IF ART HAD planned on dropping a bomb in her life then he’d succeeded.
He still wanted her. He still wanted to take her to his bed. He still wanted to do all those things to her that she still wanted to do to him.
When Rose thought about that she felt giddy. She knew that, by being honest, he had deliberately dropped that bomb to wreak havoc with her peace of mind. Honest or selfish? Did he really care if he ended up getting what he wanted? He’d got her to London under false pretences and now he was playing a waiting game.
It had only been forty-eight hours but already her nerves were shredded. She felt like a minnow being slowly circled by a shark and, worse, the minnow was finding it hard to stop fantasising about its predator.
Now, he was taking her out to an elaborate dinner.
‘Networking,’ he had explained succinctly, having earlier dropped by her office, which had also turned into her sanctuary, where she could find a brief reprieve from his overwhelming personality.
She had looked up and given him a perplexed frown, which had clearly done nothing to dampen his high spirits.
‘I’m not here to network.’
‘Granted, but this is a charity event hosted by some fairly prominent members of the international legal community. All those causes you take such an interest in? Well, they’ll be represented across the board. Several people you’ll have heard of will also be giving speeches and, for the intrepid, I gather there will be an opportunity to go abroad to places where civil liberties are at risk. You may not want to personally vanish to the opposite side of the globe on a crusade to eradicate injustice, but you might be interested in meeting fellow like-minded citizens who are.’
‘A charity event?’
‘Reasonably smart, I should point out, as these things invariably are. A few degrees off black tie.’
‘I haven’t brought any smart clothes with me, Art.’
‘Nothing but the hands-off suits that could have been designed to deter roving eyes and repel curious hands,’ he murmured, in his first departure from the perfectly well-behaved gentleman he had been since his warning of intent. ‘Why don’t you get yourself something? You can charge it to my company account. Elaine, my PA, will sort that out for you.’
‘I couldn’t...’
He’d shrugged but he’d dropped the bait and she’d taken it.
How could she not?
Rose immediately told herself that it didn’t mean anything. She’d been presented with an opportunity to meet people she admired so why shouldn’t she grab the chance just because Art had arranged it? She could pat herself on the back for not letting his suffocating presence plunge her into a state of permanent confusion. And since he seemed convinced that she wouldn’t take him up on his offer to subsidise an evening dress for the event, then why shouldn’t she prove him wrong and do what he least expected?
Rose wasn’t stupid. She knew how to sift through the deceit and ferret out the truth. Art had descended on their village with one thing in mind and that had been to persuade her to stop the protests that were slowing up development of the land he’d bought. He could have run roughshod over all of them because he had the law on his side but he was clever enough to know that a diplomatic solution would have been preferable and so that was the road he had decided to go down.
He hadn’t banked on her being a nuisance and getting in his way but he’d found her attractive and she knew why. It was because she represented everything he wasn’t accustomed to. From the way she dressed to the person that she was, she was a woman far removed from the stereotypes he was used to dating and he had found that appealing.
He went out with catwalk models. Nothing could have been further than a pro bono lawyer whose wardrobe consisted of flowing skirts, baggy tops, faded jeans and waterproof anoraks.
She’d been a trip down novelty lane and that hurt.
When Rose tried to equate that to her own feelings towards him she drew a blank because she had been drawn to him against all good reason.
It didn’t make sense but everything about his personality had appealed to her. She’d been cautious but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist the pull of his intelligence, his easy wit, his charm. Was she more like her mother than she realised? It didn’t matter whether her mother had been a loyal wife. When her husband had died she had behaved in a way that had had lasting consequences for her daughter. She had been promiscuous and eventually she had ended up with a guy who had been so out of her league that it was a mystery that they had lasted as long as they had. Rose had been careful all her life not to repeat any of the mistakes her mother had made and it frightened her when she thought of where she was now.
She had opened up to Art. Even before he had shown his true colours, she had known that he wasn’t the kind of man who should have registered on her radar, but she had still fallen for him and she had actually fooled herself into thinking that he might have had similar feelings for her.
