by Fiona Harper
‘I—I have to.’
I must.
She had to leave now, before he guessed. Before he took pity on her.
Cameron stepped forward. ‘No.’
Such a firm word, in such a firm voice, but with such an undercurrent of gentleness. His voice had always affected her, and now it called tears forth from her eyes. Let him be gruff, let him be impatient and bossy. Please, please, don’t let him be kind.
He started to walk towards her, and Alice wanted to scurry away and grab her coat, but she stayed rooted to the spot. It was as if he was holding her there just by the sheer weight of his stare.
She broke eye contact.
That was better. Shakily, she started in the direction of the dressing room, where her coat was hanging. She’d be fine as long as she focussed on the little diamanté buckles on her shoes, if she didn’t look him in the eye.
‘Alice.’
A soft command.
He reached for her. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her arm, and it was as effective at stopping her in her tracks as a rugby tackle. Her chest rose and fell as she concentrated on each little rhinestone on her buckles in turn. But it couldn’t shut out the awareness of him, of how he was circling her, how he’d come to stand in front of her.
‘Don’t leave. Not yet.’
She made her first fatal error. But with fatal errors one was all that was needed. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, holding a riddle.
He took the bag from her hands and dropped it on the desk.
‘Come.’
Cameron’s voice was low and soft. When he got assertive it reminded her of the big crackling flames of a log fire, but right now it was more like the little tiny flickering ones. They were the dangerous flames. Their little licks fairly seduced the logs into ash.
He didn’t take hold of her hand, but she followed him as if he had, tugged along by him as he led her to the balcony. They ended up at the railing, staring down at the party still in progress below them.
‘Look,’ he said.
And she did look. From up here, suspended above the dance floor, the view was magical. The lights…The colours…Gold and silver, red and purple, turquoise…jade. All those beautiful ballgowns set against the stark black of hundreds of dinner jackets, all spinning and turning. It almost seemed as if it wasn’t just individual couples moving, but that every person, every pair, moved in harmony, creating shifting kaleidoscopic patterns on the wonderful mosaic marble floor.
She’d been so frantically busy tonight, so caught up with a thousand little details that she’d forgotten to step back and look at what she’d managed to achieve. The atrium looked amazing—everything she’d pictured when she’d scribbled all those notes and made all those phone calls had come to life. It was real—happening. As if she’d conjured it up by dreaming it.
She’d done it.
The evening was a success.
The soft sounds of the big band—saxophones, lazy trombones and the husky voice of the singer—floated up above the heads of the guests and drifted into the great glass roof, from where they echoed back again, just enough to make the sound seem distant, other-worldly.
‘I asked you for “distinctive”. You gave me more than that. Much more than that.’
Ah, that was what this was. A thank-you speech. Well done, little Alice. Big pat on the back. You finally did something that made people sit up and take notice. Good luck for the future. See you again some time…
But if that was all this was, why was his mere presence having such an intoxicating effect on her? Why was her heart pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps? And why had his hand covered hers, his thumb now circling the back of her hand?
‘I haven’t seen you dance once this evening. Will you dance with me, Alice?’
This couldn’t be real. It had to be something to do with this evening, this strange sense of…fairy tale…that just refused to leave her alone. But she let him pull her to him, too weak-willed to walk away. Too weak-willed to run this time.
Didn’t he know why she hadn’t danced all evening?
It had to be him. No one else. And all evening he’d been so distant, always just beyond her fingertips and out of reach.
He’s still out of reach, she told herself. Don’t kid yourself that just because his arm is around your waist, pulling you close, because his chin is only inches from your forehead, because you can smell the fresh cotton of his shirt mixed with aftershave, that he will ever be truly yours. This is just now. This is just for tonight.
I won’t be a fool, she told herself back. I won’t forget. But I’m not stupid enough to rob myself of this memory either.
He’d been wrong when he’d listed all the things she’d given him. She’d given him everything. More than just a great party, a good idea, value for money. He had her heart, her soul, her very last breath.
The band started to play ‘The Very Thought of You’, and gently, almost so she didn’t notice, he began to lead her, dance with her, moving with his signature efficient grace. Her heart was reaching out for him with a persistence that became a bittersweet ache. It was too late now. She might have been able to walk away with her pride intact if he hadn’t come up here, if he hadn’t offered her a taste of what life might be like if fairy tales happened every day.
She’d fallen in love with him. Just like that. Even though her brain told her it was all a spell woven by the magic of the night—magic she’d manufactured herself.
Thank goodness he wasn’t ostentatious with his dance moves—dipping her, twirling her out and in again. Thank goodness he kept her pressed close against him, where she could feel his breath in the roots of her hair, where she could stare at his lapel and avoid his gaze.
Maybe it hadn’t been just like that. Maybe, like Lewis Carroll’s Alice, she’d been falling for such a long time she could hardly remember when the downward journey had begun. All that had happened now was that she’d finally had the shock of hitting the bottom.
