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Unaccountably she flashed back to how last night had ended. Even now her cheeks grew warm as she remembered Luke’s condoms, like neon signs pulsing on her bedside table. He probably hadn’t thought anything of it, but she had blushed, and he’d certainly seen that, and she had spent last night tossing and turning—convinced he’d seen through her to the gauche girl she sometimes felt herself still to be. That was before Joe Carnegie had torn the scales from her eyes.
He was studying her face, her pink cheeks, lingering on her mouth. ‘You are a gorgeous woman, Clementine.’
She’d been told that before, although it wasn’t strictly true. She was far from being a beauty. Her nose was slightly too long, her chin a little pointed, and she had too many freckles…
‘Am I?’ She made herself hold his gaze. ‘Is that what you came to tell me?’
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’
Oh, she liked that. ‘I’m flattered.’
His eyes were knowing, full of promise. They were playing some sort of game, she recognised, except she didn’t know the rules.
‘I’ve got a proposal for you, kisa.’
Clementine gave an internal sigh of relief. Mentally she began shifting her entire afternoon. Surely she could carve out a few hours before the launch, when all the work had been done, and she had planned to take a nap and get ready for the evening.
She really, really wanted to spend more time with him.
Serge studied her expectant expression and the rest of her, liking what he saw. She was all dressed up this morning, in a dark blue suit, but managed by dint of the pinched waist of her jacket and the cling of her pencil skirt to look outrageously sexy. In a classy sort of way. This look played havoc with his hormones in a way the tight leather skirt hadn’t. He liked her all covered up. It made it more of a challenge to imagine what was underneath.
Well, here went nothing.
‘I’ve got to fly to New York City tomorrow on business, I’d like you to come with me.’
Clementine felt as if she’d been slammed at speed into a wall.
‘I’m staying in the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons for a week. I think you’d enjoy yourself, Clementine—a little pampering, some nice restaurants, buying you some pretty dresses, see a show…me.’
Him. Clementine felt sick. She was thrust back in time to Joe’s smooth delivery as she had bleated across the table at him, ‘But I don’t want you to buy me a place to live. Anyway, I have a place to live.’ And he’d frowned and told her he wasn’t spending his free time in London shagging her in a shared flat.
That brutal. And that fast she’d lost all her girlish illusions. The next morning the newspaper had shredded her self-respect.
‘I understand it’s presumptuous, but I need to be there, and I think we have something, Clementine. I’d like to explore that.’
She picked herself up and brushed herself off. ‘Would you?’ Her voice came out like a shard of ice.
It was happening all over again.
He was offering her stuff as if she were for sale. As if her body was for sale. Because come with me to New York City, baby wasn’t an invitation to enjoy his hospitality without serving herself up to him on a plate.
More fool her.
All she’d wanted was a date. A chance to spend some more time with him, get to know him. All of it hopelessly naive.
Right in front of her was the reason she had tried to settle down with boys who didn’t push, who weren’t driven by their libidos—nice, gentle guys who in the end left her cold. Men like Serge were the other end of the spectrum—exciting, challenging, but fuelled by testosterone, confident in their ability to run the world on their own terms and by extension run her.
Well, she was running in the other direction. She’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t some rich man’s plaything.
She stood up so abruptly her chair almost toppled over onto the pavement. ‘That’s quite an offer, Serge, but I think you’ve got the wrong girl,’ she said hotly.
He was on his feet, not looking so sure of himself now. She could actually see him thinking. Probably working out which girl was next on his list to invite for a little nookie in New York. God, men could make you feel like crap.
‘Clem?’
She turned as Luke’s hands closed around her upper arms.
‘Are you okay, babe?’ He was looking Serge up and down. ‘Have you upset her, mate?’
Given any other situation, Luke’s suddenly aggressive stance in support of her would have been amusing. It was kind of like a meerkat standing up to a Siberian tiger.
Serge’s gaze had narrowed on Luke’s hands, and she couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Did he actually think she now belonged to him? One date and her body was his to ship off to his penthouse for his use? Was he going to take on Luke? Because she didn’t think her gentle friend was going to come off pretty face intact!
