gave an awkward half-shrug. ‘It’s where the work is.’
‘There are no waitresses in your home town?’
She looked as though she were about to say something, then stopped herself. Alexeis wished he hadn’t said what he had, lest she think it sarcastic. He hadn’t meant it to be—he was simply surprised that a girl as beautiful as her had expressed so strong a dislike of London. She must have men flocking around her, and she could take her pick from them!
Even as the image formed in his mind he felt himself react. What he was doing was on impulse, he knew, but even with that allowance he still recognised his reaction. He didn’t want her taking her pick of other men. Then his hackles retracted. While she was with him she would have eyes for no one else.
And nor would he…
There was no doubt in his mind about that, at any rate.
He let his gaze wash over her. She really did have something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was growing on him with every passing moment.
‘So where is your home town?’ he asked, returning to the conversation. She was still uncertain about what she was doing, he could tell—and, again, the novelty of that uncertainty intrigued him. He knew of no women who had ever been in the least bit uncertain about their reaction if he showed the slightest interest. They positively bit his hand off when he took them up! They didn’t bite their lip in that incredibly softly sensual way…
Another reaction took him, and he had to subdue it. It was far, far too soon for that! Now was only the time for gentling, for drawing her to him, for making her feel at ease—making her lose that last vestige of caution that would only encumber his plans for the evening.
‘Um—it’s Marchester,’ she said. ‘It’s a small town, sort of in the Midlands.’
Alexeis had barely heard of it, and was little interested, but he made some anodyne reply, and continued the conversation with bare attention. He was far more interested in watching how a strand of her blonde hair had worked loose and was caressing her cheek, how her profile was etched against the windowpane. He was also impatient to arrive at the hotel and get her opposite him at a dining table, in a good light. Indulge himself in appreciating her soft beauty.
The car seemed to crawl the rest of the way, but eventually it drew up under the portico of the hotel—one of London’s most prestigious, with breathtaking views over the Embankment.
As the driver opened his door, Alexeis crossed around the back of the car and helped her out, holding his hand to her. She took it tentatively, and it added, yet again, to her novelty value. Then his eyes were on the slender length of her black-stockinged leg, below the hem of her raincoat. She seemed to hug it more tightly around her as he escorted her into the hotel. She glanced around almost nervously.
‘Don’t worry—I won’t subject you to a crowded restaurant,’ he assured her. ‘There is a much quieter place to eat upstairs.’
He guided her towards the bank of elevators, and in a moment they were being whisked upstairs. She had gone back to biting her lip again, he noticed.
Suddenly a pang struck him. Should he really be doing this?
Then she looked across at him and gave him a tentative smile, as if seeking reassurance. Something kicked through him, and his own uncertainty vanished. Her smile was enchanting—
He found himself smiling back at her. Giving her the reassurance she was silently seeking.
‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’
The flicker was in her eyes again. ‘It’s just that…just that…’
‘It’s just that I’m a complete stranger and I picked you up off the street.’
The blunt way he said it made her cheeks colour. But he had done it deliberately, spelling out her fears, her apprehension and unease.
‘But think about this,’ he went on, and his eyes held hers. ‘The Irish have a saying—“All friends were strangers to each other once.” Is that not true? We were not formally introduced to each other by mutual acquaintances—but so what? If I’d met you at a party I’d still have wanted to invite you to dinner. What difference does it make how we got to know each other?’ His voice changed, something in his eyes changed, and something inside her shimmered and caught, like a soft flame lit deep, deep in her being. ‘Now we do know each other. And over dinner, I trust, we will get to know each other more. But nothing, absolutely nothing, will happen that you do not want to happen. You have my word on this.’
His eyes held hers, and then, out of the solemnity, a smile slanted suddenly across his face. Carrie felt that dazzle glitter inside her, as it had done when she’d first seen that incredible smile in the car.
Slowly, she nodded, swallowing. She wasn’t being stupid—she wasn’t! She was simply being—
Carried away. Swept away. But why not? Why not? What was the harm in it? It was true, if she’d met him at a party she would not have been so nervous, so uneasy. And how could she walk away now? She didn’t have the strength of mind to do so. And she didn’t have the will. Why should she? He wasn’t some seedy, creepy bloke—he was…gorgeous. Fantastic. Devastating. Irresistible.
And someone like that would never appear twice in her life.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped out.
Champagne still seemed to be fizzing in her veins.
CHAPTER THREE
THE ‘somewhere quieter’ that Alexeis had promised was quieter indeed. It was the dining room of his suite, overlooking the gardens of the Embankment below, and the dark, flowing Thames beyond. Her eyes had widened when she’d seen the view, but she had not objected or said anything, simply stared out over the river and the shore beyond.
‘The Festival Hall, the National Theatre, the Hayward Gallery—all the South Bank,’ said Alexeis, coming up behind her. His hand rested lightly and very casually on her shoulder as he pointed them out with his other hand. She felt warm beneath his touch, through the thin material of her blouse. She was like a gazelle, easily startled—easily affrighted—and so he kept his contact brief.
He stepped away, feeling a wry smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes flickered over her rear view. She had called her uniform ‘stupid’. He had another word for it. But it was not one he would use in front of her. Instead, he would merely—enjoy it.
As, indeed, he proceeded to enjoy her company over dinner. He set himself out to dissolve her self-consciousness, her doubt about what she was doing here with him. He ventured several conventional opening gambits, such as London’s cultural life, but she said, looking rather awkward, that she did not go to the theatre and didn’t know much about art. Immediately the memory of Marissa and her spouting self-importantly about the art world impinged in his mind, and he realised it was refreshing not to have to discuss such subjects. Whatever it was they did talk about—nothing too demanding or intellectual—he was very conscious of not being bored in any way. He was also conscious that he wanted her to feel comfortable and at ease.
And above all responsive to him.
But he was not overt. For her that would have been crass. This was not a female to come
