A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,31

even redder, his greying hair spiking up above one ear. ‘Markel,’ she said, ‘I don’t suppose you could look after me while Alesander runs off to take care of some business?’

‘Gladly,’ he said, looping her arm through his. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure. You can tell me all about Australia. Tell me, is it true they sell wine in cardboard boxes there?’

‘It is true, though it created all sorts of problems in the industry.’

‘Oh,’ he said, all ears. ‘Why is that?’

‘Nobody could work out how to make square grapes.’

It was the lamest attempt at a joke she’d ever made, but Markel roared with laughter, his good birthday humour clearly alcohol assisted.

Remarkable, Alesander thought as he drifted out of earshot, searching the crowd for a familiar face—now she told jokes? What other hidden talents did the woman possess?

There were some that weren’t so much hidden as suggested. Just thinking of her in that dress, there were some he wouldn’t mind having revealed. From the moment he’d arrived to pick her up and seen her wearing it again, the split from toe to thigh over one leg and the bodice wrapped low over her breasts, he’d wanted to do nothing more than to peel it off. He’d stewed the whole way here, wondering how he was going to do just that and still comply with the terms of the agreement. He’d held her close during the tango display, wishing it would go on for ever so he could feel her close to him.

He knew he wasn’t the only man who’d lusted after her tonight. He knew the look and he’d recognised it in other men’s eyes. And just the thought of others thinking the same made his breath growl in his throat. He needed them to know she was his—truly his.

His eyes scanned the ballroom.

So why had he agreed to this no-sex rule? What was the point of it? Forced contraception? They could easily prevent an unwanted pregnancy—people did it all the time.

No, she’d turned up on his doorstep looking like a stray—no wonder he’d agreed to her no sex condition. But that was then.

Now he could see what she’d been hiding under her too big clothes. Now he wanted to see more.

And it wasn’t enough to marry her. He needed to stamp her with his ownership so that everyone would know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was his in every sense of the word.

She would agree.

There was no question she would agree.

Because he’d make sure she had no choice.

He caught sight of a familiar flash of colour across the room, heard a familiar laugh and saw greedy eyes turn his way, lighting up when they saw he was alone.

Yes, he looked forward to the coming contract renegotiations with another woman, but first he had a job to do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE DRESS WAS definitely the problem. Alesander watched her entertaining her circle of admirers and thought he should have let her choose one of the other gowns, as spectacular as they had been. But they had been nothing in comparison with this one, that turned woman into siren, hinting at what lay beneath if one was only reckless enough to try.

He was reckless enough to try.

Maybe if Ezmerelda had worn this dress tonight, nobody would have noticed Simone.

Then she laughed at something Markel had said and he saw the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth in her smile and he knew the dress would have made no difference. It was Simone who made the difference. Maybe the dress caught people’s eye, but it was Simone herself who held their attention. The trouble was, there were too many people taking notice.

Correction—there were too many men.

He’d left her for what? All of fifteen minutes and yet now she was surrounded by them, Markel still there in the midst of them, no doubt wishing he was thirty years younger.

And he knew why they were there.

Because she was beautiful and desirable and they all thought she was his latest plaything and they were lining up for a piece of her when he was done.

And it was his fault. Because he’d never before been seen with a woman on his arm who he wasn’t sleeping with and meaning to dispose of. He’d never before been seen with a woman who wasn’t temporary.

He swallowed back on the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat. Well, this woman might be temporary but he wasn’t sleeping with her.

Not yet.

But he’d soon fix that.

He