you,’ Rico replied. ‘I think.’ Straightening his bow-tie, he scooped in a deep breath. ‘So! Shall we get this show on the road?’
Again, nerves rushed in, making her want to turn tail and run. Which in turn brought forth a redeeming rush of defiance. ‘Too right,’ she said. ‘It’s time to make those poor kids some serious bucks.’
‘Amen to that!’ Rico agreed.
The auction started off well, at that point the target of ten million looking within easy reach. But the economic times were tough and around halfway the bids began to lag. No matter how much Rico cajoled, by the time the auction had only two prizes left, the amount raised was just under seven million. Charmaine sighed her disappointment. The island holiday Rico was about to offer might make fifty grand. But that would still leave a shortfall of nearly three million. Even if she went out onto the catwalk stark naked, no man here was going to bid that much just to have dinner with her.
‘We’re not even going to make seven million,’ she groaned after Rico sold the holiday for a paltry thirty thousand.
‘No, it doesn’t look like it,’ Rico replied quietly, having placed his hands over the microphone. ‘Perhaps you should have got yourself a real auctioneer.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been marvellous. It’s not you. It’s the times. People are getting tight. We’ve really done quite well. My hopes were too high. Come on, let’s see what we can get for my pathetic prize.’
‘Now who’s being ridiculous? A dinner date with you is anything but a pathetic prize, Charmaine.’
‘Flatterer. Just get on with it. I want to get this torment over and done with.’ A telling comment, but true. She’d never felt this reluctant to sell herself.
‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, on to the last prize of the evening,’ Rico began again, reviving that Italian accent which seemed to come and go at will. ‘Our lovely hostess, Charmaine, one of Australia’s top supermodels, is offering a dinner date with herself right here in the Regency’s own fabulous By Candlelight restaurant, to be taken next Saturday night. This is a fabulous prize to end this evening with and one which I’m sure will command a top offer.’
He flashed Charmaine an encouraging smile then muttered, ‘Off you go, sweetheart,’ under his breath. ‘Strut your stuff.’
Charmaine rolled her eyes at him, but off she went, undulating her way down the catwalk, doing her best to smile through gritted teeth, well aware that all eyes in that ballroom were glued to her body. Not that she could see much. The footlights that bathed her in light threw the rest of the ballroom into relative darkness. She could see silhouetted shapes but no details, no actual eyes.
Yet she could feel them stripping her in a way that she had never felt before. It had to be because of this darned dress. What else could it be?
‘Might I remind you that Charmaine was recently voted the sexiest woman in Australia by a national magazine?’ Rico raved on. ‘You can see for yourself that that tag is no exaggeration. I would imagine having a private dinner with such a stunning creature would be some man’s dream come true. So come along, gentlemen, make your bids for this once-in-a-lifetime privilege!’
Charmaine almost winced with embarrassment. Dear heavens, now she felt as though she was on the auction block of some white slaver, and that it was her body being sold, not just a few hours of her companionship.
But what the heck, she reminded herself, if the foundation ended up with a good wad of money? Still, she thanked the lord that she’d banned the Press from this do. The last thing she could stand at this moment would be being besieged with camera flashes, not to mention the prospect of seeing photographs of herself in this dress splashed all across the Sunday papers tomorrow morning, accompanied by some trashy story.
With the comfort of that last thought, she plastered a more sultry smile on her face and sashayed sexily down to the end of the catwalk, where she stood motionless for a few moments, her hands on her hips in a saucy attitude. Then slowly, seductively, she turned, the audience gasping at the sight of her back view.
Her eyes connected with Rico’s and he grinned a rather lascivious grin. ‘Don’t be coy, now,’ he urged the audience. ‘If I were a single man myself, I would put my hat in the ring, I can tell you. But I’m out of the market, as my lovely wife right there will attest.’
He nodded down towards a table on Charmaine’s immediate left. She automatically glanced down, then froze.
Later that night, long after this ghastly moment was well behind her, Charmaine would be grateful she hadn’t been moving at the time, for she would surely have stumbled. Maybe even fallen. As it was, she still felt as if the floor had opened up under her.
At least now she knew why she’d been feeling so aware of male eyes on her. Because this pair of eyes had been hiding amongst the others.
Dark, beautiful eyes. Hard eyes. Dangerous eyes.
Prince Ali of Dubar, sitting right there at Renée’s table, looking dashing and debonair in a black dinner suit and gazing up at her with a coolly arrogant air.
Shock galvanised Charmaine’s brain as well as her body, several blank moments passing before she regained her composure and could even try to put two and two together. What on earth was this man doing sitting at Renée’s table? Surely they couldn’t be friends!
This unlikely possibility had barely surfaced before things which had seemed unimportant or irrelevant at the time flashed back into her mind. The prince himself, mentioning last year that he spent every weekend in Sydney going to the races and playing cards with friends. And then Renée the other day at lunch, talking about the high-rollers she played poker with every Friday night in this very hotel, in one of the presidential suites.
Who else could afford a presidential suite but a president, or a rock-star, or an oil-rich sheikh? The worst possible scenario of that little trio, of course, was the sheikh, especially one whom she’d derided and belittled and rejected and who was here tonight for one thing and one thing only. To make her eat her words that she would never go to dinner with a man like him.
Prince Ali of Dubar was undoubtedly going to be the highest bidder for the dinner date with her. Why else would he have come? He hadn’t bid for anything else so far tonight. She would have noticed if he had, a spotlight always briefly being shone on the successful bidder after an item was knocked down to them.
No, it would not be some total stranger sitting opposite her at dinner next Saturday night. It would be this man, whose pride she had severely dented last year. Now it was his turn to humiliate her, by forcing her to dine with him for several hours and endure not only his company, but also his none-too-subtle coveting of her body.
The impact of this realisation sent bile rising in Charmaine’s throat. Pride demanded she would not submit herself to such a mortifying situation. But pride also demanded she conduct herself with her usual self-contained, I’m-not-afraid-of-anything-or-any-man demeanour. After all, even if the sheikh was the successful bidder—and every cell in her brain shouted to her that he would be—what could he really do to her in a public restaurant, across the table? Proposition her once more? Try to seduce her with his charm?
This last idea was laughable.
No. Let him have his pathetic little moment of triumph.
Quite deliberately, she smiled straight at him, challenging him boldly with her eyes and her mouth.
Come on, sucker. Make your bid. See if I care.
His dark eyes narrowed a little at her smile, then slowly raked over her from head to toe, as though assessing if she was worth bidding for. For a split-second, Charmaine worried that he might not bid. Maybe he’d come to dent her pride that way.
But even as she was besieged by a thousand ambivalent emotions over this possibility, his royal mouth opened.
‘Five million dollars,’ he said firmly, and she gasped. She couldn’t help it. Neither could