Save the Last Dance (30 page)

A wave of cold nausea swept over him and he clamped his mouth shut. He could still hear the taunts…

Charity case. Loser. Nobody.

So that time, instead of shrugging it off and ignoring their childish name-calling, instead of just picking himself up and refusing to lower himself to their level, he'd fought back.

It had been worth the weeks in detention and the lecture he'd endured from the headmaster—which, funnily enough, hadn't bothered him at all. Because the man had reminded him of his father. In a perverse kind of way he'd enjoyed it—as if it had been a rude gesture to dear old Dad by proxy.

Although Fitzroy and his buddies hadn't touched him again after that, the name-calling had continued. But after that day he hadn't cared. As for the blazer, he'd refused to put it on again—no matter how many further detentions he'd chalked up for not having the correct school uniform. He'd gone out and got himself a paper round, saved up and bought his own damn blazer. And he'd worn it with pride. Not that it had mattered to the bullies. They'd already labelled him. They'd already passed their verdict. He knew they would never change their minds about him, no matter what he did.

He didn't tell Alice any of this, but when he finally turned to look at her he knew that she knew. Not the details. But she knew about his sheer bloody humiliation. It made him unexpectedly angry to think the reason she understood was because
she might have been through anything even vaguely similar herself. He just knew she understood it all—about not being able to live up to other people's expectations…everything.

When he spoke again, he aimed for levity. ‘So—no—my memories of wearing other people's clothes are not good.'

She reached out and touched his hand. Such a simple gesture—nothing, really—but he felt his throat clog.

‘Quality endures,' she said, looking deep into his eyes. ‘It outlasts everything—fashion, prejudice, wrong opinions. In the end it proves itself, even if no one could see it for what it was at the time.'

He got the oddest feeling when she looked at him like that, her eyes all big and round, welling with moisture. He lifted a hand and wiped the underside of each eye with his thumb.

No, she mustn't cry for him.

Even though he was touched beyond belief by her honest reaction, he couldn't let her tears fall. He was scared of what he might do, what he might feel, if they did. So, instead of concentrating on her glittering eyes, he diverted his gaze to her mouth. The lips weren't overripe, but they were beautifully sculpted. Suddenly, he had the urge to
taste
again. And this time he didn't bother to ignore it.

A
LICE
felt a shiver run through her. Cameron was looking at her with his tiger's eyes and the warm glints seemed to glow brighter. Her heart began to pump faster than was strictly necessary.

Think oranges…

She started well. Aunty Barb was there in her mind, scrunching up her face and huffing with the effort of keeping the orange in place, but that image morphed into one of Cameron, his eyes dark and intense, concentrating on not dropping the darn fruit. And then he wasn't passing it to Aunty Barb any more, but passing it to her, coming towards her, his face getting close, lifting his jaw to meet hers so they could make the switch. And then the orange was gone, and it only took a minor adjustment in angles before lips were on lips and no one was trying to pass anything anywhere.

A tiny sigh escaped from her lips…

And then a jolt like a thousand volts shot through her.

It was real. Cameron's lips were on hers—kissing, teasing, coaxing. She was stunned at first, too overwhelmed to respond in any way, but then she couldn't help but kiss back, meet his lips and tongue with equal sweetness.

This was a kiss of fairy tales. Perfect in every way. It was warm and skilful and doing crazy, crazy things to her insides. Then suddenly it changed, deepened. Far off she heard something she could only think of as a growl, and a firm pair of hands closed around her torso and lifted her onto his lap.

And then—oh, wow—the hands didn't stop, but skimmed over the top of her cardigan, stroking, feeling. His lips moved away from her mouth, travelling along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She clung to him, ran her hands up his back and through his hair. What was he doing to her? What was
Cameron
doing to her?

Cameron.

The waves of tingles started to subside and cold reality crashed in, sweeping everything else away. This was Cameron Hunter. Software tycoon. The man who had to have not just everything but the
best
of everything. And while the kiss had been as near perfection as she could imagine it wasn't real—it was just a knee-jerk response at an emotional moment. She was Alice and he was Cameron. This was never going to be anything other than a moment of madness. A mistake.

Slowly she tried to extricate herself from his hold, but she was starting to discover he was pretty darn persistent himself. But it wasn't
her
he was kissing, not really. He'd just been feeling vulnerable…

‘Cameron,' she managed to whisper between kisses, and pulled away enough to rest her forehead against his, her breath coming in short gasps.

