Chapter Two
The elegant black Mercedes sat at the curb, its tinted windows shining as the rain streaked down them. The crisply dressed chauffeur approached with his black umbrella, sheltering her from the weather as he accompanied her to the car.
She loved this bit. All the strangers and shop-talk bored her senseless, but if the whole evening was nothing more than her being chauffeur-driven in circles and dropped off back here she’d be ecstatic. The getting ready and being escorted to a fine automobile—she loved the show of it all.
But then, tonight was different. Behind the dark glossy window sat a man. A man who’d stunned her senses, and that didn’t happen very often. Unless she took a trip down memory lane to her uni years, it hadn’t happened at all.
She held her breath as the door was opened. Trying to be as ladylike as possible as she turned and lowered herself onto the fine leather, lifting her legs in to the cozy warmth.
Readying a smile she turned, to find the seat next to her empty. Jess huffed as disappointment dropped through her. It looked like tonight was going to be a total washout after all.
“Ma’am, Mr Hunter has asked me to inform you that he’ll meet you at the Tower.”
Lightly clearing her throat, she offered what she hoped was a nonchalant tone. “Oh, fine.”
She knew she’d failed miserably as the polite chauffeur’s lips twitched in the mirror.
Buggering-dammit.
She scrunched her face-up nastily at her own reflection in the window, and turned back to the chauffeur. “Was there a problem?”
“I don’t believe so, Ma’am.”
Almost grinning at him, she leant back in her seat. Bloody men. She watched the rain hit the panoramic roof, as the grey clouds above London hid the sun and streamed over her head. The scent of the rain eased in through the air-con, and she could just detect a hint of the Thames before it came into view, and the glorious Tower Bridge rising above it.
Allowing herself to be escorted from the car by the highly amused chauffeur, he left her safely inside the dry entrance, to ascend the Victorian staircase that curled ever upwards, the wet air racing up the stairs after her.
The din from the Gala above reached her, and she took a steadying breath as she came to the viewing deck. Circular tables were laid with white linen and polished cutlery, and the windows and glass walkway let in views of the whole of London. Gods, she loved this city.
Removing her ticket from her clutch to give to the approaching maître d’, the tingle reached her just before a warm hand clasped her elbow. Keeping her eyes forward, she let a little smile tip her lips.
“Sebastian. You’re late.”
Reaching out, he slid the ticket from her fingers, handing them to the maître d’, who turned to guide them to their table. “I’d like to apologize for not arriving with you.”
Taking the seat that was offered, she smiled politely and turned to face him as he sat. His dark grey suit fitted perfectly, and the light blue tie sat beautifully against his softer blue silk shirt. He looked delicious.
Raising her brows at his flawless manners, she grinned at him. “No biggy. You were only a couple of minutes behind.”
Despite his polished appearance, she could feel frenetic energy pouring from him. He’d tamed his hair, but she could tell he itched to run his fingers through it. She stifled a smirk; she wouldn’t mind running her fingers through it either. He’d looked good earlier, in a rough jeans and boots sort of way, but the suit fitted him perfectly. He was bigger, just all over bigger, than she’d thought, and she liked the constant buzz of excitement she got from just looking at him.
Shaking his head, Set chuckled. The husky sound made her smile.
“Well, anyway, I’m sorry.” Easing back in his seat, he made room for the waiter, who leant over to pour their wine. “So, what’s the deal with these shindigs? And why do I feel like we’ve drawn the short straw, and Jason is off somewhere having more fun than we’re about to?”
His voice was like his laugh, deep and soft, and every guest that passed by dragged his scent across to her, his aftershave somehow reminding her of the sea. The tan on his skin declared that, unlike her, he hadn’t spent most of the summer in draughty archives. In fact, he was proving more delightful by the second.
Casting her eye across their currently empty table she read the name plates. “Oh, Jason has left us without a paddle, that’s for sure.” Nodding at them, she picked up her wine glass, taking a healthy sip of the citrusy white. “This motley crew are all private employees: two buyers, a dealer, and a collector. They’ll be boring as hell. The idea of tonight was so that we could introduce ourselves to the new head of department for the Native American section at the Smithsonian.”
As he picked up his own glass, his hand looked too big for the fine crystal. He was starting to relax, his energy field settling down, not bouncing jerkily against hers. She watched as his shoulders lost some of their tension and he released a pent up breath, before giving her a knowing look.
“And I take it they’re not here?”
She shook her head. “Nope. The waiter was removing their place-settings from the front table as I came in.”
Casting his gaze across the truly spectacular view, he looked at her before glancing down at his feet, and murmured, “Well, there are worse places to have dinner.”
Following his gaze, his tan brogues looked almost superimposed as the glass floor dropped away to the road below where the traffic flowed one way, the Thames the other.
