all of a sudden, and he made allowances for the fact that she was nervous, saying, ‘I believe you’re only here for a week? You’re based in London?’
She swallowed and his eyes followed the movement. Even that small movement was graceful. Her refined elegance was impacting upon him somewhere deep. And it surprised him. He’d long ago rejected the cool upper-class beauties who thronged around him—drawn by the hard shell he knew he wore, hewn over years of hard graft as he’d remoulded himself into something much more durable. He knew they were attracted to the rough edges he’d acquired. They didn’t want to know he’d once been one of them. They only wanted the thrill of thinking they were with someone vaguely dangerous. Rough. Someone whose industry was gritty. Base.
He took pleasure in rejecting them because he rejected that world—and yet here he was, sitting mere inches away from a woman who could put all those other society bitches in the shade with a mere arching of her elegant brow. And his blood was pumping so hard and so hot he could hardly think straight.
She looked at him and dark tendrils of hair trailed over her shoulders like silk. ‘I...yes, I’m based in London. So, to be perfectly honest, I think this date is pretty redundant.’
It took a second for her cut-glass English accent to sink in—and her words. And then they did...along with the very cool expression on her face.
Ben blinked. ‘So why agree to a date if it’s redundant?’
Her gaze narrowed and she took a deep breath, and despite the sudden chill in the air Ben’s gaze helplessly dropped down to take in the press of those luscious breasts against the thin silk of her blouse.
‘Because I wanted to meet you face to face and tell you that I know you met my father before, when you tried to take him over.’
Ben’s gaze snapped back to her dark blue one. The heat in his blood simmered, not diminishing under the positively frosty vibes she was sending his way now. He hid his surprise that she’d registered the connection and shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It’s a small world.’
She sounded bitter. ‘Evidently too small.’ She took another sip of her drink, her fingers pale around the heavy glass.
Ben tensed. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Now she looked almost angry, with two spots of colour coming into her pale cheeks. ‘What I’m saying, Mr Carter—’ she put heavy emphasis on his name, as if he might still be under any illusion that things weren’t deteriorating rapidly ‘—is that, based on your previous history with my father, you can’t seriously expect me to believe that this date is pure coincidence?’
Ben thought of how mesmerised he’d been by that photo of her and felt exposed. Her cynicism shouldn’t have surprised him, but somehow it did. He was on high alert now. Carefully, he said, ‘I can’t say that it’s pure coincidence, no. I am aware of who you are—who your father is.’
She smiled, but it was hard. ‘And so you saw an opportunity and grabbed it?’
Ben forced a smile too, in some kind of an effort to try and relieve the tension. ‘Evidently you joined the Leviathan agency because you’re interested in dating, I would have thought the fact that we have something in common is a good conversation-starter.’
Julianna’s eyes glittered like dark sapphire jewels. ‘Well,’ she said coolly, ‘I’m afraid I have no interest in starting any kind of conversation with you, Mr Carter. I came here merely to inform you of that, in case you’d be left in any doubt.’
With that, she downed the rest of her drink in one go and gathered up her bag, which was on the seat beside her.
She stood up and looked down at him. ‘And as for my father—his position has not changed, so I suggest you seek your opportunities elsewhere. Thank you for the drink, Mr Carter, I’ll see myself out.’
Before Ben could fully process what was happening she was hitching her bag strap onto her shoulder and walking away from the table.
Ben finally stood up, his reflexes dulled, thanks to shock, and was just in time to see the anxious-looking maître d’ helping her with her overcoat. Then she was walking out of the bar without a backward glance.
Ben looked at his watch incredulously. The date had lasted less than fifteen minutes.
He sat down again, her haughty accent reverberating in his head. ‘I suggest you seek your opportunities elsewhere.’ If it wasn’t so disturbing it would be funny, but the fact was that her father had been the furthest thing from his mind until she’d brought him up.
Julianna Ford, with her glacial dark blue eyes and her upper crust accent, had just pulled the rug out from under Ben’s feet. And it was only now that he fully registered that last look she’d sent him—disdainful and dismissive. As if he wasn’t fit to clean her shoes.
Ben signalled for the bill. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that and, even though he knew he should be writing Julianna Ford off as a spoilt rich bitch, his blood still ran hot. Hot with lingering lust, and hot with irritation that she’d lodged herself so neatly under his skin so quickly.
To say this date had morphed into something out of all expectations was an understatement.
Ben was grim as he walked out just seconds later. No one took him by surprise—certainly not a woman. And definitely not a woman he wanted.
* * *
Lia was still trembling from an overload of adrenalin as the yellow cab took her to her Central Park hotel. And her head felt light with the effects of the alcohol she’d drunk too quickly. It had provided the Dutch courage she’d needed, though, to say what she’d had to say to the most intimidating man she’d ever met.
Even now she could picture him lounging on the other side of the table, all sleek hard muscle and broad shoulders, sheathed in that suit that had done nothing to disguise his crackling virile energy. That sexy smile playing around his mouth.
She couldn’t really believe she’d found the wherewithal to stand and look down at him and deliver those parting words, or that she’d managed to walk out on rubbery legs. She’d been terrified they’d buckle underneath her before she could make it to the door.
She knew she could project an icy veneer of confidence when she needed to—it was a skill she’d honed after her mother had left, when Lia had overheard her saying cuttingly, ‘Of course I’m not taking Lia with me. What can I do with a child who stutters and stammers and blushes every time someone looks at her?’
Even now, all these years later, Lia still felt the faint burn of shame mixed with humiliation. Her father’s subsequent over-lavishing of attention and love upon her hadn’t been able to remove the scar of that rejection, but Lia had never stuttered or stammered again from that day on. The blushing, though... She put a hand to her cheek and it felt hot. Seemingly she still had little control over that.
At least Benjamin Carter had stayed in his seat. The thought of having to say those words to him if he’d uncoiled to his full intimidating height made her throat go dry.
She might—hopefully—have convinced him that he was less interesting than the fungus growing under a rock, but her throbbing pulse told her that he was far from uninteresting to her. And, as successfully as she might have delivered her put-down, that was the real reason why she’d all but run from the
