dismissed John with a wave and turned his attention back to her. His grey eyes stabbed her, as though he was trying to penetrate her defences with his look alone.
She slowed her breathing and willed her heart to do the same, praying someone would distract King from her before she lost her nerve.
A waiter laden with a tray of steaming soup bowls moved between them. He placed a bowl in front of her.
Clare looked up at him. ‘What sort of soup is it?’ The opportunity for a break from King’s intensity was welcome. It might even break his train of thought, if she was lucky—if she was very lucky.
‘It’s champagne and pear.’ The waiter gave her a smile and a conspiratorial wink. ‘All vegetarian, miss.’
‘You’re a vegetarian?’ King pounced. ‘That’s very trendy of you.’
‘I’m not a vegetarian to pander to any social trend.’ Clare snatched up her spoon and plunged it into the misty green liquid. She’d be damned if she was going to explain her lifestyle decisions to King! She concentrated on eating, on how the smooth and gentle soup caressed her tastebuds with flavour before slipping down her throat.
‘For health, then?’ suggested the woman in red next to him.
‘Yes.’ Clare smiled warmly past King to the pretty young blonde. She’d been so intent on King she hadn’t given her a second thought. Shoving her aside on the dance floor was one thing—that was business—but to ignore her over a meal was another. Besides, she had to be barely twenty—just a girl.
‘How did he know that you were concerned about it being vegetarian?’ King gave her another raking gaze. ‘Unless they knew you were coming? You phoned them or spoke to them?’
‘Yes.’ Clare took another mouthful of the divine soup. It was her cousin Paul’s creation. She’d had it several times before, while he was learning to be a chef, but this was her first opportunity to dine where he worked without him. Paul was like a brother to her, only two years older than her twenty-seven years, and they were close. They’d grown up under the same roof.
‘Yes to which one?’ King brandished his soup spoon at her as though it were a weapon.
‘Whatever.’ Clare shrugged. Paul had smuggled her into the charity dinner, and all she’d had to do was promise she’d accompany him to the next social event to enhance his image. Some career strategy, she guessed.
She broke her bread roll apart and buttered it lazily, very aware of King’s eyes on her. ‘How do you know Mark?’ she asked the girl in red, whose face kept appearing over King’s shoulder.
‘I’m a close friend of the family,’ she bit out defensively. ‘I’m Sasha Taylor-Jones.’
‘Beautiful name.’ Clare tried to swallow the smile that was threatening to erupt. The look on King’s face at being ignored was priceless. ‘You’re very kind, doing Mark the favour of accompanying him. He would have been embarrassed to have arrived solo.’
Sasha blushed. ‘Actually, he’s doing me a favour—though you wouldn’t think it.’ She cast his back a dirty look and ran a hand over his shoulder. ‘Did you know he’s just been nominated for Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year?’
‘Has he?’ Clare smiled her amusement. If only the organisers knew what he got up to with poor innocent young girls, they’d crown him the most opportunistic bastard of the year. She gave Sasha a second look. Was she the next victim?
King’s eyes darkened. ‘Will you ladies stop talking about me as though I wasn’t here?’ He swung back to Sasha.
‘Mark, don’t be angry with her,’ Clare chastised him.
‘And don’t call me Mark. Hell, I don’t even know you.’
She could tell it was killing him. If he knew her name then he’d find out everything he needed to know in about two minutes flat, and that wasn’t what she had in mind. She had something more memorable planned.
Something that King wouldn’t ever forget.
CHAPTER THREE
HOW her little sister had ended up in King’s bed concerned Clare. It wasn’t as though they frequented the same circles. King’s realm was a world unto itself. Even with her own lucrative transport company’s success, she couldn’t hope to come anywhere close to it.
The sort of wealth and position he’d built for himself were what dreams were made of. Clare let her gaze wander over his dark hair, his strong jawline, and the quirk of his lips. Surprisingly, he looked quite normal for a millionaire, apart from being aggravatingly handsome.
Meeting King made her goal of owning her entire company seem not so far-fetched. If this guy could do it she was certain she could, too. One day.
‘You may not know me. But I do know you.’ Clare laid her spoon in her empty bowl and met King’s stormy eyes. ‘I know your parents split up when you were ten and you spent the next eight years moving from one to the other while your mother searched for love. Your father was declared bankrupt in seventy-nine and eighty-six—when you were ten and seventeen respectively.’
Mark’s eyes flickered, and a shadow flashed across his features.
She suppressed a smile of satisfaction—the investigator had been worth the money. ‘You studied business economics overseas, then returned to invest your inheritance from your grandparents. Do I need to go on?’
‘So you’ve done your homework.’ His voice hardened. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re after?’
‘No. But I’ll tell you this—’ She leant close to him, breathing in his spicy cologne. ‘We have mutual acquaintances.’
His eyes widened at her admission. ‘Ha, it was one of the guys, wasn’t it?’ He laughed, darting looks around the table. ‘Which one of you jokers is responsible?’
Two of the men cleared their throats, three others shrugged, and they all cast curious looks at King.
King snapped his attention back to her, his eyes smouldering.
Clare tried to smother a laugh at his confusion. She had him going. This was even better than she’d planned.
The waiters removed the empty bowls and King dodged around them to see her. ‘How long are you going to play this game?’
Clare waited until the table had been cleared, then she leant close to him again. ‘Are you bored with me already?’
‘Yes.’
But the fire in his eyes told her otherwise. ‘Oh, my.’ She patted his hand lightly. ‘You have it worse than I thought.’
‘What?’ King’s eyes were glued to where her hand covered his.
‘Boredom,’ she said knowingly, lifting her hand and placing it on her lap, still tingling from the contact. ‘You know you age prematurely if you’re bored? It can lead to depression and all sorts of mental conditions.’
