Melting Ms Frost (27 page)

‘Afraid you’re going to have to keep it in your pants for the time being, boy. Didn’t you hear the call for dinner?’

‘No,’ Aidan cleared his throat and shook his head, noticing that all the guests were making their way down the stairs.

‘Didn’t think so.’ Bal barked a laugh. ‘Anyway, I insist on having all the brains and beauty sit beside me, so I’ve come to claim your lovely boss.’ With that he scooped Annabel into his bevy and herded her away down the stairs. Aidan watched her go, his stomach tight with hunger, but not for food. That one touch had awakened a ferocious appetite that demanded instant appeasement, made him want to ravish her on the spot. Giving himself a moment to get a grip on his control, he waited until the rest of the party had filed down the stairs before surreptitiously adjusting himself inside his trousers so he didn’t trip himself up. It was going to be a long night.

After dinner, which had been served at a long, candle-lit table in a grandly formal panelled dining room, the party drifted back upstairs to the mezzanine. Roughly half the number of guests broke into smaller groups, seating themselves at the bar or sinking into the available sofas and chaises to sip coffee and digestifs while they chatted or listened to the pianist. The other half made for one of the rooms off to the side.

Pausing on his way through the doorway, Damien Harcourt turned to raise an expectant eyebrow at Aidan.

Obviously catching the gesture herself, Annabel spoke beside him. ‘What’s going on?’

Motioning for Damien to give him a minute, Aidan turned to her. ‘Nothing serious, just a game of poker. We can join them, or not. Your call.’

‘I don’t know how to play poker,’ she blurted with a slightly horrified look.

‘You’re not expected to play,’ he reassured her with a smile. ‘There’s only a handful that will, a pretty regular group.’

She gave him a shrewd look. ‘And you’re part of that group? You’re expected to play – and you’re expecting to?’

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to, no. I had no idea it had been arranged until Damien mentioned it over dinner. Karl set up the game in support of Astrid’s fundraising and they’ve insisted on counting me in as I haven’t played in a while.’ He moved in closer, dropped his voice. ‘But I’d had a much more exciting game planned just for the two of this evening,
a mhuirnín
.’ He let his gaze trace her face, come to rest on her lips, let her see how much the thought of kissing them aroused him. ‘If you prefer, I can make my excuses and we can leave now.’

For a moment she looked like she was going to agree, swaying towards him slightly, caught by the irresistible pull of the attraction between them. Then as though breaking free of a spell, she blinked and looked away, her gaze taking in the other guests. ‘And have everyone here know what we’re up to by you dropping out and leaving early? No thanks, not when I have to look them all in the eye again tomorrow night. You should play if your friends have included you, it would be rude not to.’

She was right, but that didn’t stop the rush of disappointment he felt to hear her say it. Since that earlier moment when he’d finally let himself touch her, all he’d been able to think about was doing it again. And again. All night. All over. Until he’d mapped every inch of Annabel Frost with the feel of his fingertips, his palms. As if it hadn’t been bad enough having had to sit through the meal, being driven to distraction by the sight of Bal flirting and putting his big hands on her. Now he was going to have to drag his blue balls to the poker table and try to keep his mind on the cards? He didn’t fancy his chances.

OK, how many other surprises could possibly come her way tonight? Annabel was still trying to process everything that had been thrown at her over the past few hours: the famous people, the fabulous wealth, that heart-stopping first touch from Aidan. And now gambling – one of the things in life she really couldn’t abide? She felt a near-hysterical laugh bubble up as she recalled her earlier concerns at the hotel about certain things relating to Aidan Flynn not quite adding up. She’d had
no
idea
.

It was apparent now that there was no way to put off a confrontation once they were alone, but where the hell was she supposed to start? Recognising the need to try to get everything straight in her own head first, she made herself swallow down her deep aversion to any form of gambling and encouraged Aidan to stay and play his game of poker, figuring the best way to buy some thinking time was to have him preoccupied for a while.

