Bought: Damsel in Distress. Lucy King

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you like some water?’ he enquired mildly, still apparently absorbed.

      She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, but don’t worry. I’ll get it.’ Standing up and moving around would do her good. It might even give her body the opportunity to redistribute her blood away from her face. ‘I wouldn’t want your concentration to be disturbed any further,’ she added, levering herself out of the seat.

      She wandered across the cream carpet towards the drinks cabinet where Luke had poured her champagne when they’d boarded. What a way to travel. No interminable check-in queues, no stuffing your case into an overfilled overhead locker and yourself into an uncomfortable seat. And a travelling companion that looked like Luke. Her skin prickled and she went warm.

      ‘Would you like anything?’ she asked, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge and filling a glass. She pressed the cold bottle against her cheek and felt it cool her overheated body.

      Sticking a hand in the back pocket of her jeans, she took a sip and bent down to look out of the window at the great expanse of azure sky.

      ‘No, thanks. And you’re disturbing me.’

      Emily blinked, instantly aware that her skin had prickled, was still tingling, because his eyes had been burning into her back. ‘No, I’m not,’ she said calmly. ‘You’re watching me.’

      A pause, and then, ‘Like I said, you’re disturbing me.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      EMILY went still while her body temperature rocketed. Had he really just said that? Did it mean what she thought it meant? She straightened and turned, eyes wide, not quite sure what to say next.

      Luke wasn’t in his seat. He’d moved to the fax machine and was shuffling the pages into the feeder. What with the hum of the engines and the thickness of the carpet she hadn’t heard him move.

      She took a deep breath. ‘Am I?’ she said.

      Luke didn’t break from what he was doing. ‘Are you what?’

      ‘Disturbing you?’

      ‘Not at all,’ he said, whipping round and flashing her a brief smile. ‘Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything you like.’

       What?

      Then she shrugged. She must have misunderstood, she decided, following his movements over the rim of her glass as he strode back to the chair. He picked up his own glass and tossed the contents down his throat. Emily slid back into her seat and watched him as he leaned and twisted over to pull out another report. The muscles in his torso were clearly defined beneath his shirt. He pushed up his sleeves to reveal strong, tanned forearms and her mouth went dry.

      Emily didn’t generally have a thing about forearms, but Luke’s were—well, they were making her reconsider. Tanned, muscled, lightly sprinkled with rough hair. She felt a fierce urge to run her hands over them. Her eyes fell to the long brown fingers idly twirling the pen as he concentrated on the report. Compared to the speed with which he’d read the last document, this one seemed hard going. In fact, he hadn’t turned the page once, and he hadn’t underlined a single word or made any notes whatsoever. If pressed, she’d have sworn he was distracted.

      She would do the decent thing and rescue him from his torturous report by dazzling him with her conversational skills. But before she could make a start on finding out what made this enticingly enigmatic man tick, Luke shot to his feet and went to pour himself some more water.

      ‘Don’t you drink?’ she asked when he returned. She’d been merrily sipping away at her champagne since take-off, but he hadn’t touched a drop.

      ‘Not on a Friday when I’ve got meetings in the afternoon.’

      She nodded sagely. ‘Very wise. On the other hand, who arranges meetings on a Friday afternoon? It’s practically the weekend.’

      ‘I have clients in Monte Carlo. And it’s not the weekend.’

      Mmm. ‘What do you do?’

      ‘I’m a fund manager.’

      ‘Ah, interesting.’

      Luke smiled. ‘Not really. Unless you happen to have an obsession with derivatives and index futures.’

      ‘Which you do?’

      ‘I seem to have a knack for making money out of them.’

      And didn’t that neatly avoid the question? She nodded in what she hoped was a knowledgeable fashion. ‘I should imagine there are quite a few high net worth individuals in Monte Carlo.’

      Luke’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You know about high net worth individuals?’

      ‘Don’t sound so surprised. I know a little about lots of things.’

      ‘Like what?’ He linked his hands together and leaned forward.

      ‘Like how City boys like you can spend ten thousand pounds on a gold leaf cocktail,’ she said, giving him a small smile to show she was half joking.

      Luke frowned. ‘A few do. I don’t. And nor do any of my staff. They don’t have time. Plus, they know they’d be fired if they did.’

      She shuddered. Ruthless as well as gorgeous. A dangerously attractive combination.

      He shot her a sudden killer smile that had her blood racing round her body. ‘Besides, I prefer to spend my money on rescuing damsels.’

      ‘You mean there are others?’ she said, trying not to sound too curious.

      ‘Not at the moment. It’s very distressing.’

      Emily let out a burst of laughter.

      ‘What about you? What do you do?’

      ‘A bit of this, a bit of that.’ Emily smiled at the quizzical look on his face. ‘I’m a professional temp, currently resting.’ She waited. This was the moment when people usually scoffed at her, or told her what an idiot she was for not pursuing a proper career.

      Luke leaned back. ‘What made you choose to be a temp?’

      Emily was taken aback. He sounded genuinely interested. Most people assumed that she was temping until she could find a proper job. Whereas she’d made a deliberate decision to make it a career. ‘I like the flexibility. Days off when I want. It’s perfect. It gives me time to do the things I love doing.’

      He was looking at her as though she was speaking in a foreign language. ‘Such as?’

      ‘Spending time with my sister and her twins. Seeing friends, potting, that kind of thing.’

      ‘Potting?’

      ‘Potting. Making pots.’

      ‘Are you any good?’

      ‘No idea. But I don’t have to be. It’s a hobby. I do it for fun.’ That

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