The Millionaire's Daughter

Sally murmured. ‘Fifteen-all.’

Annis was hotly indignant. It felt great. ‘You can’t expect someone to flirt with you if you make her account for herself as if you’re interviewing her for a job.’

Sally gave a soft laugh. ‘Ta-da. She’s got you there, Kosta.’

‘What else is a man to ask her about when the first thing she tells him is that she lives for her work?’

‘Thirty-all.’ Sally was enjoying herself hugely.

‘And when she tells him she’s at the party to network.’

‘Thirty-forty.’

Annis stared up at him. His eyes were curiously intent. She found she could not think of one thing to say.

‘And that dating bores her.’

‘Game, set and match,’ crowed Sally.

He did not take his eyes off Annis. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘Not yet.’

And smiled.

Annis felt as if all her clothes had fallen off.

She did something she had not done since she was a child. She pushed her chair back with a harsh scraping noise and scrambled to her feet. ‘Excuse me.’

She fled.

CHAPTER TWO

ANNIS took refuge in her old room.

There was an old sycamore whose leaves brushed her window, sending strange patterns across the moonlight. She would watch the shadow pictures from her bed. Now the late autumn branches were nearly bare. Annis shivered. They looked as exposed as she felt.

Why had she let Konstantin Vitale get to her like that?

She went to the window and leaned her hot forehead against the glass.

She could not remember ever feeling like this, so angry and muddled and helpless. Even when Jamie had decided that she did not add anything to his street cred she had not felt like this. She had just cleared all his belongings out of the flat and set about turning it back into her own exclusive island. Since then she had defended her home against the world and her heart against sexy, confident men. Defended them successfully, what was more.

So how had Konstantin Vitale managed to turn her defences upside down with a drawling quip that he probably hadn’t even meant?

You’re not a clumsy adolescent any more. You can handle any amount of drawling sophistication. So why have you let him throw you into a spin?

Annis put her fingers to her throbbing temples. The scar was rough under her left forefinger. She dropped her hands as if she had burned them. It was not often that she forgot the scar. Yet she had not given it one thought since she sat down next to him at the dinner table.

Well, at least her unaccustomed temper had done that for her, she thought wryly.

Come on, get a grip.

There was a small vanity unit in the corner. Annis splashed cold water on her face. She blinked at the shock of it but at least when she straightened she felt more normal.

‘No more anger,’ she said aloud.

She peered at herself in the well-lit mirror. Too well-lit. It showed the puckered skin from eyebrow to hairline as if a special effects’ artist had just drawn it on. It looked as it had done when her mother had picked her up and had recoiled, her face a mask of revulsion. So long ago and yet Annis could still see it as clearly as if it was happening right in front of her eyes now.

Deliberately she put the thought away from her.

‘Come on, Scarface,’ she told herself wryly. ‘You can hold it together. You’ve done it before. You’ll never see Konstantin Vitale again after tonight. He’s not worth wasting anger on. Just treat him as a short-term project.’

She patted her face dry and pulled the softly curling hair forward to hide the scar. Then, straightening her shoulders, she went back to face the music.

It was not as bad as she’d feared. At the end of the second course Lynda decided that she wanted to mix her guests around. So all the men were told to move six chairs to their left.

‘I’ll see you after the musical chairs,’ Konstantin told Annis graciously.

‘I’ll look out for you.’

He looked at her sharply and she realised that the ambiguity was not lost on him. Sexy, arrogant and shrewd. Oh, Lynda had really excelled herself this evening.

But somehow the perfectly nice men who sat next to her during the cheese and dessert courses were insipid by contrast.

Crazy, thought Annis, applying herself hard to the finer points of widget design as described by her father’s newest head of research. She greeted Lynda’s discreet sign to the ladies to leave the table with relief.

They all congregated in Lynda’s bedroom, fluffing up shining hair that did not need it and reapplying colour to make-up that already looked perfect.

And talking about the men left behind at the table. Of course.

‘He’s so gorgeous,’ said Gillie Larsen.

‘And tonight he’s got Annis’s name on him,’ murmured Bella naughtily as she swished past with a box of tissues.

Annis frowned at her. ‘Behave.’

Bella’s eyes danced. ‘You sat next to him and your heart didn’t just melt?’

Annis thought of Konstantin Vitale: the Byronic looks; the intensity.

‘Not my type,’ she said with feeling.

Bella chuckled. ‘Mother will cut her throat.’

‘Tough,’ said Annis hardily.

Bella delivered her burden and came back to sit beside Annis on the ottoman at the end of Lynda’s impressive gilded bed.

‘Seriously, Mother’s going to despair. He was her prize. You have no idea how hard she had to work to get him here tonight.’