She loved Cameron.
She loved his quiet integrity, his single-minded focus. She loved the way he surprised himself sometimes by laughing out loud.
The song changed to something even mellower, and Cameron’s circling movements became smaller and smaller—until they were no longer dancing, just holding each other.
It was almost too beautiful to be true up here amid the echoes of love songs, her face now against his shoulder, just the remnant of a sway keeping them from stillness. But it had to end soon. The knowledge settled in her like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pool. He’d pull away, look into her eyes and say goodnight. Goodbye. She was easy to say goodbye to.
But he was kind. He spun the moment out for her, and instead of releasing her his arms came around her completely, and she felt the soft pressure of his lips against her forehead.
She’d wanted a magical memory, but this was almost too intense. It wouldn’t warm her in the future when she thought back to it; it wouldn’t comfort her. It would burn, leaving her raw for ever, leaving her wanting relief, with none to be had.
‘Alice? Look at me.’
She tasted salt on her lips. Quite how the tears had fallen there she wasn’t sure.
‘I…’ She didn’t get any further, but gulped the words away.
This time he didn’t say no. His gravity didn’t pull her. She knew she could keep her eyes on her feet and run out of there if she wanted to and he wouldn’t stop her. After a few moments she tilted her chin up, but kept her gaze fixed on his chest, then slowly she raised her eyes to meet his.
He didn’t look hard tonight, all angles and planes. He looked torn, almost sad. There was a softness in his eyes she’d never seen before. That feeling of connection hummed between them. It grew and grew until it pounded in her ears—until the only way to drown it out was to lean closer and closer and closer…
The first kiss was nothing more than the merest touching of lips, a promise. There was such purity in it, such sweetness, th
at Alice forgot all her stern words to herself about holding back. She ran her hands up his arms, around his neck, and dragged Cameron closer. She kissed him as if her life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
She’d never felt this overwhelming need to touch and taste a man before. She couldn’t have stopped herself even if she’d tried. And Cameron…
His lips wandered down her neck, across her collarbone. His hands settled around her waist, his fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of her dress, creating a slow, sliding friction that drove her even crazier than she already was.
It had never been like this with anyone else. With Cameron she forgot to plan each move of her hands, her lips. She forgot to think about what she could be doing better, or to worry about not being sexy or experienced enough. With Cameron she just dissolved into the moment, losing her sense of self completely and then finding it again, reflected back to her in each brush of his lips, each caress of his hands.
This man in her arms was always so sure of himself, so sure his every move, every decision was the right one, and to feel him pull her tighter against him, murmur her name, to sense that he was just as lost in this as she was made her soar. Cameron desired her. He wanted her. With an intensity that was so strong it almost scared her.
And she loved this man. This was everything she’d ever dreamed of. Except…
Except in the dream he didn’t just desire her, he hadn’t just got caught up in the heat of the moment. In the dream he loved her back.
One miracle in an evening was enough to expect. She’d never realised Cameron really shared the intense attraction she felt for him until tonight. That should be enough. Asking him to love her too…Well, that was just being silly.
She put her hands on his upper arms, bracing herself slightly, and pulled away. Not enough to look into his eyes, but enough to be able to talk without just giving in to his magnetic pull and kissing him again.
‘Cameron, what is this? What are we doing?’
Cameron, as always, was more comfortable with actions than words, and he ran both hands down her back. The feel of them through the satin of her dress was even more delicious. He let them come to rest on the curve of her hips. Alice was very tempted to just shut up, close her eyes and stop asking difficult questions. Questions she wasn’t even sure she wanted the answers to—because that would only break the spell once and for all.
Oh, she knew he wasn’t about to go back to Jessica Fernly-Whatsit. Cameron might be fickle with his women, but there was no way he would be up here with her on the balcony, kissing her the way he’d kissed her, if he still had anything going with Jessica. He just wasn’t that kind of man.
But she wasn’t sure he was the kind of man who could give her all she wanted either. He kept himself locked up so tight, used his anger to power him forward. She didn’t even know if he’d be brave enough to let that shield down and give all of himself to someone. And, even though this was Cameron she was thinking about, Cameron who could so easily be the one she trotted around after for ever, she wasn’t prepared to accept anything less than the full package from him.
It was high time she was somebody’s first choice rather than just being second best.
Something was bothering Alice. He could tell. If only he had some of that intuition women were famous for, then he’d be able to work out what was making her brows pinch and her mouth set itself in a firm little line. He didn’t like it when her mouth did that. It made her look very determined. And he’d much rather she was using her lips to kiss him again rather than produce an expression that put a niggle in his gut. He didn’t know why, but he had the oddest feeling he wasn’t going to like what she had to say next.
Maybe he could convince her to soften that line, to put the curves and arches of her lips to a much more pleasurable use. Maybe, just maybe, he could wangle it so they didn’t need to talk at all. He was pretty sure he could convince her to sink against him again, to run her small fingers over his skin, to breathe tiny sighs of desire into his ears. And he didn’t think he’d have to say a word to do it.
