She was not the type of woman who sang nursery rhymes to four-year-olds or who had bruises from junior football. These were not homespun girls looking for Mr Right. Oh, no. These women were sophisticated, sexy, and setting out their stalls.
Georgia looked around again for something—anything—to anchor herself to. But the whole scene was just plain weird. How could everyone be hooked up already? Okay, she’d never been to a singles party before, but she’d heard enough stories about speed-dating to figure that not everyone would be coupled up at...what?...seven-thirty p.m. In fact, when she looked a little closer, some couples were actually threes. Uh-oh.
She felt as if she was standing on the deck of a sinking ship and sharks were circling closer. If this was dipping her toe into the dating waters she’d keep herself on the warm, dry land of singlehood, thank you.
Yes, this was definitely a mistake. She’d go back to the complex. She’d have the place all to herself since everyone else would already be on a flight to Ras al Khaimah. She’d soak in the plunge pool. She’d watch TV and text Kirsty to tell her that this was her worst ever piece of dating advice.
Maybe she would see if there were any more companies hiring junior coaches. She still had a couple of week nights free to pick up work, after all. The kids would give her a reason to smile, and any extra cash would be a bonus for Babs. Really—that was what she should be focussing everything on.
It was kind of the girls to suggest she start dating again, but even though she was well over Nick she was well short of the money she wanted to send Babs. Sixty thousand in legal fees and loans was going to take ages to pay—even in tax-free Dubai.
She turned around, ready to leave, more determined than ever to get out of this crazy party. The door opened again. Noise and lots of it—the boozy boys. A crack of command to silence them...dark, disquieting tones...and then cobalt eyes fastened straight onto hers.
She watched as they all piled in. His gang—because there was no doubt that he was the leader—all had their eyes on stilts, as if it was Christmas morning and the gifts were all for them. He stood at the door, letting them go, eyes only on her.
She stalled. She wavered. He waited. And watched. And then he took the decision right out of her hands and walked up to her. Not too fast, not too lazily, but sure and solid—no room for debate.
A slash of white suddenly lit his face, changing it from intense to exceptional as the brightness of his eyes was matched by the brilliance of his smile. He was breathtaking—it almost hurt her eyes to look at him. And to think she’d once thought Nick hot and handsome! This man aced every man-measuring yardstick. He was up close now, and she tipped her head back slightly to look at him. He had that reassuring height that made her feel feminine. A chest broad enough to lay her head on and melt into. Strength and stature...looks and presence. If there were man trophies his shelves would be covered in them.
‘Hi. Good to meet you...again.’
She watched stupidly as he lifted her puppet-like arm and brought her hand to his mouth. His lips were warm with an edge of soft stubble. She felt her eyes widen as he pressed them against her skin and struggled even more to keep up. He lowered her hand, pulled her a little closer and curved his lips into the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. The promise of long, slow and sensual loving was right there in the quirk of his lips. Terrifying.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Georgia.’ She breathed out her name and allowed him to keep her hand in his for a moment, still locked into that stare.
‘Georgia. Beautiful name,’ he said.
Was blue the colour of sin? She thought so—it was laced through his eyes.
‘Danny Ryan.’
‘Hi,’ she said back, finding her voice and a bit of composure.
She shook the hand that he had wrapped in his own and wondered where on earth her default defence mechanisms were. This man was super-league in every sense. Meaning that her run-for-your-life hormones should be pumping, instead of her gooey-girl hormones.
Come on, get back in the game—bath, bed and beyond is where you’re headed. Then a trawl for another job. The last thing you need is to get caught up in something like this with someone like him.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Danny. But I’m afraid I seem to have wound up at the wrong...’ She looked around, wondering how you would actually describe this. ‘I think I’m totally at the wrong party.’
He let her fingers slip away when she tugged her hand free, but held her with that presence, or force-field, or whatever it was.
‘Well, that’s a pity, because I was hoping to get the chance to properly apologise for what happened earlier. The boys have been working flat-out—they’ve had a couple of drinks and are being a bit loose with their tongues. I had a word with them—all of them—before we came in here. I hope you weren’t offended. Apologies—they meant no harm.’
‘Thanks, but since it wasn’t you who offended me there’s no need to apologise—and I am really in the wrong place. So...’
She looked around at his group who’d brought a whole new energy to the place. A place she really didn’t feel very comfortable in—even with the hottest guy in the room so up close and personal. Especially with the hottest guy in the room so up close and personal.
‘So. Yes. Thanks. Nice to meet you but I’m going to head off.’
