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‘Do you think it would work? For the kinds of events you were talking about...’
Mon Dieu, she was asking him for fashion advice.
‘Selene gave me an itinerary,’ she continued, the words pouring out as her nerves got the better of her. ‘So I know what we’re doing. But I’ve never been to the theatre before. Or the opening of an art gallery... So I had to wing it, and rely on some Internet research to figure out what to...’ A guilty flush flowed into her cheeks. ‘What to bring with me.’
He sat for a moment, trying to wrestle his libido under control and come up with a credible answer. Because it seemed to be important to her. And silently cursed his personal assistant. Why hadn’t Selene employed an expert to help Alison with her wardrobe? Surely there were people who could advise you on your clothing? He was fairly sure he’d shelled out a small fortune for such a person for Mira. But it was too late to suggest that now. He didn’t want to make her more nervous or unsure of herself.
‘Alison, your outfit is stunning,’ he said with feeling, giving the flowing lines of the suit another once-over. That at least was certainly not a lie. ‘It will do perfectly.’
Who the hell cared if what she was wearing was the norm, or suitable? he decided. She looked incredible in the suit—enough to tie his libido into knots in sixty seconds or less.
‘You really think so? You like the suit?’ she asked, and he could hear her insecurity again. ‘It’s what you had in mind?’
‘I love the suit. And I didn’t have anything particular in mind,’ he said, because the truth was what she would be wearing had not featured at all in any of the many, many erotic fantasies he’d entertained about her in the last week. ‘Women’s fashions are not my forte,’ he added, just in case that wasn’t entirely obvious. ‘But on the basis of this outfit, I’m looking forward to seeing whatever else you’ve selected for this trip.’ Which wasn’t truth either, because he’d been looking forward to stripping her out of her new wardrobe a great deal more. But the tentative smile that curved her lips made him glad he’d lied. ‘Does that set your mind at rest?’ he finished, trying to keep his mind at least nominally out of his pants and on the main reason why she was with him in New York.
Good to know at least one of us is able to do that.
The sheen of pleasure made the amber of her eyes twinkle in the sinking sunlight streaming through the car window, the distinctive hue becoming all the more captivating.
His pulse bumped his own collarbone as the irony of the situation occurred to him.
How exactly had he ended up having to persuade his own fiancée how attractive he found her?
‘I’m so glad you like it,’ she said, emotion thickening her voice. ‘It means a lot to me.’
He steeled himself against the visceral tug of heat in his groin and the unsettling realisation she was genuinely moved by his compliment.
He’d never had a problem complimenting women on their appearance, especially when they looked as exquisite as Alison did in that moment, but there was something about her gratitude that reminded him of the little girl who had followed him around that summer, and how he’d clung to the open adoration in her eyes.
He cut off the thought, determined to forget the lost children they’d been that summer.
He wasn’t that reckless, unhappy boy any more, desperate for any sign of approval. And she wasn’t that little girl who had sho
wered him with such unguarded affection.
He’d needed her to like him all those years ago—because under the veneer of teenage hostility and indifference, he’d been scared and confused, unable to understand why his father hated him so.
But he certainly did not need Alison—or anyone else—to like him now.
His phone vibrated, breaking the strange spell. He pulled it out of his pocket. And read the text from his business manager.
We have a problem with the Consortium. Mira Kensington just sold her story to the London Post.
He swore viciously under his breath and clicked on the call button.
Stop being a damn sap, LeGrand. Time to focus on what this marriage is actually supposed to achieve, instead of what it isn’t.
* * *
‘Dominic, is everything okay?’ Ally asked as her fiancé swore in French.
‘Yes, but I need to take this call,’ he said, his tone curt and dismissive.
Everything didn’t sound okay as he spoke in hushed tones to whoever was on the other end of the line in a stream of furious French.
After picking up that the conversation had something to do with Mira, she turned back to the window and tried not to listen.
Because thinking about his ex-fiancée would destroy the happy buzz his compliments had triggered.
