LITMIR.BIZ

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background tension of the career competition he was currently engaged in. He could probably avoid it for the rest of the evening, too, in this disguise. Now that he was alone he could virtually disappear into this incredibly colourful crowd, half of whom he wouldn’t be able to recognise.

      Like that woman between the pillars.

      The princess with the dark dress and jewels sparkling in her hair.

      He watched the crowd of dancers, enjoying the visual feast of this enormous costume party. The timeframe had been—loosely-adhered to, and the variety was impressive. There were knights and highwaymen, kings and queens and Vikings. Milkmaids and monks and jesters. Crusaders and pirates. More than one Merlin and a good crowd of peasants.

      And…yes—there she was again!

      Dancing, now. With a Robin Hood who was possibly a little merrier than he should be. Not the best dancer, in any case. But the princess…she was on another level entirely. The grace with which she had been holding herself whilst standing still had been a faint reflection of her body in movement.

      The way she turned—with that subtle bend, like a leaf in a gentle breeze.

      The way her hand traced a shape only she could feel in the air. The shape of the music as it danced in his ears.

      There had to be a better position from which to watch the dance floor. One without the frustration of having his view constantly interrupted in this fashion. The best available seemed to be where she had been standing. Between those pillars.

      Having chosen his desired position, Tony moved with a determination that had the customary effect of people unconsciously moving aside to clear his path.

      Who on earth was that?

      Standing there, at the vantage point she had recently vacated herself.

      No—lounging might be a better word, with the padded shoulder of an ornate red jacket shifting his weight onto that pillar. On one foot with the other crossed elegantly at ankle level and just the toe of the boot touching the floor. Kelly almost expected to see him twirl the end of that fake moustache or sweep his hat off as she noticed him watching her.

      Was he watching her?

      Hard to tell with that mask and the flickering shadows from the atmospheric lighting behind the pillar, but it didn’t matter because it felt as if he was watching her— and there was something incredibly exciting about the notion. Kelly wanted to be watched. To feel…desirable.

      He was tall and lean. In a costume that could only be considered ideal fodder for a romantic fantasy. And that was precisely what Kelly was in the mood for.

      This whole night was a fantasy as far as she was concerned. It had been ever since she had become the envied winner of the raffle for one of the astonishingly expensive tickets to St Patrick’s annual ball. Not that she’d intended to actually come. That had been Elsie’s doing. Her boss. Surrogate mother, almost. It had been Elsie who’d hunted down the costume hire shops and dragged her along after work.

      Even then Kelly had been ready to give her ticket away. She’d barely listened to Elsie clucking on about how much she was looking forward to babysitting Flipper. Or to the pointed reminders of how much she loved to dance.

      ‘I dance every day,’ she’d told Elsie. ‘Flipper lives for her music.’

      ‘Not the same as being in the arms of some tall, dark, handsome stranger, though, is it?’

      ‘A man is the last thing I need in my life right now.’

      She’d said it with the conviction of utmost sincerity. She’d just been jumping through hoops as she tried to find an acceptable excuse to decline. But then she’d seen the dress in the shop.

      Midnight-blue velvet. High-waisted, with a laced bodice over a silver chemise. Sleeves that were shaped with a long, long back to them that would almost touch the ground. Folds of soft material that shimmered when she couldn’t resist touching the garment.

      It was a dress that could almost dance all by itself, and as her fingers had trailed down the skirt Kelly had known she was lost.

      For just one night, she had to wear that dress.

      And dance like there was no tomorrow.

      Robin Hood was an unskilled but enthusiastic dancer. It was easy to slip from his grasp and put some of her own style into the nondescript pattern they had been locked into. Kelly stepped back, raised her arms to cross them over her head, and, with her hands held like butterfly wings, she spun herself around fast enough to make the full folds of her dress billow. Then she caught the hand of her partner, twirled beneath it, and stepped back into his arms for some more sedate steps.

      ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Do it again.’

      This time Kelly kept hold of Robin’s hand and turned sideways before spinning in to lean on his shoulder. For just a split second before the spin her line of vision had those pillars directly ahead of her, and it was all too easy to imagine that he was watching her.

      That he wanted her.

      The orchestra was in no hurry to complete this particular medley, and suddenly neither was Kelly.

      Poor Robin Hood was simply an accessory. She was dancing for him. The stranger in the shadows. Why him? she wondered fleetingly. There was something about the way he was standing there, she decided. The way he might be watching her, as though he found her attractive. But more, it was a vehicle for unleashing a side of herself that had been neglected for so long it was virtually forgotten.

      The sensuous side.

      Dancing would have been enough to satisfy her if she’d been with a partner who could have challenged her ability or let her express herself completely. This fantasy of dancing to attract a total stranger was exciting enough to fill any gap this somewhat stilted movement left. The dress had already made Kelly feel beautiful. Being watched made it real.

      She could dance her way into his heart.

      Seduce him without touching. Without even seeming to notice him. And then she could melt into the crowd and simply disappear, to leave him wondering who the hell she was. The smile touching Kelly’s lips was unconscious. It was a fitting part of this fairytale night. A bit of magic, like a tiny crystal ball she would be able to keep and look into occasionally when she wanted to remember feeling this good.

      ‘Wow,’ Robin Hood said again as the music finally faded. ‘You’re something else! What’s your name?’

      Kelly laughed. ‘Cinderella.’

      He grinned. ‘Fair enough. Can I get you a glass of champagne, Cinders?’

      ‘No—thank you.’

      They both turned at the sound of the decisive negative, and Kelly felt a prickle run down her spine. How had he moved so fast? He must have been waiting for precisely this opportunity.

      The musketeer swept a hand up in front of his chest and then moved it sideways in a graceful arc that left his fingers enticingly close to Kelly’s.

      ‘My dance, I think,’ he said.

      ‘Hang on, buddy!’ Robin Hood was scowling. ‘I was just going to get…’

      Kelly could see, no—feel the commanding stare her recent dance partner was receiving. In normal life that kind of arrogance would have put her back up instantly— but this wasn’t normal life, was it? It was a fairytale, and he wanted to dance with her.

      With a totally uncharacteristic, demure downward glance, Kelly put her hand into his.

      The touch of her hand was like…like nothing Tony had ever felt before when his skin had come into contact with that of another person.

      Thank goodness she took his hand when she did, because Tony had been experiencing an astonishingly strong desire to say something to Robin Hood that he might regret.

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