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‘Right, now, who says I’m not just interested in you?’
Far from delighting her, it earned him a withering glare from his companion.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘True.’ The accusation scratched its way under his skin despite his attempt to let it roll off him. Usually, it was a line delivered with considerably more aplomb. A truth in the face of irrefutable physical evidence.
‘I also know that as much as you’re pretending to want to pull your hand away, the flare in your eyes and the way your breath has quickened tell me that what bothers you most isn’t that you don’t want me touching you, but that a part of you is enjoying it far more than you think you should.’
* * *
Alex really defined the idea that beauty was more than just skin deep. He admired her passion. He admired her drive. He admired the lift of her head as she met his gaze proudly, the cool smile on her lips enough to fool the casual observer.
‘You’re mistaken, but then with an ego as big as yours that shouldn’t surprise me. But I’m not pulling away because I know that if we go ahead with this charade then I can’t afford to look like I’m not interested in you.’
‘You keep telling yourself that. We can both feel the attraction here.’
His smile sharpened, tugging low in his stomach like a primal challenge.
‘You’re a pitiable Lothario.’
‘I freely confess to the latter; however, I’m fairly sure no one’s called me pitiable before.’ He chuckled. ‘At least, not to my face.’
‘I’m equally sure you haven’t been called plenty of things to your face,’ Alex bantered quickly, ‘but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been called them.’
Unperturbed, he lifted his wine glass to his lips and prepared to take a sip, the hint of a smirk deliberately moulding his mouth.
‘Oh, no doubt.’
There was no reason on earth for him to get such a kick out of bringing out a side of her that other people didn’t seem to see.
‘You really don’t care at all, do you?’
There was also no reason for her disdain to needle him the way that it did. For him to go from amused to regretful. For it to suddenly be so hard for his practised smirk to stay in place.
Since he was seven years old he’d spent his life ensuring he never cared about what people thought. Because the only person whose opinion had ever mattered hadn’t cared enough about him to stick around. People could say and think whatever they liked, it had never bothered him. If anything, it had been mildly entertaining.
There was no reason on earth why he should experience even a trickle of regret when he wondered how Alex might judge him.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ She was trying to sound scornful but it lacked the necessary bite. ‘It’s etched into every apathetic bone in your body.’
‘I’m glad you’ve been paying so much attention.’
‘You play up to those cameras, don’t you? Give them the volatile Louis show they all love to see? Play the buffoon? And know you get away with it because half the female population seems to be in lust with you.’
It should antagonise him more. People simply didn’t defy him. Instead, he found himself relishing her tenacity. Her refusal to be intimidated.
‘You exaggerate your court-jester routine, your insouciance, and your sexual prowess.’
‘Trust me, there’s nothing remotely exaggerated about my sexual prowess.’
He savoured the way she flushed, the increased rise and fall of her chest, the darkening of her pupils, the faint flare of her nostrils. He told himself that he only cared because it would make it easier to deceive the paparazzi if there was at least a degree of genuine chemistry between the two of them.
He knew it was a lie.
‘So,’ she continued after a moment, ‘this afternoon I told you why Rainbow House mattered to me when I told you about my brother Jack. Now you’re going to tell me why Rainbow House is so important to you.’
