Good Girl. Christy McKellen

to climb the sweeping staircase at the end of the hallway, his long legs making short work of the stairs. He moved with such enigmatic grace that I stood transfixed for a moment and watched him, until it occurred to me I was going to lose him if I didn’t grab his attention.

      I tried to call out his name, but my throat was parched and scratchy from the overwhelming heat of the party, so I pulled the hip flask out of my bag and took a quick swallow of the fiery alcohol in an attempt to soothe it as I darted up the stairs after him. The liquid burned my throat and I inhaled sharply, the acrid fumes of it flooding my windpipe, making me splutter and gasp for breath. Eyes stinging, I gripped the banister and attempted to get a hold of myself as the alcohol rushed through my blood, mixing with the adrenaline the choking reflex had produced. I felt spaced out as my intoxicated blood pounded heavily through my veins and for one fleeting moment I considered turning around and running out of there, back to the safety of my quiet, comforting flat...

      A warm hand gently pressed my shoulder, jerking me out of my whirling thoughts, and I lifted my head, my cheeks already flaming with the heat of my embarrassment to be caught like this, only to meet the gaze of the last person I wanted to see me in this state.

      ‘Are you all right?’ Sandro asked in a deep, husky tone, only made more appealing by the warm timbre of his Italian accent.

      All I could do was nod stupidly, my eyes brimming with tears and my throat still on fire from the alcohol. ‘I’m fine,’ I forced myself to croak when he gave me a concerned frown. ‘Just swallowed the wrong way.’ I waved a finger vaguely at my throat.

      ‘Would a slap on the back help?’ he asked, his dazzling eyes searching mine, one dark eyebrow quirked.

      ‘No, that’s okay.’ I swallowed hard and gave a small cough to clear my airway. ‘Technically, you only need to do that when someone’s got a foreign object lodged in their windpipe, otherwise you’re just assaulting them for no reason.’

      An indignant expression flashed across his face, as if I’d just rudely shot down his perfectly reasonable offer of help and basically called him an idiot in the process. I shook my head, frustrated with myself for sounding so prim and schoolmarmish.

      ‘I’m Juno. We met—well, not met, exactly—bumped into each other—at least I bumped into you—on Wednesday night,’ I said quickly to cover my gaffe. ‘I don’t know if you remember?’ I added rather inelegantly.

      I wondered what had happened to me. I wasn’t usually like this. The mixture of alcohol, nerves and Sandro’s befuddling presence appeared to be messing with my neural pathways.

      ‘I remember. At Maxim’s party,’ he said, seeming to forgive me as a slow, sexy smile broke across his handsome face.

      My insides did an excited flip. ‘Oh, good, I was afraid you wouldn’t. I’m not usually that memorable,’ I said stupidly. This really wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. My plan to appear mature and sexually alluring had already metaphorically face-planted at his feet.

      ‘You had your hair down then, though,’ he said, kindly ignoring my flustered unsophistication.

      I raised my hand to touch the base of my neck where my hair was nestled in a tight bun. I usually wore it like that, or in a plait, to keep it tucked away. I wear my long fringe swept across my forehead, though, so I can hide behind it if I need to.

      ‘Yes, it was. But it’s too hot to have it down here tonight.’ I flapped a hand across my face. ‘It’s positively steamy in here.’

      He gave me a quizzical smile, then reached out his hand to push my fringe out of my eyes. It was such an intimate, proprietary move, I sucked in a breath of surprise.

      There was a movement out of the corner of my eye and I glanced round to see a man walking quickly past us, looking down at the mobile phone in his hand. I had the strangest impression that he’d just taken a photo of us talking, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Why would he want a picture of me? The gossip magazines seem to have absolutely zero interest in featuring me on their pages any more, unlike my glamorous sisters. Thank goodness. I can’t think of anything worse than being hounded by paparazzi and having my personal life constantly picked over by the general public.

      ‘Why so jumpy, Juno?’ Sandro murmured.

      When I turned back to look at him, his bright gaze tangled with mine and my stomach did another somersault.

      ‘I’m not jumpy,’ I squeaked.

      ‘Really? Because you seem a little edgy to me. Is something wrong? Has something happened here tonight?’ He stood a little taller. ‘Has your date abandoned you?’ His mouth tensed as if the idea of that angered him.

      ‘No, no, nothing like that.’ I took a deep breath, keenly aware that this would be a great opportunity to ask for his help. My heart gave an extra-hard thump as nerves rattled through me. ‘Actually, I...er...came here on my own hoping to bump into you.’ It didn’t come out sounding quite as seductive as I’d hoped—in fact I sounded more like a mouse with a sore throat—but at that moment I was just pleased I’d been able to get the words out.

      ‘Me?’ He looked surprised, though I was pretty sure it was a feigned reaction. I imagined women must turn up at parties all the time hoping to bump into him.

      ‘Yes. I have a proposition for you.’

      ‘A proposition?’ His eyes flashed with a teasing sort of mirth, but I could tell I’d piqued his interest from the slight tilt of his head and the way he moved fractionally closer to me. This gave me the confidence to carry on.

      ‘I was hoping we could talk somewhere privately,’ I said as a group of people spilled out of the nearest doorway and rowdily made their way past where we stood in the middle of the staircase.

      ‘Okay, I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Let’s find a quiet room upstairs.’ He gestured for me to climb the stairs in front of him. ‘Ladies first.’

      I climbed the stairs in front of him on shaky legs, intensely aware of his dominating presence at my back. I imagined I could feel the heat radiating from his powerful body, even though logically I knew that wasn’t possible. Every nerve ending in my body was on high alert and it was clearly messing with my sensory perception.

      Heart thumping hard in my chest, I walked into the nearest bedroom, relieved to find it empty of people. He followed me in, closing the door behind him.

      There was a small lamp on by the side of an enormous bed, bathing it in a low, warm light. I swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. A dissenting voice in my head was telling me I was crazy to even think of doing this but I knew I had to be brave and take action if I was ever going to get past my hang-ups about sex and men.

      I dropped my bag at my feet and turned to look at him.

      He was standing proud and tall a few feet away from me with his hands casually by his sides, giving me a respectful amount of personal space. The man was clearly a gentleman, which heartened me. Everything I’d heard about him had pointed towards this, but it was comforting to have it confirmed. Especially as I was now alone in a closed room with him.

      ‘So, what can I do for you, Juno?’ he prompted when I failed to say anything. I’d been so busy psyching myself up I’d left an uncomfortably long pause hanging in the air.

      Clearing my raw throat, I pushed back my shoulders in an attempt to project confidence.

      But no words would come. I began to panic. How the heck were you supposed to seduce someone—someone you barely knew anything about? I had absolutely no experience in these matters.

      In desperation I thought back to the sex scenes I’d seen on TV, where women who want to initiate sex simply strip off in front of the guy and he seems to know exactly what she wants without her having to say a word.

      My blood was thumping so hard in my head by this point, I was afraid Sandro would be able to hear it in the quiet of the room. He was certainly looking at me as if he was concerned about something.

      ‘Are