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“I’m an investor.” He was watching her lick her finger with such excessive interest, she stopped.
“You don’t look like an investor,” she said.
“What did you have me pegged for?”
“You have a look, an edge. You certainly don’t seem like the kind of man who goes to the office every day.”
Did she only imagine that his mouth tightened? He lowered his eyes and dabbed jam on his second scone. “Sorry to disappoint you. I have a very dull office and a very dull secretary in Paris.”
“So what do you invest in?”
“Lots of dull things—stocks, mutual funds, real estate. My family has interests all over Europe, in the States…Asia, too. Emerging markets, they call them. Believe me, I stay busy with my, er, dull career. I have to, or I’d go mad.” His voice sounded bleak. “And what do you do?”
“I just have a little shop. I sell old clothes that I buy at estate sales and markets.”
“And do you enjoy it?”
“Very much. But it would probably seem dull and boring to someone like you.”
“The question is—is it dull and boring to you?”
“No! Of course, not! I love what I do. I live to find some darling item at a bargain price, so that I can sell it to a customer with a limited budget. Every woman longs to be beautiful, you know.”
“Then I envy you.” Again she heard a weariness in his voice. Only this time she sensed the deeper pain that lay beneath it.
“And you don’t think I’m boring…because I sell old clothes?”
He laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”
“No, really, you must tell me.” She leaned forward, holding her cup in two hands for fear of spilling. “Since we’re strangers, we can speak freely. Was your first impression of me…Did you think I looked boring and old?”
He set his scone down. “Who the hell’s been telling you a stupid thing like that?”
“My boyfriend.” Why had she admitted that?
“Then dump him.”
“I sort of did, but I’ve always loved him. Or, at least, I thought I did. Maybe he’s just been in my life forever.”
“So you’re the loyal, committed type?”
“Well, anyway, I can’t stop thinking about him. All day I thought about him. And the things he said.”
His black brows shot together so alarmingly her hands, which still held her teacup, began to shake. “Stick with your decision.”
“But I’ve loved him since I was five, I think,” she whispered a bit defensively. “My mother disapproves of him, though.”
“No wonder you cling to him.”
“No, it’s not like that.” She smiled. “It’s just that I’m not sure I did the right thing to break up with him. I did it so fast, I mean. That’s not like me. I spent several years planning before I opened my store.”
“Maybe the decision had been coming on for a while.”
“But Fletcher—”
“Fletcher?” His handsome features hardened. “Well, you’re not boring or old. So, you want to know my first thoughts about you. I thought you were lovely. Fresh. Nice. Different. Too nice for me probably, but a woman I definitely would want to know better if I were a different sort of man—one capable of commitment. Sexy.” He bit off that last rather grumpily. “Sexy in a nice way. You’re the kind of woman a nice guy, who has a good job and wants to settle down, marries so he can have a houseful of kids to play soccer with on the weekends.”
His dark eyes with those sparking flecks said much more, and she grew hot with embarrassment.
“That’s sweet,” she said.
When his hand reached across the table for hers, she jumped.
“Responsive, too. That’s another first thought.”
She yanked her hand free and tucked it beneath her pink napkin.
“This Fletcher doesn’t deserve you. But let’s talk of something more pleasant. I can tell we’ll never agree on this subject, so why argue? Your love life is your choice. Not mine. I barely know you.”
He seemed out of sorts suddenly, defensive, almost jealous. But that wasn’t possible. A man like him, who was wealthy, refined and movie-star sexy couldn’t be jealous of her. Especially not when they’d just met.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“So, you have a sister?” He was clearly determined to change the subject. “Here in London?
“Carol. Actually, she lives outside London. On a rather grand estate near Wolverton. She has a large house with a conservatory. And a lovely garden, too. That sounds so English, doesn’t it? But she and her husband—he’s a lord and a very important person, mind you—keep a flat here in St. James so they can stay in the city whenever they need to, which is usually four or five nights a week. She’s a barrister, and he’s high up in the government. They both work in the city.”
