But she had no intention of being his next victim!
As Charles had instructed, she glided to a halt at the end of the catwalk, pausing for effect, all eyes riveted on her now, before slowly raising slender silver-tipped fingers and lifting the veil back from her face.
As Charles had predicted, spontaneous applause filled the room as the full effect of her youthful beauty in the magnificently simple gown became apparent, several women openly crying at the simplistic perfection she presented.
Reece Falcon, Diana noticed, remained unsmiling, showing no emotion whatsoever, although that luminous glitter of his eyes seemed to have taken on a mesmerising quality.
Diana wasn’t in the least conceited about the way she looked, had no illusions about her pale ‘English Rose’ beauty; after all, for the last four years her face and her body had been her fortune, and the photographers and designers left her in no doubt about the fact that she would only be popular for as long as those looks lasted.
Her golden hair, naturally wavy, reached to the base of her spine, framing a face that was hauntingly lovely; green always-distant eyes flecked with gold were surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose was short and straight, her lips full and sensual, her chin small and pointed, her skin as pale and creamy as magnolia. She had an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty, an unworldliness that made her much in demand both for modelling and photographic sessions.
But she might as well have been a block of misshapen wood for all the impression she had made on Reece Falcon!
A cold lack of emotion remained in that silver-eyed gaze as she moved first to one side of the T-shaped dais and then the other to show the full effect of the gracefully flowing lines of the back of the gown, her hair glistening like gold against the ivory veil.
Diana held her features composed in the dreamily distant way Charles had wanted from her, her hands steepled together almost in prayer as she walked, the long ivory sleeves ending in a point that reached the knuckle of the third finger of each hand. She had the look of a proudly sacrificial bride.
The silence began to be broken now as some of the women in the audience began to whisper together excitedly, overcome by the majestic beauty.
Diana knew her composure must have slipped slightly as the beautiful redhead sitting to the left of Reece Falcon turned to him and murmured softly, the blue-eyed gaze remaining fixed on Diana as she did so.
The woman had been here from the beginning of the show, but when she laid a slender scarlet-tipped hand on Reece Falcon’s arm as she spoke to him, an act that implied intimacy between them, it was obvious the two of them knew each other very well.
It was the first indication Diana had had that Reece Falcon wasn’t here alone.
It should mean nothing to her, did mean nothing, and yet——Reece Falcon had had a string of women in his life since his divorce ten years ago, and it was unlikely this one would be any more significant than any of them had been, yet she hadn’t realised he was involved with anyone at the moment…
Before she began that long slow walk back up the catwalk, to the sound of thunderous applause now, she found herself giving the other woman a more searching look. She wasn’t as young as Diana had first thought; she looked to be in her mid to late thirties—very close to Reece Falcon’s own age of thirty-nine—although the professionally artful use of make-up made her initially appear more youthful. Small and delicately made, and expensively dressed in designer-label clothes that Diana instantly recognised as such, the woman was obviously the sophisticated socialite Reece Falcon usually involved himself with. Beautiful as the woman was, she only held half of Reece Falcon’s attention as she spoke to him, the other half being firmly fixed on Diana, and so she doubted the other woman would figure any more prominently in his life than any of those others had over the years.
Diana couldn’t help the slightly contemptuous twist to her lips as she turned to begin the walk back, whatever slight wavering of confidence she had momentarily known disappearing completely as those silver eyes continued to glare up at her; whatever place the beautiful redhead had in his life, she couldn’t completely divert his attention away from Diana!
The congratulations, once she reached the changing-room, from Joanna and the other models, passed over her head as if she was in a dream as she stepped out of the wedding gown to reveal that she wore only skin-coloured panties beneath, her breasts full and rosy-tipped, her body more slender unclothed than it had appeared in the exquisite clothes she had been modelling all week, her legs long and slim, each movement she made unknowingly graceful, her hair at last revealed in all its long shimmering glory as Joanna carefully removed the delicacy of the pure lace veil.
Diana’s attention was held by the bouquet of roses that lay on a table in the corner of the room—today’s offering from Chris, the card attached to them having remained unopened as they had arrived during the rush and bustle of the half an hour before the show began. She had felt no urgency to open the envelope and read the card inside because she had thought it would be the same as the others during the week; two simple words—‘Marry me’. But perhaps this time she had been wrong; surely Chris knew his father was here, in Paris?
She hastily pulled on her robe over her near-nakedness, tying the belt securely about her waist even as she crossed the room to the roses, taking the card from the small white envelope and reading the message there. Those same two words still featured, but underneath, as if added later, was another message. It read, ‘The Falcon is on the hunt.’ They both knew the Falcon was his father. If only she had taken the time to read this card, she would at least have had some warning that Reece Falcon might be here in Paris, if nothing else. She had to accept that he probably knew something of her relationship with Chris too; the fact that he was here, tonight, was surely more than just a coincidence. It would more than explain that glitter-eyed look!
