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‘Temple Corp, huh? I’ve heard of them,’ he said.
She remembered he had no way of knowing yet that Temple was considering investing in his company. Her panic downgraded a notch.
Until he asked, ‘So how do you know Remy and Matt?’
Anxiety kicked in as she struggled to recall the story she’d invented on her eleven-hour flight. But then something Ashling had once said to her—after they had sneaked out of her father’s stultifying house one Saturday, for a day of adventure in Soho, and ended up getting interrogated by her governess—rippled through her consciousness...
‘If you have to tell a lie, I’ve heard it’s better to stick to the truth as much as possible.’
‘Actually, I don’t know the grooms,’ she confided. ‘I’m here as Temple’s representative. He wanted to pay his respects, but he couldn’t make it himself.’
Which wasn’t actually a lie. Temple Corp was one of Remy Carlton and Matt Donnelly’s biggest clients, because Temple always preferred to use their boutique hotels whenever he travelled, and his invitation to the wedding had been entirely genuine.
Broussard nodded, but a small frown appeared on his brow. ‘That’s a thing now?’
‘What’s a thing?’ she asked, panicked again by his sceptical look. She really was not cut out for industrial espionage, however slight. It was already hard enough to keep hold of the conversation when the sensation now sprinting up her spine was turning her nipples into lethal weapons.
Please don’t let him notice I’m not wearing a bra.
‘Getting your executive assistant to stand in for you at social events,’ Broussard supplied, then gave another of those rough chuckles which tickled her right down to her toes. ‘I need to get me an executive assistant like you. I hate being sociable.’
‘Are you kidding? You’re a lot better at it than I am,’ she said bluntly, her guilty conscience loosening her tongue.
This time he threw back his head to laugh, giving her a glimpse of the strong column of his throat and the tattoo peeking above the open collar of his shirt.
That strange bubble of exhilaration burst in her chest when that dangerous green gaze met hers again and she saw approval in his eyes.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re super-cute, Cassandra?’
Efficient? Professional? Smart? Boringly conventional? Yes. Super-cute...?
‘Um...no, never.’
He continued to chuckle, his playful grin making his rugged features look almost boyish. ‘Have you ever been to the city before?’
‘No, I’ve never been to Frisco before,’ she said.
‘I can tell,’ he said, wincing theatrically.
‘How?’ she asked, mesmerised all over again by the approving look.
‘If you’d ever been before you’d know what the locals think of that nickname.’
‘Frisco is bad?’ she asked.
‘Frisco can get you a one-way ticket to Alcatraz. I found that out the hard way when I moved here.’
‘Good to know.’ She grinned.
Were they flirting? Why had she never tried this before? It was actually fun. And she wasn’t as horrendous at it as she had assumed.
‘How about we get the hell out of here?’ he said as he lifted her now empty glass from her numb fingers. He placed it and his own on a wooden bench. ‘Seeing as being social really isn’t our thing, I could show you the city they don’t call Frisco.’
The husky intimacy in his tone, and the intensity darkening his gaze to a rich emerald, made it clear that the offer was loaded with all sorts of possibilities—not one of them safe.
For a fleeting moment it occurred to her that accepting Luke Broussard’s offer would be the perfect opportunity to find out more about him for Temple... But she knew that wasn’t why she wanted to say yes.
She felt light-headed, detached from reality. Every practical and pragmatic consideration in her head was becoming soft and fuzzy and insubstantial as a heady shot of adrenaline powered through her veins.
