And very, very skilled in the ways of lovemaking.
She wondered where Paolo was these days. Her father had gotten rid of the driver the moment hed found out about the affair. Harold Rothchild had indignantly threatened the man with prison, but even shed known that the threat was empty. Ever conscious of their reputation, her father wanted nothing more than to avoid any sort of public scandal that reflected poorly on the family.
Shed given him quite a run for his money, she thought, turning her face up so that the lighting caught her just so.
Poor Dad, you should have raised prize-winning roses, not daughters, she mused under her breath.
Recognizing them, she paused to pose for several national magazine photographers. One hand on her hip, the otherthe one with the ringdelicately placed just beneath her collarbone and above the deeply plunging neckline that left only the tiniest speck to the imagination. Of the two of them, she wondered which was more of a disappointment to her father, she with her penchant of attracting every photographer within a fifty-mile radius, or Natalie, who worked as a police detective, for God sakes. How mundane and common can you get?
This way, Candace. Look this way! a deep male voice called out urgently.
The voice, she noted, sounded vaguely familiar to her, although she doubted she could place it as she turned in the direction it had come from.
And then she smiled more brilliantly. She was right. She had recognized the voice. Recognized the man as well, although she couldnt remember his name.
Something beginning with a P, she thought, although she couldnt be sure. Or maybe it began with a B. But then, it didnt matter if she remembered them, only that they remembered her, and by the look on this ones face, he most certainly did remember her.
Theyd slept together, hadnt they? she thought. He looked like her type. Tall, muscular, with an olive complexion, thick black hair and high cheekbones that gave him almost an aristocratic look. She might have mistaken him for one of the invited guestsif not for the camera he was clutching.
But he was exotic looking and she really was in the mood for someone exotic.
What have you got for us, Candace? he called out, elbowing his way forward ahead of the gaggle of photographers. Grumbling and curses marked his forward progress.
A lot of sugar,
she answered in a breathless voice that made her sound as if she were channeling the spirit of the late Marilyn Monroe at her zenith. And, of course, this.
This was the ring that she now held up like a courtesan in the court of King Henry VIII waiting to have her hand kissed. A satisfied smirk graced her lips again. A flurry of cameras went off, capturing the image and the moment.
But her attention was only focused on the photographer with the aura of danger about him. Winking, she bent forward, giving him, she knew, ample view of her endowment.
Didnt we? Candace deliberately let her voice trail off even as her eyes held him prisoner in their blue gaze.
His smile, she caught herself thinking, was incredibly sexy as he answered in a low voice, Yes, we did. Im flattered that you remembered.
It was the perfect thing to say to her and he knew it, even as he maintained his innocent expression.
Candace did her best to recall the details of their couplingand failed. Im afraid your name She shrugged playfully, a laugh escaping her carefully made up lips. I was never good with names.
Patrick, he supplied politely, snapping another photograph. She preened. My names Patrick Moore.
I knew it was something that started with the letter P, she declared triumphantly.
It took effort for the photographer to keep his true feelings from showing on his face. It took even more effort to keep from telling this two-bit slut what he thought of her and her whole degenerate family. But then, that would have been counterproductive to his plan. He hoped that by supplying her with the name he was going by these days, it would keep her from thinking too much. From remembering.
But then, he comforted himself, her brain usually oscillated between being fried or being pickled. Neither state was conducive to remembering pertinent details, like the ones that would blow his cover.
Is the ring yours now? someone else, obviously at least mildly familiar with the rings chain of ownership, called out to Candace.
She didnt bother trying to hide the condescending glance she sent toward the photographer. Her laughter echoed with victory.
Its always been mine, she announced.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Luke just within the entrance. Six foot two, lean and muscular, with dark hair she remembered running her fingers through, he looked incredible. A touch of nostalgia surfaced. He always did look good in a tux.
Looked damn good out of one, too, she thought with a lascivious smile.
If you gentlemenll excuse me, she murmured to the reporters. And then, because she hated the prospect of facing the night in an empty bed, she glanced back at the exotic reporter. It never hurt to have an ace in the hole. Maybe we can get together later. Ill fill you in on what Ive been doing lately. For your tabloid, she added with a wink as she patted his face, her ring sparkling and throwing off beams of light with every movement.