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‘Very funny.’
‘I’m serious.’
She turned her head to look at him. There was no mockery on his face. She looked at the plane again. A uniformed male attendant stood at the foot of the steps, patiently waiting. ‘This is very...spontaneous,’ she said weakly.
‘That’s a bad thing?’
‘Yes.’ She held her wrap and her clutch against her chest in a death grip. ‘I’m not very good at spontaneous.’
‘Try it.’ His deep, sinful voice coaxed. Enticed. ‘You might like it.’
She might.
And where would that leave her?
Already she felt a gazillion miles out of her depth with this man, but it was everything else he made her feel that terrified her.
Never had she felt so physically attracted to someone before. The one intimate relationship she’d had had left her feeling deeply discontented, believing in the end she just wasn’t that into sex, but Ramon...
He made her think about sex.
She, who guarded her space and preferred not to be touched, had caught herself more than once thinking about his big hands and his beautiful mouth and how they might feel on certain parts of her body.
She forced herself away from the car.
Thoughts were just thoughts, weren’t they? Harmless unless translated into action, and that wasn’t going to happen. Theirs was a professional relationship and she was too sensible to breach that boundary. She wasn’t controlled by her desires. Not like her father.
It’s just dinner.
She thought of all the women who would give their eye teeth to fly in a billionaire’s private jet to Paris for dinner and then straightened her shoulders. ‘Let’s not stand around all evening, then.’ She set off towards the plane. ‘I’m famished.’
CHAPTER FIVE
RAMON HAD BEEN labelled ‘reckless’ from the day he’d been old enough to clamber out of his cot and send his mother and the entire household staff into a frenzied hour-long search of the house and grounds. As a fearless, rebellious child he’d become the bane of his parents’ lives, unlike his brother, who’d never once defied authority or set a foot wrong.
As an adult, Ramon had learned to curb his impulses. The tabloids portrayed him as a playboy and his reputation wasn’t entirely undeserved. But he didn’t pursue pleasure with a careless disregard for the consequences, like some of his peers did. Risks, when taken, were calculated, impulses acted upon only if there was no potential for harm.
And he was no longer fearless. He understood the pain of loss. Understood that when you hurt people, when you took something precious from them, there were no words or actions that could undo the harm. No way of turning back the clock.
Tonight, as he took Emily’s hand to help her from the limousine outside Saphir, Ramon understood something else. He understood that, for the first time in a long time, he had miscalculated.
Because he had believed he could keep his relationship with Emily professional. Had told himself that tonight was simply an elaborate attempt to break down her barriers and smooth the way for a more harmonious partnership. That, plus the opportunity to bring her to Saphir and showcase the best of his portfolio.
But he had failed to factor into his calculations the possibility that Emily would look the way she did tonight. Or that his body would end up humming with a raw, irrepressible desire he’d find impossible to quell.
He didn’t want just to break down her barriers.
He wanted to rip off the dress that clung so seductively to every lush curve and dip of her body and haul her off to bed.
‘Wow.’
She stood beside him, her face upturned, her gaze trained on the club’s white stone entrance and the soaring, double-tiered archway bathed in subtle blue light. She’d loosened up in the last hour, maybe in part due to the champagne they’d consumed on the plane, along with canapés to tide them over, or maybe thanks to the small talk they’d settled into once her anger with him had subsided.
‘Welcome to Saphir.’ No sooner had he spoken than a pop of white light flashed in his periphery.
Blinking, Emily looked around, spotting the photographer a second after he did. ‘Was he taking a photo of us?’
Ramon gestured to a security guard. ‘Ignore it,’ he said, guiding her inside with a hand pressed to the small of her elegant back. He nodded to the concierge as they entered the high-ceilinged granite and glass reception area. ‘Security keeps the paparazzi at bay, but they’re like flies. Swat one away and a dozen more appear. Unfortunately Saphir has become their new favourite haunt. This way.’ He turned her down a hallway lined with contemporary art work and illuminated sculptures, many of which he’d handpicked in consultation with his designer. As they approached the restaurant, a willowy redheaded hostess whose name he couldn’t remember greeted him with a deferential smile, relieved Emily of her wrap and escorted them through the restaurant’s lively interior to a table in the private alcove he had specifically requested.