Not so.
For Art, it was all about the sex, hence his openness in telling her straight off the bat that he still wanted her. Had she given off some kind of pheromone that had alerted him to the fact that she still fancied him?
That horrified her but she was honest enough to realise that it had probably been the case because, the second she was in his presence, her head and her body took off in two different directions and she was left rudderless and floundering and he was a guy who could pick up on things like that in a heartbeat.
With her thoughts all over the place and her body threatening to go its own way and let the side down, Rose had gone to town shopping for something to wear to the charity event.
Part of her was determined to show him that she was more than just a country bumpkin lawyer with no dress sense.
Another part was curious to see whether, exposed to the sort of gathering that didn’t frequently occur in her life out in the sticks, she would find that there were other interesting men out there. That Art hadn’t netted all her attention to the exclusion of everyone else. Had he been as much of a novelty for her as she had been for him? Was she giving him too much credit for having burrowed into the heart of her when, in fact, she had just been vulnerable to a charming man because she’d been out of the dating scene for too long?
To this end, she had gone all out and now, with a mere forty minutes to go before Art’s driver called for her, Rose contemplated her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror with satisfaction.
In the background, she absently took in the sumptuous surroundings that had made her gasp the first time she had entered the hotel room. The lush curtains, the blonde wood, the pale marbled bathroom...the decadent chandelier that should have been over the top but wasn’t...the handmade desk on which was stacked fine quality personalised stationery and a comprehensive collection of London guidebooks which she had had precious little time to peruse.
She refocused on her reflection.
She had gone for drama and chosen a figure-hugging dress in a striking shade of raspberry. The narrowness of her waist was emphasised by a silver corded belt that lent the outfit a Roman appeal and the dress fell elegantly to mid-calf. In nude heels, her legs looked longer and her body more willowy than she had ever noticed before.
And her hair. It fell in tousled waves along her shoulders and down her back and was as soft as silk because she had managed to squeeze in an appointment with a hairdresser, who had done some wonderful things with highlights and blow-dried it in a way she couldn’t possibly have done herself.
She’d also bought a shawl in the same nude shade as the heels and she slung that over her shoulders and smiled, excited.
She felt like an exotic bird of paradise.
For the first time in her life, Rose wasn’t being cautious. No, she amended, gathering all her stuff as her cell phone buzzed, alerting her to the arrival of the driver...
She’d already thrown caution to the winds when she’d jumped into bed with Art. She was just carrying on in a similar vein and enjoying herself in the process.
It was sufficient to bring a guilty tinge to her cheeks but she was composed as she slid into the back of the glossy Mercedes and she maintained that composure all the way to the venue and right up to the moment she spied Art, who was waiting for her, as arranged, in the lobby of the hotel.
Stepping out of the car, with the door held open by one of the parking attendants who had sprung into action the second the car had pulled up, made her feel like a movie star.
This was more than just fancy. There were journalists snapping pictures of the arriving guests. In a daze, she realised that she recognised faces from the world of movies and television and one or two prominent politicians and their other halves.
But all those faces faded into a blur alongside Art, who had begun moving towards her and, in the process, created a bubble of excitement around him.
He looked magnificent. The whiteness of his dress shirt emphasised his bronzed complexion. The black bow tie looked ridiculously sexy instead of stuffy, as did the very proper black suit.
Rose was barely aware of him moving to politely usher her inside.
‘You look,’ he breathed without looking at her and only inclining slightly so that he couldn’t be overheard, ‘sensational. Was that the intention?’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ But her pulse raced and she shivered with wild pleasure at his husky undertone.
Art laughed as they strolled away from the lobby and into the impressive ballroom, which was buzzing with the great and the good. ‘Not a description that’s been used much about me but I’ll take it.’
‘I mean it. Look at the women here.’ She was holding onto him for dear life, very much aware that they were being stared at. ‘I recognise some of them from fashion magazines.’
