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He looked at her for a long moment and then stood back, indicating with a hand. ‘Please—ladies first.’
Irritated that the wind had been knocked out of her—literally—Lia had no choice but to proceed to the front door, where a doorman was waiting, holding the door open, tipping his hat to her as she entered.
She heard him say to the man behind her, ‘Welcome back, Mr Carter.’
‘Thank you, Tom, always a pleasure.’
Lia felt like scowling at his smooth delivery, even though she had to acknowledge that her first cataclysmic encounter with the man didn’t make her think of smooth at all. It had brought to mind lots of things—none of which were smooth. Big, powerful, strong. Immovable. That was what came to mind.
He was behind her now and she could smell his scent—as masculine as he was, and evocative more than overpowering.
The maître d’ came forward to greet them at the entrance to the dark and lushly decorated bar, clicking his fingers for a staff member to come and divest them of their coats. Lia wanted to protest that she wasn’t staying long, but before she could speak their coats had expertly been taken and she was being led further into the seductive space, to an intimate table for two at the back.
Giving in to the inevitability of at least explaining herself to this man, she slid into the velvet banquette seat at the wall and watched as Benjamin Carter folded his tall frame into a seat opposite her. She sucked in as much oxygen as she could, desperately hoping that her sense of equilibrium would return after the shock of that impact.
Now his coat was gone she saw that he wore a three-piece suit. Dark grey tie. She also recognised with a disturbing flash of heat, that in spite of his very suave exterior there was an unmistakable edge of something dangerous and uncivilised about the man. It was in the way his muscles pushed against the fabric of his jacket. As if he was more warrior than urbane businessman.
That realisation sent a shard of panic to her gut, and with a rush Lia started to speak. ‘Look, Mr Carter—’
The words dried up when he held out his hand and smiled, drawing her gaze helplessly to his mouth. A full lower lip and a slightly thinner upper lip—diminishing any prettiness and giving him that sensual edge that made her aware of him in a way that no man had ever made her feel before. Certainly not her ex-fiancé.
‘Forgive me. I never introduced myself properly, I’m Benjamin Carter.’
A lifetime of manners being drummed into her by her father and strict boarding schools couldn’t let her ignore his hand. She reached out, intending it to be a sterile and quick transaction, but the first thing that registered when his hand encompassed hers was a surprising roughness, which only reinforced her impression of him being less civilised than he looked.
She felt a pulse throb between her legs...her intimate flesh reacting to his touch. It was so powerful that she pressed her thighs together, and her fingers tightened reflexively around his in reaction as she said faintly, ‘I’m Julianna—Julianna Ford.’
* * *
As slim, feminine fingers tightened around his all Ben could think about was how it would feel when other, more intimate muscles would tighten around a more sensitive part of his anatomy. He’d never had such an immediately carnal response to a woman, but the feel of her slimly curvaceous body colliding with his outside the hotel had had an impact he couldn’t ignore.
He’d seen her from across the street, an intent look on her face, a small frown between her eyes. And then, as her long legs had closed the distance between them, he’d been too mesmerised by her graceful movements to budge an inch.
And then she’d cannoned straight into him.
The lush imprint of her soft breasts against his chest was still vivid. As soon as their bodies had collided lust had hit him like an injection of adrenalin to his heart. And it hadn’t been one-sided; he’d seen the effect on her too. Those widening shocked eyes. Her cheeks flooding with colour. Her hands tightening around his arms. She was tall enough for him to have just dipped his head down slightly to claim that provocative mouth, if he’d so wished.
And now he was drowning in dark blue eyes, glossy dark brown hair, pale ivory skin and that mouth, so sweetly curved it was all he could do not to sweep the table to one side and devour her right here.
She was stunning. Exquisite.
And she was pulling her hand back from his now with a little tug. He let her go, reluctantly.
A waiter came to take their drinks order. Julianna appeared flustered for a moment, and then quickly ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Ben ordered a soda water.
When they were alone again Ben dragged his mind out of the carnal gutter and said, ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’
She looked at him and his blood surged south and his flesh hardened. Ben cursed the rush of rogue hormones. It wasn’t even as if she was wearing anything overtly provocative. A pale silk shirt that was buttoned to her throat and a dark pencil skirt. Discreet make-up and jewellery. High heels. Classic. Elegant. But as far as his libido was concerned she might as well be naked.
‘Look—’ she said, but was cut off when the waiter returned with their drinks, setting them down.
Ben noticed that she took a swift sip of the amber liquid before putting the glass down again.
She appeared edgy all of a sudden, and he made allowances for the fact that she was nervous, saying, ‘I believe you’re only here for a week? You’re based in London?’
She swallowed and his eyes followed the movement. Even that small movement was graceful. Her refined elegance was impacting upon him somewhere deep. And it surprised him. He’d long ago rejected the cool upper-class beauties who thronged around him—drawn by the hard shell he knew he wore, hewn over years of hard graft as he’d remoulded himself into something much more durable. He knew they were attracted to the rough edges he’d acquired. They didn’t want to know he’d once been one of them. They only wanted the thrill of thinking they were with someone vaguely dangerous. Rough. Someone whose industry was gritty. Base.
He took pleasure in rejecting them because he rejected that world—and yet here he was, sitting mere inches away from a woman who could put all those other society bitches in the shade with a mere arching of her elegant brow. And his blood was pumping so hard and so hot he could hardly think straight.
