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‘Did you like the speech?’
‘Looking for compliments?’ I sip my champagne, pleased at how quickly I’m able to recover. ‘What’s the matter? Wasn’t she suitably impressed?’
His eyes clash with mine. He’s angry. Ooooh. Why? Have I hit the nail on the head somehow?
‘Are you wondering if I can please a woman in fifteen minutes?’
He shifts his body infinitesimally, but enough to spark something low in my abdomen. Anger. Resentment. Heat. Warmth. Need.
Fuck.
‘Believe it or not, I haven’t given any thought to your bedroom prowess,’ I lie, shifting my attention back to the room of people. London’s elite swirl around us, and I am wanting to swirl away with them.
‘Liar,’ he says, so softly I think I’ve misheard.
Because we can’t go there! He knows that—I know that. Every bone in my body wants him, but my brain is still in charge. I don’t want to screw up my career, but it’s more than that. I love Jack. Not in that way. I mean I love working with him. Even when he’s at his assholiest, he’s become one of the biggest constants in my life. How stupid would it be to rock the boat?
I imagine, briefly, that we indulge in an affair and it ends—because Jack doesn’t do permanent—and then I imagine not seeing him again.
It makes me ill.
I don’t want to think about it.
I don’t want to risk it.
‘The speech was good.’ I bring the conversation back onto far safer ground, trying to fold my desperate realisations away neatly into a box I won’t open again.
‘Tell me something, Gemma,’ he says, and the tone of his voice is still dangerous to me.
He hasn’t got my silent memo, obviously, because his words prick the blood in my veins until it gushes and gurgles through me—he’s flirting with me.
I use my most businesslike tone. ‘Oh, I don’t know if you really want me to do that. You might not like what I say...’
His eyes lance mine. It’s like being sliced through.
‘What’s the deal with you and that guy from New York?’
Who’s he talking about? Oh. Right. ‘You mean Wolf?’
His lips curl derisively—that’s one of my favourite of his expressions. I don’t know if he realises how devilishly sexy he looks.
‘Who calls their kid after an animal? Especially when he’s the least wolf-like person you can imagine.’
‘I don’t suppose they knew that when he was born,’ I say, but a smile is pushing at my lips. He’s right. Wolf is handsome, but in a very neat and tidy kind of way.
‘Is he a wolf in the bedroom?’
The question catches me completely off guard. It’s wholly new territory f
or us. Invasive in a way I don’t know if I like but am worried that I might.
Still, challenging Jack is what I do. That’s who we are.
I tilt my head to one side, assessing him for a moment, before volleying back, ‘How was the blonde?’
‘She was dull,’ he says with a shrug and no hesitation, apparently having no qualms discussing his sex-life with me.
‘Where is she?’
