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A rueful smile curved his lips and she thought he whispered, ‘Pity.’
‘Sorry?’ Was it her imagination or was there a twinkle of mischief in his eyes?
‘Nothing,’ he murmured, but the twinkle didn’t dim one bit.
The simple sapphire tunic skimmed the top of her thighs and was one of her favourites of Nessa’s designs, but the short sleeves and plunging neckline meant wearing it without a coat was a good way to get hypothermia in December. The fragile, bias-cut fabric moulded to her figure as the wind brushed against her skin and made her shiver. She clamped her teeth together to stop them chattering and jumped when his warm palm settled on the small of her back.
‘Here.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and draped the garment over her shoulders. ‘I’ll take that.’ He lifted her coat out of her arms.
She gripped the lapels of his jacket, the tailored silk dwarfing her as he placed his hand on her hip and led her through the revolving doors into the marble lobby. The fragrance of the roses, freshly cut pine boughs and cinnamon sticks arranged in giant urns by the reception desk greeted them, but did nothing to mask the scent of soap and man that clung to his jacket.
‘Wait here.’
Crossing to the desk, he handed over her coat to one of the uniformed receptionists, who took the wet garment without showing a hint of surprise, then sent Cassie an efficient smile. As if it were perfectly normal for half-dressed women to track mud over their foyer.
Cassie tried to look invisible in Jace’s jacket as he led her through an ornately furnished lounge accented by deep-seated sofas in tartan upholstery, polished mahogany occasional tables and wrought-iron planters overflowing with winter flora. A scattering of perfectly dressed people sipped afternoon tea from delicate china cups and watched her pass.
Fabulous. She felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball in her rags.
When they stepped into the lift, she eased back against the panelling, still clinging to the jacket. ‘This place is seriously posh.’
He huffed out a laugh. ‘Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re just rich, they’re not royalty. Or at least most of them aren’t.’
‘Fabulous,’ she said wryly.
He chuckled again, shoving one hand into his pocket as he stabbed the top button on the display panel. She tried not to notice the way the movement made the linen of his shirt tighten across one broad shoulder.
His gaze took a leisurely trip down to her biker boots and back again as the lift whisked through the floors. She clamped down on the sudden wish to have him like what he saw.
Been there, done that, got the battered ego to prove it.
But when his eyes lifted to her face at last, the beat of anticipation still throbbed in her ears.
‘Money doesn’t buy you class,’ he said. ‘I ought to know.’
Sympathy welled and lodged in her throat, the blunt statement reminding her of the angry boy he’d once been. No one had ever found out that much about him at Hillsdown Road, his air of mystery only tantalising his army of admirers more. But one thing she did know was that he’d come from a ‘bad home’, because she’d overheard Ms Tremall, the head of the sixth form, talking about him to the headmaster, Mr Gates.
‘You’ve got more than enough class to go round now,’ she said passionately, the injustice of the teacher’s whispered comments surging back.
Like all the rest of the school staff, Tremall and Gates had condemned him because of his background and never given him the benefit of the doubt.
His eyebrow arched at her rabble-rousing tone. ‘It’s not class. It’s money,’ he said, with more than a hint of irony. ‘But I find it does the job just as well.’
The relaxed statement made her feel foolish. Who exactly did she think she was defending here? He certainly wasn’t that troubled boy any more. In fact, from his exceedingly posh digs, he was most likely a millionaire. She shook the thought off. Probably best not to go there given her already thriving inferiority complex.
The lift bell pinged and the doors slid back to reveal a marble lobby area only slightly less palatial than the one downstairs.
Here too, a tall vase filled with dark red lilies gave the carved stone and gilded plasterwork a Christmas glow. Using his key card to open a mahogany door, he stood back as she walked into a vaulted hallway that led into a suite of rooms.
Cassie came to an abrupt halt, dismayed by the deep-pile carpeting that led down the corridor into what looked like a large living room.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, lifting the jacket off her shoulders.
‘I should take off my boots.’ Mud would not look good on all that magnolia.
‘Go ahead.’ He slung the jacket over a chair. ‘I’ll call Housekeeping and get them polished while your coat’s cooking.’
‘That’s … Thanks,’ she said, embarrassed.
