like to dance?’
‘No,’ Millie admitted, gulping as they descended steep stairs into a tiny smoky and very exclusive private club that she wouldn’t have known existed even if she’d been walking on the street outside.
Exclusive because only the most beautiful or famous seemed to be present—faces that had Millie frowning as she tried to place them, then jolting in recognition as the social pages she devoured in magazines came to life before her very eyes.
‘Do you?’
‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged, pushing her through the crowd with one arm around her.
The slow, heavy thud of the music was out of time with her rapidly beating heart as he led her to a small, plush impossibly sexy booth that was clearly designed for intimacy. Like some erotic confessional, the purple velvet-lined seats went up to the ceiling, dulling the chatter and noise enough to allow conversation so long as one leant forward. And as he sat opposite her the table was so narrow it was impossible not to touch knees—impossible to look anywhere but at him.
He ordered their drinks—didn’t even ask her what she wanted—and some strange red cocktail appeared that tasted icy and delicious, burning her throat and stomach as she sipped it. But it didn’t compare to the sensations Levander evoked.
‘Relax,’ he ordered, as if she should be able to on command. Only Millie couldn’t.
Even here, amongst Melbourne’s most beautiful, Levander caused a stir—she’d seen the ripple effect wash through the crowd as they’d walked to their table. Like a mini Mexican wave going through the bar, heads had turned and conversations had paused; Millie had half expected oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling as every female sucked in her stomach en masse—but all eyes were most definitely on Levander. His questionable choice of date tonight didn’t even merit a second uninterested glance.
Clearly there’d be a new one tomorrow.
Clearly every woman present hoped it might be them.
‘You are here to sell paintings, I take it, not for a holiday?’
‘That was the plan,’ Millie sighed.
‘So why are you going back now?’
‘I gave myself three months. It was Anton who suggested I come out here.’
‘You knew Anton before you came?’
‘I met him last year, when he was in London.’ Millie nodded. ‘I was just finishing my degree and he came as a guest speaker.’
‘He is not an artist?’ Levander checked.
‘No—but he’s extremely well known for showcasing new talent, and I was fortunate because he liked my work. We got on well, and he said if I was ever interested in coming over…So here I am—at least until tomorrow. I really can’t afford to stay on any longer.’
He pulled back just enough to squint down at his watch. ‘It is already tomorrow,’ Levander pointed out. ‘So what happens now—when you go back, I mean? If your work is not selling…’
‘I studied teaching as well.’ Millie sighed at the prospect. ‘As something to fall back on. I suppose it’s just as well I did.’
‘You can do both,’ Levander pointed out. ‘Just because you cannot make a living from your art, it does not mean that you have to give it up completely.’
‘I know that.’ Millie sighed again. ‘It’s just…’ her voice faded. Melancholy musings were not really the correct form for a first date, but Levander pushed her to continue and, given that nothing about tonight had even bordered on normal, Millie decided to tell him—to reveal just a little more of herself than she otherwise might. ‘When I work…well, it’s sort of hot and cold. Yes, in theory it would be fabulous to work Monday to Friday, and save my art for the weekends and evenings—I know it’s what a lot of people do—but…’
‘But?’
‘The picture you saw tonight?’ Millie said, and Levander nodded. ‘It was sort of brewing in my head for a couple of weeks, and finally—when I could see it, when I was actually ready to put my vision onto the canvas—I locked myself away for a more than a week. I just can’t imagine that I’d ever have done that piece if I’d had to slot in the real world. My focus is totally on my art; it’s like I just turn on and everything else is off. Except for occasionally surfacing for food and showers I just live and breathe to paint. Actually…’ she gave a tiny embarrassed giggle ‘…come to think about it, nutrition and hygiene weren’t exactly at the top of my agenda.’
And if that revelation wasn’t correct form either, Levander didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact he leant closer, if that were possible, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, could feel his knee and the lower part of his thigh against hers as he dizzied her with his thoughts.
‘Now you are really turning me on!’
Shocked, wondering if she’d misheard, misunderstood, perhaps, Millie tipped back a fraction, wide eyes meeting his, flushing under his lazy scrutiny as he told her without a word that she hadn’t misheard.
‘Do you come here a lot?’ Millie croaked, taking a desperate slug of her drink and wondering if she’d been spirited into a very early menopause as for the millionth time that evening a hot flush sent another searing blush up to her face. The heat between them was so stifling surely someone must have turned off the air-conditioner—and had there been a menu handy Millie would have grabbed it as a fan.
‘Occasionally,’ Levander answered easily—so pale and elegant and utterly calm it made her want to weep at the injustice. His eyes shifted momentarily as he glanced at the beautiful crowd. ‘But really I don’t like it much: too many people with empty minds who think they are interesting.’
‘Oh.’
He mesmerised her—every word reeling her in, every feature captivating her. How long she stared, how long they held eye contact, Millie had no idea—but it seemed to go on for ever. Another entirely separate conversation was taking place, without a single word, and though his eyes never left hers, though his hands were safely on the table, he might just as well have been touching her—because her body seared at his beckoning, the dull red of her cheeks stealing down over her bosom as still they didn’t speak, blood fizzing through her veins. It seemed to engorge her body, swelling her most feminine places. Her nipples were thrumming against her flimsy blouse as somewhere deep inside—low, so low in her stomach—a delicious knot tightened. Her panties were damp now as still he stared on. She couldn’t move, didn’t dare even to run a dry tongue over her lips so intense was the arousal, and all Millie knew was that if she didn’t break the spell, didn’t literally force herself to speak, then she’d surely lean over and kiss him, or take him by the hand and run…
‘How long have you been in Melbourne?’ Her voice was a croak.
‘Does it matter?’ Still he stared.
‘Do you like your work?’ Millie attempted vainly.
‘Is this a job interview?’ He was watching her mouth intently now, making it almost impossible to form a sentence. God what did this man do to her? With one look she was a shivering mass of lust—and with one crook of his finger,