‘And I thought that you never read anything as frivolous as a fashion magazine.’
‘But thank you for pretending that I look okay,’ Rose said distractedly.
‘Where’s this sudden attack of modesty sprung from?’ They’d left the paparazzi outside; there was still a sea of people but without the gawping of the public and the reporters. Art drew her to the side and looked down at her. ‘You’re the most self-confident woman I’ve ever met.’
‘When it comes to work...’
‘You knock spots off every woman in this place.’
Rose burst out laughing. If he wanted to put her at ease, then he was doing a good job of it. ‘I don’t. But thanks.’
‘You’re fishing.’
‘Of course I’m not!’
‘You know how I feel about you. The only thing I want to do right now is get you out of here and into a bed so that I can make love to you until we’re both too exhausted to carry on. I want to peel that dress off your luscious body and touch you in all the places I know you like being touched. So when I tell you that you put every other woman in the shade here, then trust me. I’m not kidding.’
‘Stop!’ Her blood was boiling and she was so very aware of him that she could barely think. ‘You know I don’t want you saying things like that...to me.’
‘Say that like you mean it.’
‘I do mean it. I’m just a little...nervous.’
* * *
‘No need. Look around you. If you were hoping to attract some glances, then you’ve succeeded.’ Art heard the edge in his voice and knew that it was a few degrees off the light, amused tone he had intended. She might not have noticed, but he had seen the way men had turned to have a second look. Most women were dressed to kill in black. Rose was a splash of exotic colour, a bird of paradise with her long wild hair and her strong intelligent face. She announced to the world that she was different and that was a very sexy trait. And not just to him.
Halfway through the evening, he realised that she had disappeared into the crowd. The man who was accustomed to a high level of irritation with women clinging like limpets to him at functions like this found that his irritation level was skyrocketing now and for a different reason.
Where the hell was she now? And why was he having to hunt for her?
It got on his nerves. She was a flash of red but, before he could pin her down, she was gone. Nursing a whisky while a blonde tried to get his attention, Art decided that, for Rose’s own good, he would take her back to the hotel.
‘Got to go.’ He interrupted the blonde abruptly. Pushing himself away from the wall, against which he had been leaning, he ignored a couple of MPs who had been trying to gain his attention.
Rose was laughing at something some guy was telling her. Art wasn’t born yesterday. He could recognise a man on the make a mile away.
He came to an abrupt towering halt in front of them and Rose blinked and frowned at him.
‘Mind if I interrupt?’ Art interrupted anyway. ‘I’ve barely seen you all evening...’
‘That’s because I’ve been chatting to all the interesting people here,’ Rose returned gaily, swiping a glass of wine from a passing waitress. ‘For instance, this is Steve and he does some amazing work for the UN.’
Steve reddened and straightened and stuck out his hand, clearly awed by Art, who felt ancient and cynical beyond his years in comparison. He politely asked a couple of interested questions but his attention was focused on Rose and his body language dismissed the young fair-haired man, who duly evaporated into the crowd after boldly exchanging phone numbers with Rose.
Which made Art’s teeth snap together with annoyance.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said without preamble.
‘But I’m not ready to leave yet.’
‘Tough. It’s been over four hours, which is two hours longer than I usually stay at these things.’
‘I’m having fun. There’s no need for us to leave together, is there?’ Rose squinted at his darkly disapproving expression. ‘I know,’ she pressed on, ‘we came together, in a manner of speaking, but it’s not as though we’re on a date and there are so many more interesting people I still want to meet.’
‘Repeat. Tough. Anyway, don’t you think you’ve had your fill of interesting people? Or is the entire room interesting after a few glasses of Chablis?’
‘Not fair.’
Art shifted uncomfortably, recognising that she had a point. He raked his fingers through his hair and shot her a frowning glance. ‘I apologise.’ He tugged and undid the bow tie. ‘But you’ve had a few drinks and you’re not accustomed to that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here on your own to get on with the rest of what remains of the evening.’