He frowned slightly. Very slightly. As if he hadn’t quite given her permission to leave. You had to laugh at these guys. Clearly not used to anyone doing anything other than fall into line. But the adrenalin had definitely kicked in now and she’d decided on flight not fight. She was so not going there. What would be the point? He would think that she was a lot more liberal than she was just by virtue of actually being in this crazy place. And even though she badly needed some attention, a little bit of salve for her bruised and battered ego, she’d prefer it was with someone who would settle her down rather than stir her up.
‘Tommy.’
He didn’t so much bark out the name as growl it. And instantly the pain in the neck from the elevator appeared before her. His nose was sunburned and his eyes were slightly glazed. But he was lapdog-ready where his boss was concerned and he issued an instant apology.
‘Really sorry for what I said...and did...in the lift.’
‘Forget it,’ she said, looking away, looking for a clear path out.
But things were beginning to happen. Girls were coming forward, smiling and flirting. Heading right for the guys like homing devices. They were of all races. And all beautiful. Tall, cool, blonde. Hot Latino. Dusky, dramatic, dark. Pouty, elegant, ebony. And, yes, Celtic and pale. A smorgasbord. Were they all single? Really? Or had she arrived at a very different type of party?
Tommy didn’t hang around—he went straight back to the boys, swung his arms round two stunning girls and moved off, laughing as if this was the best Christmas Day ever.
She looked at Danny Ryan. Oh, no. He must think she was as easy as them. And—worse—he must be looking for that kind of girl. No way a guy like him was single by choice. None. Not a chance. The sands were still shifting. The waters were deep. And deadly. Time to swim for the shore.
‘I’ve got to go.’ She grabbed her bag tightly to her side, made to leave. Didn’t want to be there a moment longer.
‘Wait,’ he said, reaching out for her hand. ‘Why don’t you hang around a bit?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s not going to happen. This is not my
kind of party.’
He looked around, frowned. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not at all what I was expecting either.’
He focussed his piercing stare back on her. As if it would compel her to stay.
‘Why don’t we find somewhere a bit more—civilised?’
She tried to look away from those eyes—she really did. But they took some amount of staring—so many blues...not a trace of cloudy grey or mossy green...just blue and black and deep. You could easily lose hours of your life staring into eyes like those—just looking for a flaw. But she didn’t want to waste any more of her life. She wanted to get her life back. Back on track. Back to earning as much as she possibly could, so that she could start to clear some of Babs’s debts and then finally get on a plane and the longed-for flight home.
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll head home. I’m not really in the mood now.’
He swung another glance around, frowned a little more. Seemed to check out what his boys were getting up to.
She did the same and saw that they were getting past first base and straight to third without so much as a casual introduction. This wasn’t a singles party. This was a brothel!
‘Give me a minute—I need to check in with my boys. They don’t know what we’ve wandered into. Then we’ll go somewhere else to fix your mood.’
He pinned her in place with a confident nod and then called a couple of his guys over to chat. She could go—she should go. Nausea was beginning to form in her throat. She knew this kind of party went on—she wasn’t stupid. But she’d never been up close and personal to it. She’d never seen with her own eyes—girls who could be her or her friends—girls dressed for a club night. But the only club they were going to was one that paid their wages.
She didn’t want to judge, but if this was what she thought it was she really didn’t belong here. And she certainly didn’t want to be hooking up with any guy—no matter how gorgeous—at a place like this.
He was still rounding up his team—some of whom looked less than impressed that he was calling time on their fun. Some of the girls stared over at her. If looks could kill...
Definitely time to go. She pulled the strap of her bag tighter, squared her shoulders and headed to the door.
Suddenly there was a noise and the crowd of girls and guys in front of her melted away. She looked up to see the cause of the commotion. Uniformed men. Police. Oh, no—could this get any worse?
Danny Ryan appeared at her side. Grabbed her hand.
‘What’s happening? Why are the police here?’
‘Only one reason I can think of. And it’s not making me feel reassured. Come on.’
He sounded grim. Formidable. And something in her urged her to lean into the strength that he was channelling.
He moved fast towards the stairs. Her slingbacks slipped and clicked, keeping up with his lengthy strides.
‘I could be wrong, but I’d guess this is an unlicensed party and someone has forgotten to pay off the right person. That would explain why there’s more than fizz and canapés on offer.’
‘What? What do you mean? I knew there was something weird going on! I was told this was a singles party—I’m a kindergarten teacher. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything!’
‘None of us can, Georgia. None of us can.’
They landed at the bottom of the long twist of marble and stepped out onto the wide wraparound terrace—complete with plunge pool—stuck on the side of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. Bodies lazed and lounged, still oblivious of the raid upstairs. Bronzed limbs in every conceivable pose.
She looked away. Didn’t want to see any more of what was clearly happening all around her. The unfurling commotion was rapidly turning into a living nightmare. Panic was setting in. She had commitments. She had Babs—her life-saver, who had sacrificed everything to bring her up, to give her a good home and was relying on her and her tax-free salary just to make ends meet. She couldn’t possibly jeopardise that!
