deciding he’d get a new one delivered by the concierge within the hour, and carried it through to one of the guest bedrooms.
She followed after him, still glancing about her with an air of combined nervousness and wide-eyed amazement at her surroundings, as if she’d never seen anything like it in her life. Which, he realised, she probably never had.
An unusual sense of satisfaction darted within him. It was a good feeling to give this impoverished, waiflike girl, who’d clearly had a pretty sad time of it—both parents dead and a poorly paid job involving distressing end-of-life care—a brief taste of luxury. He found himself wanting her to enjoy it.
Setting down the suitcase, which immediately sprang open again, he pointed out the en suite bathroom, then with another smile left her to it, heading for the kitchen.
Five minutes later the coffee was brewing and he was sprawled on the sofa, checking his emails—trying very, very hard not to let his mind wander to his unexpected guest taking her shower...
He wondered just how far her charms extended beyond her lovely face. He suspected a lot further. She was slender—he’d seen that instantly—but it hadn’t made her flat-chested. No, indeed, Even though she was wearing cheap, unflattering clothes, he’d seen the soft swell of her breasts beneath. And she was petite—much more so than the women he usually selected for himself.
Maybe that was because of his own height—over six foot—or maybe it was because the kind of women he went out with tended to be self-assured, self-confident high-achieving females who were his counterparts in many ways, striding through the world knowing their own worth, very sure of themselves and their attractions.
Women like Romola.
His expression changed. Before Tia had plunged in front of his car he’d made the decision to cut Romola out of his life—so why not do that right now? He’d text her to say he couldn’t see her tonight after all, that something had come up, and that it was unlikely he’d be back in London any time soon, Say that perhaps they should both accept their time together had run its course...
With a ruthlessness that he could easily exercise whenever he felt himself targeted by a woman wanting more of him than he cared to give, he sent the text, softening the blow with the despatch of a diamond bracelet as a farewell gift as a sop to Romola’s considerable ego. Then, with a sense of relief, he turned his thoughts back to tonight.
A smile started around his mouth, his eyes softening slightly. He’d already played out King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid in offering Tia the run of his flat, so why not go the whole hog and give her an evening she would always remember? Champagne, fine dining—the works!
It was something he’d take a bet that she’d never experienced in her deprived life before.
Of course it went without saying that that would be all he’d be offering her. He himself would not be staying here—he’d make his way over to the Mayfair hotel where his father kept a permanent suite. Of course he would.
Anything else was completely out of the question—however lovely she was.
Completely out, he told himself sternly.
TIA STOOD IN a state of physical bliss as the hot water poured over her body, foaming into rich suds the shampoo and body wash she’d found in the basket of expensive-looking toiletries on the marble-topped vanity unit. Never in her whole life had she had such a lavish, luxurious shower.
By the time she stepped out, her hair wrapped up in a fleecy towel, another huge bath sheet wrapped around her, she felt reborn. She still hadn’t really got her head around what was happening because it all just seemed like a fairytale—swept off by a prince who took her breath away.
He’s just so gorgeous! So incredibly gorgeous! And he’s being so kind! He could just as easily have left me on the pavement with my broken suitcase. Driven away and not cared!
But he hadn’t driven away—he’d brought her here, and how could she possibly have said no? In all her confined, unexciting life, dedicated to caring for her poor mother and for others, when had anything like this ever happened except in her daydreams?
She lifted her chin, staring at her reflection, resolve in her eyes. Whatever was happening, she was going to seize this moment!
She whirled about, yanking off the turban towel, letting her damp hair tumble down, then rapidly sorting through her clothes, desperate to find something—anything—that was more worthy of the occasion than her ancient jeans and baggy top. Of course she had nothing at all that was remotely suitable, but at least she had something that was an improvement. She might never hope to be able to look like a fairytale princess, but she’d do her damnedest!
As she walked back into that pristine, palatial lounge her eyes went straight to the darkly sprawling figure relaxed on the white sofa. Dear Lord, but he was unutterably gorgeous!
He’d shed his formal business jacket and loosened his tie, undone his top button and turned up his cuffs. And through her veins came that same devastating rush she’d felt before, weakening her limbs, making her dizzy with its impact.
He rose to his feet. ‘There you are.’ He smiled. ‘Come and sit down and have your coffee.’
He nodded to where he’d set out a plate of pastries, extracted from the freezer and microwaved by his own fair hand into tempting, fragrant warmth. Two had already been consumed, but there were plenty left.
‘Are you on a diet?’ he asked convivially. ‘Or can I tempt you?’
Anatole watched with a sense of familiarity as the colour rushed into her face and then out again. Maybe he shouldn’t have used the word ‘tempt’. He had the damnedest feeling that it wasn’t the thought of the pastries that were making her colour up like that.
Snap!
Because if she was experiencing temptation, then he knew for sure that he was as well. And with good reason...
She’d changed her clothes and, although they were still clearly cheap and high street, they were a definite improvement. She’d put on a skirt—a floaty cotton one, in Indian print—and topped it with a turquoise tee shirt that gave her a whole lot more figure than the baggy jumper she’d had on previously. On top of that, her freshly washed hair was loose now, still damp, but curling in a tousled mane around her shoulders. The redness had finally gone from her eyes, and her skin was clear and unblemished. Her lips rosy, tender...
Still the ingénue, definitely...but no longer a sad waif.
With an expression of intense self-consciousness on her face, she gingerly sat herself down on the sofa, slanting her slender legs. He saw her hands were shaking slightly as she took the coffee he’d poured with a low murmur of thanks.
She drank it thirstily, hoping it would steady her wildly jangling nerves, and her eyes jumped again to Anatole to drink in the gorgeous reality of his presence. Her eyes met his and she realised he was watching her, a smile playing around his mouth. It was a smile that sent little quivers shimmering through her and made her breath shallow.
‘Have a pastry,’ he said, pushing the plate towards her.
Their