“You’re not afraid of heights, then?” She raised her brows questioningly, meeting his gaze square on, and felt the chemistry crackle between them. His brown eyes held hers for a fraction longer than necessary, and she enjoyed the lustful current that tripped through her.
“Not afraid of anything much. What about you?”
Leaning back, she crossed her legs beneath the table, and shrugged. “Not really. I’m not keen on earwigs, if that helps?”
His nose wrinkled at the thought, and he closed his mouth on whatever he’d been going to say, smoothing out his expression as two of their table-mates arrived.
Jess gave her hellos and introduced Sebastian, giving him a knowing look as Matilda launched into her thoughts on the latest government arts cuts, before her backside had even hit the chair.
As the main course was cleared his eyes had all but glazed over. Jess felt pretty much the same. Matilda’s phone trilled inside her bag, and as she frantically rummaged for it, Jess slid a long look his way, before addressing the table. “Excuse us, won’t you? I’m just going to give Sebastian a look at some of the amazing moldings before the final course is served.” He rose with her as she spoke, giving the table in general a polite smile.
Weaving their way between the tables until they reached what would soon be the dance floor, she leant on the window railing and looked across London, heaving a sigh. “It’s going to be a long night. We’ve still got pudding and coffees to go.”
“Tell me about it. There was no whisky on the menu either.”
“Now that really is a crime.” She laughed as he shook his head. The last of the cloud was passing over, and the blue sky framed him. It was as if time had thrown him forward, he had an air of the old-fashioned aristocrat about him.
“Of course, if the people we’re here to meet aren’t actually here…” His voice trailed away as he looked innocently at her, his dark eyes full of mischief and fun.
Planting a serious expression on her face, she nodded. “I’m sure the museum has some historical emergency that needs our attention…”
He leant towards her, warmth radiating from him, as his lips barely brushed her ear. Shivers raced up her spine, and she held wholly still as he whispered, “Forget coffee. I know a great whisky bar, right close to here.”
She inwardly groaned at how his fabulous scent filled her senses, how his heated breath caused goose bumps… She was seriously going to have to get a grip on her suddenly active libido.
But then, willpower never had been her strong point. “Let’s get out of here.”
Laughing, he surprised her by grabbing her hand, pulling her towards the door, and offering an excuse to the passing waiter. He took the inside on the spiraling staircase, his warm, rough palm, firmly engulfing her hand as he steadied her descent.
As they stepped from the Tower, Jess looked skyward. A summer wind had blown away the last of the rain, leaving a warm, damp night.
“So,” he prompted her, “you were talking about earwigs.”
He kept hold of her hand, as he steered her right, and they walked towards the Thames.
“Sure. Hate ’em. Not frightened. Just think they’re a bit gross. Is it Sebastian or Seb?”
He nodded, briefly looking down at her. “Seb mostly.”
Stealing furtive glances at him as they walked, she studied him. She wasn’t small, and with a little help from four inch heels, she never found height an issue. But he still had a few inches on her, and his hand had virtually swallowed hers. What did he eat, for gods’ sake?
“What about you? Is it Jess or Jessica?”
“Depends. I’m Jess, unless you count my brother. Then it’s full on Jessica. Or Steve at the Museum, he calls me ‘Miss Jess’, and I feel like I’m living in the Deep South.”
He gave a short burst of laugher, turning smiling brown eyes on her. “Yeah, I noticed that today. Not bad for a guy from the East End of London.”
She laughed. “I know, right. Probably left over from his past life.”
He gave her a quizzical look that she merely shrugged off; she’d never seen any reason to pretend to be anything she wasn’t. She wasn’t about to run around sky-clad, shouting pagan chants either, but they were going to be working together, and he may as well get used to her.
She’d better remember that too; they were going to be working together, and here she was leaning into him like they were on a date. Hating her own common sense, she sadly let go of his hand, inanely fiddling with her hair to cover it. “Where is this place then? I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt?”
Gesturing ahead, he slid the hand that had been holding hers in his pocket. “One? After half an hour with the art buyer I’m going to need a couple.”
The sun was making her last effort of the day. The sky was mottled with purples and peaches as she burnt through the last remaining rainclouds, and Jess could see the steam beginning to rise from the pavement and rooftops as the rain evaporated.
He’d slowed his stride so she wasn’t having to race to keep up with him. He even walked well. She hid a sad shake of her head at her bad luck. They had such good chemistry, but he was more than likely to be taking the empty office across the hall from her. It just wouldn’t do to be getting all tangled up.
Coming to a stop at a neat row of classic town houses, he led them towards the furthest place. The glossed, walnut front door sat back between its two ornate white columns. His hand came to rest on her lower back as he guided her up the three marble steps and lightly knocked the door.
She barely hid her surprise when he gave Jason’s name.
