CHAPTER TWO

ICAN'TREMEMBER who I am or why I'm here or what I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is a scrap of a waitress urged me to do a ‘good job' and all I want is to please her in every carnal way imaginable. That urge was so overwhelming I just kissed her cheek and a bolt of electricity slammed into me. Fortunately my reason returned with the force of it. Even so I stare at her for a second longer. She has shockingly pretty, big brown eyes—like a deer. She's a bit of a Bambi all round with her slim, leggy build and her glossy black-coffee hair. Pretty thing materialised just as I'd sorted the ink stain on my shirt and helped me dress like some over-efficient boarding-house matron with nimble fingers and sweet concentration. Most women undress me. This one helped me do the opposite and it was one of the hottest moments of my life. Go figure.

Talia.It's a delicate name for a delicate creature and I've a craving to taste more than just her name. Sex is a private pleasure I don't take too seriously but I must admit that being mistaken for a stripper is a first. I'll strip if she wants—her, that is—out of that black dress. I want to do more than strip her. I want to hear her moan again. I want her to melt against me.

It's instant and it's intense.

But given I haven't indulged recently, maybe it's reasonable that desire bites so hard now. My work-life balance has been more out of whack than usual. But she's at work and I can't harass her. Plus she's even more confused as to who I am and why I'm here than I am. Right now I'm too amused and bemused to tell her. And, all right, yes, aroused. So I walk out of the room and down the corridor. There's a ripple as I walk into the restaurant. I glance behind me, stupidly vain enough to hope she sees the reaction to my arrival. But she hasn't followed me. Deflated, I stroll towards Simone, seated in the centre of the party. The woman beside her moves to make room for me.

‘You were supposed to be here hours ago,' Simone admonishes as we hug. ‘But I don't mind.'

Some people write Simone off as an airhead—a Sydney society eccentric. They're wrong. She has an astute business brain. She's also the only person from my past with whom I retain consistent contact outside the boardroom.

‘I'm glad you made it,' she adds.

So am I, though not for any reason to do with my godmother. I'm haunted by the sound of a sexy little inhale as I brushed that completely inappropriate kiss on Talia's cheek.

‘What held you up?' Simone asks.

I'm not about to offer full disclosure. ‘Meeting ran overtime. You forgive me, right?'

Simone smiles. ‘If you invest in this project, you know I'll forgive you anything.'

My smile becomes a little fixed. Even though she's almost family, Simone still wants my money. Like everyone. ‘You know I can't give you an answer on that without seeing the paperwork.'

She sighs dramatically. ‘Must you be so vigilant, Dain?'

‘Always.'

Business comes first but I do owe Simone and that's why I'm here.

My family's been in the residential property development business for decades. My great-great-grandfather founded the business and built it to a high level of success that was subsequently almost entirely destroyed by the viciousness of my parents' divorce. They tore the company apart as well as their marriage. As well as me.

But it was down to me to resurrect what I could from the wreckage of it all. Because of Simone I was able to fulfil the promise I'd made to my grandfather. And I've done it. Anzelotti is the largest luxury apartment building company in Australia. We build thousands of them each year and still can't satisfy the waiting list.

Expansion into New Zealand hasn't been a priority, but Simone's been making a case for my investment here for the past two years. Having her birthday party tonight was in part a deliberate act to entice me back to Queenstown. I was happy to indulge her but now I'm distracted because Talia appears in the room. Yeah, she is the one in charge. She's ultra-efficient—minimal actions, maximum impact—and happily she's aware of me. It's barely two beats before she spots me sitting next to Simone. Her face is a picture before she pulls on a professional mask. She approaches immediately. Not going to lie, I'm delighted.

‘Is everything to your satisfaction, Simone?' she asks.

She doesn't look at me as Simone answers in the affirmative.

I can't resist teasing her. ‘I heard something about the entertainment having arrived?' I cock my head. ‘Or is it running late?'

A flush sweeps her cheeks and she flashes a baleful look my way. ‘I'll find out and get back to you as soon as I can.'

I can't help but chuckle. Then I count the seconds until she returns.

‘It'll be just another few minutes and then the singer will be here,' she says.

