by Sarah Morgan
The glamorous receptionist smiled at her. ‘Kalimera. They’re all waiting for you in the conference room.’
But when she walked in the room was empty apart from Stefan, who was pacing from one end of the room to the other.
When he saw her, his face paled. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t turn up.’
‘Why? Today is important.’ Horrified by how hard it was to see him, she glanced around the room. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘I sent them to get breakfast. They’re coming back in an hour. I need to talk to you. I need you to hear what I have to say.’
Her heart clenched at the thought of going over it again. ‘There really isn’t—’
‘You were right—I do love you.’ Tension was stamped in every line of his handsome face. ‘I think I’ve loved you from the day you walked into my office dressed as a nun, determined to find a way through my security cordon. Or maybe it was before that—maybe a part of me fell in love with the seventeen-year-old you—I don’t know.’
She’d never seen him look like this. Never seen him so unsure of himself. ‘Stefan—’
‘You were so open about your feelings. I’d never met anyone like you. It frightened me and it fascinated me at the same time. I liked the fact that you spoke openly without guarding every word. It made me realise the other people in my life were—’ he frowned as he searched for the word ‘—fake.’
‘So was I.’
‘No. I saw you that night. The real you. And when you walked into my office that day and pulled out your candles and asked for a loan I was so cynical, so sure I knew everything there was to know about women and had it all under control. I didn’t look deeper. I judged you based on everything that had gone before. But the truth was I knew nothing about you. You shook every preconceived idea I had about women. That night when you had too much champagne—’
‘You were so kind to me.’
‘You have no idea how much self-control it took to keep my hands off you.’ He groaned, dragging his fingers through his hair. ‘You were sweet and sexy rolled into one and so unbelievably curious—’
‘Why was it unbelievable? You’re the most gorgeous man I’m ever going to meet. I wanted to make the most of it.’
‘When I worked out your reasons for wanting to leave the island I couldn’t believe I’d been so blind. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t worked it out.’
‘Why would you? My father can be very persuasive.’
‘And I have more reason to know that than most.’
‘None of this matters now.’
‘No, it doesn’t, because you’re mine now and I’m never letting you go.’ His voice hoarse, he crossed the room in three strides and took her face in his hands. ‘Until I met you all I knew about love was how much damage it could do. I didn’t want that. I spent my life avoiding that. I couldn’t understand why anyone would take that risk and I certainly didn’t want to, so I kept my relationships short and superficial—and then I met you and suddenly I didn’t want to do either of those things. For the first time ever I cared whether I saw a woman again. I wanted to see you again.’
‘And you were scared.’
‘Yes, and you knew that. You knew I was scared. You knew I loved you.’
‘I thought you did. I hoped you did. But I never thought you’d admit it. Or want it.’
‘I do want it. I want you.’
He kissed her gently, his mouth lingering on hers, and her head reeled and her thoughts tumbled as she tried to unravel the one situation she hadn’t prepared for.
‘I— It’s too complicated. You hate my father.’
‘It’s not complicated. I’m not marrying your father and I’m hoping you won’t want to invite him to our wedding.’
Her heart thudded and skipped. ‘Is that a proposal?’
‘No. I haven’t reached that part yet but I’m getting there. I have something for you.’
He reached for a box on the table and her brows rose because she recognised the packaging.
‘That’s one of my candles.’
‘Close. It’s one I had developed just for you. You already have Relax, Energise and Seduction. This one is called Love.’
Love?
He wanted to marry her?
Hands shaking, Selene opened the box and saw a diamond ring nestling in a glass candle-holder. ‘I don’t know what I’m more shocked about—the fact that you’re asking me to marry you or the fact that you’ve actually given me a candle. Does this mean I’m actually allowed to light it in the bedroom?’
‘You can do anything you want with me in the bedroom,’ he said huskily, sliding the ring onto her finger and then kissing her again. ‘Just don’t tell me it’s too late. Don’t tell me you’ve given up on me for taking so long to discover what you knew all along.’
‘I’m not telling you that. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.’ She stared down at the ring on her finger, hypnotised not just by the diamond but by what it symbolised.
‘How did you end up such an optimist with a father like yours?’
‘I refused to believe that all men were like my father. I knew they couldn’t be—especially after I met you. I believed in something better and I wanted that. Why would someone want to repeat the past when the future can be so much better?’
His lips were on hers. ‘You are an inspiration, koukla mou.’
‘Not really.’ She melted under his touch. ‘I’m just trying to have the life I want. Which probably makes me horribly selfish.’
‘Then we’re a perfect match, because you know I don’t think of anyone but myself.’
But he was smiling as he said the words and so was she, because the happiness was too big to keep inside.
‘You kept shutting me out.’
‘You were so affectionate. So open. I kept shutting you out and when you said those words I panicked.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m not panicking now.’ He trailed his fingers down her cheek. ‘So any time you want to say them again, that would be good.’
She smiled again. ‘What words?’
‘Now you’re torturing me, but I suppose I deserve it.’
