The Accidental Mistress

Izzy followed her up the stairs and onto the main dance floor. She stopped dead.

‘This is cool?’ she said incredulously.

Izzy liked to dance, and she went to a lot of clubs. She was used to a driving beat and searing spotlights that blinked through the feverish dark. It was vibrant, exciting, dangerous. But the room she had entered was just depressing. In the light of a hundred-watt bulb, the floor was stained, the mirrors smeared and the bar had bits gouged out of it.

‘Are you sure?’

Molly di Peretti chuckled. ‘This is what they all look like when the lights are on. The imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down. It’s going to be great. A real party to remember. Trust me.’

She was right, too. It was the same basic crowd as the morning. But this evening the women brought their partners. And Culp and Christopher’s list of celebrity guests had all turned up, agog. The clothes were stylish; the music was hot.

Pepper, who did not normally go clubbing, began to look punch drunk by eleven o’clock. Her Steven, steady as a rock, put an arm round her.

‘How long do you have to stay, my love?’

Pepper leaned gratefully into his shoulder but said, ‘It’s my party. I’ll stick it out to the end.’

He looked down at her tenderly. ‘Sure? No one would notice if I carried you off right now. Would they, Izzy?’

Izzy looked away. Steven Konig was not her type, but there was something about the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her cousin that made her almost—well, sad. Grow up, she told herself. You’re the one who keeps passing on the third date. Your choice.

Aloud she said, ‘’Course they wouldn’t. Anyway, you won’t get me out of here till dawn. If you want someone from Out of the Attic to hand out the balloons and turn off the lights, I’ll do it.’

Steven smiled at her gratefully. And it was quite, quite different from the way he looked at Pepper. Just as well, thought Izzy, ignoring the little pain round her heart. She tossed her hair and boogied to the beat. ‘Take her home, Steven. And don’t wait up. This is my element. I was born to dance.’

She flung herself back on the dance floor and set out to prove it.

Izzy did not remember that she was running on her emergency tank. The combined effects of too many late nights and thirty hours without solid food gave her a pleasant sense of flying. There was no deadline, no last-minute hitches to sort out, no speeches to write. Above all, there was no man pressing her to respond to something she knew in her bones was not what she wanted.

She was wearing Out of the Attic’s Christmas party number. Bright red, lots of skirt, most of it slashed to hip height and a boned top that left her shoulders bare and her cleavage spectacular. Jemima’s hairstylist had got rid of her gelled queue, and now feathery red hair tumbled seductively about her bare shoulders. Izzy threw out her arms and let the music take her.

Or so it seemed to Dominic Templeton-Burke, walking in alone at midnight.

He stopped dead. ‘Who—is—that?’ he said with deep appreciation.

Molly di Peretti had been called to sign him in. She looked at the wild thing in scarlet on the dance floor and grinned. ‘That’s management. Or a woman with hidden depths, depending on your point of view.’

Dominic took an enthusiastic step forward.

‘My point of view is altogether too far away from the hottest babe in the place. Lead me to her.’

Molly barred his path. ‘Hey. Let’s not forget what we’re doing here. This is supposed to be work.’

Dom did not take his eyes off the supple whip-fast dancer. His lips twitched. ‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ he assured Molly. He swung past her with a neat evasive movement.

She blocked him even more neatly. ‘Focus, Dominic. Focus! The point of tonight is to get you off the science pages and into the gossip columns.’

The dancer raised her arms above her head. Her head fell back, eyes shut, lips parted. She was utterly surrendered to the music. Dom drew a soundless breath.

‘Done,’ he said, putting Molly out of his way with one decisive movement.

But she was a tryer. She hung onto his arm. ‘The woman you’ve got your greedy eye on has absolutely no publicity profile at all. There’s no point in you dancing with her.’

Dom smiled.

‘Well, no professional point,’ Molly amended. She snorted. ‘Look, there’s only one place dancing like that will get you, and it isn’t into tomorrow’s newspapers. You do realise that?’

Dom’s smile widened wickedly. But his eyes did not waver. He was not looking at Molly. ‘I’m counting on it.’

Molly let him go and flung up her hands. ‘Okay. Waste your best chance. See if I care.’

But she could see that it did not matter what she said. He was already moving purposefully into the dancing crowd. She did not think he’d even heard her.

‘Grrrr,’ she said. Then shrugged. She’d just have to tell Abby that she had done her best and Dom wouldn’t cooperate. Somehow she did not think Abby would be surprised.

Dom had never seen anyone so completely absorbed. He homed in on the wild haired dancer with the unstoppable force of an arrow, brushing other people aside like falling leaves. They fell back, amused, seeing where he was headed. Not much doubt about his object; everyone could see that. Dancers parted obligingly, as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

In the end it seemed that there was only one person who did not know where he was headed. Eyes tight shut, his lady in red was in her own world, letting her hips do the talking.

Eloquently, thought Dominic. His breath quickened.

She was like a fantasy creature. Concentrated. Intense. Passionate.

In the flickering light, droplets seemed to gleam on the skin between her breasts. Condensation from the air conditioning? Some sparkly cosmetic? Sweat? Whatever it was, she was oblivious. Dom wanted to lick it off and find out.

The heat of desire hit him in the throat. For a moment he could hardly breathe. And still she didn’t notice.

He reached her. He put a hand on her swaying hip. It was very gentle, but—and with a shock Dom realised it—it said, Mine.

The woman’s eyes flew open as if he had bounced her out of a deep sleep. Her hips did not stop moving to the beat but for a second her feet tangled themselves up. She faltered, almost losing the rhythm.

Before she could stagger Dom put his other round her waist and braced her, his open palm along her spine. Her back was naked.

Her eyes widened but the music had her in thrall. She did not stop moving. He matched his hip movements to hers.

‘You are amazing,’ he said. Well, he mouthed it at her. Not much hope of her hearing him over the thunderous guitars. ‘I want some.’

Some? All! But he could take that up later.

She shook her head. But he could not tell if that was a rejection or she just couldn’t hear him.

He hesitated. Then thought, She’s not dancing as if she’s rejecting me.

Dom moved in closer. And closer. Their hips touched.

The woman did not pull away. Oh, she swayed back, of course. But when the music told her to she swayed forward, too. Her breasts brushed across his chest—deliberately? Or was it by chance? No more than an accidental touch, caused by her abandonment to the music? Did she even see him?

Dom groaned, unheard. And then realised their eyes were locked. Something told him she was seeing the moment of intense sensation in his face. Something made her eyes gleam anyway. Amusement? Sheer female triumph? Lust?