Proposal At The Winter Ball (Harlequin Romance) Read online

  Because it was all he had dreamed it might be, those shameful, secret dreams. The crossing of boundaries, the touching the untouchable. Her touch was light, her kiss sweetly questioning and despite everything Alex desperately wanted to give her the answers she was seeking.

  He stood stock-still for one long moment, trying to summon up the resolve to walk away, but the blood hummed through his veins, the noise drowning out the voice of caution; her sweet, vanilla scent was enfolding him and he was lost. Lost in her. Lost in the inevitable.

  With that knowledge all thought of backing off, backing out disappeared. One hand slipped, as if of its volition, around the curve of her waist, pulling her in tightly against him, the other burying itself in the hair at the nape of her neck; a heavy, sweet smelling cloud. And Alex took control. He kissed her back, deepening, intensifying the kiss as the blood roared in his ears and all he could feel was the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her body, pliant against his.

  Her touch was no longer tentative, one arm tight around his neck. Holding his head as if she didn’t dare let him go. The other was on the small of his back, working at the fabric of his shirt, branding him with the fevered heat of her touch.

  If she touched his flesh he would be utterly undone.

  Like the animal he was he could take her here and now. Not caring about the consequences, not caring that they weren’t in a private space. That the staff could walk in any minute. That once again there would be no going back.

  That once again he could take things too far. And once again he could lose everything.

  He had learned nothing.

  Alex wrenched his mouth away; the taste of her lingered, intoxicatingly tempting on his tongue. But he had to sober up. ‘Flora.’ His breath was ragged as he stared into her confused dark eyes. ‘I...’

  ‘Am I interrupting something?’ Both Alex and Flora jumped slightly as the rich, Italian tones, tinged with a hint of mockery, floated across the hotel lounge. Alex didn’t need to look around to know who he would see—the owner of this hotel and the woman who had employed him to design three more, Camilla Lusso.

  ‘Buongiorno, Camilla.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath, willing his overheated body to cool, his spinning brain to slow. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.’ He turned, fixing a cool, professional smile on his face as he greeted his biggest and most influential client.

  ‘That’s rather clear.’ Still that hint of mockery in her voice, her eyes assessing and cool as she looked at Flora, clearly not missing a single detail as she took in the mussed hair, the swollen lips, the wrinkles in the baggy dress.

  Camilla Lusso could have been any age between thirty-five and fifty-five although Alex suspected she was at the top end of the age range, but her expensively styled hair, subtle make-up and chic wardrobe made her seem timeless. A glossy, confident and successful woman. A professional woman who demanded top-class professionalism from everyone who worked with and for her.

  Flora was supposed to be impressing her, not being found drunkenly making out with the architect.

  Why now? Why tonight after all these years? He could blame the schnapps, he could blame the mountains framed through the windows, the warmth of the fire burning in the stove. It was a scene out of Seduction 101. But the only person he could really blame was himself. He should have backed off, backed away, laughed off the conversation—not been struck dumb with the thought of an alternate world. A world in which he might have been worthy of the adoration and desire shining out of Flora’s dark eyes.

  He had to fix this. Camilla’s eyes had narrowed as she assessed Flora. If she found her wanting in any way then Alex knew she’d turn her away, no matter how good her work.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Camilla. When I recommended Flora to you I wanted you to appreciate her for her own talent and so...’ He paused, searching for the right words, the right way to make this all right. There was only one way. To make the whole embarrassing scene seem perfectly normal.

  ‘I didn’t tell you that we’re dating. I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it but we agreed to be discreet this week, to put our relationship on the back burner.’ He allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Starting from tomorrow.’ He took Flora’s hand in his, pinching her in warning, hoping the shock of the last five minutes had sobered her up. Play along.

  To his relief she picked up his cue. ‘Pleased to meet you. I am very excited to be working with you and to help breathe life and colour into Alex’s designs. I didn’t realise I would have the honour of meeting you this evening otherwise...’ Flora gestured at her wrinkled dress, at her mussed-up hair ‘... I would have made more of an effort.’