‘I’m not torturing you—’ she wrapped her arms round his neck ‘—I just don’t know which words you mean.’
‘You’re a wicked tease.’ His mouth was hot on hers and she gasped as he lifted her onto the table.
‘Any moment now thirty people are going to walk into this room.’
‘Then you’d better say those words fast—unless you want to say them in front of an audience.’
‘Which words?’
He cupped her face. ‘The ones where you tell me how you feel about me.’
‘Oh, those words.’ She loved teasing him. ‘I’ve forgotten how to say them because you didn’t want to hear them. They’ve vanished from my brain.’
‘Selene—’
‘I love you.’ For the first time she said it freely, and she smiled as she did so because it felt so good to be truly honest about her feelings. No more hiding. No more pretending. ‘I really love you and I’ll always love you.’
They kissed, lost in each other, until they heard applause and both turned to see a crowd in the doorway led by Maria, who was smiling. Behind her stood Takis, Kostas and all the other members of Stefan’s senior team.
Blushing, Selene slid off the table and Stefan muttered under his breath.
‘What does a guy have to do to ensure privacy round here?’
‘We came to congratulate you.’ Maria produced two bottles of champagne which she put on the table and then turned to hug Selene. ‘I’m so delighted. I know it’s a little early in the day, but we thought it was appropriate to celebrate the occasion with champagne.’
Stefan eyed the
bottles with incredulity. ‘You shouldn’t even have been aware of the occasion. Were you listening at the door?’
‘Yes.’ Maria was unapologetic.
Takis eyed his boss cautiously and then slid into the room, put a tray of glasses on the table and hugged Selene, too.
Choked, Selene hugged them both back. ‘Thank you for watching over me and being so kind.’
‘If everyone could stop hugging my future wife,’ Stefan drawled, ‘I’d quite like to hug her myself. But it appears I no longer have any influence in my own office.’
‘This is a special occasion, boss,’ Takis muttered, releasing Selene. ‘Some of us had given up on ever seeing this day.’
Unbelievably touched, Selene slid her hand into Stefan’s as his executive team piled into the room. ‘This is so great! Can we open the champagne? I always wanted to live a champagne lifestyle—although preferably without the headache.’
Takis reached for the nearest bottle. ‘Champagne in a breakfast meeting. A typical working day in the Ziakas Corporation.’
Stefan rolled his eyes. ‘Clearly you’ve never seen what happens to Selene when she drinks champagne.’
‘I’m lovely when I drink champagne—and anyway I have Takis to extract me from danger.’
‘That’s my job now. I’m signing on full-time.’ Stefan pulled her back into his arms and kissed her, ignoring their audience. ‘Which is just as well if you intend to go through life with a glass of champagne in your hand.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Good things happen when I drink champagne. You know that.’
‘Yes.’ His eyes glittered into hers. ‘I do.’
There was a thud as the champagne cork hit the ceiling, and Selene beamed as Takis handed her a glass of champagne. ‘We have four advertising agencies sitting in the lobby, waiting to pitch to us. They’re going to think we’re very unprofessional.’
‘They can think what they like.’ Stefan tapped his glass against hers and bent his head to gently kiss her mouth. ‘Just this once I’m mixing business with pleasure.’
* * * * *
In the Heat of the Spotlight
By Kate Hewitt
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER ONE
LUKE BRYANT stared at his watch for the sixth time in the last four minutes and felt his temper, already on a steady simmer, start a low boil.
She was late. He glanced enquiringly at Jenna, his Head of PR, who made useless and apologetic flapping motions with her hands. All around him the crowd that filled Bryant’s elegant crystal and marble lobby began to shift restlessly. They’d already been waiting fifteen minutes for Aurelie to make an appearance before the historic store’s grand reopening and so far she was a no-show.
Luke gritted his teeth and wished, futilely, that he could wash his hands of this whole wretched thing. He’d been busy putting out corporate fires at the Los Angeles office and had left the schedule of events for today’s reopening to his team here in New York. If he’d been on site, he wouldn’t be here waiting for someone he didn’t even want to see. What had Jenna been thinking, booking a washed-up C-list celebrity like Aurelie?
He glanced at his Head of PR again, watched as she bit her lip and made another apologetic face. Feeling not one shred of sympathy, Luke strode towards her.
‘Where is she, Jenna?’
‘Upstairs—’
‘What is she doing?’
‘Getting ready—’
Luke curbed his skyrocketing temper with some effort. ‘And does she realise she’s fifteen—’ he checked his watch ‘—sixteen and a half minutes late for the one song she’s meant to perform?’
‘I think she does,’ Jenna admitted.
Luke stared at her hard. He was getting annoyed with the wrong person, he knew. Jenna was ambitious and hardworking and, all right, she’d booked a complete has-been like Aurelie to boost the opening of the store, but at least she had a ream of market research to back up her choice. Jenna had been very firm about the fact that Aurelie appealed to their target group of eighteen to twenty-five-year-olds, she’d sung three chart-topping and apparently iconic songs of their generation, and was only twenty-six herself.
