That was pretty much how the article had summed him up that morning before really crucifying him.
Hell, maybe she knew exactly who he was and what he was like, hence her lack of interest.
If that was the case, she definitely wasn’t his type.
Not at all.
Liar...
Okay, so maybe it was time to break with tradition.
* * *
Did he have to be heading to the same floor?
She’d had enough of arrogant arseholes for one day and here she was stuck in a lift with a self-professed one. She couldn’t deny he’d amused her with his honesty and self-deprecating introduction though.
But he was trouble.
He wasn’t like Charles. He wasn’t smooth and perfect, clean-shaven and pristine.
No, this man was all about the stubble and the bedhead hair; a sun-kissed surfer plucked from the ocean, jazzed up and dumped in the city. The jeans and sweatshirt hugging his imposing frame looked laid-back but they screamed designer from top to toe. And the way he had her pulse tripping over itself, he was just as dangerous. On every level.
‘Now you know so much about me,’ he suddenly said, his accent thick and exciting her far more than was fair, ‘how about you let me take you for a drink?’
She almost swallowed her tongue, the portfolio digging into her side as she turned rigid. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Not right this second,’ he said, his amber eyes twinkling with amusement and holding her own. ‘But at a mutually agreeable time, of course?’
Of course. She mentally rolled her eyes. Would he just get the hint?
Her resolve was good, but she wasn’t immune. She could feel the temptation well enough and the sooner she got free of it, the better. She dragged her eyes away, forcing them on the intricate pattern twisting through the gold lift door ahead. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Care to tell me why?’
Because I’m not a fool. ‘I know you.’
The lift announced the arrival of their floor and he spoke over it. ‘You do?’
‘Obviously not you exactly,’ she said, relief sweeping through her as the lift doors opened and she stepped out.
Purposeful, she turned left towards Julia’s and hoped he would take the hint or a different direction at least. He didn’t.
‘Obviously,’ he reaffirmed, falling into step behind her. ‘I’d remember if I’d met you before.’
Her tummy gave an annoying flutter and she squashed it. She was going to have to be more specific. Brutal even...
‘What I mean is, I know your type.’
‘My type?’
‘Hell, yeah, great in the sack, perfect bedroom material...’ she sent him a scathing look ‘...but beyond that...well, we don’t go there, do we?’
His step faltered. ‘Wow, hung, drawn and quartered.’
She could hear his surprise, feel his unease, and victory surged warm in her veins. Her harsh assessment had hit its mark, hopefully enough to send him running.
And if that didn’t, the hint of her being the relationship kind should do it.
‘You have quite the opinion of men.’
She gave a derisive laugh and turned a bend, the sanctity of Julia’s hotel room now only a few strides away.
‘So, you’re either an anti-male lesbian—’ it was her turn to falter mid-step ‘—or you’ve been burned before. Which is it to be?’
A lesbian...
She laughed with reignited vigour. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken as such. Ever since she’d opted for the cropped hairstyle—one of her many post-break-up actions—she’d been hit on by women and men alike, hoping she swung their way. But she wasn’t about to tell him anything close to the truth.
‘Typical arrogant male—just because I’m not interested in you per se, I have to be a lesbian.’ She’d arrived at Julia’s door and to emphasise her point, she faced it and rapped against it. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’
He wasn’t moving away. If anything, he was settling in right alongside her—what the fuck?
She didn’t have time to ask what he was playing at; the door swung open to reveal her rather disgruntled-looking client—shit. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Ms Larsson.’
The woman visibly cringed. ‘Drop the Ms, makes me feel ancient, it’s Julia...and so you should be,’ she said, shrugging a tan leather jacket over a white T and looking from Zara to her unwanted companion. ‘The pair of you.’
Pair of us?
Zara looked to him and he gave her a bemused shrug. ‘Seems you can’t get away from me that easily.’
‘Oh, good God, Daniel, don’t tell me you’ve hit on my estate agent already?’ The woman’s eyes flashed furiously, their colour strikingly similar to his.
Come to think of it, so was the golden hue to her shoulder-length hair...
‘I wouldn’t call it hitting on, exactly,’ he said, with another one of those annoyingly casual shrugs. ‘We were actually just discussing sexual tendencies.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Julia looked at her, cheeks flushing, eyes bright. ‘Seems I owe you an apology too.’
‘You do?’ Zara’s voice sounded faint, her brain rapidly piecing the situation together.
‘This animal,’ Julia said, gesturing to him in mock disdain, ‘is my brother—well, half-brother, to be exact. But seriously, Daniel, vad fan?’
‘Brother?’ she repeated, her eyes sweeping to the man himself, the realisation that she wasn’t going to evade him any time soon setting off a troubling dance in her chest.
‘In my defence,’ he said, a curious frown creasing his brow, ‘she brought it out in me.’
‘That’s your excuse?’ Julia said incredulously, delivering a playful shove that barely moved him, his eyes remaining fixed on Zara’s every bit as curious and heated and very, very interested. ‘If I didn’t value your opinion so much, I’d tell you to just do one and leave us to it.’
‘Seems that makes two of you today,’ he said, his penetrating gaze reaching inside Zara’s mind and triggering a replay of all that she had said with embarrassing
