clinging blue gown.
‘I really do apologise for my rudeness, Mr Steele. It’s no excuse, but I’m really not having a good evening—and my rudeness to you means that it has just got so much worse!’ she conceded with another pained wince. ‘But that is really no reason for me to have been rude about you—or to you.’
He quirked one dark brow. ‘I don’t think you know me well enough as yet to speak with any authority on whether or not I deserve for you to be rude to me or about me,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘Well...no...’ She was obviously slightly unnerved by his emphasis on the words ‘as yet’... ‘But—’ She gave a shake of her head, causing that silky and completely straight black hair to glide across the bareness of her shoulders and caress tantalisingly across the tops of her breasts. ‘I still shouldn’t have been so outspoken about someone I only know about from the media.’
‘Especially when we all know how inaccurate the media can be?’ he drawled wryly.
‘Exactly!’ She nodded enthusiastically before just as quickly pausing to eye him uncertainly. ‘Don’t you own something like ninety per cent of the worldwide media?’
‘That would be contrary to monopoly regulations,’ he drawled dismissively.
‘Do zillionaires bother with little things like regulations?’ she teased.
He chuckled huskily. ‘They do if they don’t want their zillionaire butts to end up in court!’
Thia felt what was becoming a familiar quiver down the length of her spine at the sound of this man’s throaty laughter. As she also acknowledged that, for all this man unnerved her, she was actually enjoying herself—possibly for the first time since arriving in New York.
‘Are you cold?’
Thia had no chance to confirm or deny that she was before Lucien Steele removed his evening jacket and placed it about the bareness of her shoulders. It reached almost down to her knees and smelt of the freshness of those lemons as his warmth surrounded her, and of the more insidious and earthy smell of the man himself.
‘No, really—’
‘Leave it.’ Both his hands came down onto the shoulders of the jacket as she would have reached up and removed it.
Thia shivered anew as she felt the warmth of those long and elegant hands even through the material of his jacket. A shiver entirely due to the presence of this overwhelming man—also the reason for her earlier shiver—rather than any chill in the warm evening air...
His hands left her shoulders reluctantly as he moved to stand beside her once again, that pale gaze—silver?—once again intent on her face. The snug fit of his evening shirt revealed that his shoulders really were that wide, his chest muscled, his waist slender above lean hips and long legs; obviously Lucien Steele didn’t spend all of his days sitting in boardrooms and adding to his billions.
‘Why aren’t you having a good evening?’ he prompted softly.
Why? Because this visit to New York hadn’t turned out to be anything like Thia had imagined it would be. Because she had once again been brought to a party and then quickly abandoned by—well, Jonathan certainly wasn’t her boyfriend, but she had certainly thought of him as a friend. A friend who had disappeared with their hostess within minutes of their arrival, leaving her to the untender mercies of New York’s finest.
Latterly she wasn’t having a good evening because she was far too aware of the man standing beside her—of the way the warmth and seductive smell of Lucien Steele’s tailored jacket made her feel as if she was surrounded by the man himself.
And lastly because Thia had no idea how to deal with the unprecedented arousal now coursing through her body!
She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t enjoy parties like this one.’
‘Why not?’
She grimaced, taking care not to insult this man for a second time this evening. ‘It’s just a personal choice.’
He nodded. ‘And where do you fit in with this crowd? Are you an actress?’
‘Heavens, no!’
‘A wannabe?’
‘I beg your pardon...?’
He shrugged those impossibly wide shoulders. ‘Do you wannabe an actress?’
‘Oh, I see.’ Thia gave a rueful smile. ‘No, I have no interest in becoming an actress, either.’
‘A model?’
She snorted. ‘Hardly, when I’m only five feet two inches in my bare feet!’
‘You aren’t being very helpful, Cyn.’ There was an underlying impatience in that amused tone. Thia had seen far too much of the reaction of New York’s elite these past four days not to know they had absolutely no interest in cultivating the company of a student and a waitress. Lucien Steele would have no further interest in her, either, once he knew. Which might not be a bad thing...
Her chin rose determinedly. ‘I’m just a nobody on a visit to New York.’
Lucien totally disagreed with at least part of that statement. Cynthia Hammond was certainly somebody. Somebody—a woman—whose beauty and conversation he found just as intriguing as he had hoped he might...
She quirked dark brows. ‘I believe that’s your cue to politely excuse yourself?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘And why would I wish to do that?’
She shrugged her shoulders beneath his jacket. ‘It’s what everyone else I’ve met in New York has done once they realise I’m of use to them.’
Yes, Lucien could imagine, knowing New York society as well as he did, that its members would have felt no hesitation whatsoever in making their lack of interest known. ‘I believe I’ve already stated that I prefer not to be like everyone else.’
‘Ain’t that the truth? I mean—’ A delicious blush now coloured those pale ivory cheeks as she briefly closed her eyes before looking up at him apologetically. ‘I apologise once again. I’m really not having a good evening!’ She sighed.
He nodded. ‘Would you like to leave? We could go somewhere quiet and have a drink together?’
Cyn blinked those long lashes. ‘I beg your pardon...?’
Lucien gave a hard, humourless smile. ‘I hate parties like this one too.’
‘But you’re the guest of honour!’
He grimaced. ‘I especially hate parties where I’m the guest of honour.’
Thia looked up at him searchingly, not sure whether or not Lucien Steele was playing with her. Not sure why he was bothering, if that should be the case!
The steady regard of those pale eyes and the grimness of his expression told her that this was a man who rarely, if ever, played.
He was seriously asking her to
