have a seat.’
‘I’m fine.’ He ranges to the windows, his stride long and lean, his body powerful. I mean, he looks powerful and sexy and yet I imagine him naked and my knees almost buckle beneath me.
He stares out at the city, snow falling fast beyond my window, the buildings lit up despite the fact it’s mid-afternoon.
‘Well, Mr Rothsmore, how can I help you?’
‘I was at the masquerade last weekend,’ he murmurs, still not looking at me. And I’m glad, because it means I get to look at him. And keep looking. At his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his firm ass, his long legs. Legs that have straddled me, legs that have pressed hard against mine.
He turns around and again I’m glad for the glasses. He’s waiting for me to speak. I swallow, bringing much-needed moisture to my mouth. ‘Yes?’
A single word, husky and dry.
‘I met a woman there. I didn’t get her name but I’d like to speak to her. Can you put me in touch?’
My heart hammers like nobody’s business. I’m dying inside. ‘I…’
My pulse is thready in my veins.
‘You know privacy is one of the member guarantees,’ I hear myself saying, moving to the bar across the room and pouring myself a mineral water. I take a sip to buy time.
‘Yes,’ he agrees, his eyes narrowing slightly.
‘That guarantee benefits everybody.’ I move to my desk, propping my hip against it with what I hope passes for nonchalance.
‘Nonetheless, the club is about networking and I have a proposition I’d like to make her.’
I swallow, desire flushing through me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! One night, no strings, no more. But, God, I want to push him to the floor and kiss him, hard, and beg him to make love to me. I sweep my eyes shut for a second.
Safe in the knowledge I’ve deleted Miss Anonymous from our forums, I shrug. ‘Have you checked the app?’
‘She’s not there, despite the fact we exchanged messages. I’d appreciate it if you could have someone from IT locate her and give me the details.’
I’m floored. And kind of flattered. ‘That would definitely be against membership rules.’
‘And you don’t break the rules, ever?’ he prompts, lifting a brow, and he’s just so perfectly rakish that my heart does a funny little tremble. I definitely broke the rules last weekend, even if they’re just rules of my own creation.
‘Rarely,’ I say with a small smile, which I quickly flatten. I smiled a lot that night. I can’t give myself away. In fact, I really need to wrap this up. As much as I don’t want him to go, he has to.
That night was an aberration. An itch I needed to scratch, and I scratched it. A lot.
‘Then perhaps this will be one of the occasions you will?’
I am instantly reminded that he is from a very wealthy, very ancient British family, a member of the aristocracy. He speaks with an authority and arrogance that would usually piss me off, but coming from Nicholas it is incredibly hot.
‘I’m afraid not.’
His eyes narrow. I suspect he doesn’t often get told ‘no’.
‘Not even if I make it worth your while?’
My heart turns over in my chest. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘A million-dollar donation to Chance. For a name.’
My sharp intake of breath is involuntary. It takes me several seconds to process this. My fingers tremble. I curve them around the water glass and sip, needing to process this.
‘A million dollars.’ He’s found his way to my Achilles heel and I’m sure he knows it.
Because I make it a policy of taking whatever I can for the charity. Even my parents’ donations, when I have mostly wanted to tell them to go to hell and take their ‘too little, too late’ conscience-pricking gifts with them.
I take everything that’s offered because I know the charity is now the wall that stands between life and death for so many helpless, impoverished children out there.
‘For a name,’ he murmurs, his hands in his pockets as he watches me intently.
‘Who is she?’
‘I only know that she’s single,’ he says with a grimace that signals frustration.
‘That probably accounts for seventy-five per cent of our female membership.’
He scowls at me. It shouldn’t be hot but it is.
‘We exchanged messages. She’s deleted them, and disappeared off the forums.’
I can’t tell him the truth. But that doesn’t stop me from asking, ‘Why do you want to find her?’
He stares at me for several long seconds, a muscle twisting in the base of his jaw. ‘It’s personal.’
I dip my head forward, trying to slow my breathing, hoping my cheeks won’t be too pink. ‘So is the member’s information. If you want me to look into our records and find out who she is, then I’ll need more to go on.’
His eyes stick to me for a long time and I want to rip off my glasses so I can look him right in the eyes. I want to rip his clothes off. I want to fuck him right here.
Oh, my God.
What’s happening to me? I’ve been single for four years and it never bothered me, but now I can’t be in the same room with a man without wanting to leap into bed. Not bed. Desk. Floor. Window. And not a man. This man.
‘Fine,’ he grunts. ‘We spent time together in the Intimate Rooms.’
There’s a part of me that deeply appreciates his discretion, even though he doesn’t know I’m Miss Anonymous. I’m glad he’s not going into all the sordid details of what we shared. I appreciate that he’s respecting our privacy.
‘That’s what the rooms are for.’
‘I’d like to see her again.’
The room is suddenly a void, as if a black hole has opened up and swallowed us. The atmosphere grows thick, the air is heavy in my chest. Everything’s different.
‘Why?’
His eyes explode with strength. ‘That is also personal.’
I swallow, desire unfurling in my gut like a slow-slithering snake. I want him. I want him so badly. But that’s crazy. I don’t do relationships, and I particularly don’t do relationships with men like this. Entitled, wealthy, spoiled, arrogant.
Even