She sensed rather than felt him smile, being too close to focus properly. ‘Alice,' he breathed, and she just wanted to close her eyes and forget she had to stop this now—stop it before they did something monumentally stupid. He moved
in to kiss her again but she managed to pull back enough to stop him reaching his target.

‘Cameron…I have to…'

She didn't finish her sentence, too caught up in using his bewilderment to free herself and stand up. He looked totally dishevelled—and totally adorable, with a look of sheer confusion on his face. She'd bet not many people had seen
that
expression on Cameron Hunter.

She wobbled on her left foot, finding she'd put her weight on it awkwardly, but the momentum was enough to get her going—to get her backing away and heading for the door.

He jumped to his feet. ‘Don't go.'

She bit her lip and shook her head, still backing towards the exit. ‘I have to…You know that, don't you?'

And then she was running down the corridor to the lifts, leaving her handbag, her coat—everything—in her office. The lift door glided open and she bolted inside, pressed herself against the brushed steel interior. It seemed an age before the doors closed again, but no one came. No hand suddenly appeared on the edge to stop its progress.

Easy to be with?
Easy to let go, more like.

He hadn't followed her.

He'd understood, damn him.

 

The opening ball for the new Orion Solutions headquarters was only hours away, and Cameron was in a foul mood. His PA had disappeared some time ago, squeaking something about an urgent errand, and hadn't returned yet.

Alice was also nowhere to be seen.

Why had he kissed her?

Alice had been nowhere to be seen since Thursday evening. And while his head told him she was probably at the
new building—overseeing stage construction, briefing caterers—some other, more stubborn part of himself was taking it personally.

Even Jessica and Sierra had known the score. Nothing serious, no strings. When it was over, it was over. Women didn't just kiss him and then run. Basically women stayed, until he was ready to dismiss them.

Hah! That sounded so…so…pompous! He told himself he was being monumentally unbearable. So full of himself he'd really like to have given himself a slap. Had he really got that bad? Why had nobody told him?

Alice told you. When she looked at you with shock and horror and ran away. She knew what she'd done—what you'd become.

And, stupidly, all he could think about was that kiss. When he kissed other women it was all about playing a part, playing games—a subtle shifting of power back and forth, testing each other, seeing who had the most control.

He hadn't thought about any of that when he'd kissed Alice; he'd just
been
. Caught in the moment, thinking of nothing but how soft and right she felt pressed up against him, feeling nothing but a sense of completeness.

There was such an honesty about Alice. She didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. She wore what she wanted to wear, said what she wanted to say. She hadn't constructed some larger-than-life persona that she now had to live up to. So why had he?

It was as if he'd been forging ahead in one direction, never looking back, consuming everything in his wake, and Alice had made him stop and take a look over his shoulder at where he'd come from, who he'd once been. It had been a shock to see how much he'd changed. And now he couldn't switch off that knowledge. His other, truer self was like a
ghost at his shoulder, whispering things in his ear, making him second-guess everything he now had and everything he'd attained.

Even this blasted ball tonight.

It now seemed like a three-ring circus rather than a stupendously elegant affair. The only reason he hadn't pulled the plug on the whole thing was that he knew he'd see Alice again there. Exactly why he wanted to and what he was going to say he wasn't sure; he just knew he had to see her.

 

Fighting a rather over-enthusiastic Coreen about hair and make-up was something Alice just wasn't up to at the moment. For the last forty-eight hours she'd been able to block out the memories of Cameron's lips on hers, of her flight headlong into the night, by working herself to a standstill.

But now everything was done, and the only remaining job was to get herself ready for the ball. Ready to be a knowledgeable, outgoing representative of Coreen's Closet. Meanwhile, her head felt like fudge.

It didn't help matters that she was standing in the middle of Cameron's office—his
new
office—now gloriously furnished. It was his personal space, and although he hadn't actually inhabited it yet, the rich intense colours—the midnight-blue carpet, the dark glossy wood of the desk and paneling, even a brass desk lamp identical to the one he had in his other office—made it impossible for her to ignore that the space belonged to him. She was in
his
territory.

Since Coreen and Alice would be on site all day, dealing with last-minute preparations, it had been agreed some weeks ago that they could get ready for the ball here. Because, tucked away behind a door in the panelling, there was a spacious bathroom and even a small dressing room.

