The Scandal Behind the Wedding

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There was a knock at the door.

She stepped further away, looked from him to the door and back again. ‘It’s the police. It must be.’

‘Georgia, calm down—it’s fine. I told you.’

But she was panicked. The knock came again. He shook his head, walked to the door. Unlocked it and opened it. In the wide landing in front of the elevator stood two cops. No one and nothing else. They passed on the information that the place had been cleared. Sarwar had been as good as his word.

Just so long as the paps weren’t hovering.

He nodded at the guys and went back inside.

‘What’s happening? Is it all right? Am I able to go home now?’ She was smoothing down her dress, patting her hair.

‘All sorted. If that’s what you want to do you can go—any time you like.’

She looked at him. ‘Oh …’

He faced her, still semi-aroused. But she was elsewhere now—her mind was in a different place. Spooked.

He pulled out his phone, fumbled with the screen, irritated.

‘All right.’

‘All right? I’d like to finish our “discussion”.’

She swallowed, looked at her shoes. He looked at her shoes. Red, pointed … perfect Friday night shoes.

‘I … I think I should just go. I’d rather put all this behind me.’

She thought she should go? She could think what she wanted for now. He’d make his mind up in a little while.

‘You need a lift somewhere?’

She glanced at the two discarded glasses that sat on the table. Neither of them had had any more than a sip of alcohol. ‘No, thanks. My car’s parked.’

‘Okay.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s head down, then.’

They left the penthouse and headed back into the elevator. The doors closed between them and the magnificent Persian Gulf. His mind was playing catch-up as he stared out at the rose-gold sun sinking fast into sapphire-blue. Diamond-white iconic buildings held shards of every other precious jewel and metal, all polished to precision and laid out for people to worship and desire. It was some town. And he was proud that his fingerprints were all over it.

They stepped out onto the fifty-ninth floor. Better not to go straight to the lobby. He wanted to see the place cleared for himself. Passed the open door of the Jumeirah Suite. There was nobody lazing or relaxing now—only empty glasses to show that anyone had been there. A vacuum.

Her shoes clicked as she walked. He put his hand out and grasped hers, squeezed it. They moved along the marble corridor to the internal elevators. Noise bubbled up from downstairs—the chatter of everyday hotel life. He still grasped her hand. Toyed with what he was going to do next.

They paused when they got to the elevators. Both stared at their fuzzy outlines in the burnished gold doors. He let go of her hand and pulled her close. But she held herself back. He hadn’t expected that.

The elevator doors opened. She tucked her head down and went in.

He pressed the button and the doors closed.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

The elevator sped down, landed softly. She stood apart. He reached for her hand again but she shook her head.

‘Danny I’ve … It’s been … I’m grateful to you for helping me out but I just want to go home now and forget that this ever happened.’

She extended her hand for a handshake and he nearly laughed. Okay—that he really hadn’t expected.

‘No problem, Georgia. You’re a lovely woman. I was happy to help.’

She shook his hand. Firmly. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

He nearly let her go at that. Nearly. But they’d had the hottest kiss he’d ever known. Had been heading fast to what he was sure was going to be the hottest sex. He wasn’t letting her go just like that.

He pulled her up sharply, out of sight, inside the elevator. Put his mouth right over hers and kissed her the way he knew she needed to be kissed.

She wanted to say goodbye with a handshake?

He kissed her just long enough to have her moan and soften against him and then he pulled back. Twisted her a smile that told her she’d had a lucky escape.

But she eyeballed him, wiped her mouth. ‘Bye, Danny.’

She turned on her heel. His eyes fell to her backside, swinging as she stepped away. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

And then his eyes fell on the photographers who were sitting in the lobby, cameras trained covertly. He knew it. Oh, hell …

He stepped forward. Grabbed her.

‘Georgia, come with me.’

‘I don’t think so, Danny. I think we’ve—’

‘Georgia, don’t argue. There’s paparazzi over there and if you don’t want your picture to be going global any time, come with me. Now. I need to know what they know, what other pictures they’ve got—and so do you.’

She stared with panicked doe eyes up at him and he got that kick to his guts again. Protect her. He needed to protect her. He took her hand in his—no argument. Walked. Brisk. Together. Striding. Out past the fountain, the guests and the bellhops and into the darkening night.

