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Ruby also had the same dimple in her left cheek. But, whereas on Ruby that dimple looked endearing, appearing whenever she giggled, on Brandon Cade it signalled cynical amusement, not innocent joy... Unlike Ruby’s, his smiles weren’t cute, they were smug and predatory. When Brandon Cade’s sensual lips curved and the playful dent in his cheek appeared, Lacey’s heartbeat accelerated and her breathing clogged in her lungs, making her feel like a mouse being played with by a panther.
But what was far worse than that smug, cynical smile was the way it could beckon the thoughtless, foolish girl out of hiding again. The girl who had become completely enthralled by the endorphin rush of his attention, enough to do stupid things.
Except you don’t regret that stupid thing, because it gave you Ruby.
‘I guess that’s my cue to leave, then. Thank you for your time, Mr Cade.’ She swallowed down the lump of guilt, trying to keep her expression bland as she clicked off her phone and shoved it into her bag. ‘I’ll email over a copy of the piece for your final approval,’ she began to babble, the relief making her light-headed. ‘But, until then, I’ll get out of your hair.’
The truth was she’d managed to prise absolutely nothing of any use for a decent profile piece. Cade had batted away any of the remotely probing questions she’d had the guts to ask with practised ease. But she really didn’t care. For once, she wasn’t going to stress about her by-line. She would wax lyrical about his imposing presence, his stunning good looks and the effect of being trapped in a room with him for twenty agonising minutes...with every one of her senses on high alert...and get the art department to source some photos of him looking devastating in a tuxedo to illustrate the piece and leave it at that.
Melody would be furious Lacey hadn’t managed to get any exclusive titbits out of him, anything remotely personal, but had her editor really expected her to? Honestly, the real purpose of a piece like this was to make the readership jealous of her as a journalist getting to meet the man, and overawed by how glamourous the magazine was to get this kind of access, and she’d achieved that much.
If they only knew just how close she’d got to him. Once.
She stood, ignoring the wobble in her knees, the memory which she’d had locked in her solar plexus threatening to erupt again. But as she prepared to shoot out of the room, his voice—low and deep—stopped her in her tracks.
‘Not so fast, Lacey.’
She swung back to find him watching her with the challenging glint in his eyes she’d noticed several times already. As if he were enjoying her discomfort, like the panther he was.
‘Why don’t you accompany me?’ he said, his tone casual, that all-seeing gaze anything but. ‘After all, you’ve hardly had a chance to ask me anything interesting.’
‘Accompany you where?’ she stuttered, confused now, as well as wary and impossibly turned on. His searing gaze swept over her before returning to her face. Could he see her pulse hammering her throat like a heavyweight champ? Or her nipples hardening painfully under her blouse?
His lips quirked in that almost-smile again, not just smug and cynical now, but challenging, provocative and loaded with innuendo.
She took an uneven breath, trying to ease the vice clamped around her ribcage.
Breathe, Lacey, breathe. You’ve got this.
‘To Paris, of course,’ he said, the loaded smile widening.
The devastating dimple appeared as if by magic—making him look like his daughter... And yetsonot. The vice cinched tight.
‘You’re not serious?’ she managed.
Why was he toying with her? And why was he looking at her like that? As if her answer mattered to him, when she knew it couldn’t.
‘Actually, I’m deadly serious,’ he said, the smile sharpening, his gaze narrowing. ‘As it happens, I need a plus one for the Durand Ball tonight.’
‘But I’m a celebrity journalist,’ she blurted out.
She’d sensed his hostility towards her profession as soon as she walked into his office. Weirdly, that had been easier to handle than the strange atmosphere which had built between them during the course of the interview... Watchful and wary at first, but eventually becoming provocative, charged with possibilities, none of which Lacey knew she should entertain.
At first she was sure she had imagined the abrupt change in his attitude—from hostile to fascinated. She had dismissed it as a throwback to that delusional girl who had been spellbound by his interest five years ago—until their chemistry had detonated and derailed her life.
But she could feel it in the air again now, rioting over her skin, awakening her already far too responsive body, pulsing at her core—and making her yearn to say yes to his proposal, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
She couldn’t fall under his spell again. Because, not only would she be the only one who would get burned, but this time it wouldn’t just be her in the firing line. It would be her daughter. The little girl she’d kept a secret from this man for five years—for good reason.
One dark eyebrow arched, the smile twisting his lips, not just devastating now but also disturbingly intuitive. ‘Precisely—isn’t this just the sort of opportunity you want? To see me in my natural habitat?’
It was a fair question. And one she had no idea how to answer without revealing more than she should. He hadn’t recognised her, and she had to be pathetically grateful for that. But he was a sharply intelligent and extremely cynical and intuitive man, and she really didn’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.
‘Yes, but...do you really want to give me that kind of access?’ she asked. They both knew she wouldn’t be able to put anything into the article he didn’t approve of, but giving a journalist access to his social life was unprecedented. ‘Especially after what happened with Misty,’ she added.
To her dismay, though, instead of looking offended or annoyed by the intrusive comment, he simply stared at her for a moment. Then the dimple in his cheek jumped and he let out a deep, rusty chuckle.
‘Touché,’he murmured, then levelled that searing gaze on her again, setting off another series of bonfires. The twinkle in his green eyes was disturbingly captivating, though, because for the first time he looked genuinely amused. ‘Are you planning to write a tell-all article about my sexual prowess, then, Lacey?’
