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She traced the outline of her lips with her tongue. “I guess you could say I have a nose for these things.”
“Do you? And do you target CEOs for your … pleasure?” He murmured, very still in a way that anyone who knew him would take as a warning.
“God, no,” she demurred, earning a lift of his brows.
“Who do you target, ordinarily?”
She pressed her lips together, confused by his line of questioning. She couldn’t have said why it offended her. “Target? You make it sound as though I’m dragging unwilling men into my lair for a night of debauchery.”
“I doubt any man would be unwilling in the face of your inducements.”
More offence slammed into her chest, and she wasn’t sure why. After all, she didn’t look for validation from any of the men she slept with. They were simply a bit of fun on the side of her real life. Some women shopped, others played tennis. She did this.
“Well, in any event, I think it’s fairer to say you targeted me.”
“Indeed. After you had been undressing me with those rather spectacular eyes for the better part of ten minutes, I felt you were worth investigating.”
Indignation formed her lips into a perfect circle. She placed her champagne flute down a mite more smartly than she’d intended. It hit the marble table with a loud clink. “I see. Well, thank you so very much for deigning to speak to me,” she snapped, the sarcasm hanging in the air like an accusation.
“I have upset you.”
“No,” she denied, standing, taking extra care to keep the blanket in place now.
“Yes.” He prowled closer to her, his walk stealth-like, his manner dark and dangerous. Damn it, they were the two qualities she was most drawn to in a man.
She swallowed with a combination of nerves and desire. He was so close she could smell him, a mix of his spiced aftershave and sex. She muffled a groan and shook her head.
“You are worried I only invited you here because you were staring at me?”
“Undressing you with my eyes, I think you mean,” she corrected, proud of how coldly autocratic her voice sounded.
He nodded, conceding her point. “I saw you the moment you entered the bar. And I knew I would have you.”
Her breath snagged. “That sounds … rather arrogant.”
“Given the circumstances we find ourselves in, I think it sounds accurate.” He said, arching a brow and staring deep into her eyes.
“Yep. Definitely arrogant.” She swallowed again, but it was harder now. Her throat was dry and her mouth filled with sawdust.
“I get a sense about people. I felt we would connect. And we did. Spectacularly.”
“Yes.” Memories of him making love to her jerked at her gut, sending sensation spiralling through her. “Where are you from? Your accent is … unfamiliar.”
“As is yours,” he turned the question back on her.
“Unfamiliar? I can’t believe my Australian twang is that hard to catch.”
“Ah! Australia. When did you move to London?”
“How do you know I did?” At his silent appraisal, she continued. “Move here, I mean. How do you know I’m not just holidaying?”
“A guess,” he murmured. He lifted her champagne, sipped it, and then brought his lips crashing down to hers. As he had done in the bar, the drink transferred to her. But he kept his lips against hers and his whole body was warm and firm.
“Was I right?” He moved his lips lower, to tease the sensitive flesh at her neck.
“Yes,” she nodded, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to. He crept his fingers beneath the blanket, and gripped her hips.
“When did you move here?”
