Midnight Wedding

It was the paragraph on donor fatigue from the report they had left with the committee. He had redrafted the paragraph a zillion times until Jack was satisfied with it. So he knew it by heart, as he now demonstrated.

“‘After the immediate emergency, journalists move on. But more people die in the aftermath of most disasters than in the period of first impact. We must do everything we can to reverse this.”’ He smiled. ‘Doesn’t include some pretty pictures for a lady who fancies you?’

Jack cast his eyes to heaven. Or at least to the over-illuminated ceiling of the plushest corridor in Paris.

‘Come on, man. I’ll sell myself to a bunch of bureaucrats if that’s what it takes to get the job done. I draw the line at stud pics,’ he said brutally.

Ramon was startled. ‘Stud pics?’

‘Caruso’s a photo-journalist with Elegance magazine.’

‘So?’

‘They’re only interested in fashion, sex and gossip. Frankly, I was surprised they bothered to send anyone along to Ignaz.’

Ramon stared. ‘How do you know what Elegance magazine is interested in? When did you have time to read anything except work?’

Jack looked faintly uncomfortable. ‘You only have to look at the news-stands at airports.’

‘Since when did you cruise the women’s magazines stands?’ said Ramon in disbelief.

There was the tiniest pause. Then Jack said levelly, ‘Susana liked it.’

For once Ramon had nothing to say.

To Holly, balancing her boxes like a circus pro, the atmosphere between the two men blasted down the corridor like a fireball. They were at the far end, outside the board room. Two men in city suits: one small and anxious, one tall and dark and icily contained, as if holding his breath to withstand a blow.

Holly was not quite sure how she knew he was bracing himself. His high-cheekboned face was impassive. But somehow she did. It was the way he stood. She had a vivid impression of a man using every ounce of strength to keep the lid on some inflammable substance and not being sure the lid would hold. It was alarming.

I’m glad it wasn’t me who made him look like that, she thought, oddly shaken.

His companion said in English, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t think. I’m an idiot.’

For a moment, the tall man did not answer. Then he said, ‘Conference room fever.’

And she knew the moment of danger had passed.

His companion did not seem so sure. He looked up at the tall man doubtfully.

‘In fact, look on the bright side. At least you’ve got us out of another forty-eight hours in there.’

Holly put one hand up to steady her precarious tower of boxes and marched towards them.

‘Forty-eight hours?’ The other man echoed, horrified. ‘Oh, Jack, surely it won’t take that long.’

Holly realised something else about the tall, intimidating stranger. He was gorgeous. Tough, yes; dangerously controlled, undoubtedly. But, beyond argument, gorgeous.

She frowned. Holly did not like gorgeous men. For very good reasons.

‘I knew I’d made them mad. But forty-eight hours?’

Gorgeous Jack was cynical. ‘Once you let bureaucrats start talking, it will last until they go home.’

The smaller man groaned. ‘If only we didn’t have to do this.’

Jack gave a sudden snort of laughter. ‘What we need is a friendly millionaire who believes in forward planning. Failing that, the International Disaster Committee is the best we’ve got.’

Holly had reached them.

‘Excuse me,’ she said from behind her boxes.

She was standing at Jack’s shoulder. The boxes tilted, catching against the canvas bag she wore looped across her body. She compensated, tilting in the other direction. Which might have made her voice muffled. Or maybe they were just too engrossed in their own affairs to notice.

Either way, they did not hear her.

‘If only I hadn’t put their backs up,’ said the second man wretchedly.

‘Not difficult with bureaucrats. They—’

‘Excuse me.’

‘—play status games all the—’ Jack swung round impatiently. ‘What is it?’

His eyes glittered like black diamonds. Holly was transfixed. Even with her boxes rocking off balance, she could not wrest her eyes away.

Gorgeous was not the word. And her instincts were sound: he looked hard, all right. The bone structure was that of a Greek god and, by the look of it, so was the temper. She could imagine people quailing under the intensity of that hooded gaze.

Well, she did not quail easily. She shifted her burden to one side and glared right back at him.

‘May I get past?’

Fierce dark eyes swept over her like a forest fire.

Most people would have blenched. Holly congratulated herself on the difference between herself and most people. She also congratulated herself on not folding up against the wall of the corridor and trying to squeeze meekly past them.

She tapped her foot, to the imminent danger of her boxes.

‘Now. Please.’ It was still just polite. Technically, anyway.

For a moment, Gorgeous Jack surveyed Holly with unnerving concentration.

Holly had always been quick to flare up, even before she’d honed her defensive skills in the battlefield that was her father’s house. Now her temper went onto a slow burn. She stopped pretending to be polite.

‘Now!’

To her fury, he was more alert than she was. He was already moving when Holly felt the boxes finally shift out of balance. Before they could topple, he had swept round and lifted them out of her arms.

He looked down at her, waiting.