CHAPTER THREE (#u0e031438-62d8-508e-9609-32dc63dc9b71)

JUST WHEN SHE’D thought she was in the clear. Just when she’d thought she could go home and soak away the mind-blowing night she’d just had. The shock of that party. The raid. The run. The man. The man …

She felt his hand wrapped round hers. Felt the firm, unyielding strength seep right into her. She walked at his side, matching his stride. Heads turned to watch them. She kept her gaze high. He drew glances and glares from the people exiting their cars and heading into the hotel. And there at the corner, where limos were disappearing to be valet-parked, was a posse of photographers.

‘There are more of them,’ she said, panic ringing clear in her own ears.

‘Yep.’

He was focussed. Intense as the sultry night.

‘Car’s here.’

‘I have a car.’

‘I know. But we’re not going to start discussing whose car we travel in now, are we? We’re going to get in mine and get the hell out of here.’

For a heartbeat she wavered. She could still call the valet for her own. Get in it and head back to the complex. Close the door and hope for the best. But the change in Danny as he strode forward to the sleek black sports car was making her think that they were by no means in the clear. And though he seemed to have the police in his pocket the paparazzi were a whole different animal.

‘Okay. I’ll come with you.’

He raised one of those perfect brows as if to ask if there was any other choice.

Slipping into the bucket seat took her aback. So low her knees knocked against the dashboard.

He slipped his hand to the side, pressed a button that sent her seat back. ‘Comfortable?’

She grasped the seatbelt that had slid itself forward and clasped it in place, looking at his face, reading it for clues. He was utterly composed. There was even a hint of a smile. But she sensed the change in him—even if he masked it better than a black veil.

‘Thanks. Where are we going?’

‘To limit some damage.’

‘What damage?’

‘That’s the part I don’t know yet.’

‘You’re saying words that scare me but you’re acting as if we’re off for a picnic.’

‘I don’t think it’ll be a picnic, but there won’t be anything scary.’ He turned and fired his stare at her. ‘Have no fear about that.’

She continued to watch the side of his face in the flare of streetlights that shone as they passed. They scooted effortlessly along Sheikh Zayed Road. Alongside the road signs and streetlights huge illuminated monoliths loomed, then passed. Taxis, SUVs and the occasional truck switched in and out of lanes. His driving, like everything else, inspired confidence, and she let herself sink back into the leather, sure that he’d be able to negotiate any of the manic moves that sometimes had to be dealt with on the roads out here.

‘We’re not being followed.’

She stared at him. Then turned her head to try and peer out of the tiny rear window. All she could see were lights. ‘You thought we were? Being followed?’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘It was possible.’

Another somersault in her mind. ‘Why? Who cares about us? Why would anyone want to follow us?’

His jaw was definitely tight and getting tighter. He drew in a breath, then twisted her a bemused look. ‘When they’ve taken enough pictures of the WAGs they come looking for the rich.’ His hand tightened on the wheel. ‘And rich ex-pats in trouble—beautiful ex-pats in trouble—sell papers. Here and at home.’

‘But you said we weren’t in trouble!’

‘With the police—no. But if those snappers have pictures of me or you anywhere near that suite then both our reputations will be in question.’

She stared. Her mouth had dropped. ‘So I could still lose my job?’

He took his hand off the wheel. Laid it on her hand, resting on her thigh. Rubbed and soothed. ‘Yes. You could lose your job. And I could lose myself the biggest contract I’ve been working towards for the last ten years. That’s why we need to get our mitigation.’

He cut a swift track into another lane and took them off on a slip road to another row of illuminated sky-high obelisks. He slowed, pulled in and stopped. An avenue of palms. Staff in attendance. Another exclusive hotel.

‘Public, but very restricted. Definitely no photographers. Come on.’

She was struggling to keep up but he was already out of the car and heading round it. The valet opened her door and she did her best to get out. No need as Danny hooked a hand under her elbow and steered her up and into the hotel so quickly she was sitting in a booth and sipping mineral water before she could even catch her breath.

His phone rang. He excused himself with a look and walked away, talking quickly. She watched him pace, overawed all over again. She felt as if she was playing catch-up, just being in his company. He seemed to move so fast—assured and swift. His mind raced as fast as his car. Tenacious and fiercely intelligent—you could tell just by looking at the concentration in his face even as he took his call.

So she’d thought she could climb into her own life raft and row herself to safety? Make out with the most amazing man she had ever met—would