‘Singer?' I clarify coolly. ‘Not a dancer?'

‘No.' Her teeth snap as she smiles sharply.

‘I'm going to need more coffee to keep me awake for the performance,' Simone says, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between the waitress and me. ‘Any chance of a latte?'

‘Of course,' Talia says. ‘I'll get that right away.'

I can't remain still for more than a few moments. ‘Excuse me, Simone,' I mutter.

Talia stands by the coffee machine. As I approach I have to suppress the maddening urge to run my hand the length of her stiff spine and soften her curves against me again. I take a sharp breath instead. Public flirting is not my thing and I definitely don't touch a woman in view of anyone else—I don't even hold hands. Discretion is everything to me. My personal life is and always will be utterly private. So that I'm openly obvious with my attention is a first. Women are usually obvious with me. All I need do is discreetly nod and they approach. From there it's to my private suite. I know that sounds arrogant but it's just true. It's what happens when you're one of Australia's wealthiest bachelors. Only I'm not in Australia now and this woman avoids my gaze entirely. But I know she's aware of me. There's strong chemistry between us and we both know it.

‘I'm really looking forward to the singer,' I say conversationally.

Her body goes tense.

‘Or is there some problem?' I add. ‘Perhaps you'll have to step in and fill the breach?'

She ducks her chin and her flush deepens. I actually feel a little bad for teasing her.

‘You should have told me you were her date,' she mutters meekly.

I blink. She thinks I'm Simone's date? Good grief, I've gone from stripper to escort. She glances up and that's when I spot the gleaming tease in her eyes. It tugs deep in my gut—it makes me want to use some sort of physical correction with her.

‘Simone Boras is my godmother,' I inform her as coolly as I can. ‘She's the nearest thing to a grandmother I have.'

Talia's expression flickers with smug amusement before she smooths it. I narrow my gaze on her.

‘So I'm not about to give her or any other woman here a lap dance.' I lean close. ‘Though I'd make an exception for you.'

That colour deepens her skin but I'm struck by the molten emotion in her bottomless eyes. I shouldn't have said it. I'm like some lecherous party guest. But she provoked me and we had shared a moment in that storeroom. Now she presses her trembling lips together—not pursing them in disapproval, but suppressing her smile. That ache tugs deep inside me again and I want everyone in this room to vanish so we can be alone.

‘Can I please get a coffee too?' I mutter. ‘Black. No sugar.'

‘Of course.' She swiftly operates the machine.

Even though I never do this—I never usually have to—I somehow end up telling her who I am. ‘My name is Dain Anzelotti.'

Her expression is back to bland. ‘Am I supposed to recognise your name?'

‘Many people would.' My name is on a lot of contracts.

But I'm not surprised she didn't recognise my face. I avoid all kinds of media. I can get some stories scrubbed before they hit the mainstream press and I only attend social events where discretion is assured. I'm not on any social media platforms. I don't have a personal email address. When you're as wealthy as I am it's advisable to remain as unreachable as possible. So as far as I'm aware there are no social media pictures of me anywhere now and, yes, I'm too precious but I've had more than enough of those in my past when I was used as a pawn during my parents' drawn-out separation and brutally public divorce.

She looks down at the coffee cup she's filling. ‘You're not local, right?'

‘Right. But...' But most people recognise my name.

‘Are you famous or something?'

‘Or something.'

‘By that you mean wealthy.' She shoots me a cutting glance. ‘So what? In Queenstown every other customer is an arrogant billionaire. Which sort are you? Tech? Rural? Some sort of amazing eco-friendly attire?' Her gaze rakes over my suit. ‘Snowboard champion?'

‘Property development,' I mutter.

She doesn't look impressed. ‘Hotels?'

‘Apartments.' I don't know why I'm suddenly like a schoolboy struggling to impress the girl he fancies on the bus.

‘Good for you.' She shrugs dismissively.

‘You'd prefer I was an...entertainer?'

She pauses. ‘Well...' Her voice drops. ‘It does seem like a waste of your other assets.'

