‘Think of the fun you’ll have in besting him,’ Ana offered persuasively.
Rebekah glimpsed the mischievous challenge in those guileless blue eyes, and her lips curved into a slow smile. ‘You’re wicked.’ Ana grinned. ‘The black Versace halter-neck will be fine.’
A backless creation which didn’t allow for wearing a bra? ‘I haven’t said yes.’
‘We’ll come by and collect you. And drop you home again.’
She could imagine how easily, smoothly Jace could intercede and insist he escort her home in a taxi.
‘If I agree,’ she qualified, shooting Ana a warning glance. ‘I’ll drive my own car.’
‘Brava.’ Ana’s eyes gleamed with humour, and Rebekah shook her head in mock-despair as her sister executed the victory sign.
It was almost seven when Rebekah slid from behind the wheel of her MG and allowed the uniformed attendant tend to valet parking.
For the umpteenth time she silently questioned her sanity. Except retreat at this late stage wasn’t part of her agenda.
How had the past year affected Jace Dimitriades?
Did he have a lover? Was he between relationships?
Fool, she mentally derided as she entered the restaurant foyer. Men of Jace Dimitriades’ calibre were never without a woman for long. She recollected Ana relaying Jace regularly commuted between London, Paris and Athens. He probably had a mistress in each major city.
The maître d’ greeted her with polite regard, elicited her name, the booking, and directed her to the lounge bar, where patrons lingered over drinks.
The ambience spelt money…serious money. The floral displays were real, not silk imitation. The carpet thick-piled and luxurious, the furniture expensive.
A pianist was seated at a baby grand, effortlessly providing muted background music, and the drinks stewards were groomed to the nth degree.
Refined class, Rebekah conceded as a steward enquired if he could assist locating her friends.
He succeeded with smooth efficiency, and she followed in his wake.
‘Mr Dimitriades.’ His acknowledgement held deferential respect, and she had a ready smile in place, polite words of gratitude on her lips as she tilted her head.
Only to have the smile freeze as she saw it was Jace, not Luc, who had moved forward to greet her.
‘Rebekah.’
In one fluid movement he came close, lowered his head and brushed his lips to her cheek. The contact was stunningly brief, but it robbed the breath from her throat for all of five seconds before anger hit.
‘How dare you?’ The words escaped as little more than a vehement whisper.
One dark eyebrow slanted, although his eyes held a watchful expression. ‘You expected formality?’
She didn’t trust herself to respond. Her attention was held, trapped, by the man standing within touching distance.
Tall, so tall her eyes were on a level with the loop of his impeccably knotted silk tie, and his breadth of shoulder was impressive sheathed in exclusive tailoring.
In his mid-thirties, his broad, chiselled facial bone structure gave hint to his Grecian ancestry, and there was an inherent quality in those dark grey, almost black eyes that took hold of her equilibrium and tore it to shreds.
No one man deserved to exude quite this degree of power…nor possess such riveting physical magnetism.
Sexual alchemy at its zenith, she acknowledged shakily as she attempted to gain a measure of control over her rioting emotions.
One look at him was all it took for her to remember how it felt to have that mouth close over her own with diabolical finesse. Exploring, coaxing…and staking a claim.
She was suddenly aware of every breath she took, every heightened pulse-beat, and the way her heart seemed to thud against her ribcage.
It was crazy, insane to feel like this. In the name of heaven, get a grip. To allow him to see just how deeply he affected her was impossible.
Why, suddenly, did she feel as if she’d walked into a danger zone? And that it was he, and not she, in command of the situation?
Dammit, she’d accepted Ana’s invitation, and she owed it to her sister and Luc to be a pleasant guest. Hadn’t she dressed accordingly, and given a promise to sparkle?
CHAPTER TWO
PROJECTING joie de vivre required effort, and there was a very real danger she’d verge towards overkill.
A glass of wine would help dull the edges, but she’d had nothing to eat since lunch. Consequently iced water seemed a wise choice, especially as she’d need all her wits to parry words with Luc’s inimitable cousin.
The restaurant’s chef was reputed to be one of the city’s best, and numbered among the country’s finest. Hence, the selection offered was meant to tempt a gourmand’s palate.
Rebekah ordered soup as a starter, requested an entrée-size meal as a main, and deferred a decision on dessert.
She settled back in her chair and glanced towards Jace. ‘You’re in Sydney on business, I believe?’
There was nothing like taking control and initiating conversation.
‘Yes.’ He met her level gaze, held it, and wondered if she had any idea how well he could read her. ‘Also Melbourne, Cairns, Brisbane and the Gold Coast.’
‘Interesting. Presumably matters which require your personal attention?’
How would she react if he revealed she was one of them? He inclined his head. ‘I’m unable to delegate in this instance.’
Property he wanted to sight? Yet in a high-tech age, it was possible to scan digital images at the speed of light, and as he shared some investment interests with Luc, why couldn’t Luc act on his cousin’s behalf?
The waiter delivered their starters, and Rebekah toyed with the soup, spooning the contents automatically without affording it the appreciation it truly deserved.
‘Tell me something about floristry.’ Jace’s voice was pure New York, and she waited a beat before countering,
‘An idle query, or genuine interest?’
His eyes held a humorous gleam. ‘The latter.’
‘The art, or a day in the life of…?’
‘Both.’
‘Floral artistry comprises a good eye for colour and design, shapes appealing to the customer’s wants and needs, the specific occasion.’ If he wanted facts, she’d supply them. ‘Which