The ‘house’ was clearly not a home. As he led her up the stairs, the rooms they passed were set for dinner, some of the tables occupied, some not, and if the smell was anything to go by, the food must be amazing. It was turning out to be quite a night.
The top floor opened out into a long, highly polished bar. Every single whisky known to man must have been perfectly placed on the mirrored back wall.
Leaning against the bar, he grinned at her, obviously feeling very pleased with himself. “What would you like?”
Laying her clutch on the bar top, she raised her brows and slowly enunciated her words. “Jason brought you here?”
He nodded at her. “Sure, he has membership, so does the museu—” His face took on a slightly awkward expression. “You didn’t know that…”
The barman came to a stop before them. “On Mr MacIntyre’s tab, Sir?”
Catching his eye, she gave him a sickly sweet smile, “Oh, I think so. He’s such a dear, after all…” Pausing a beat, she glanced back at Seb. “I’ll have the Balvenie 30. A large one.”
His lips firmed to hold back the smile, as he nodded. “Two of those, please.”
Following him, her eyes widened again at the pretty little rooftop garden, with intimate tables and candles already flickering as they waited for sunset. It was all framed against the back drop of the Thames, with the Tower of London spreading out on the other side of the water.
Easing herself into a plush seat deep with cushions, she held her silence until the waiter moved away.
“I’m going to bloody kill him.” She frowned at Seb’s easy grin. “He knows how I feel about whisky.”
Making a nondescript noise in the back of his throat, his eyes sparkled with glee. “Well,” he raised his heavily cut crystal tumbler towards her, “we’ll get our own back sat right here.” His voice was low and smooth, as if he were working through each syllable. “You know, nice and civilized.”
Unable to hide her delighted smile, she slitted her eyes at him as she picked up her glass. “I like that.” Lightly tapping her glass with his, the clear sound bounced between them as she took her first sip.
The honeyed warmth hit her tongue as she swallowed, and she let a small breath leave her lips as it sank through her. “And a delicious revenge it will be.”
Laughing around his own mouthful, he rolled his shoulders as the sun’s rays just peeked over the rooftops, hitting his back and warming her face.
Propping his elbows on the table, he held his glass loosely in his grasp. “You know, whisky is a funny thing, it has a way of grabbing your memories. Like you—how come the Balvenie was your first choice?”
Leaning forward, she mirrored his pose. The sun streaked his hair, catching the caramel strands, and he absently pulled on his tie, loosening it.
“My brother, Adam. It’s his favorite, and although it’s not my favorite, I somehow always start with his.”
“Your brother sounds okay.”
Jess laughed softly, thinking of her stubborn brother. “He has his moments.” Smiling into her glass, she took another sip, and focusing her magic, she sent Adam an intangible sisterly-poke, grinning when she felt the same in return. “But it’s been me, him and my sister since my grandmother died, so we’re pretty tight.” He was still pulling at his tie, easing it a little lower, and she gestured at it with her glass. “If it’s driving you mad, why don’t you take it off? Unless there’s a dress code in here?”
“I think it’s a little smarter than no shirt, no shoes, no service. But I reckon I’ll be alright without my tie.” Coming to his feet, his frame blocked out the sun, his shadow falling across her as he took off his jacket. The shirt pulled across his chest, and she swallowed at the sudden dryness in her throat. His scent rushed across her: sun-warmed skin, aftershave and a hint of whisky.
He must work out—a lot. Dropping the jacket on the back of his chair, he pulled off the tie, and it was all Jess could do not to ask him to continue the show.
Then he grabbed his glass and came round to her side of the table.
“Budge up.”
Easing down into the sea of cushions with her, he propped his feet onto his now empty chair, crossing them at the ankles.
“I suppose ‘take your tie off’ does translate to ‘make yourself comfortable’.”
“It does in my book. Besides, there’s nobody up here but us.”
Shrugging, she unsnapped the ankle straps. Leaving her shoes on the floor, she curled her legs underneath her, facing him. “So, what about you? What’s your favorite whisky and its memory?”
Holding his glass resting against the flat plains of stomach, he looked at her. “How badly are we punishing Jason?”
Not bothering to suppress her evil smile, she looked over, signaling the waiter.
“Ma’am?”
Handing over to Seb, she held her palms wide. “Have at it.”
The look in his eyes was nothing short of wicked. “If you don’t mind, we’ll have two of the Glenmorangie 1983—large ones.”
Pushing his empty glass onto the table, he grinned. “I’ll be topping up the tab for this one.”
She shook her head. “Nu-uh. Jason’s gotta learn.” Looking at him with interest, she leant her elbow on the back of the chair, her hand cupping her head. “You don’t act like he’s your boss. I know I don’t either. But why don’t you?”
“Me? I’ve known Jase for years. He’s been trying to entice me away from McGill University ever since I started.”