‘But you don’t understand—I can’t get into trouble here. I could lose my job. I could get arrested.’
‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone get arrested. Or lose their job.’ He sounded half distracted. ‘Here—this way. I’ve got the perfect place to wait it out.’
They moved now on plush velvet carpet. Her heels sank and she stumbled a little, trying to keep up. He turned, shot her an intense steadying look, and then scooped her close to his side. She heard the rumble of the commotion now above them.
‘What about your team?’
‘I’ve told them what to do and say if they get into trouble. They’ll be fine as long as they remember.’ He paused for another second, gave her another calming look. ‘You’ll be fine too.’
She could only hope so. She’d been warned when she’d arrived in Dubai—they all had—not to get into any trouble. Especially with the police. She worked for an international school with hugely high standards and any fun was to be had within strict boundaries.
But who would believe she was innocent? That she had come to this party thinking she might find a date? She looked just like those girls—with a tight dress and too much make-up. If she got taken to the police station she’d have to tell them where she lived. Then they’d know she worked at the international school. And that would be it. She’d be sent home in disgrace. Or worse. Jailed.
They were out in the hallway again. Same golden light, same bubbling fountain. But one floor down.
A solid door—mother-of-pearl. He slid a key and pulled it open. A private elevator, all glass and brass.
‘In here.’
She wavered. For a moment it felt as if she was on the cusp of the hugest decision of her life.
‘Is this safe? Is it going to be all right?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Look, you’ll be fine. I know enough people here to get things sorted. I think we’ll be fine up here—away from the main action—until things settle.’
He cocked one eyebrow. “Okay?”
She nodded and followed him—decision made.
Inside, with the doors closed, up it zoomed, flying up the outer edge of the building. They had to be at the very top now—in a penthouse.
Finally the doors opened and, yes, sure enough...
Wow! This was a Honeymoon, Presidential, Penthouse—and then some. An entire picture wall of glass to her right, the perfect array of furniture to lounge upon and view it from to her left—all overhung with a deep, high balcony and lit by enormous silk-shaded lamps. Glimpses of stairs leading to a rooftop terrace, of other rooms—opulent, magnificent, utterly unparalleled. A grand piano here, a twenty-seat table there. Art on the walls that she definitely recognised. She felt as if even the air was weightier, worthier.
He led her inside.
‘Is this okay while we wait?’ He moved in through the space, perfectly at home.
She trailed behind him, wary of this luxury, unease twisting at her gut. She was not the type of girl who ever got into trouble. Not at school. Not at college. Not at home. Never. She knew right from wrong. And the only wrong thing she’d ever done was to believe in her fairytale engagement.
‘Hey. It’s all right.’ Danny stopped. Walked back to face her. Looked right at her and ran his hands up and down her arms.
She gazed up at him, desperately trying to keep it together. ‘I can’t afford to get into trouble. I need my job. It’s all I have.’
He nodded and she felt strangely reassured. She had no r
eason to trust him, but her instincts told her she was better off in this majestic wonderland with him than back at that party arguing her point alone. And it wasn’t only the fact that he radiated composure. There was no denying the unmistakable sensual tension he was building as he soothed and stroked her arms.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. She licked her lips.
But he shook his head, sucked in a breath through his teeth and led her to the low-seated area. ‘Why don’t you sit here? I’m going to make a couple of calls.’
His voice was low, lilting and calming. But his energy was tense. And she felt it. Oh, yes.
He stood beside her as she sat down warily, felt firm stuffed silk cushions against her back. From a tiny Aladdin’s lamp on the table at her side a drift of scented oil wound around her, languorous and loose. Opposite, ivory orchids in golden pots along the window wall sat like daubs of paint on a canvas of blue, marred only by the gleam and thrust of yet another iconic superstructure rearing up out of the Gulf.
He let go of her hand but trailed his touch up her arm and gently under her chin. She tilted her head to look at him. He locked that gaze on her again. So strong. Unyielding.
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing or why. Touched a finger to her lips, nodded slightly, and then turned. Took a pace away and swiped out his phone.
‘Sarwar? Hey. It’s Danny. Look, I need a favour...’
CHAPTER TWO
RISK. AND THE management thereof. Normally one of his strong suits. Normally something he took a lot of pride in being very, very good at. The kind of deals he made required it. And although he’d had all of five minutes’ formal training—in other words read some stuff on the net—he’d become so well respected for the completely researched, planned and executed-within-a-hair’s-breadth decisions he made that his view was sought on projects well outside his own corporate boundaries.
The Scandal Behind the Wedding Page 2