Chapter Twenty-Five

Lizzie threw herself back into her work, just as she had the last time her heart had been shattered. At least this time nobody had died. Nick was still there, even if there was thousands of miles away. And even if she hadn’t heard from him since she’d dropped him off at the airport four months ago. During the day she plastered a smile on her face and pranced about in the latest lines of designer fashion. During the nights she cuddled a pillow, drank shots of whiskey, watched late night films and devoured supposedly low calorie chocolate. Inside she ached with the pain of loss.

Tonight she was in New York to attend a gala to celebrate a hundred years of the Astella fashion house. It was the largest fashion event to be held in the Big Apple in recent memory and was expected to be attended by a host of celebrities. There were even rumours of royalty. None of it interested Lizzie, who’d never felt so disinclined to go to a party in her life. Partly due to the ache in her heart and partly because she’d be attending with Hank. Definitely not her choice. As Astella’s newest stars, they were expected to make a suitably high profile entrance together, their faces reminders of the perfumes they were helping to sell.

With a long sigh, Lizzie squeezed into the silver gown laid out on the bed. The dress had been made especially for her, carefully crafted to follow the same fluid lines as the perfume bottle. It was demure and sophisticated at the front, just as innocence should be, but plunged daringly at the back, a hint of sin. Brushing briefly at blonde hair recently ironed straight by her favourite hairdresser, she gave herself a critical once over. It gave her little satisfaction to note she looked good. Hank was going to go crazy when he saw her in this dress. His overtures were becoming more and more insistent and she’d had to literally push him away on more than one occasion recently. The man had one hell of an ego, flatly refusing to believe she didn’t want anything to do with him.

A large black limousine picked her up, with Hank already inside. He greeted her with a lascivious smile and a wink. She turned her head to stare out of the window.

Once they arrived Hank immediately climbed out and walked round to take her hand. As he helped her onto the red carpet, he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. Too tightly.

‘Come on, darlin’, let’s give them a show.’

The glint of amusement in his black eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing, but Lizzie couldn’t argue with him. Not in front of the waiting press. So instead of shoving his hands off and slapping him hard round the face, she turned to the cameras and prepared to do her job.

‘Elizabeth, over here!’ Reporters from all the major news channels were there, waving frantically at her. Lizzie gave them a beaming smile.

‘Love your dress!’ someone from the crowd yelled and again Lizzie smiled in the direction of the voice. It was a routine she’d perfected over the years. Walk slowly, smile, keep your head high and your shoulders back. Never let them know what you’re thinking.

‘I’ve got quite a fondness for that dress too,’ Hank whispered in her ear as they made their way towards the entrance. ‘I’ll like it even more when it’s lying on the floor of my bedroom.’

‘The only bedroom floor it’s going to be lying on is mine.’

He laughed darkly. ‘Works for me.’

Nick settled down in front of the sixty inch plasma screen television he’d just had installed in his London flat. If he was lucky, he would catch the last fifteen minutes of the Chelsea match. Balancing his microwave meal for one on his lap – he’d lost interest in cooking for himself – he flicked through the channels to find the boys in blue. Hell, they were losing again. Obviously his crappy life was now overflowing onto the team he supported. When had Chelsea ever had such a bad start to a season? And when had he ever felt so damned miserable? He couldn’t blame work, because at least that area of his life was going well. He kept some hellish hours, but the ever-increasing workload was the sign of a thriving practice. No, it was the part of his life outside work that was shitty. He found it hard enough to summon up the will to go out, the thought of dating again made his insides shrivel. At this rate, he was going to be a sad, lonely old bachelor. Fast forward thirty years, and he couldn’t see much about his life changing. Except maybe Chelsea having a better season.

The match ended and the late night news began. Nick watched it idly as he finished his meal. He really should get himself off to bed, but he was too tired to contemplate moving from the sofa. The image of a silver-clad goddess on a red carpet flashed across the screen, snapping him out of his exhaustion. Fumbling around for the remote control, he zapped up the volume.

‘English model Elizabeth Donavue, resplendent in silver, was just one of the big names greeted by thousands of cheers as she attended the hundredth anniversary party of the Astella fashion house in New York,’ the entertainment correspondent reported.

Mesmerised, Nick stared at the screen. How had he forgotten how beautiful she was? How much her smile lit up everything around her? She looked stunning … and happy. And on the arm of that bloody Hank. She wasn’t sitting at home with a flat beer and a microwave meal. No, she was being squeezed by a hunky man, lapping up the attention of the world’s media and having the time of her life. His chest felt painfully tight, and for one wild moment he thought he was having a heart attack. God, what he wouldn’t do to hear her voice. To reassure himself he was still part of her life.

Automatically he began to dial her number, then caught himself. What was he now, a raving masochist? Even if she answered her phone, which he doubted she’d hear above the noise of the party she was obviously attending, what on earth could he possibly say to her?

‘Nick?’

His phone echoed with the sound of her surprised voice, barely audible above a background noise of chatter and raucous laughter. He swore, crudely and succinctly. He hadn’t cancelled the bloody call fast enough. ‘Err, hi.’

‘It’s lovely to hear from you. Is everything okay?’

He could hear the worry in her voice and thumped his fist against his forehead. What the heck was he going to say now?

‘Nick?’ She was raising her voice, obviously trying to listen over the background din. ‘I can’t hear you very well. You’ll have to speak up.’