‘Coming to the party?’ Cally appeared at her side, unashamedly attempting to read the card that Diana slowly crushed in her hand, shrugging dismissively at the movement, the babble of voices continuing behind them, everyone obviously relieved that the evening had gone as well as it had and that the week of hard work was over.
With a tiny half-smile of apology, Diana shook her head in the negative. It had been a rhetorical question on Cally’s part anyway; both of them already knew that she wouldn’t go with the others to the huge party being thrown for them all.
‘I thought not,’ Cally grinned with an unoffended shrug. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she guessed, ‘a good night’s sleep. And then back to England on the first available flight in the morning,’ she said knowingly.
Diana’s smile widened at this totally correct assessment of her plans for the next twelve hours, the unguarded smile instantly revealing exactly how young she really was, the heavy make-up she had been wearing for modelling all evening tending to add years as well as the required sophistication.
‘Am I so predictable?’ She shook her head ruefully.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Cally shrugged dismissively. ‘It only adds to the elusiveness of the Divine Diana image.’
In part, it was only an image, one she had deliberately cultivated over the years. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really have any interest in the social side of her profession; she earned her living as a model, but she didn’t feel that meant she had to be on show the whole time.
And so she did her work, a professional to her fingertips, always on time for assignments, never subjecting the people she was working with or for to moods or temper-tantrums, while at the same time keeping her private life very private indeed. Which wasn’t as difficult as it sounded—not when she didn’t go out to the usual round of clubs and restaurants that her colleagues frequented, and so gave the Press no food for gossip. And people rarely connected the young woman shopping in the local supermarket, or walking in the park, with the glamorous model Divine who often adorned their newspapers in one exotically lovely gown or another. It seemed, with
her glorious cascade of hair confined at her nape or in a single plait down the length of her spine, her face free of make-up, and barely looking her twenty-one years, that she bore no resemblance then to the beautiful model Divine.
She returned Cally’s smile now. ‘A good night’s sleep sounds a very welcome idea at the moment!’ She was thoroughly exhausted from the hectic pace of the last week, and finding Reece Falcon sitting in the audience for her very last entrance of the week had been much more traumatic on her nerves—and her energy level—than she cared to admit.
But she went in search of Charles before leaving, knowing he would be caught up in the crush of people who wanted to congratulate him on the success of his designs; Charles enjoyed this adulation almost as much as he did putting the collection together in the first place.
Diana almost turned and left without talking to him at all when she saw who he was talking to; Reece Falcon!
Her desire for flight before she was seen was instinctive, self-protective—and, she decided with inner anger at herself, totally cowardly.
‘Ah, Diana!’ Charles smiled warmly as the congratulations she was receiving caught his attention, and he reached out a hand to draw her to his side, his arm moving about the slender width of her shoulders; he was several inches taller than Diana, for all her height. ‘We were just talking about you,’ he told her with satisfaction.
She tensed inwardly even as she compared the two men. The two were of a similar age, but Charles was tall, slender and blond, filled with a nervous energy that was evident in the way he found it difficult to stand still for any amount of time, constantly moving his hands as he talked, tapping those same hands rhythmically against his thighs when he wasn’t. The other man, in sharp contrast, was very dark in colouring, and even taller than Charles, with a big, powerful body that nevertheless gave the impression of not having a superfluous ounce of flesh on its frame. And he was possessed of a stillness that was, in itself, more powerful than mere strength could ever be.
Diana assessed him coolly before turning her attention back to Charles; the flush of success was still on his cheeks. ‘Oh, yes?’ she prompted huskily.
‘Not you exactly.’ It was the other man who answered her softly spoken query—and at the sound of his voice Diana knew a sickening thud in the bottom of her stomach. ‘We were discussing the wedding gown you modelled.’
She turned to him sharply, frowning. ‘The wedding gown…?’
‘Yes,’ Charles confirmed slowly, although he looked at the other man somewhat quizzically. ‘Although we hadn’t quite got around to discussing your interest in it…?’
‘I want it,’ Reece Falcon stated with simple fact, never doubting for a moment that the gown would be his.
Diana still watched him with puzzled green eyes, not in the least surprised by his self-assurance that he would get what he wanted; this man always got what he wanted. What she was surprised about was what he actually wanted this time. The wedding gown. Why on earth——?
‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Charles told him with obvious pleasure, his arm falling away from Diana’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea!’ He reached out and shook the other man’s hand. ‘I would be delighted to design a wedding gown for you—well, not for you personally, of course.’ He gave a laugh at his own little joke.
Diana had no doubts as to the reason why Charles was so delighted at the prospect of designing a wedding gown exclusively for the Falcon family: the wedding gown would be photographed and shown all over the world, would earn its designer worldwide publicity and prestige.
But the fact that there was to be a wedding at all filled Diana with misgivings.
Silver clashed with green as she found her gaze meeting Reece Falcon’s head-on for the first time, something akin to an electric shock passing through her body at the force she encountered there, a barely leashed energy behind the outward calm. He returned her gaze coldly, challengingly—almost as if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. Impossible. He couldn’t possibly know!
