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As nice as she could manage from a wardrobe designed for a life that had no social or romantic components.
Not that she’d thought it was nice when she’d put on the dark green sleeveless above-knee dress with matching three-inch sandals.
That verdict was his.
When she’d come out of her bedroom, flushed because he’d been across from her door when she was totally naked, he was watching the same sitcom episode she had been when he’d arrived.
He’d thrown his head back like a lazy feline, then had said one word. Nice.
The word itself was innocuous enough. It had been the way he’d looked at her and the way he’d said it, that lethal gaze and that purr of bone-liquefying seduction, that had swept her in flames of longing.
Not that she thought that was his objective. Seducing her was too far-fetched a motive behind everything he’d done so far. Her amusement factor remained the most probable reason.
She reeled all over again at the cascade of events that had led her to this point, where she was sitting beside him in his luxurious Lamborghini.
When he’d found her eyeing everything as if she feared touching it, he’d only said that he always bought Italian-made cars, as a nod to his heritage—which she shared. Knowing he was trying to disprove her “different species” comment without tackling it head-on, she’d countered that he found this car appealing not because of its country of origin but its million-dollar price tag. He’d only sighed about her continued gross misjudgments and, with a wiggle of an eyebrow, underestimates.
Feeling it would be obnoxious to criticize his personal spending habits, she’d instead questioned the absence of his limo and chauffeur. His response had been yet another blow to her equilibrium. That he hadn’t been about to pick her up for their first lunch together with another man around.
Another woman would have been flattered out of her mind, with all sorts of ludicrous hopes soaring. Her response had been to stress what self-preservation dictated this should be—their first and last lunch together.
He’d given her an enigmatic look and let her statement stand. Either he agreed, or he’d let her say whatever she wanted because he knew he’d get his way in the end anyway.
Now she stole another glance at his sonnet-worthy profile as he negotiated a stretch of unruly traffic in downtown LA. Questions spun faster inside her mind.
What exactly was his way? What could he want with her? It couldn’t be her as a woman that he was after. Could it?
Okay, so she was pretty enough, in what people called an unusual way. She’d had lots of interest from good-looking and successful guys. It had been her who’d been uninterested. A romance, or even a hookup, with all promised upsides, hadn’t been worth the consequences she’d obsessively calculated.
But in comparison, any guy was a straggly tomcat to this majestic lion beside her. Whatever her attractions to men, she couldn’t be up to his standards, not when he waded among the rare beauties of the world and didn’t give even them the time of day.
That brought her back to her one plausible theory. That she entertained him like none had ever done, intrigued him because she hadn’t fallen at his feet, and was still challenging him with every breath. Even as she melted inside.
“We’re here.”
His deep drawl jerked her out of her musings as he brought the car to a smooth stop. He sprang from the low-slung car fluidly, then rushed around to help her out. Her exit from the car was nowhere as seamless as his, his boost compromising her balance more, landing her against his unyielding strength.
He steadied her, that disturbing intimacy flaring in his eyes, and every primal urge in her fiercely wished she could remain engulfed in his heat and dominance and security.
As her ingrained aloofness kicked in and she stepped away from his support, a valet rushed to take the car away. Assorted other men in formal suits—she counted six—descended from two cars and stood at varying distances, clearly his bodyguards.
Following the trajectory of her gaze, Antonio sighed as he guided her over the curb to wide marble stairs. “That’s my partner Richard being overprotective. He’s Black Castle Enterprises’ security specialist, and his men follow us every second, till we die. If it’s up to him, we never will.”
Something dreadful lurched inside her at the thought of such an indomitable being dying.
His gaze stilled on her face, as if he’d felt the intensity of her reaction and was probing her mind for its cause. “I hope it’s not bothering you.”
She blinked up at him as they ascended the stairs toward an ornately carved mahogany double door. “Why should it?”
“Because you’re out with a man who allegedly needs that much protection. Not a comforting thought, I’m sure.”
That was what he’d thought had dismayed her?
Not that she could fault his inaccuracy. She’d given him no reason to think she’d be disturbed at the thought of his death. But she was, jarringly so.
“When we try to make him lay off, Richard tells us we’re lucky he posts guards at that distance. It’s pointless arguing with him when his only alternative is 24/7 surveillance much closer up.”
“He has a good reason for his vigilance,” she murmured. “You’re too high-profile. You’re as recognizable as any Hollywood celebrity, and much more influential. There must be many people whose lives would be easier with you out of the way.”