She accompanied him into the room, which turned out to be a library with walls lined with neatly stacked bookshelves and display cabinets. At the far end of the room, in front of a flickering open fire, a number of her dining companions had made themselves comfortable on a selection of high-backed armchairs and cushion-laden sofas. Set a little way apart was a table at which Karl Reiser, Damien Harcourt, Bal, Yuliya and two other guests were already settling into position behind stacks of coloured chips and baiting each other with good-natured competitiveness.

When one of the serving staff walked by Annabel on his way towards the fire-side group, trailing a heavenly aroma from the tall silver pot he carried, she didn’t need Aidan’s suggestion that she go relax and enjoy a coffee. She was already on her way, leaving him to join the other players at the table.

Of the two available places left to sit, Annabel took the one slightly further away from Georgiana, though in a funny way she felt quite comfortable with the aloof, untouchable blonde – perhaps recognising a bit of herself in the prickly act. Besides, there was no point in trying to avoid the woman after discovering over dinner that she, Damien and Bal had been forced to come straight to the Reiser’s from the airport having flown in late by private jet from Switzerland, but would be checking into Haus later tonight.

No sooner had they exchanged equally brittle smiles, and Annabel had been handed a steaming cup of coffee, than their hostess arrived with a plate of petit fours and took the last remaining seat in between them.

‘Well, ladies, I see our partners have abandoned us,’ she said in crisply accented yet impeccable English as she offered the plate to Georgiana. ‘I have to say, Damien is looking very bullish tonight. I hope he remembers that Karl and I have three growing boys to feed and doesn’t push the betting up too much. Even if it is all for a good cause.’ She turned to Annabel, extending the plate. ‘And I hear Aidan is a force to be reckoned with at the table. Do you play, Annabel?’

‘No. Never.’ Annabel took one of the tiny biscuits and popped it whole into her mouth, surprised by the kick of spiced gingerbread on her tongue.

‘Is that a hint of disapproval I hear?’ Georgiana asked.

‘Partly.’ Annabel took a sip from her cup.

‘Even when all the winnings are being donated to charity, as they are tonight?’

Annabel gave a little shrug. ‘I don’t agree with leaving things to blind luck.’

‘Neither do I,’ Astrid said, leaning forward to slide the plate of biscuits onto the coffee table so that others could reach them. ‘But there’s more to poker than luck, there are many complex skill factors involved, from calculating the odds to psychological strategy.’

‘Well, I really don’t know that much about it.’ Annabel said, hoping to move the subject onto something else.

‘If you like, I can try to give you a real time explanation of what’s happening while they play,’ Astrid offered, turning her attention to across the room.

Unable to think of a way to refuse that wouldn’t sound impolite, Annabel turned as well, noticing that over at the table, the banter had subsided and the game started. With a new air of focus, cards were being dealt, bets called, chips tossed.

As the play moved around the table, Astrid began briefly outlining each player’s actions, explaining whether they were meeting a bet, raising the stakes or dropping out of the hand.

Annabel nodded, making an effort to seem interested for her hostess. When she heard Bal say, ‘Raise five’ she turned to Astrid for verification.

‘So Bal’s just increased the stake by five euros and the next player will need to match that to stay in the game?’

She thought she’d got it wrong when Astrid just blinked at her. But before she could say anything, Georgiana gave a delighted shriek of laughter.

‘Oh, that’s too funny! Did you all hear Annabel’s brilliant joke?’ she declared immediately turning to the others sitting nearby. She relayed the remark, looking back at Annabel with a malevolent gleam in her eye. When everybody else started laughing, Annabel joined in, though she really didn’t get the joke at all.

Astrid, who’d been watching her closely throughout Georgiana’s performance, must have picked up on her doubt, because she leant forward and said, ‘Let’s go take a closer look at the game, shall we?’

When they rose from their seats, several other people followed suit, wandering closer to the table. Standing as part of the loose group of spectators gathered around, Annabel watched the action as Yuliya turned up the corner of the cards lying face down in front of her before casually ‘raising’ by tossing two rectangular chips into the centre of the table. Watching them come to settle amongst the messy pile of plastic tokens already there, it took Annabel a moment to register the fact that the number value printed on each of them represented five thousand. Not five as she’d thought.