Apparently Aurelie still held the public’s interest—the same way a train wreck did, Luke thought sourly. You just couldn’t look away from the unfolding disaster.
Still, he understood the bottom line. Jenna had booked Aurelie, the advertising had gone out, and a significant number of people were here to see the former pop princess sing one of her insipid numbers before the store officially reopened. As CEO of Bryant Stores, the buck stopped with him. It always stopped with him.
‘Where is she exactly?’
‘Aurelie?’
As if they’d been talking about anyone else. ‘Yes. Aurelie.’ Even her name was ridiculous. Her real name was probably Gertrude or Millicent. Or even worse, something with an unnecessary i like Kitti or Jenni. Either way, absurd.
‘She’s in the staff break room—’
Luke nodded grimly and headed upstairs. Aurelie had been contracted to sing and, damn it, she was going to sing. Like a canary.
Upstairs, Bryant’s women’s department was silent and empty, the racks of clothes and ghostly faceless mannequins seeming to accuse him silently. Today had to be a success. Bryant Stores had been slowly and steadily declining for the last five years, along with the economy. No one wanted overpriced luxuries, which was what Bryant’s had smugly specialised in for the last century. Luke had been trying to change things for years but his older brother, Aaron, had insisted on having the final say and he hadn’t been interested in doing something that, in his opinion, diminished the Bryant name.
When the latest dismal reports had come in, Aaron had finally agreed to an overhaul, and Luke just prayed it wasn’t too late. If it was, he knew who would be blamed.
And it would be his fault, he told himself grimly. He was the CEO of Bryant Stores, even if Aaron still initialled many major decisions. Luke took responsibility for what happened in his branch of Bryant Enterprises, including booking Aurelie as today’s entertainment.
He knocked sharply on the door to the break room. ‘Hello? Miss...Aurelie?’ Why didn’t the woman have a last name? ‘We’re waiting for you—’ He tried the knob. The door was locked. He knocked again. No answer.
He stood motionless for a moment, the memory sweeping coldly through him of another locked door, a different kind of silence. The scalding rush of guilt.
This is your fault, Luke. You were the only one who could have saved her.
Resolutely he pushed the memories aside. He shoved his shoulder against the door and gave it one swift and accurate kick with his foot. The lock busted and the door sprang open.
Luke entered the break room and glanced around. Clothes—silly, frothy, ridiculous outfits—were scattered across the table and chairs, some on the floor. And something else was on the floor.
Aurelie.
He stood there, suspended in shock, in memory, and then, swearing again, he strode towards her. She was slumped in the corner of the room, wearing an absurdly short dress, her legs splayed out like spent matchsticks.
He crouched in front of her, felt her pulse. It seemed steady, but what did he really know about pulses? Or pop stars? He glanced at her face, which looked pale and was lightly beaded with sweat. Actually, now that he looked at her properly, she looked awful. He supposed she was pretty in a purely
objective sense, with straight brownish-blonde hair and a lithe, slender figure, but her face was drawn and grey and she looked way too thin.
He touched her cheek and found her skin clammy. He reached for his cell phone to dial 911, his heart beating far too hard. She must have overdosed on something. He’d never expected to see this scenario twice in one lifetime, and the remembered panic iced in his veins.
Then her eyes fluttered open and his hand slackened on the phone. Luke felt something stir inside him at the colour of her eyes. They were slate-blue, the colour of the Atlantic on a cold, grey day, and they swirled with sorrow. She blinked blearily, struggled to sit up. Her gaze focused in on him and something cold flashed in their blue depths. ‘Aren’t you handsome,’ she mumbled, and the relief he felt that she was okay was blotted out by a far more familiar determination.
‘Right.’ He hauled her up by the armpits and felt her sag helplessly against him. She’d looked thin slumped on the floor, and she felt even more fragile in his arms. Fragile and completely out of it. ‘What did you take?’ he demanded. She lolled her head back to blink up at him, her lips curving into a mocking smile.
‘Whatever it was, it was a doozy.’
Luke scooped her up in his arms and stalked over to the bathroom. He ran a basin full of cold water and in one quick and decisive movement plunged the pop star’s face into the icy bowlful.
She came up like a scalded cat, spluttering and swearing.
‘What the hell—?’
‘Sobered up a bit now, have you?’
She sluiced water from her face and turned to glare at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sober. Who are you?’
‘Luke Bryant.’ He heard his voice, icy with suppressed rage. Damn her for scaring him. For making him remember. ‘I’m paying you to perform, princess, so I’ll give you five minutes to pull yourself together and get down there.’ She folded her arms, her eyes still narrowed, her face still grey and gaunt. ‘And put some make-up on,’ Luke added as he turned to leave. ‘You look like hell.’
* * *
Aurelie Schmidt—not many people knew about the Schmidt—wiped the last traces of water from her face and blinked hard. Stupid man. Stupid gig. Stupid her, for coming today at all. For trying to be different.