* * *
The original Ice Maiden, Reece realised with mocking amusement. He had met many women in his life—too damned many, he acknowledged grimly—some of them, although not many, as coldly distant as this particular one. But none of them had been as young or possessed of such a removed air as this model Divine.
He was curious in spite of himself, and thought now that he should perhaps have taken the trouble to find out a little more about her before coming here, other than the fact that she was being disruptive to his plans for his son. Now that he had seen her for himself, and could see how beautiful but strangely elusive she was, he realised why Chris was so fascinated by the young woman that he had risked even Reece’s anger to continue seeing her.
This young woman could be trouble with a capital T. Good God, there was no could about it!
He broke their gaze with easy dismissal, turning back to Charles Oxley, knowing a momentary satisfaction as he did so that the other man was no longer touching this exquisitely lovely creature—although he knew that none of that pleasure would be obvious in his expression; years of schooling his features and learning to hide his innermost thoughts and emotions meant that he now did it automatically. Until a few minutes ago when Diana joined them he had wondered at Oxley’s sexual inclinations, but the way the other man looked at the model he was left in no doubt. Or was it just that this woman-child was so exotically lovely that no man could look at her without appreciating her understated sensuality…?
‘I don’t want a gown designed, Charles,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘I want the one I saw tonight.’
Charles frowned. ‘The one…? But—I think the bride should see it first before making any decision, don’t you?’ he attempted to cajole. ‘It may not be—what she wants for herself. I would be pleased to set a time when we can all get together to discuss what you would like,’ he added lightly, obviously not wanting to offend by refusing the wedding gown Divine had modelled earlier.
Reece knew exactly why the other man was prevaricating, could appreciate Charles Oxley’s reluctance to let a woman wear a gown, wedding or otherwise, that he wasn’t absolutely positive would look right on her and at the same time be a credit to his undoubted reputation as a designer. At the same time that he could appreciate the other man’s feelings, however, he also knew that he wanted the gown!
‘She’s seen it,’ he told the other man drily. ‘She likes it. It’s what she wants.’ And what that particular lady wanted, she got!
This time there was no mistaking a reaction in the model Divine as she stood at Charles Oxley’s side. She didn’t move, and her facial expression—strangely, for one so young—remained perfectly controlled. And yet Reece knew his words had disturbed her; he could feel the tension in her.
Tension was the very least of what this young woman should feel; she was responsible for trying to thwart his plans for Chris. A fact he intended rectifying at the first opportunity.
Although he had to admit, if Chris had to choose a woman to have a passionate fling with, he had better taste than Reece would have given him credit for. This young model Divine wasn’t at all what he had been expecting when he’d heard of the relationship. Although she must only be a year or so older than Chris’s twenty, at the same time she gave the impression that she was much older than that; there was also a vulnerability about her that he knew she tried to hide by her very elusiveness. A strange combination. Interesting. Intriguing…He already knew he meant to learn more about her.
He didn’t question the fact that he found attractive the young girl his own son had told him he wanted to marry. Chris would get over the infatuation, hopefully learn from it, and there was little in Reece’s own life that he denied himself once he had established in his own mind that he wanted it. And everyone, he had learnt with increasing cynicism, had their price. With Chris, this particular young lady’s price appeared to have been marriage. But then, it was standard practice, in any deal, to ask for more t
han you actually expected to get. It was time Chris, as much as this young girl, learnt that!
‘I’m flattered, Mr Falcon,’ Charles began tentatively, ‘that the bride should like that particular gown so much——’
‘Don’t be,’ Reece drawled. ‘This particular lady is used to getting what she wants.’ Every time. And she was a beautiful, maddening bundle of provocation. He pitied—and envied—any man who tried to tame her.
Oxley still looked dismayed at the way the conversation was going, obviously searching for that narrow line between being polite to what he appreciated was a prestigious customer, and yet at the same time standing by his own professional reputation. ‘But if we could just——’
‘Charles—I’m sorry to interrupt.’ A slightly breathless lady in her early forties bore determinedly down on them, looking at Reece briefly, chewing on her bottom lip as she recognised him instantly. ‘Edgar Poole is looking for you,’ she told Charles awkwardly.
Reece was well aware of who Edgar Poole was; he had done business with the successful entrepreneur several times in the past, and had actually gone into a couple of deals with him too. Successfully, of course. They both played to win. And Edgar’s young and lovely wife would be the reason the other man was here at all today. Reece could appreciate Oxley’s dilemma now in not knowing whether he should continue his conversation with him—one that he was finding it difficult to deal with—or go and see Edgar and the lovely Caryn, who might be more agreeable to deal with.
Reece decided, on this occasion, to take pity on him, inwardly admitting that he felt slightly distracted himself, but for quite a different reason. ‘I’ll give you a call within the next few days, Charles,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But I won’t change my mind about the wedding gown,’ he warned him. ‘And believe me,’ he added derisively, ‘neither will the bride!’
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