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Diana’s attention was held by the bouquet of roses that lay on a table in the corner of the room—today’s offering from Chris, the card attached to them having remained unopened as they had arrived during the rush and bustle of the half an hour before the show began. She had felt no urgency to open the envelope and read the card inside because she had thought it would be the same as the others during the week; two simple words—‘Marry me’. But perhaps this time she had been wrong; surely Chris knew his father was here, in Paris?
She hastily pulled on her robe over her near-nakedness, tying the belt securely about her waist even as she crossed the room to the roses, taking the card from the small white envelope and reading the message there. Those same two words still featured, but underneath, as if added later, was another message. It read, ‘The Falcon is on the hunt.’ They both knew the Falcon was his father. If only she had taken the time to read this card, she would at least have had some warning that Reece Falcon might be here in Paris, if nothing else. She had to accept that he probably knew something of her relationship with Chris too; the fact that he was here, tonight, was surely more than just a coincidence. It would more than explain that glitter-eyed look!
‘Coming to the party?’ Cally appeared at her side, unashamedly attempting to read the card that Diana slowly crushed in her hand, shrugging dismissively at the movement, the babble of voices continuing behind them, everyone obviously relieved that the evening had gone as well as it had and that the week of hard work was over.
With a tiny half-smile of apology, Diana shook her head in the negative. It had been a rhetorical question on Cally’s part anyway; both of them already knew that she wouldn’t go with the others to the huge party being thrown for them all.
‘I thought not,’ Cally grinned with an unoffended shrug. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she guessed, ‘a good night’s sleep. And then back to England on the first available flight in the morning,’ she said knowingly.
Diana’s smile widened at this totally correct assessment of her plans for the next twelve hours, the unguarded smile instantly revealing exactly how young she really was, the heavy make-up she had been wearing for modelling all evening tending to add years as well as the required sophistication.
‘Am I so predictable?’ She shook her head ruefully.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Cally shrugged dismissively. ‘It only adds to the elusiveness of the Divine Diana image.’
In part, it was only an image, one she had deliberately cultivated over the years. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really have any interest in the social side of her profession; she earned her living as a model, but she didn’t feel that meant she had to be on show the whole time.
And so she did her work, a professional to her fingertips, always on time for assignments, never subjecting the people she was working with or for to moods or temper-tantrums, while at the same time keeping her private life very private indeed. Which wasn’t as difficult as it sounded—not when she didn’t go out to the usual round of clubs and restaurants that her colleagues frequented, and so gave the Press no food for gossip. And people rarely connected the young woman shopping in the local supermarket, or walking in the park, with the glamorous model Divine who often adorned their newspapers in one exotically lovely gown or another. It seemed, with her glorious cascade of hair confined at her nape or in a single plait down the length of her spine, her face free of make-up, and barely looking her twenty-one years, that she bore no resemblance then to the beautiful model Divine.
She returned Cally’s smile now. ‘A good night’s sleep sounds a very welcome idea at the moment!’ She was thoroughly exhausted from the hectic pace of the last week, and finding Reece Falcon sitting in the audience for her very last entrance of the week had been much more traumatic on her nerves—and her energy level—than she cared to admit.
But she went in search of Charles before leaving, knowing he would be caught up in the crush of people who wanted to congratulate him on the success of his designs; Charles enjoyed this adulation almost as much as he did putting the collection together in the first place.
Diana almost turned and left without talking to him at all when she saw who he was talking to; Reece Falcon!
Her desire for flight before she was seen was instinctive, self-protective—and, she decided with inner anger at herself, totally cowardly.
‘Ah, Diana!’ Charles smiled warmly as the congratulations she was receiving caught his attention, and he reached out a hand to draw her to his side, his arm moving about the slender width of her shoulders; he was several inches taller than Diana, for all her height. ‘We were just talking about you,’ he told her with satisfaction.
She tensed inwardly even as she compared the two men. The two were of a similar age, but Charles was tall, slender and blond, filled with a nervous energy that was evident in the way he found it difficult to stand still for any amount of time, constantly moving his hands as he talked, tapping those same hands rhythmically against his thighs when he wasn’t. The other man, in sharp contrast, was very dark in colouring, and even taller than Charles, with a big, powerful body that nevertheless gave the impression of not having a superfluous ounce of flesh on its frame. And he was possessed of a stillness that was, in itself, more powerful than mere strength could ever be.
Diana assessed him coolly before turning her attention back to Charles; the flush of success was still on his cheeks. ‘Oh, yes?’ she prompted huskily.
‘Not you exactly.’ It was the other man who answered her softly spoken query—and at the sound of his voice Diana knew a sickening thud in the bottom of her stomach. ‘We were discussing the wedding gown you modelled.’
She turned to him sharply, frowning. ‘The wedding gown…?’
‘Yes,’ Charles confirmed slowly, although he looked at the other man somewhat quizzically. ‘Although we hadn’t quite got around to discussing your interest in it…?’
‘I want it,’ Reece Falcon stated with simple fact, never doubting for a moment that the gown would be his.
Diana still watched him with puzzled green eyes, not in the least surprised by his self-assurance that he would get what he wanted; this man always got what he wanted. What she was surprised about was what he actually wanted this time. The wedding gown. Why on earth——?
‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Charles told him with obvious pleasure, his arm falling away from Diana’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea!’ He reached out and shook the other man’s hand. ‘I would be delighted to design a wedding gown for you—well, not for you personally, of course.’ He gave a laugh at his own little joke.
Diana had no doubts as to the reason why Charles was so delighted at the prospect of designing a wedding gown exclusively for the Falcon family: the wedding gown would be photographed and shown all over the world, would earn its designer worldwide publicity and prestige.
But the fact that there was to be a wedding at all filled Diana with misgivings.
Silver clashed with green as she found her gaze meeting Reece Falcon’s head-on for the first time, something akin to an electric shock passing through her body at the force she encountered there, a barely leashed energy behind the outward calm. He returned her gaze coldly, challengingly—almost as if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. Impossible. He couldn’t possibly know!
The original Ice Maiden, Reece realised with mocking amusement. He had met many women in his life—too damned many, he acknowledged grimly—some of them, although not many, as coldly distant as this particular one. But none of them had been as young or possessed of such a removed air as this model Divine.
He was curious in spite of himself, and thought now that he should perhaps have taken the trouble to find out a little more about her before coming here, other than the fact that she was being disruptive