He narrowed his eyes. ‘Should I be worried here? Do you have an insanely jealous lover who’s about to storm over and demand I step outside or something? Only you seem to be arguing with yourself about the wisdom of speaking to me.’
She let out a deep guttural laugh, the dirty carnal suggestion of it playing along his senses, making something fizz and tickle deep in his throat.
He swallowed hard.
‘I’m freshly out of a disastrous fling with someone who couldn’t care less about me, actually. I seem to have a knack for choosing losers and users.’ She swayed in towards him. ‘What is it about me that screams sucker, do you think, Tristan?’
He knew he shouldn’t articulate what had just flitted through his mind, but there was something about her beleaguered expression that made it impossible to resist.
‘From where I’m standing, sucker is a word full of possibilities.’ His gaze dropped to that smooth, curvy pout of hers as it twisted into a smile and he saw her shift in her heels as she twigged exactly what he was insinuating.
Lu turned away from his gaze and took another hefty swig of her wine before placing the glass carefully back onto the bar, her fingertips catching the stem at the last second so that it spun and rocked for a moment before settling down to its former inanimate state. The spots of colour on her cheeks flared further outwards.
Was she nervous? Or excited by the idea?
He realised with uncomfortable certainty that he hoped it was the latter.
Whoa, boy. Put the brakes on that impulse.
Chatting to a woman in a bar was one thing, but taking it further wasn’t on the agenda right now.
Was it?
‘You celebrating something?’ he said, nodding towards the huddle of women at the table she’d just vacated in an attempt to take the charged atmosphere down a notch or two.
‘A friend’s birthday. We both work round the corner so this is our after-work local.’ Something troubling seemed to occur to her and she frowned and picked up her glass again, taking another large gulp of wine. After giving herself a little shake, she flashed him a wide smile.
‘How about you? What are you doing here all on your lonesome?’ She made another move towards him, drawing herself up to her full height and putting out an arm to casually lean on the bar, bringing her tantalising floral fragrance with her.
He drew in a deep lungful of her heady scent and smiled down at her. ‘I ducked in here to avoid being mauled by a woman with a hungry look in her eyes.’
She looked at him steadily. ‘She fancied a slice of you, did she?’
‘I got that impression, yes.’
‘And you didn’t feel like being her Tristan Topping tonight?’
He laughed. ‘Or any other night.’
She swallowed and stared somewhere to the left side of his head before flicking her gaze back to his. There was a flash of something he couldn’t quite pin down in those baby-blues.
She was one contrary lady. One minute cool and assertive, buying him a drink, the next uncertain and wary.
He’d not come across someone like Lu for a very long time. Since splitting with Marcy he’d only seemed to meet women who had formed hard, flawless shells around themselves, who gave him a perfectly polished response every time—who thought they were giving him what he wanted, when actually he was repelled by their phoniness.
But this woman had something about her that he couldn’t bear to step away from just yet.
She was too damn interesting.
* * *
Pull yourself together, you lunatic.
Lula turned away from the disconcertingly gorgeous man in front of her and glanced over to where her party sat laughing at something Emily had said. Her friend was standing and waving her arms around in an approximation of sexual fervour in her typical crowd-pleasing style.
Em would know exactly what to say to a guy like this, and she certainly wouldn’t have made a total fool of herself by coughing all over him.
He’d taken her by surprise, rocking up to the bar before she could formulate a plan about how best to approach him, and she’d been totally unprepared for the immediate visceral effect he’d had on her.
He wasn’t the type of man she’d usually go for—he was scarily charismatic and his powerful virility and snappy smartness gave her the jitters. He was just so chiselled and smooth-looking with his Roman nose and intelligent, rich brown eyes that sparked with amusement behind a pair of those trendy rectangular-framed ‘invisible’ glasses.
He was totally business.
She had a mad urge to mess with his neatly swept back hair, to ruffle him up a bit and see the raw side of the man concealed beneath the sharply tailored suit.
Blood throbbed through her veins as she entertained the impulse.
She felt slightly bad about not correcting him when he’d asked if her name was short for Louise, but it had occurred to her that she could pretend to be someone else entirely tonight and it wouldn’t matter a jot. She’d never see him again, so why not fully step into the persona she wanted to project? A fake name was a great way to do that, and it wasn’t as if anyone was going to get hurt.
Looking back at him, she realised he was frowning down at her as if trying to figure out what the heck was going through her head. He must think she was a total simpleton, first rambling on about her failed relationships, then suggesting he wasn’t a real man and now staring around like a vacant airhead.
Gah.
After taking one more bolstering swig of wine, she turned to regain eye contact and gave him her most seductive smile.
‘So what made you pick this particular pub for a refuge from the man-eater?’ she asked.
He shrugged and twisted his beer bottle between his fingers. ‘I’m staying in the hotel across the road and this looked like a suitably dark and shady place to hide.’
‘So you don’t live in London?’ That was good. It meant they were unlikely to ever bump into each other again.
Unless they wanted to?
That’s not on the agenda tonight, Lula, get a grip.
Tristan shook his head and frowned. ‘I’m based in Edinburgh.’
‘I’ve never been there. I hear it’s a really cool place.’
‘It is.’
‘So what brings you this far south?’ she asked.
‘Business. I had a meeting in Canary Wharf today and I have something to do for my father tomorrow.’ His voice had become rougher, as if he was uncomfortable—or maybe bored—talking about it.
Lula