  ‘But no.’ Camilla’s face had relaxed—as much as her tightened skin would allow—into a smile. ‘The apology is all mine. I should have warned you that I had changed my plans. I have interrupted your last evening of privacy.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Flora’s cheeks were pink and her hand hot in Alex’s. ‘Not at all, we have mostly been working...’ Her voice trailed off at the knowing look on Camilla’s face as she said the last word.

  ‘It all looks absolutely fantastic, just as I envisioned.’ Alex took over the conversation, taking pity on Flora. ‘And the staff seem to know their roles perfectly—not that I would expect anything else from a Lusso Hotel. What time can we expect the guests tomorrow?’

  Camilla accepted a glass of wine from a discreetly hovering waiter and sat down on one of the chairs by the stove. ‘We’re expecting the first to arrive after lunch tomorrow. I am so pleased you agreed to spend this opening week with us, Alex. The majority of the guests are influential travel journalists and bloggers and I am sure they are going to have lots of questions about your inspiration for this beautiful building. But please, not all work, eh? You must take full advantage of the facilities while you are here.’

  Again she swept a knowing look up and down the pair of them. Alex gritted his teeth. ‘It’s my absolute pleasure. It’s not often I get to spend so much time in a building I designed after completion. It will be really interesting to watch it fulfil its purpose.’ Alex stole a glance at Flora. She was no longer flushed, rather she had turned pale, as if all the life had been leached out of her apart from the dark circles shadowing her eyes. ‘However, if I’m to ensure the Bali designs are perfect for our meeting at the end of the week and socialise appropriately I think we’d better turn in. We were on the road at five a.m.’

  ‘Of course. I look forward to seeing your designs, Miss Buckingham. Alex has been singing your praises. I can’t wait to be impressed.’

  * * *

  Flora had thought she knew all about humiliation. She was the high priestess of it, dedicated to short sharp bursts at regular intervals. There was the awful day her university boyfriend announced he was in love with her sister; the even more awful day her subsequent boyfriend admitted he was in love with Alex; the time she thought her last boyfriend had been proposing when he had, in fact, been breaking up with her.

  She had been going to refuse him, of course. But that so wasn’t the point.

  Her redundancy and the nasty smile on Finn’s face as he had watched her gather up her pitifully small box of belongings and get escorted from the building like a thief.

  Yep. High priestess of humiliation. Case in point: the week of catastrophes she had just experienced.

  But, nope. None of them equalled the scene just now. She would rather sit on a hundred strange men’s laps on any sort of public transport than relive the scene she had just left.

  Flora squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memory by will alone. Kiss me, Alex.

  Oh, but he had. And it had been...it had been...

  Flora flopped onto the bed and searched for the word. It had been wonderful. Right until the moment he had pushed her away with horror in his eyes and disgust on his face. That bit had suc
ked.

  No. That had been the worst moment of her life. Bar none. Much, much worse than last time. At least she hadn’t asked him, begged him to kiss her then. She’d just misjudged a moment. She should have learned her lesson. She wasn’t what he wanted. Not in that way. Not then, not now.

  She could never face him again. She should pack her bags and escape down the mountain, at night, in thick snow. She couldn’t ski, didn’t have a car and Innsbruck was several miles below. But that didn’t matter, the exit plan itself mere details. The important thing was that she needed to escape and to pretend she had never ever laid eyes on Alex Fitzgerald with his crooked smile and red-brown curls.

  But then he would spend Christmas alone. And without her family what did he have? He would never show it, of course, never say anything but she knew. She saw the look of relief when he stepped through the front door into her parents’ hall. Saw him almost physically set down whatever burdens he carried around along with his overnight bag. Watched him relax, really relax, as he talked sport with Horatio—not that Horry had much of a clue but he tried to keep up. Watched the laughter lurk in his eyes as he half teased, half flirted with Minerva in a way no other mortal, not even her own husband, could get away with.