I'm so shocked I can only stare as that husky little sass repeats in my head. Desire paralyses me. The images in my head—how I could use the ‘assets' she's thinking of—are shockingly inappropriate. I don't lose control of myself like this. Definitely not in public. I blink, needing to distract myself before this very crowded room sees the effect this woman has on me. My gaze drops and I see the latte she's made for Simone. I've seen fancy patterns on top of frothy milk before, but this one is particularly artistic with a highly detailed bird hovering over a flower.

‘That's amazing,' I mutter hoarsely.

‘Yes.' She glances up and looks me directly in the eyes. ‘Tastes even better.'

I'm gone. Brain dead. Body slammed. Stunned into silence. I don't respond at all. Where did this vixen come from? I've been hit on more times than I can remember but this tiny attempt has me sizzling in a way I can't handle. I recall the moments in that storeroom where she was pressed against me. I want that again. I'm all but overpowered by the urge to toss her over my shoulder and carry her back there to finish what we started.

But I don't. I can't. I remain still and silent. Struggling to process, to regain control of myself. It takes too long. Belatedly I realise a flush has swept over her face. Before I can think to respond or am able to un-gum my mouth, she drops her gaze. Swiftly she sets the coffees on a small tray. Distractedly I notice other differences between my small, plain drink and Simone's.

‘Don't I get a cookie too?' I ask feebly.

It's too late. She doesn't answer. She doesn't look me in the eyes. Since when was I so incompetent with a woman? I follow her like a redundant fool. She's mortified. Even the tips of her ears are scarlet. I slip back into my seat.

‘Have you been giving her a hard time?' Simone asks quietly as I watch Talia march back across the room—stiff-backed, scarlet-cheeked.

Not the kind of hard time I want to give her, no.

‘She's not your usual type,' Simone adds speculatively.

‘Surely you don't think I have a singular type.' I sip my scalding coffee to hide the frustration overflowing within me but I can't lift my attention from Talia.

Simone's tone warms with exasperated amusement. ‘Aren't you ever going to settle down?'

‘Surely you don't need to ask that.'

Because it was Simone who pulled up to my boarding school and helped me escape one of the worst moments of my life—the media intrusion and the shock of secrets kept from me until it was too late. She knows how I was caught in the midst of an emotional massacre and that I'll never accept the blistering bonds of a committed relationship myself.

‘No,' Simone acknowledges. ‘But you're never obvious in public. This is intriguing.'

But I haven't felt temptation like this. Or such uncertainty. I don't usually have to work for it.

I tear my gaze from Talia to focus on Simone—she's the reason I'm here, after all, and Talia was right, Simone is one of the good ones. ‘I'm sorry. It's your birthday.' I pull a small box from my pocket and put it on the table between us.

Simone all but shimmers. ‘Is it a pen to sign the investment papers?'

I laugh at her persistence. ‘You know any deal will be negotiated in the office.'

But I remind her gently because Simone tried to help me all those years ago. A close friend of my grandfather, she disapproved of him keeping secrets from me. And she was the only one to take action when the press found out he was terminal.

‘I promise I'll look at it properly tomorrow,' I add with a smile. ‘I'll be there at nine.'

I enjoy the coffee and the dessert and talk to Simone and several of her guests. I also enjoy watching Talia care for the guests. That she's determined not to look in my direction is actually reassuring. She's as aware of me as I am of her and I just need another moment with her. Alone.

A guy with a guitar arrives. The long-haired crooner sings hits of bygone years. Simone loves it. But partway through his fourth item I sense an emptiness in the room. It's only been a few moments but I'm acutely aware Talia's gone. I mutter something to Simone and move.

I catch up with a young waiter in the corridor. ‘Where's Talia?'

The young man looks both startled and awkward. ‘She's just finished for the evening.'

Disappointment floods me. ‘She's not staying till closing?'

The youth fidgets. ‘She was only helping out for a while before she had to—' He stops before saying anything truly useful. ‘Is there something I can get for you, sir?'

‘No, that's fine. Thank you.'

I message Simone to apologise for my sudden departure and confirm tomorrow's meeting time. I know she won't mind—I've stayed longer than she'd have expected me to anyway. Striding towards the gondola, I notice the sky has darkened. The wind's lifted, whistling around the outside of the building. There's only one way down from this place and this is one ride I refuse to miss.