So now he’d have to shout the words he hadn’t yet worked out how to say. Closing his eyes, he went with the truth. ‘I’ve just seen you on the news, attending the Astella party which I guess is what I can hear in the background. I …’ He sighed and lay back against the sofa, rubbing at his eyes. ‘I just wanted to tell you how great you looked.’ There was a pause, probably as she worked out what to say to his lame words.

‘Thank you.’

‘Hank didn’t look too bad, either.’ And he should keep his bloody mouth shut. Now she was going to think he was jealous. Bad enough that he was, that his heart felt pulverised at the sight of them together, but letting her know that was embarrassing her as much as it was him. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

Another pause. ‘It’s okay. There isn’t anything going on between Hank and me, you know. It’s just hype to boost interest in the perfume.’

This was too hard. The pain of losing her still too raw. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘What about you, Nick? Have you swept any women off their feet recently?’

A laugh tore out of him. ‘You’ve seen my style. Sweeping hardly describes it.’

‘That didn’t answer my question.’

Nick laughed again, only this time it carried the edge of insanity. As if he could possibly contemplate seeing another woman now. Lizzie had absolutely no idea. Hardly surprising, as he’d never had the balls to tell her how he felt. Perhaps if he’d gone down on his knees and pleaded with her? Told her how much he loved her? He grimaced. A fat lot of difference that would have made. He wasn’t her type. Apparently, he was too nice. ‘No, there haven’t been any women.’

‘Does that include Sally?’

Part of him wanted to lie, to make it seem as if he’d put her behind him and was getting on with his life. But Lizzie was still, he hoped, his friend, and friends deserved honesty. ‘It includes Sally.’

Once again a silence settled between them. Dimly he heard Hank in the background. ‘Come on, sugar. Get off the phone, we’re here to party.’

‘Nick, I—’

‘Have to go. I know. Well, have a good evening.’

Before she could say anything further, he pressed the disconnect button. Something he should have done the moment he’d first thought of dialling her ruddy number.

Acutely annoyed with himself, he picked up his dirty plate and rammed it into the dishwasher. Lizzie was off to party and he was off to bed, no doubt to spend another night tossing and turning and wishing with every fibre of his being that she was there beside him. In or out of that skintight silver dress.

While Nick was trying to get some sleep, Lizzie was trying to look like she was enjoying herself. Not easy when Hank seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Even to the Ladies’.

‘Haven’t you found some other woman to pester yet?’ she asked him coldly as she walked out to find him leaning against the wall, legs nonchalantly crossed, waiting for her.

‘Sure, but none of them are as beautiful as you.’

‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere.’

‘No? What will then?’ Suddenly he was grasping her hand by the wrist and yanking her towards him.

‘Nothing you can say will get me into your bed.’ She tried to pull her arm away but he held on firmly with one hand, while reaching out with the other. Within seconds he had her pinned against the wall, her hands above her head, gripped tightly by his strong fingers.

‘How about what I might do?’ he asked roughly. His breath was hot against her neck, a stale combination of whiskey and cigars.

‘Have you resorted to forcing women now?’ Despite the desire to escape, Lizzie stood still, knowing if she moved he’d probably enjoy it. A part of her, a very small one, was waiting for his kiss. Maybe this was what she needed to forget Nick. Maybe, if Hank kissed her, she would enjoy it. After all this was meant to be her type now, wasn’t it? The mean bastard who took rather than asked. Who was rough rather than gentle. If Nick was too nice, this was what she was left with, wasn’t it?

‘I don’t need to use force,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Women fall at my feet.’

‘Well, this one isn’t.’

‘No?’ He moved his head closer to her mouth, his dark eyes narrowing menacingly. ‘I know what a woman like you needs. On the outside you pretend to be demure and sophisticated, but inside you’re just one step up from a slut. One on one, two on one, you like it any way you can get it, don’t you?’

Abruptly he shifted, grasping both her wrists in one large hand. With the other he began to paw at her, pulling at her dress, making a grab for her breast. As his hot palm touched her skin, she felt her flesh crawl. This wasn’t what she needed. Not in a million years. There was no way she could stand to let this man touch her so roughly where Nick had touched her so gently. As if she was a prize to be cherished. Even at his most angry, the last time they’d made love, he’d been passionate, not cruel.

‘Get off me,’ she screamed.

Hank shot her a look of annoyance before darting his eyes up and down the corridor, obviously considering whether anyone was in earshot. Finally he pulled away, letting go of her wrists and revealing raw, red marks. A legacy of the powerful pinch of his fingers.

‘Guess you’ll have to come up with a clever explanation,’ he remarked carelessly, following her eyes.

‘And I guess, if you want to avoid a charge of harassment, you’ll have to keep out of my way from now on,’ she countered coldly.

‘Touché.’ With that he turned and sauntered back down the corridor.

Lizzie leant weakly against the wall, rubbing helplessly at the marks on her wrists. She’d never felt so ashamed of herself, or so alone. Since her parents’ death she’d spent so much of her time fighting tooth and nail to keep her head above water. To not give in to the dark clutches of despair that sometimes threatened to drown her. But while outwardly she’d managed to maintain the appearance of a woman in control of her life, at the pinnacle of her career, inside she was still a girl who grieved for her family. A girl weighed down with guilt at their deaths.

A girl who’d driven away the one man capable of making her happy.