  He helped her dad in the kitchen, talked through work problems with her mum and was on Flora’s side. Always.

  No, he couldn’t be allowed to leave them. She would just have to grin, bear it and blame the schnapps. Not for the first time.

  And she would work hard. She would blow the caramel-haired, caramel-clad, tight-skinned Camilla Lusso’s designer socks off with her colour schemes, materials and designs. She would make Alex proud and this would be just a teeny footnote in their history. Never to be mentioned again. Never to be...

  What now? A knock on the door interrupted her fervent vowing. Flora pushed herself off the bed, smoothed down her hair. Please don’t let it be Camilla Lusso. There was no way she was ready for round two. ‘Come in.’

  A bellboy pushed the door open and smiled politely. ‘Excuse me, Fraulein. I have Herr Fitzgerald’s bags if now is convenient?’

  If now was what?

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Frau Lusso asked me to move Herr Fitzgerald’s bags into your room.’ He opened the door a little wider, pushing a trolley through heaped with Alex’s distinctive brown leather bags.

  ‘But...’ Flora shook her head. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? Had she been drinking absinthe? That would explain a lot. Maybe the whole hideous evening had been some weird absinthe-related dream.

  ‘Mr Fitzgerald has his own room.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Alex stepped into the room, just behind the bellboy. His voice was light but there was a grim set to his face, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her. ‘Camilla very kindly said there was no need for us to be discreet and we absolutely shouldn’t spend the week before Christmas apart. Nice bath. Do you want first dibs or shall I?’

  * * *

  ‘You can’t stay here.’ Flora sank back onto the bed and stared at the pile of bags. It was most unfair; how did Alex have proper stuff? They were more or less the same age. How had he managed to turn into an actual functioning grown-up with matching luggage filled with the correct clothes for every occasion?

  ‘What do you suggest?’ He seemed unruffled as he opened up the first, neatly packed suitcase and began to lay his top-of-the-line ski kit out onto the other side of the bed.

  ‘Well, we’ll just say we’re not ready for this step. Say we’re waiting.’

  ‘We’re waiting?’ An unholy glint appeared in his eye. ‘How virtuous.’

  ‘People do...’ Her cheeks were hot and she couldn’t look at him. All desire to discuss anything relating to love or sex or kissing with Alex Fitzgerald had evaporated the minute she had caught the disgust in his eyes. Again.

  ‘They do,’ he agreed, picking up his pile of clothes and disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe with them. ‘Why haven’t you unpacked?’

  Flora blinked, a little stunned by his rapid turn of conversation. ‘I have. Those clothes there? They’re mine.’

  ‘But where are your ski clothes? You can’t hit the slopes in jeans.’

  Flora winced. She had a suspicion that hitting would be the right verb if she did venture out on skis—as in her bottom repeatedly and painfully hitting the well-packed snow. ‘I don’t ski.’

  Alex had reappeared and was shaking his tuxedo out of another of the bags; somehow it was miraculously uncreased. Another grown-up trick. ‘Flora, we’re here to mingle and promote the hotel. In winter it’s a ski hotel. I don’t think staying away from the slopes is optional. Did you pack anything for the dinners and the ball?’

  The what? ‘You didn’t mention a ball.’ Unwanted, hot tears were pricking at her eyes. Any minute he’d inform her that she needed to cook a cordon-bleu meal for sixty and she would win at being completely inadequate.

  ‘You’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. You need a ski outfit, another couple of formal dresses for dinner and something for the ball.’

  Flora leaned forward and covered her face with her hands, trying to block the whole scene, the whole evening, the whole day out. If she wished hard enough then maybe it would all go away. She’d wake up and be back on the train, squashed onto the knee of a leering stranger, and she’d know that there were worse ways to make a fool of herself.

  ‘I can’t afford to go shopping for things I’ll only wear once. I cut up my credit cards so I wouldn’t be tempted to go into debt and until I get paid next Friday I have exactly two hundred and eight pounds in my account—and I need to live on next week’s pay until I go back to London after New Year. We don’t all have expense accounts and savings and disposable income.’

