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She rushed all her words out whilst keeping her eyes hovering somewhere around shoulder level. She was feeling a little embarrassed but she didn’t want to admit it. If he was saying sexual things, she was certainly thinking them—and up until this point in her life she hadn’t been that sort of girl at all.
Not that she didn’t think sexual thoughts—of course she did. They were just never this graphic and not about one man in particular. The man who happened to be standing in front of her.
‘I did not say anything sexual about you,’ he said tautly.
He actually sounded offended.
‘Sure you did. Your coach is obsessed with my bosoms, and he thinks I’m running some sort of sexual service for athletes. As for you…’
‘Da, Rose, what about me?’ He sounded interested.
Why didn’t you call me? She cringed inwardly at the teenage girl she had once been choosing this moment to come out. Honestly, this man was in Toronto for a few days and she was supposed to be rebuilding a life for herself. This wasn’t part of that picture—or was it? Funny ol’ matchmaker she was—single and alone. But all of a sudden none of that seemed to matter all that much.
‘You wouldn’t let me get dressed last night,’ she said uncomfortably.
There was a brief silence. ‘Rose.’ He was suddenly very close, and his hand curled under her chin, nudging it up so that she was forced to look at him. ‘I thought we’d had our little discussion about your underwear.’
‘I don’t remember,’ she lied, moistening her lips.
‘Just now I told Coach you were a force to be reckoned with, and that you could teach the Canadian officials a thing or two about getting the best deal out of us.’
Rose rolled her eyes. ‘You think my daddy raised a numbskull? Yes, right. And I’m sure you mentioned my female assets.’
‘Not a word.’ He pressed his thumb briefly to her lips and then dropped his hand away.
Their eyes met and a smile bracketed his mouth appealingly. She dropped her chin and laughed.
Suddenly everything felt a little too intimate. A little too much like the beginning of something…
Plato’s head shifted. He lifted the tiny headset he had connected to his shirt collar and listened. Rose made out a blur of sounds. His eyes never left hers but his expression grew tense.
He pulled out his cell. ‘Izvenitye, Rose, I have to make a call. I’ll make it brief.’
He walked away from her, big shoulders shifting as he moved, those long powerful legs taut beneath the cling of faithful dark denim. He took care of himself, that was for sure. He could take care of you too, a little inner voice murmured, and Rose cursed her suddenly very active libido.
He was walking back towards her, closing up the phone. His expression was shuttered.
‘I apologise, Rose, there’s something I have to take care of.’
His eyes didn’t leave hers as he retrieved a card from his inside pocket and slid it between her index and middle fingers. She noticed he didn’t release her hand.
‘This is my personal contact number. At eight o’clock tonight a car will pick you up and bring you to me. I’ve leased a house on the lake. We can resume the dinner that was so unfortunately rent asunder last night.’
He exerted the softest pressure on her hand, lifted it to his mouth and brushed his lips over her fingers folded around his card.
‘Which was, of course, entirely my fault.’
He released her and gave her one of those killer smiles, and it took Rose a few moments to realise he was waiting for her response. She had one. She just wasn’t sure it was anything he would understand. She didn’t quite understand herself. She had never been in receipt of quite this much controlled male intent, and it rendered what should be insulting incredibly enticing. She struggled to hold her defences in place. The only thing keeping her from melting in a puddle at his feet was his assurance that she was his for the night.
‘Can I walk you to your car?’
He sounded so formal her defences did a little slip-slide, because he was being such a gentleman…even as he insulted her intelligence.
‘No, you go,’ she said slowly. ‘You do what you need to do.’
He hesitated infinitesimally but Rose made herself smile nonchalantly, put a hand on her hip, playing up to the expectations he seemed to have of her for all she was worth because she had her pride. But deep inside her something she didn’t know had been unfurling curled itself up again.
She turned away and looked down at the card in her hand. How many contact numbers did a man like this have? she wondered.