‘Do you think the poor little country girl might end up making a fool of herself? These shoes are killing me, by the way. Are there any chairs around here?’
‘I think the poor little country girl might end up finding herself in slightly more hot water than she bargained for. And not many chairs, no. The expectation is for networking, not falling asleep in an armchair.’
‘What do you mean about me finding myself in hot water?’
‘You’re sexy when you get angry.’
Rose blushed and pouted. ‘Don’t try to change the subject. What do you mean? I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it most of my life.’
‘This isn’t a quiet, sleepy village in the middle of nowhere.’ Art didn’t care how this sounded. There was no way he was going to leave her here on her own. The thought of predators circling her, moving in for the kill, made him see red. She was stunning and part of her appeal was the fact that she was so natural, so utterly without pretence, so patently open and honest. Aligned to her intelligence and her dramatic looks...well, it was a recipe for disaster in the big, bad city. If she didn’t see that, then it was just as well that she had him around to see it on her behalf.
‘I’d noticed, now that you mention it.’
‘Have you paid any attention to the number of lechers who have been hanging around you all evening?’
‘Have you?’
Art flushed. ‘You came with me. I can’t be blamed for wanting to look out for you.’
Rose’s mouth twitched.
Art noted the way her pupils dilated and her eyes widened. He clocked the way her breath hitched and was suddenly turned on in a way that shocked him in its ferocity.
‘Should I be grateful?’ Rose breathed huskily.
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’ The entire roomful of people could have evaporated. There was just the two of them, locked in a bubble in which he was acutely sensitive to every fleeting expression on her face, to the rasping of her breath and the deep, deep longing in her eyes.
‘Don’t look at me as though you want to touch me. Do that and you’re playing with fire.’
‘I started playing with fire the minute you came into my life,’ Rose said in a tone of complete honesty.
‘We should go,’ Art told her roughly, leading the way, his hand cupping her elbow.
She was coming on to him. He felt it and, much as he would have liked nothing better than to have followed up on those hot little signals she was giving off, a tipsy Rose wasn’t going to do. He wanted her sober and desperate for him, the way he was desperate for her. Nothing else would do.
It was cool and crisp outside and his car was waiting. Art propelled her into it and slid alongside her in the back seat.
‘Do you think you have to show me to my door just in case I get waylaid by some of those lecherous men you seem to think are waiting around every corner for a country bumpkin like me?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘It’s the dress. It stands out. When you said that it was going to be smart I had no idea what to buy. I didn’t think that everyone would show up in black.’
‘I could have warned you. Those functions are usually deadly. Black is an appropriate colour. Anyway, it’s not the dress.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Their eyes tangled and she didn’t look away. She licked her lips, shivering in the burning intensity of his stare.
‘We’re here,’ Art murmured, relieved.
‘So we are. And just when I was beginning to enjoy the car ride.’
‘I take it you’re enjoying yourself,’ he responded once they were out of the car and making their way up to her suite.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Enjoying playing with me.’ Art shot her a wry smile. ‘You must know what you’re doing to me... I don’t play games when it comes to sex...’
‘You played a game with me when you slept with me.’ She slid the card key into the slot and pushed open the door to her room. When she walked in she didn’t push it shut behind her and she didn’t tell him that it was fine for him to leave now that he had done the gentlemanly thing and seen her safely to her door. She looked over her shoulder, face serious.
‘No game,’ Art muttered in a strangled voice. ‘The sex was for real. Stop looking at me like that... I’m not going to do anything, Rose. You...you’ve had a bit to drink. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what you’re playing with.’
‘Fire. You’ve told me that already. I’m playing with fire.’ The bed beckoned, oversized, draped in the finest Egyptian cottons and silk.
Rose turned to face him. The lighting in the room was mellow and forgiving. ‘I’ve had a bit to drink,’ she admitted without skipping a beat, ‘but I’m not the worse for wear. I’ve been drinking a lot of water in between the wine and I’ve also eaten for England. Those canapés were to die for.’ She walked towards him, kicking off the heels on the way. ‘Want me to walk a straight line for you?’