He moved his hands upwards from where they were still resting on the swell of her hips and circled her waist. She was so slender his large hands almost met in the middle, and somehow that made him feel even bigger and stronger. She seemed such a tiny, delicate thing in his hands, yet he knew that her response to him had been anything but delicate. In fact, it had completely blown him away.
Other women tried to be sexy when they were with him. They tried to live up to the idea of going out with an eligible millionaire bachelor as if they had to impress him to keep him interested. And, to be honest, he required that of them. Wanted them to be the fantasy women they both pretended they were. Even women like Jessica.
He hadn’t wanted to know and be known. He hadn’t wanted to get close enough to anyone to let them see who he really was, to expose himself and make himself vulnerable. The temporary nature of his relationships had been the perfect solution. Move on to the next one, promising himself he was looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, when really he was just running, running…
But with Alice it was different. She didn’t do any of that with him. And that was what made her so wonderful and so confusing at the same time. She was sensuous and sexy because he knew every touch and every kiss was real, true, honest—as if she was undressing her soul for him.
Being a red-blooded man, the twin thoughts of ‘undressing’ and ‘Alice’ in close proximity made his core temperature rise. And thoughts of undressing led to thoughts of that dress, of sliding the wide straps off her shoulders and watching the heavy fabric sink to the floor.
She was looking at him, and underneath the film of caution in her eyes he saw matching heat, matching need. It was all the encouragement he needed to bend his head and deliver a kiss that was hot and sweet and hungry. Alice was still for a split second, and then she joined him, as if she’d been resisting but just couldn’t hold back any longer. The knowledge just drove him even further overboard, made him want her even more.
What is this? What are we doing?
He knew exactly what they were doing. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he pictured this ending. And in his head the scenario involved that long leather sofa, him and Alice stretched along the length of it, and the sexiest dress he’d ever seen—his dress now, as he hadn’t officially given it to her yet—in an emerald heap on the floor.
He continued to kiss her, continued to blot out that concerned look in her eyes, and his hands skimmed her torso until they found their way under those silky straps. And then he was gently walking her backwards off the balcony and into the office.
After the third step Alice froze.
He wasn’t a man to push in situations like this. In reality he’d never needed to. But that something that was bothering her, that he’d tried to wish away—it had just stamped its foot down hard, and it wasn’t going anywhere until it had been dealt with.
Slowly he eased his hands from under the straps, careful to leave them in place, and dragged his lips from Alice’s. But he was unable to resist returning for one last brush, one last taste, before he pulled away fully.
Just to keep his itchy fingers out of temptation’s way, he ran his hands up her neck until he was cradling her head and just waited. This had to be about what Alice wanted.
This had to be about what Alice wanted.
The phrase repeated in his head.
How shallow, how horribly shallow, had he been up until now? All his relationships with women up until this moment in time had been about what he’d wanted. Not in the sense that he’d bullied or domineered—far from it. He’d always treated the women in his life well. But only because it had suited him to do so. Because he’d gone out with those women to boost his status, to prove to the rest of the male population that he could have what they could only dream about. This evening had turned all of that on its head.
First Fitzroy, showing that Cameron didn’t have
the best relationship by far, that he only had a poor imitation of the real bond Daniel had with his wife. And now Alice—sweet, lovely Alice—turning him inside out with her honesty, with her fragile power.
So, instead of persuading her any further, he stepped back, gave her space.
‘Alice? Tell me.’
He knew he had to be the one to speak first, because he had been the one who had cut off the talking earlier. How he knew this he wasn’t quite sure. This being real, being open, was all a bit new to him. He was just going to have to feel his way.
The pain he saw in her eyes made him wince.
The fear must have shown on his face, because her expression hardened.
‘I can’t have a fling with you, Cameron. You know you can make me stay if you want to, but I’m begging you—let me go. Let me walk away. I’m not one of your perfect women.’ She gave a dry little laugh and shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start!’
Then she surprised him by walking towards him and running her slim fingers down the length of his tie. When she reached the point at the bottom she flipped it over and parted the seam a little, revealing a brightly coloured lining.
‘Here she is,’ Alice said quietly. ‘The other night I forgot…’
The blobs of colour all at once started to make sense. It wasn’t just a swirling abstract pattern but a picture in the lining of his tie—a pin-up, to be exact. Betty Grable-style, with rolled hair, bright red lips and a skimpy white halter top. She was winking at him.
‘This is the kind of woman you need. Always ready, always glamorous, never having an off day. Who cares if she isn’t real? She’ll never ask anything of you, never ask you for a piece of your soul. In short, she’ll always be your perfect woman.’
She let the tie go and patted it back into place.
‘They’re very collectible, you know. Ties like these. If you ever decide you don’t want it you should be able to get a nice price for it.’ She smiled brightly at him even as her eyes brimmed over. ‘Coreen’s Closet would give you a really good deal.’