“McGill… That’s Canada. How did he convince you? That’s a gorgeous part of the world.”
His brown eyes shadowed as she spoke, and she felt the tension tease back into him.
“The winters are rough, and I was in the mood for a change.”
Letting the brief explanation slide, she nodded her thanks as the waiter approached, setting their drinks down on the table.
The amber liquid reflected around the glasses as they both watched them.
“The Glenmorangie 1983—so what’s the story?”
***
He had so many stories for this whisky. He looked over at her, readying himself to pick something short and funny, but her wide brown eyes were bright and questioning, and her beautifully full, soft lips pursed as she waited for him to answer.
Her soft honeysuckle scent kept bombarding his senses, and he found himself telling her the truth.
“My Dad bought two bottles when it was distilled in 1983, the year I was born. One for my eighteenth, the other for my twenty-first. The first we drank together.”
Her gaze became very solemn, and she nodded, and shifting her legs from under her she sat up straight, collecting their glasses.
“In that case, we better do him justice.”
Holding his glass out towards him, she waited, and he pushed up from his prone position. Taking the glass, his fingers brushed hers, and again he felt that tingle, the same as this afternoon.
Lifting her glass slightly, the sun sparkled around the crystal. “To your Dad.”
Touching his glass to hers, he nodded. “He was a good man.”
The taste hit him like a blast. He’d privately celebrated his darkest and brightest moments with this whisky, and now he was sharing it with her.
Her eyes softly closed as she sipped, the whisky still glistened on her lips, and, unable to stop himself, he leaned forward, catching the sip in a kiss.
Her small intake of breath was lost as his hand cupped her chin, and his tongue swept across, taking the last drops with her own dewy taste, before pulling back.
She drew in a soft breath, her eyes still closed as a smile brushed across her face, then her eyes opened and she raised her brows in question.
“He also said, never miss the chance to kiss a beautiful woman.”
On a gurgle of laughter, she curled back into the cushions. “Did he, now? Well, I imagine you do him proud then.”
Settling back down beside her his grin took on an untamed edge. “Me? Nah. Work keeps me too busy.”
Taking another sip of the splendid whisky, he let the heat slide down his throat as she watched him.
“Hmm. I’ll bet. Well, if it didn’t before, it will now you’re here. We’ve got a lot coming up as we move into the autumn calendar.”
He let the velvety richness of her voice surround him as she talked about the artifacts coming up for display in the winter. Her full lips were a deep, perfect red, but soft. They shaped the words as she spoke, her tongue occasionally touching her neat white teeth. The sun had lost its glare as it slowly dropped below the roof of the opposite building, but the final rays touched her hair. The elegant twist she’d artfully arranged showed off her heart shaped face, and her dark hair matched her chocolatey brown eyes.
Long lashes fanned her face as she blinked, and her smile revealed slight dimples. The diamonds in her ears perfectly suited her; she oozed class, and he was thoroughly enjoying being swept along.
He’d been back in the UK for a couple of weeks, and the last few months in Canada seemed like another lifetime; someone else’s lifetime.
He let his eyes drop to half-mast, and thoughts of Canada fell away as he allowed himself to enjoy watching her.
The silky nylon whispered across her legs as she moved, the fabric of the dress had a slight shimmer as it stretched to accommodate her thighs as she uncurled her legs, propping dainty feet alongside his on the chair.
Six months ago, he wouldn’t have considered the nightmare situation of starting something with a colleague. But things changed, and he was more aware than ever, that life was too sodding short.
“I’m off to Cologne in October to review a collection for next spring. Where has Jase got you jetting off to?”
Lightly arching his back, he raised his brows at her. “Nowhere yet. I’ve been a few years here, there and everywhere, and I’m looking to steer clear of airports and departure lounges for a while. Do you travel a lot?”
“Not really.” She smoothly swirled the contents of her glass. “A couple of times a year, to view a big collection that we’re looking to host.” She gave a noncommittal shrug as she gazed across the roof tops. “Or the occasional stop-over if there’s something really special that Jason thinks we need to assess.” Taking a last sip, she turned to him. The whisky had brought a warm flush across her cheekbones, and a relaxed sparkle to her gaze.
“The sun’s going down.”
He nodded. “So it is. Fancy a walk?”
He knew what she was thinking, watched the fleeting disappointment whisper in her eyes as she looked at him; knew she was readying herself to make the speech. A speech he’d made before, about how they worked together, and it wouldn’t be a good idea…
“I’m staying at The Rembrandt till I find somewhere. You’re close by, aren’t you?”
A slight smile tipped her mouth. “Hmmm, literally right behind the hotel, on Alexander Square.”
Coming to his feet he kept his back to her as he reached for his jacket, hiding his lustful smirk. “I may as well walk you home then.”