Free The Passionate Mistake by Amelia Hart Page A

hair fell in loose waves to the middle of her back, the caramel blonde of it restored and gleaming. Her long fringe was swept back to disappear into the rest, a textured section against her temple, hardly noticeable. Casual hair, tousled, to give her that appealingly touchable look. She balanced it out with long earrings, a tiny waterfall of silver disks.
    As she drove along the waterfront she could feel the excitement mounting in her, the anticipation and desire. She was completely clear on what she wanted from Mike tonight, and she didn’t anticipate a refusal. He wanted her, she wanted him, they were both adults, what could be simpler than that?
    She was firmly seated in her feminine powers and she loved the sensation of control it gave her, after weeks of following orders and hiding herself. She was unstoppable, diamond and fire. She laughed out loud and let the warm evening air move her hair through the open car window. Oh yes, she was dangerous tonight. Dangerous and wonderful.
    The party location was less than ten minutes from her apartment, on the slopes of Orakei, overlooking the Waitemata Harbour. A rich suburb full of flashy mansions built since a bridge and causeway across the estuary had opened the beachfront to the wealthy several decades before. Long ranks of boats slept in the marina on the estuary, and the moonlight shone on the flat-calm waters.
    A beautiful evening. The Singhs must have ordered it especially for their party. They could certainly afford to pay for their weather. She had seen the specs on the bespoke software Mr Singh had ordered from DigiCom, and that sort of program didn’t come cheap. Rolling in it. It wouldn’t break the bank for them to host a single gatecrasher with little appetite for food.
    Last week she had stood at the corner of Mike’s desk, ignored, as he was invited to the occasion. She watched him hesitate, a minute flicker of his eyes towards her and away, then he accepted. The client had used the phrase, “everyone will be there,” and she assumed that meant she could sidle in without an invitation and no one would notice.
    She parked her humble car around the corner and walked the last few steps. From the noise – chamber music, loud conversation and laughter – she could tell the party was in full swing. She walked up the front stairs with her head high, assurance in every line of her body. Security was relaxed now, one beefy guy in a tux by the front door, and as almost always, she got by with a smile.
    Men and women clustered in talking, laughing, expensively-dressed groups. Wait staff circulated with canapés and trays of glasses. She snagged champagne from one, sipping cautiously. French, she was sure, though she had no idea which one. Delicious. She would limit herself to a single glass.
    When one was stalking big game, one needed a clear head .
    She circulated, walking with the maximum of poise, staying on the move so no one would delay her by trying to start a conversation. Within minutes she spotted him at the top of the stairs in a cozy seating arrangement with an excellent view of the room. He was speaking with a suited businessman. To her he looked bored, talking absently as he scanned the crowd. There was impatience in the set of his shoulders.
    Perhaps she had arrived just in time. It seemed he wasn’t enjoying himself.
    Judging her moment, she placed herself at the foot of the stairs, front and centre, as if by accident. Feet slightly spread, shoulders up and back, hand on hip in a posture that radiated confidence. She gazed to one side, as if inspecting the artwork on the wall nearby. But from the corner of her eye she watched him, and was certain she could pinpoint the moment he saw her. He leaned forward in his chair.
    Slowly, infinitely casually, she let her gaze sweep up the stairs and meet his, stop, and give him a leisurely inspection from head to toe. Then she tilted her head to one side and smiled straight at him as if she liked what she saw.