Thankfully, even though she was on his territory, there was no sight of Cameron.

Thankfully?

What a lie! Every cell in her body was aching to see him again. Her brain was doing its best to argue back, but she thought it might be outnumbered.

So she let Coreen powder and brush and pluck and tease. That only made things worse. With nothing to keep her distracted, the rational side of her was overpowered by the side of her she'd tried to ignore. In her mind she started to regurgitate the events of that night in Cameron's
other
office.

Why had Cameron kissed her? Really?

She had theories, but no solid facts. Sympathy? Because they'd connected on some level? Had she finally got her wish and merely been the nearest available pair of lips?

She sighed, and Coreen, who was busy applying foundation, ticked her off for moving.

There was no future between a man like Cameron—he was probably a multimillionaire, for goodness' sake—and an ordinary girl like her. She was a second-hand girlfriend. And she knew for a fact that Cameron didn't do second-hand.

‘Will you stop with the incessant sighing, please?' Coreen snapped. ‘I almost took your eye out with the mascara brush.'

Alice blinked and came back to the real world. ‘Sorry.'

Coreen was standing in front of her in a little black dress that was fifties restraint and pure sin all at the same time. It had a medium-length full skirt, a tiny, tiny waist, and a halter-necked bodice covered with sequin-studded chiffon. The four-inch red stilettos that finished off the look would make grown men weep.

She made a last little flourish of the mascara wand and stepped back to survey her handiwork.

‘Fabulous. Even if I do say so myself.'

The only difference Alice could see was that her eyelids seemed to be weighed down with more gunk than usual.

‘Next—the dress!'

Coreen was like a runaway train tonight. She suddenly dashed into the dressing room and Alice heard a rustling sound, then Coreen reappeared, looking smug.

‘I've put my coat over the full-length mirror. No peeking until both the dress
and
shoes are on. You'll want to get the full effect.'

Alice just nodded, and trotted obediently into the little room. Her dress was hanging up in there, and she took it out of its protective cover and slid it on over the insanely expensive underwear Coreen had practically
made
her buy. Not that she'd actually needed to be forced that hard. Not when most of her bras were a little less than pristine white and held together with safety pins. She'd needed something to do this dress justice.

The dress went on easily, zipping up at her side, and then she reached for her shoes. Her Lucite-heeled shoes. The emerald of her dress reflected in the clear heels as she held them, making them seemed enchanted. It was the first time she'd felt worthy of wearing them—at least was wearing a
dress
that was worthy of them. She slipped them on and stood tall.

‘You can come in now,' she said, staring at the fluffy collar of Coreen's coat draped over the full length mirror.

She turned slightly as Coreen entered, expecting to see a self-satisfied look on her friend's face—Coreen liked to think she was queen of the makeover—but found her looking slack-jawed.

‘Wow. I mean…
wow
.'

Alice made a face. Coreen was such a drama queen. It was just the fact that for once she was wearing a dress and had a bit of…

Coreen whipped the coat off the mirror.

...make-up on.

Now it was Alice's turn to feel her jaw hit the floor.

‘Told you!' Coreen had obviously got over her shock and was practically jigging from foot to foot. ‘Told you it was
your
dress!'

The dress had
felt
exquisite as she'd put it on, but she'd been too busy stressing about the whole Cameron thing to think about how it would
look
. This was it. What Coreen had been talking about—the sum being greater than its parts. This
was
her dress.

The bias-cut satin floated over curves she hadn't even realised she had—maybe because she spent all her time hiding them rather than accentuating them with scary underwear. The colour was…It made her skin look like porcelain. And her hair…It was still as bright and fiery as ever, but it was parted on one side, falling in soft waves over her face, her long fringe almost covering one eye. Coreen had been mumbling about Rita Hayworth and Veronica Lake when she'd been doing it, but Alice hadn't really been paying attention. In this dress her hair…
worked
! She loved it. All of it. The hair, the dress, the shoes—especially the shoes.

‘Thank you,' she whispered to Coreen's reflection in the mirror, suddenly finding herself all emotional.

Coreen came up behind her and gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Don't you dare!' she warned. ‘The ball starts in twenty minutes and I don't have time to do our eyes again. Come on—it's time to go downstairs and discover what last-minute snags have cropped up.'