thinking that she’d never looked more beautiful than she did tonight. Hungrily, he ran his gaze over the emerald shimmer of her gown, thinking that for once she looked like a billionaire’s mistress.
He gave an almost imperceptive shake of his head. Didn’t she realise that, despite her initial reluctance, she was entitled to a mistress’s perks? He’d tried to persuade her that it would be easier all round if she enjoyed all the benefits of his wealth and made herself more available to him by giving up her lowly job, but she had stubbornly refused to comply. She’d told him he should be grateful she was no longer working in the nightclub and he had growled at the thought of her curvy body poured into that tight black satin while men drooled over her.
But tonight, a small victory had been won. For once she’d accepted his offer of a custom-made gown to wear to the prestigious ball he was holding in aid of his charity foundation, though it had taken some persuasion. His mouth flattened because where once her stubborn independence had always excited him, her independence was starting to rankle, as was her determination to carry on waiting tables even though it took up so much of her time.
‘The princess is supposed to be smiling when she goes to the ball,’ he observed wryly, feeling her sequin-covered thigh tense beneath his fingers. ‘Not looking as if she’s walking towards her own execution.’
‘But I’m not a princess, Renzo. I’m a waitress who happens to be wearing a gown which cost as much as I earn in three months.’ She touched her fingertips to one of the mother-of-pearl clips which gleamed like milky rainbows against the abundant red curls. ‘If you must know, I feel like Cinderella.’
‘Ah, but the difference is that your clothes will not turn into rags at midnight, cara. When the witching hour comes you will be doing something far more pleasurable than travelling home in a pumpkin. So wipe that concerned look from your face and give me that beautiful smile instead.’
Feeling like a puppet, Darcy did as he asked, flashing a bright grin as someone rushed forward to open the car door for her. Carefully, she picked up the fishtail skirt of her emerald gown and stepped onto the pavement in her terrifyingly high shoes, thinking how quickly you could get used to being driven around like this and having people leap to attention simply because you were in the company of one of the world’s most powerful men. What was not so easy was getting rid of the growing feeling of anxiety which had been gnawing away inside her for weeks now—a sick, queasy feeling which just wouldn’t shift.
Because she was starting to realise that she was stuck. Stuck in some awful limbo. Living in a strange, parallel world which wasn’t real and locked into it by her inability to walk away from the only man who had ever been able to make her feel like a real woman.
The trouble was that things had changed and they were changing all the time. Why hadn’t she realised that agreeing to accept the key to his apartment would strengthen the connection between them and make it even harder for her to sever her ties with him? It had made things...complicated. She didn’t want her heart to thunder every time she looked at him or her body to melt with instant desire. Her worst fears had been realised and Renzo Sabatini had become her addiction. She ran her tongue over her lips. She knew he was bad for her yet she couldn’t seem to give him up.
Sometimes she found herself longing for him to tire of her and kick her out since she didn’t have the strength to end it herself. Wouldn’t such a move force her to embrace the new life in Norfolk which she’d done absolutely nothing about—not since the day he’d given her his key and then made her come on the narrow bed in her humble bedsit, which these days she only ever visited when Renzo was away on business?
She could hear him telling his driver to take the rest of the night off and that they’d get a taxi home when the ball was over and she wished he wouldn’t be so thoughtful with his staff. No wonder they all thought the world of him. But Darcy didn’t need any more reasons to like him. Hadn’t it been easier not to let her heart become involved when their affair had been more low-key, rather than this new-found openness with trips to the opera and theatre and VIP balls?
And now he was taking her arm and leading her towards the red-carpeted marble staircase where the paparazzi were clustered. She’d known they were going to be there, but had also known she couldn’t possibly avoid them. And anyway, they weren’t going to be looking at her. They would be far too busy focussing on the Hollywood actress who was wearing the most revealing dress Darcy had ever seen, or the married co-star she was rumoured to be having an affair with.
Flashbulbs exploded to light up the warm night and although Darcy quickly tried to turn her head away, the press weren’t having any of it. And wasn’t that a TV camera zooming in on her? She wondered why she had let the dress designer put these stupid clips in her hair which meant she couldn’t hide behind the usual comforting curtain of her curls. This was the most high-profile event they’d attended as a couple but there had been no way of getting out of it—not when it was Renzo’s foundation and he was the man who’d organised it.
She felt like a fox on the run as they entered the ballroom but the moment she was swallowed up by all that glittering splendour, she calmed down. The gilded room had been decked out with giant sprays of pink-and-white cherry blossoms, symbolising the hope which Renzo’s foundation brought to suffering children in war-torn areas of the world. Tall, guttering candles gave the place a fairy-tale feel. On a raised dais, a string quartet was playing and the exquisitely dressed guests were mingling in small chattering groups. It was the fanciest event she’d ever attended and dinner had been prepared by a clutch of award-winning chefs. But the moment the first rich course was placed in front of her, Darcy’s stomach did an intricate kind of twist, which meant she merely pushed the food around her plate and tried not to look at it. At least Renzo didn’t notice or chide her for her lack of appetite as he might normally have done—he was too busy talking to fundraisers and donors and being photographed next to the diamond necklace which was the star lot for the night’s auction.
But after disappearing into one of the restrooms, where a splash of her face with cold water made her queasiness shift, Darcy became determined to enjoy herself. Stop living so fearfully, she chided herself as she chatted attentively whenever she was introduced to someone new and rose eagerly to her feet when Renzo asked her to dance. And that bit felt like heaven. His cheek was warm against hers and her body fitted so snugly into his that she felt like one of those salt and pepper shakers you sometimes found in old-fashioned tea rooms—as if they were made to be together. But they weren’t. Of course they weren’t.
She knew this couldn’t continue. She’d been seduced into staying but if she stayed much longer she was going to have to tell him the truth. Open up about her past. Confess to being the daughter of a junkie and all the other stuff which went with it. He would probably end their affair immediately and a swift, clean cut might just be the best thing. She would be heartbroken for a while of course, but she would get over it because you could get over just about anything if you worked at it. It would be better than forcing herself to walk away and having to live with the stupid spark of hope that maybe it could have worked.
‘So... How is the most beautiful woman in the room?’ He bent his head to her ear. ‘You seem to be enjoying yourself.’
She closed her eyes and inhaled his sultry masculine scent. ‘I am.’
‘Not as bad as you thought it was going to be?’
‘Not nearly so bad.’
‘Think you might like to come to something like this again in the future?’
‘I could be persuaded.’
He smiled. ‘Then let’s go and sit down. The auction is about to begin.’
The auctioneer stepped onto the stage and began to auction off the different lots which had been donated as prizes. A holiday in Mauritius, a box at the opera and a tour of Manchester United football ground all went under the hammer for eye-watering amounts, and then the diamond necklace was brought out to appreciative murmurs.
Darcy listened as the bidding escalated, only vaguely aware of Renzo lifting a careless finger from time to time. But suddenly everyone was clapping and looking