Page 7 of Virgin's Stolen Nights with the Boss

As for sex—it was a basic need. But he wasn’t fulfilling it with Wanda.

The waitress’s subtle smile remained on her face, and it surprised Elias, for staff at such a prestigious event usually knew better than to eavesdrop quite so obviously.

He lifted his brown eyes to meet her almond-shaped black ones.

She didn’t blush, nor drop her gaze, and nor did she swiftly move on. ‘Would you care for champagne?’ she offered, in a rich Spanish accent.

He gave a curt shake of his head. Really, given there were staff milling about everywhere, there was no need for her to offer. If he wanted a glass of champagne he merely had to reach out for any passing silver tray.

‘No, thank you,’ Elias said, and turned back to his date.

He frowned, surprised that Wanda didn’t appear to have even noticed the waitress—neither her faintly mocking smile nor how she’d hovered...

It was a non-event.

A fleeting moment that should instantly have been forgotten.

And yet Elias found he dwelt on that subtle smile.

It had felt almost as if she shared his attitude towards nights such as this.

And the rich Spanish edge to her voice lingered in his mind even as Wanda asked, ‘Have you prepared your speech?’

‘No need.’ Elias gave a tense shrug. ‘It’s the same speech I’ve been delivering for five years now.’

The first year—eight months after the death of his twin—Elias had wished for the glare of a harsh spotlight in his eyes so he could not see the faces looking back at him as he delivered his speech.

His father must have dropped twenty pounds, Elias had thought that night, looking at his unusually gaunt features. His mother, as always, had been immaculate, with pearls at her ears and throat, yet he’d known the supreme effort it had taken for her to attend.

There had been a hush, an air of tense expectancy, for it was the first time anyone from the family had spoken publicly of Joel’s sudden and tragic death.

His throat had felt so tight...as if there had been hands around his neck, squeezing, squeezing,squeezing...

Elias Henley, who rarely broke a sweat except when he was riding, had felt a cold trickle down his spine and icy shards piercing his temples.

Thanks to a privileged education, he’d been used to public speaking, and had already been holding his own in the family business. Life hadn’t been perfect, though, not even before his brother died. He’d felt pressure to dedicate himself to the long-established family business—had felt the tightening of its constraints pulling him into the world of movie finance even as his heart drew him towards polo and horses...

It had been nothing he couldn’t handle, though. And then...

Elias reached for a glass of water, rather than champagne, to clear his head and ease his tight throat. He found he was curiously disappointed that it was a different waitress who held the tray.

He wasn’t nervous about the speech. Oh, no, his mood tonight was far more dangerous than that.

Elias was angrier than he usually dared to be on a night such as this.

Despite appearances...despite what everyone thought...his seemingly perfect life hadn’t ended on the night of his brother’s death.

It had ended a couple of weeks before.

‘Your father’s coming over,’ Wanda warned him.

‘Yep.’

‘A quick word, Elias?’ William Henley’s smile disappeared as he spoke to his son. ‘Your mother might be playing it down, but the foundation’s board members have made it clear that if we want the award to continue in its full capacity—’

‘I’m well aware,’ Elias cut in.

He was more than aware of the financial situation of the foundation. He’d made a huge anonymous donation himself—and not for altruistic reasons. He didn’t want his mother to find out that the donors’ interest was waning.

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