  It was odd, arguing over clothes and money when so much had happened in the last half-hour. But in a way it was easier, far better to worry about the small stuff than the huge, shattering things.

  ‘You’re doing a job for me so you can use my expense account. We’ll go into Innsbruck tomorrow morning.’

  His tone suggested a complete lack of interest in pursuing the subject. It just ramped up Flora’s own annoyance.

  ‘How very convenient.’ She was going for icy hauteur but was horribly afraid she just sounded sulky. ‘Typical Fitzgerald high-handedness.’ She glared at him. ‘Will you stop that, stop unpacking as if you are planning to stay here? Just say you need the space to work and there simply isn’t the privacy in this room.’ She cast a desperate look at the bath. She’d never dare use it now.

  ‘I tried that and Camilla offered me her office. Look, Flora...’ Alex put down the pile of jumpers and ran a hand through his hair. ‘If we act like this is a problem then she’ll get suspicious. I probably shouldn’t have lied but I didn’t want her to think badly of you. She’s very strict on first impressions and professional behaviour from everyone she works with. You and I know that what happened didn’t mean anything, it was just a silly moment that got out of hand...’

  Whoosh. His words kicked Flora right in the stomach.

  ‘But look at it from her point of view. It’ll look even worse if she thinks we lied. What’s done is done, it’s only a week.’ He was so dismissive, as if this was no big deal. But then it wasn’t a big deal for him, was it? ‘I’ll take the couch. Your virtue is safe with me.’

  That was only too clear. Unfortunately.

  ‘Come on.’ He grabbed a pillow and a quilt from the wardrobe and took them over to the sofa. ‘Let’s grab some sleep. It was an early start and we’ve a busy day tomorrow. You can have first go in the bathroom and tomorrow...’ He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Tomorrow we’ll figure out a privacy rota for the bath.’

  Flora might have got the bed rather than the low, modern, ‘easy on the eye but far less easy on the body’ sofa but that didn’t make sleep any
easier. She’d shared rooms with Alex before. Heck, she’d squeezed into a misleadingly named two-man tent with him many times at festivals. But tonight, hearing the slow, easy sounds of his breathing, sleep eluded her.

  Flora was more aware of Alex than she had ever been before in her entire life. She had known him as a lanky, red-headed, freckled boy, sleeping on her floor in his striped boarding-school-approved pyjamas, crying out for his long-dead mother in his sleep. She had watched over him as he began to grow into those long limbs, as muscles formed in his shoulders and legs, as other girls began to cast covert—and not so covert—glances at him. And she had watched him learn to glance back.

  But she didn’t know him at all tonight.

  And yet she couldn’t stop sensing him. Sensing the strength in his arms, the artistry in the sensitive fingers. She knew without looking just how his jaw curved, how his hair fell over his forehead, how his eyes were shuttered, hiding his thoughts even from her. Especially from her. She felt every movement as if he were lying right next to her, not with what might as well be acres of polished floorboards between them.

  She had to stop loving him once and for all or else she risked losing him for ever. And if she lost him then where would he go? Would he lose himself in short-term relationship after fling, trading one gazelle-like blonde for another as carelessly as if they were new shirts? This whole nightmare was a wake-up call. Alex was right. She had to grow up.

  And grow out of loving him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IF ALEX EVER needed a new job then he could always audition for work as an actor. As long as the role demanded he was asleep throughout. He’d spent an entire night rehearsing for just such a role.

  Lying still but not so still it seems unnatural? Check. Breathing deeply? Check. Resisting the temptation to add in the odd snore? Check. Playing word games, counting sheep and alpine cows and blades of grass? Oh, yes. Very much check.

  Doing anything and everything to keep his mind away from the bed just a few feet away—and from the warm body occupying it? Check. Not dwelling in miserable detail on the long limbs, the tousled hair and the wide, sensual mouth just made for kissing? No, no check. He’d failed miserably.