[19/08, 9:39 am] Himanshu Kumar: CHAPTER ONE
HOPE HADN'T QUITE DIED. Carrie Barrett glanced again at the door. A blind date with her workmate's cousin. Agreeing had been a terrible people-pleaser moment second only to doing that reading at her sister's wedding. Since that horror fest she'd been trying to train herself out of the habit. But today she'd not just wanted to agree to a favour for someone else, she'd wanted to fit in. She'd even wanted to meet someone new.
It was a full year since she'd been jilted. Six months since she'd travelled from her home to the other side of the world. It was time to at least try and have some fun. But her date was late and a lifetime of punctuality meant Carrie was now sitting in a not-quite-fitted summer dress that wasn't even hers, conspicuously alone in the rooftop restaurant of the plushest waterfront hotel in Auckland, New Zealand.
At least she could avoid the waiter's enquiring looks by admiring the gleaming super yachts moored in the marina. The Waitematā harbour was especially stunning at sunset. But, despite the postcard perfection, she couldn't help glancing back to the door as more people arrived.
Please show up. It would be so great if someone would just show up. Just this once.
Her stomach somersaulted as a man walked in just as she willed it. Impressive height. Broad shoulders. Brilliant eyes-their focus landed directly on her. Just for a second.
It wasn't him, of course. Her date would be wearing a red jacket. This guy was entirely in black and the hold of his head, his all-encompassing gaze and his wholly confident stance sealed his command of the room. His arrival electrified everyone. They all turned, immediately straightening, eyes brightening, literally lip-licking.
Carrie wasn't miraculously immune. Goose bumps shimmied over her skin. Allergic, right? He was high performance personified. She'd been around the type long enough to instantly recognise the aura. Doubtless he'd be ruthlessly driven. As were her law-partner parents and champion-athletics stars sisters. Worst of all, her ex-fiancé too. Carrie intimately understood that the fight for success at the highest level meant other things got sacrificed-time and attention always, people often and sometimes someone wanted to win so badly they cheated.
Despite knowing this, she wasn't repelled by the new arrival but as transfixed as everyone else. He was a pirate, plundering hearts with the sheer authority of his presence. Even the ultra-professional and discreet maître d' took half a second to recover.
A murmured word and a moment later, the man followed the restaurateur.
[19/08, 9:39 am] Himanshu Kumar: Only one empty table separated hers from his-now the last empty table. Apparently he felt no discomfort going solo in such a convivial setting. Of course, if he wanted company, he only needed to toss a glance at anyone crowding that bar and he'd be accosted in seconds. But he obviously didn't want, because he chose to sit with his back to them.
Which meant he faced her. Which meant she now had to look anywhere but straight ahead because otherwise she'd be staring right at him. It was as if they were at the same table-stretched apart by only a little distance. So awkward.
She wanted to surreptitiously slither away. Instead, she watched the door. A woman arrived and another couple of men. They all went to the bar. She drew a disappointed breath and her gaze inadvertently slid over him and stopped. Because, just like that, time ended. He was more than a pirate. He had the beauty of an angel and the tempting gleam of a devil. And he was taking in far more than the colour of her hair.
Her cheeks heated as his gaze slowly swept over her features. Utterly fanciful thoughts filled her head. And, worse, her body actually reacted-heating as sensation zinged along her veins, tightening, softening. Shocking. Superembarrassing. Also unstoppable.
The spell was only broken by the arrival of the maître d' at the man's shoulder. Her devilish pirate-angel angled his head to listen to the man but didn't take his eyes off her. But the interruption recalled her brain from its whimsical, sensual flight.
So, so awkward. Had he seen her reaction? Read her mind? But something had started unfurling inside and it couldn't be stopped. He said something in a low voice, and the maître d's eyes widened, but he nodded. Of course. Because this man got what he wanted. Every. Time.
But he wouldn't want her. She was way too ordinary. Like attracted likesuperstars bonded with other superstars and that was as it should be. Because the less bright got burned to bits when they got too close to stars like him. 'Would madam like to order or wait a while longer for her guest?'
The maître d's question mortified her. She'd been stood up. And she'd not ordered yet because this restaurant was not travelling-temp budget-friendly. But a random hit of pride made her refuse to walk out in front of the guy who had it all. The one who was still watching her. There'd be no slithering out without him noticing because he'd already noticed. For once, for this worst of moments, she was not invisible.
***
She wasn't his type. But Massimo Donati-Wells listened to the conversation between the maître d' and the strawberry blonde at the opposite table anyway. He'd already succumbed to the inexplicable urge to instruct the man not to
[19/08, 9:39 am] Himanshu Kumar: allow anyone to be seated at the table between him and the petite woman with the pouting lips and soft-looking skin. He'd spotted her when he'd walked in and deliberately sat with his back to the rest of the room. She'd noticed him and, while that was hardly unusual, his shockingly instant response to her hyper-aware stare?
Very, very physical. It wasn't unwelcome. It had been a long few days, and after the satisfaction of securing his latest contract a reward wouldn't go astray. So he sat back and didn't try to stop the current flowing. The electricity that had arced the moment he'd locked eyes with her had an addictive burst.
Her attention again flickered to the door over his shoulder. She was waiting for someone. A date? His muscles tensed. Foolish date for being late. Her phone pinged. Massimo unashamedly watched her read the message. She blinked rapidly and her mouth compressed.
'Actually, I will order something, please.' She called the maître d' back. Pink-cheeked, the blue-eyed princess was clearly trying not to run. She was scraping together pride. Good for her.
'Um...' She didn't bother to scan the menu. 'A pina colada, please.' He bit the inside of his cheek so he didn't smile. The beach cocktail classic wasn't even on the menu at this bar. It was known for its champagne selection. But the maître d' was too professional even to blink. 'Of course.'
She really wasn't his type. Too fresh. Too soft. The sort that blushed and probably dreamed of one true love. He selected the sort who played quick and never expected him to stay. The streetwise sort who were the same as him. But something kept him staring. Not just her smooth skin and soft curves, but the defiant courage shimmering in her sapphire eyes and the vulnerability that underpinned it.
She shouldn't have been stood up. His ribs tightened, making his heart beat more forcefully against the constraints while his imagination slipped its chain and plotted just what she should be getting tonight. Touch. Definitely touch. The kind of touch to make her smile, sparkle, scream.
And he wanted her to look back at him so he'd feel that jolt of electricity again.
'Mind if I join you?' He called across the slight distance, shocking himself with his inability to resist temptation. My guest cancelled on me last minute.'
He'd wanted to dine alone. He'd had people seeking his pleasure and approval all day. This was supposed to have been an evening of peace before flying home tomorrow. And the strawberry-blonde sweetheart wasn't stupid. She pointedly glanced at the single place-setting at his table. Yeah, he'd just lied to her, and she knew it.
'Just a drink until your guest arrives...' he murmured, not used to having to ask anyone a second time.
In her heart-shaped face her smile twisted. 'He's not coming.' She didn't even
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