A Valentine from Harlequin

entirely of my own making.”
    “I’m already involved, Charlotte,” he said, that rich Demerara-sugar voice sliding over her name and turning into something at once sultry and exotic. Reaching across the table, he laced his fingers through hers. “You’re a woman of courage under fire, but that’s no reason to turn down my help.”
    It took considerable strength to withstand his coaxing words, never mind the gentle steel of his hold. But she wasn’t about to leap blindly from one bad situation to another. “Not until you tell me what you have in mind.”
    “Nothing disastrous. We’re simply going to rejoin the party.”
    She breathed a sigh, part relief and, if she were honest, part regret. Despite her common sense warning her to proceed carefully, the more daring voice in her heart urged her to toss caution to the breeze. Paolo Angelli had intrigued her from the first. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, she wanted to get to know him better and there was no use denying it. “Is that all?”
    “Not quite,” he said. “I came here alone, as did you, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, things have changed. Now we’re a couple.”
    “The woman hired to put together the Duncans’ elaborate coming-out party for their daughter being seen on the arm of one of their guests? Good heavens, Mr. Angelli, do you have any idea of the ripples that’s going to create?”
    “I’m not a snob, Charlotte, and neither are you, so let’s not get carried away with that kind of nonsense. We’re a man and a woman powerfully attracted to one another, whether or not you’re ready to admit it. It’s as simple—or as complicated—as that. But I’m not a bully, so the choice is yours. You can put a brave face on things and go back inside to exercise a little vengeance by showing Weatherby he’s not the only one to have moved on, or you can remain out here. Either way, I’m staying with you.”
    “Why?” Truly baffled, she stared at him. He was unquestionably wealthy because she knew from what she’d seen in Barbados that he belonged to that select segment of society that she’d only glimpsed from the sidelines. If he wasn’t already spoken for, there must be at least a dozen women inside the clubhouse who’d be only too willing to rectify the matter; women who’d grown up in his kind of world, not hers.
    “Because I prefer your company to anyone else’s here. Because I long ago grew tired of the sort of silly, superficial women strutting around in that room there.” He stepped around the table and drew her close enough that she could smell the distant echo of his cologne and feel the heat of his body drifting out to entrap her. “Because I want to be seen with you.”
    How confident he was; how disturbingly attractive! Under different circumstances…oh, what was she thinking! “Mr. An—”
    “Paolo,” He stroked her wrist, and then the palm of her hand in slow, tantalizing circles. “This is the 21st century, and Jane Austen’s been dead a very long time. Couples today don’t stand on foolish ceremony. They make their desires plainly known.”
    Well, he certainly did! If reducing her to melting acquiescence with his touch was his intention, he succeeded in a disgracefully short time. Her breathing raced as fast as her galloping pulse. As for ‘caution,’ it might just as well have been a foreign word past her understanding!
    “Come with me, Charlotte,” he cajoled. “Make this a memorable evening in more ways than one and teach that miserable wretch the lesson he deserves.”
    “Yes,” she said, not because she cared one iota about John Weatherby, but because she couldn’t say no to Paolo Angelli.
    He squeezed her hand, tipped her face up to his, and kissed her full on the mouth. Not aggressively. Not with arrogant intimacy, as if, because he’d come to her rescue, he had the right to take liberties. His lips were cool and dry, their touch firm but brief. Still the effect sent a delicious shock of electricity shooting through her blood.
    “Just a little rehearsal before we go on stage,” he said, lifting his head and smiling down at her.
    “Um…” she mumbled, pressing her lips together to hold on to the taste of him. There’d been stars in the sky all evening long. When had they fallen down to blind her with their brilliance and addle her brain? When had she lost the power to articulate clearly and sanely?
    He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and caught her fingers in