Page 2 of On His Bride's Terms

Faye instinctively brought her hand back into her chest, almost cradling it, as if to keep the sense of his hand holding hers for as long as possible. Dimly she wondered what on earth was wrong with her. She was behaving like a star-struck groupie.

She blinked and dropped her hand to her side. He was still there, but she felt marginally more in control of her reaction.

‘How can I help you?’

He frowned a little and his mouth tipped up, which only brought Faye’s attention there. Her belly did a swooping somersault. Mother. Of. God. The man’s mouth was pure sin. Sculpted and full and firm. And he was laughing at her. Teeth straight and white. He was quite literally an angel in human form. But he wasn’t a benign angel... She sensed that he could very much cause havoc.

Faye dragged her gaze back up. She bristled at the way he was affecting her so easily, making her take leave of her sanity and senses, and she seized it—anything to feel less unmoored by this man’s presence.

‘Is that amusing?’

His mouth straightened, but there was still a glint in his eye. ‘No, not at all, but actually there is something you can help me with.’

‘I find that a little unbelievable.’

Primo leaned against the wall beside Faye, supremely nonchalant. To be under this man’s laser-like gaze was beyond disconcerting. She felt very conscious of the fact that she wasn’t half as glittering as other women at the party. She wished she’d put on more make-up.

‘And why would that be?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you one of the world’s foremost art experts?’

Her insides jolted. He knew what she did? She couldn’t help a small frisson of pleasure from the compliment. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, but it is my sphere of interest, yes.’

‘I’ve looked you up. You have an impressive list of satisfied clients and have brokered some of the biggest deals in the last decade.’

Now Faye felt embarrassed, and she ducked her head slightly. ‘It’s something I’m passionate about, which makes it easy to do it for a living.’

‘Passion certainly makes things more interesting, no?’

Faye looked at him. Was he...flirting with her? The expression on his face was inscrutable, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. An incendiary image of her and this man with naked limbs entwined flashed into her head before she could stop it. It left her even more disconcerted and breathless. Men didn’t have this kind of viscerally physical effect on her.

Clearly oblivious to her wayward imagination, Primo glanced behind them at the party and then back to her. ‘What would you say if I asked if you’d like to come for a drink with me?’

Faye’s heart thumped and she felt momentarily dizzy. Was Primo Holt, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, really asking her out for a drink?

‘Not here,’ he added. ‘Somewhere close. I’d like to get your professional opinion on something.’

The dizziness subsided. It wasn’t a date. It was work-related. It wasn’t his fault that his every utterance sounded like something far more decadent and illicit. But a small rogue part of her pointed out that if it was entirely professional he’d have asked if she would meet him at his office, or during work hours. Not late at night. For a drink.

But maybe this was how he conducted business. How would she know? The man was famously discreet in his business and personal life. He’d never been linked with a woman long enough to cause speculation to mount, and the women he did get pictured with all seemed to be as discreet as him.

He was looking at her, waiting for an answer. Even though he’d said he wanted to discuss something, a giddy excitement gripped her. It scared her. Faye got asked out on dates. She even went on some. She even spent the night in some men’s beds. But rarely—and not for a long while.

‘You want to go for a drink to discuss something?’ It was as if she had to have it confirmed.

He nodded. ‘That is unless you need to stay at the party. We could arrange another time?’

Faye couldn’t see over Primo’s shoulder, but she didn’t need to to know what was behind him. More vultures circling to ask her about her father. And there was something else. An urge to seize this moment. Because she was intrigued and more than a little intoxicated by his interest. Even if it did turn out to be purely professional.

She racked her brains for when she might have heard anyone in the art world discuss working with him, but drew a blank. If Primo Holt wanted to work with her then it would be a massive feather in her cap. His family had an extensive private art collection that not many had ever seen. If she could persuade him to open it up, loan some works to galleries, it would be a massive coup.

So when she said, ‘No, I’m happy to leave now,’ she told herself that it was purely out of curiosity and for the potential professional connection. Not because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen up close.

Primo was already taking a phone out of his pocket saying, ‘Good, I’ll instruct my driver to be ready. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes? I just have to say goodbye to the host.’

Of course he did. Because he was Primo Holt and he was automatically a guest of honour. Unlike Faye, who the host would know of, but wouldn’t care less about if she ducked out early. With Primo Holt.

She must have nodded her assent, or said something, because she watched him walk back towards the party with a long-legged stride. Back broad. Classic tuxedo moulding to his body like a second skin. Long legs. Narrow waist.

She saw how the crowd parted to admit him, and then closed behind him again like a sea of adoring acolytes. She could see people looking at her, whispering, and suddenly she wanted to escape.

---