‘There’s a lot I want you to do for me and walking a straight line doesn’t figure.’
‘What? What would you like me to do for you? What about this?’ She reached down to cup the bulge between his legs and felt his swift intake of breath. Now or never.
Art pressed his hand over hers. He had to because, if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what his body was going to do at the pressure she was exerting on his arousal.
‘I want you.’ Rose maintained eye contact. She’d never seemed more sober. ‘When you told me who you really were I felt betrayed and deceived and I never, ever wanted to see you again.’ She moved her hand and reached up to link fingers behind his neck. It was as if she’d given herself permission to touch and it was all she wanted to do now. ‘I thought that it would be easy to put you behind me. How could I carry on wanting a guy who had used me?’
‘Rose...’
‘I know you’re going to go into a long spiel about why you did what you did but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I couldn’t put you behind me. It didn’t matter what you’d done, you’d still managed to get to me in ways...in ways I just never thought possible.’
‘You underestimated the power of sex,’ Art murmured, resting his hands on her narrow waist.
‘I thought that if I saw the real you, the unscrupulous billionaire, then I would be so turned off that this stupid attraction would wither and die.’
Art inclined his head and knew that he had felt something similar, that if he saw her out of her surroundings and in his own terrain then common sense would reassert itself. ‘No luck?’ He ran his fingers along her back then over her ribcage, leaving them tantalisingly close to her breasts, close enough for her to shiver and half close her eyes.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Rose practically wailed.
‘Some things don’t.’ Art hadn’t planned on taking her to bed, not tonight. But this wasn’t a Rose who was not in control of her faculties. This was a Rose who was so in control that she could vocalise why she was doing what she was doing. This was the Rose he knew—open, honest, forthright and willing to confront a difficult decision head-on.
She couldn’t have been a bigger turn-on.
Sex. The power of it. Never more than now was he forced to recognise the strength of body over mind. For someone always in control, this was like being thrown into a raging current without the benefit of a lifebelt. He looked forward to the challenge of battling against that current and emerging the victor.
He hooked his fingers beneath the straps of the sexy red dress and slid them down. She was wearing a silky bra that cupped her breasts like a film of gauze. Art groaned at the sight. The circular discs of her nipples were clearly visible, as was the stiffened bud tipping each pink sphere.
‘You gave your phone number to another man,’ he said illogically.
‘Were you jealous?’
‘I wanted to punch him straight into another continent.’
‘But you told me I should network...’
‘I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you.’
‘Take me,’ she breathed, reaching behind her to unhook the bra, which she shrugged off, stepping back then to unzip the dress at the side and then wriggling out of it so that she was standing in front of him in just her lacy panties.
‘Is this the wine talking?’ Art was close to the point of no return. She wasn’t tripping over her feet but there was no way he was going to get up close and personal with her, only to find himself pushed to one side because she’d fallen asleep on him. He intended to hear groans of pleasure as opposed to the snores of someone who’d had a glass too many.
He smiled at the image because if there was one woman alive who would fall asleep on him it was Rose.
‘You’re grinning.’ Rose began undressing him, clearly trying her best not to rush.
‘I’m grinning because I’m busy picturing you falling asleep on me and snoring like a trooper, leaving me with the consolation prize of a cold shower.’
‘No chance of that,’ Rose said huskily. ‘You don’t have to worry that I’m under the influence.’ She shot him a wicked look from under her lashes. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re so lacking in self-confidence that you think a woman will only sleep with you if she’s had one too many.’
‘Wench...’ But he burst out laughing and propelled her gently back in the direction of the bed, simultaneously completing the job she had begun of getting rid of his clothes. ‘Shall I show you how timid and lacking in confidence I am when it comes to pleasuring a woman?’
Rose hit the bed and flopped back onto it, laughing and pulling him down towards her.
‘Please,’ she breathed, arching up to kiss him. ‘Please, please, please... That’s exactly what I want...’