—so beautiful and so vivacious and so fun-loving.’ He shook his head. ‘I tried really hard not to like you, Liss. I told myself you were shallow and vain and wouldn’t know the meaning of loyalty even if it bit you. But every step along the way you were showing me different. And I couldn’t help but touch you and once I’d touched I couldn’t stop and then every time I did, I wanted to explore more. I wanted to understand you.’
He broke off for a moment and then changed tack. ‘And you attract all this bloody attention. Except for promoting my hotels, I hate the press thing, Liss.’ He sighed. ‘But you were sweet and generous and blindly searching for something and all I wanted to do was help you.’ He paused, his intensity mounting. ‘And have you. But when I thought you’d left me asleep in bed and gone clubbing? I felt like such a naïve fool. And I thought you’d done everything I feared the most. That moment was worse than anything—worse than Mum, worse than Jenny. And I lost it. I totally lost it.’
Inside the pain sharpened—pain for him, pain for herself, and she whispered, ‘Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?’ Tears filled her eyes so fast they burned.
He paled. ‘No. I know it was unfair of me. I’ve been unfair all along. I wanted out, Liss. It was going to be an affair on Aristo and then all over.’ He shook as he breathed in and his fingers dug tight into her arms again. ‘But I can’t.’ He pulled her closer and the strain cracked his voice. ‘I can’t let you go.’
Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Page 15