With an intensity that had felt like a spear right through her.
Instinctively she’d swivelled away from him. She was used to men looking her over. But never a man like that...
A hollow formed in her stomach as she made her way to the edge of the dance floor, seeking, suddenly, the support of a wall to lean against. His face, so briefly glimpsed, burned in her vision.
Aquiline, high cheekbones, ludicrously good looking. And eyes like obsidian...cutting right into her.
She drew a sharp intake of breath, banishing the image, glad he’d disappeared. She wasn’t here for a pick-up.
Done with dancing, she headed back into the main function room, ready to mingle and relax. Some forty minutes later she was doing just that, chatting to a middle-aged couple, acquaintances of her mother, when they were joined by a friend of theirs who was, as she disclosed to Ariana on being introduced to her, very bored with the current décor in her uptown apartment. Ariana gave her her card, and then, tactfully pressing no further, slipped away, helping herself to a glass of champagne just as Marnie sailed up to her.
‘Ariana, I need you to help me out! One of my guests is trying to escape!’
Ariana felt her arm taken, and was inexorably borne away by her exuberant hostess. They were heading, Ariana saw, to Marnie’s husband, who was talking to a man with his back to them. She got only a moment’s warning, and then she and Marnie were upon them.
The man turned.
For the second time that evening it came. That searing gaze that had lasered her while she was dancing.
Ariana felt her breath catch, her stomach muscles clench, and immediately, out of some atavistic instinct, schooled her features into unbetraying immobility. Dimly, she heard Marnie throw some arch remark at her husband about not talking business at her birthday party, and then she was turning to Ariana.
‘Tell your compatriot he can’t possibly leave yet!’ she gushed.
‘Compatriot?’ Ariana heard her own voice echo.
She was conscious that she was glad to look at Marnie, and not at the man beside Charles van Huren.
‘Italian—like you,’ Marnie confirmed.
Wondering vaguely if it were possible that the man who had been talking to Charles van Huren might have imperfect English, Ariana felt obliged to respond to her hostess’s imprecation.
‘Signora van Huren implores you to enjoy the evening of her birthday party with her most sincere wishes,’ she ventured cautiously, in Italian.
It was a strain to look directly at the man, whoever he was, but she did it all the same. And as she said her piece something flickered at the back of those darker-than-dark eyes. She didn’t know what—only that she found it disturbing.
But then she found everything about him disturbing. Up close like this, the impact he had made on her when she’d realised he’d been watching her dance was increased tenfold. He towered over her, even in her high heels, with his lean, taut body, and his hard-planed features once again made her breath catch.
The chiselled mouth gave a sardonic twist. ‘Thank you for the translation, but I got it the first time around,’ he said, in perfect, only slightly accented American-English. His voice was deep, and very dry.
Marnie gave a trill of laughter, and her husband shook his head resignedly. ‘Honey, Luca only dropped by at my request. We had some business to discuss. He needs to get away now.’
His wife threw up her hands in protest. ‘No, no, no! I won’t have it! He’s here now and I won’t let him leave!’
She seized up a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter and thrust it at her unwilling guest. He took it, Ariana could see, with obvious reluctance. As he did so, she made to slip away. It was apparent her fluent command of Italian was entirely unnecessary.
But a diamond braceleted hand fastened around her wrist. ‘Uh-uh!’ countermanded her hostess. ‘Not before I’ve properly introduced you!’
Ariana squirmed inwardly, but to no avail. It had suddenly dawned on her, with excruciating embarrassment, what Marnie van Huren was doing. Setting her up.
Well, she would not be rude, but she schooled her features to an expression of complete impassivity as Marnie happily burbled on, exchanging their names with each of them.
‘Ms Killane...’ The deep, dark voice sounded her name briefly. Inexpressively.
She gave an even briefer nod of acknowledgement, not troubling herself to echo his name in return.
Her hostess beamed all the same. ‘Well, now the introductions are over I must circulate! Charles!’
She released Ariana’s wrist and bore her husband off, leaving Ariana standing there like a lemon, the glass of champagne in her hand.