Socialite's Gamble

Did he owe her an apology? Probably. Would he see her again to give her one? Probably not.

And what was she doing back in his head again? Because Aidan knew better than anyone what happened when you took your eye off the ball.

Yeah, you do stupid things like let Ellery off the hook…. Sighing heavily he thought that maybe he should go for a swim in the hotel pool before he left. He glanced at the bedside clock. 7:00 a.m. Hell, he didn’t think he could drag himself out of bed if the hotel was on fire. So far he had seen every hour and half-hour since he’d dropped into bed two hours ago.

Frustrated with himself he swung his legs out of bed just as his mobile phone rang. It was the senior editor of his biggest newspaper. Since she rarely had cause to contact him he picked up.

‘Dana, what’s up?’

‘Well, good morning to you, too, chief. You sound like you’ve had a hard night. Not that I’m surprised.’

A sense of foreboding slid down Aidan’s spine. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your big night with Britain’s wild child. Everyone here is truly peeved that you let the competition get the exclusive. They are blowing us out of the water already.’

‘I didn’t have a big night with anyone,’ he lied.

Dana reeled off some of the morning headlines and Aidan felt completely stupid for not anticipating that this would happen. The room had been half filled with patrons at the time of the bet. It was a pretty good indication of how unlike himself he was right now.

Hell.

He wondered how Cara was faring this morning and then once again reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem. And no doubt she was lapping up the attention. It was what women of her ilk got out of bed for. Attention and notoriety.

Which suited him just fine because they were the two things he liked the least. He knew the celebrity-hungry press wouldn’t bother him with any questions because they likely knew he’d get them sacked.

‘Do you want me to make a statement?’ Dana asked.

As much as he hated the thought of the publicity he’d garnered from last night he knew the best course of action was to say nothing. ‘Just ignore it.’

It was, after all, what he himself had decided to do about the whole thing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HAVING ORGANISED HIS CAR to pick him up at the rear security exit of the hotel Aidan stepped into the lift and turned his back on a young couple kissing passionately in the corner. Fools, he thought, and absently noted that the colour of the flowers the girl clutched were a deep pink. Almost the same colour as Cara Chatsfield’s hair.

When he realised where his mind had led him he couldn’t believe he was still thinking about her. It was out of control. It had to be the guilt over reducing her to tears the night before because it couldn’t be anything else.

Unlike Casanova beside him, he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He stood still as the youth whispered, ‘I love you’, over and over into the giggling girl’s ear. Ah, young love. Thank God he’d had his eyes opened before he made a fool of himself like that poor schmuck.

The lift doors opened and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. His account would already have been settled so the only thing to do was to walk out. Walk out and forget last night had ever happened.

And he would have done exactly that if he hadn’t been confronted with the vision of the woman he was trying really hard not to ever think about bailed up against the external glass wall of the hotel.

She had one hand on her face and the other out in front of her as she tried to force her way through the pack of baying paparazzi with minimal success.

Aidan swore violently, his strides eating up the space between them in a matter of seconds.

Shoving his way through the pack just as a security backup team arrived to control the situation, Aidan pulled Cara into his arms.

With her hands over her glasses she didn’t know it was him and she resisted, trying to twist out of his grasp.

Or perhaps she resisted all the harder because she did know it was him, he thought ruefully. After the way things had ended between them last night he wouldn’t have been surprised.

‘Sweetheart, it’s me,’ he crooned loudly enough for the closer reporters to hear. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting. If I’d known you were going to be attacked like this I would never have let you come down alone.’

She stilled and lifted her face to his, her lips pressed together in a quivering line.

Knowing he couldn’t cope if she burst into tears again he did the only thing he could think of. He ducked his head and put his mouth against hers. It was the briefest of touches, meant to reassure her that he was on her side and nothing more. He hoped she read it that way because his body wanted to take the kiss deeper and keep on going.