Five
thousand
.

These people weren’t playing in multiples of ones, tens, or even hundreds. Now she knew why everyone had been laughing at her ‘joke’. She looked at all the chips on the table and her mind spun at the idea of how much money those stacks of plastic represented, how much some players had already lost in that central pile. Then she looked at the stacks neatly lined up in front of Aidan and knew that if she didn’t want to embarrass herself by starting to hyperventilate on the spot, she needed to get out of there.

She ignored the quick smile he spared her before snapping his attention back to the game. Taking advantage of everyone’s attention being riveted on the table, too, as the next player raised again, she slipped out of the library and made for the cloakroom where she hid for as long as reasonably possible.

Studying her reflection in the mirror, she noted that against the dyed red she’d rushed to redo in anticipation of the ball, the skin of her face looked bone white. Staring, she wondered who this woman was that had let herself be led to a strange house, in a strange country, by a man she obviously knew so little about. A man with secrets. A big-time, regular gambler. It actually made her feel slightly sick to think that she could have been so blind, so stupid, as to ignore all the warning signs and let herself be taken in by a charmer, a player, a Tony Maplin.

She emerged from her hiding place wondering what to do with herself. Her natural instinct was to leave, to escape, but simply walking out would not only seem a rude way to treat the Reisers who had welcomed her into their home, but would leave her stranded in sub-zero temperatures in the middle of who knew where with no way of knowing if she could even find a taxi to take her back to the hotel.

In no rush to end up back in the library, Annabel wandered slowly across the mezzanine, noting that there were only a few people gathered near the bar who, for the most part, were sitting quietly and listening to the pianist. With the music providing the perfect excuse not to have to engage in conversation, it seemed like a good place to park herself and try to work out her next move.

She’d barely got her backside onto a seat before she was approached by one of the ever attentive serving staff and asked if she’d like a drink. She thought for a moment before ordering a martini.

Why the hell not? As she seemed to have stumbled out of the pages of a fairytale and straight onto the set of a James Bond movie, it would no doubt help her fit right in.

Aidan stepped out of the library, his searching gaze pulled like a magnet to the vibrant flash of Annabel’s hair. She sat at the end of the Reisers’ bar slightly apart from the few other people nearby, seemingly absorbed by the pianist who, over the course of the evening, had been doing his best to pay homage to every famous composer ever known to have set so much as a fleeting foot in Vienna.

Coming up behind her, he noted the half-empty martini glass resting on the bar by her elbow.

‘Ah. Must be trouble,’ he teased, quietly enough not to draw anyone else’s attention from the lively first movement flourish of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto, but loud enough to make Annabel stiffen and whip her head around to glare at him. Oh, yes, trouble indeed, if the set of her jaw was anything to go by. He nodded towards the drink. ‘Is it helping?’

She followed his gaze and made a little moue of distaste. ‘No. It’s disgusting.’

Picking up the glass, Aidan tilted the clear liquor to his lips to taste it. ‘Mmm. Vodka martini. A good one.’

‘You’re welcome to it.’ Annabel said dismissively and turned her attention back towards the piano. Setting the glass down again, he studied her profile, trying to accurately gauge her mood. Tense didn’t begin to cover it.

‘I didn’t realise you’d left the room. I’m sorry if the game bored you.’

She turned to him again, letting out a laugh that had no trace of humour in it. ‘Bored me? No. I found it –’ she paused as though trying to find the right words ‘– terrifying and obscene, but certainly not boring. In fact, it made me realise what a mistake this all is. I should never have agreed to come.’

‘Ann—’ he started, only to be cut off when she threw up her hand.

‘Don’t bother trying to argue,’ she interrupted. ‘Just take my word that this isn’t going to work.’

‘Just take your word for it? No, you know I can’t do that. And I don’t argue – I discuss. Tell me, what’s not going to work?’

She gave her head a violent shake. ‘I’m not doing this here.’ She reached for her small clutch bag and swivelled on her stool. ‘I’m tired and I want to leave. I need to get a number for a taxi.’

‘If you want to leave, that’s fine, the car’s still here. We’ll get our coats—’