‘Of course I’m not!’
‘You know how I feel about you. The only thing I want to do right now is get you out of here and into a bed so that I can make love to you until we’re both too exhausted to carry on. I want to peel that dress off your luscious body and touch you in all the places I know you like being touched. So when I tell you that you put every other woman in the shade here, then trust me. I’m not kidding.’
‘Stop!’ Her blood was boiling and she was so very aware of him that she could barely think. ‘You know I don’t want you saying things like that...to me.’
‘Say that like you mean it.’
‘I do mean it. I’m just a little...nervous.’
* * *
‘No need. Look around you. If you were hoping to attract some glances, then you’ve succeeded.’ Art heard the edge in his voice and knew that it was a few degrees off the light, amused tone he had intended. She might not have noticed, but he had seen the way men had turned to have a second look. Most women were dressed to kill in black. Rose was a splash of exotic colour, a bird of paradise with her long wild hair and her strong intelligent face. She announced to the world that she was different and that was a very sexy trait. And not just to him.
Halfway through the evening, he realised that she had disappeared into the crowd. The man who was accustomed to a high level of irritation with women clinging like limpets to him at functions like this found that his irritation level was skyrocketing now and for a different reason.
Where the hell was she now? And why was he having to hunt for her?
It got on his nerves. She was a flash of red but, before he could pin her down, she was gone. Nursing a whisky while a blonde tried to get his attention, Art decided that, for Rose’s own good, he would take her back to the hotel.
‘Got to go.’ He interrupted the blonde abruptly. Pushing himself away from the wall, against which he had been leaning, he ignored a couple of MPs who had been trying to gain his attention.
Rose was laughing at something some guy was telling her. Art wasn’t born yesterday. He could recognise a man on the make a mile away.
He came to an abrupt towering halt in front of them and Rose blinked and frowned at him.
‘Mind if I interrupt?’ Art interrupted anyway. ‘I’ve barely seen you all evening...’
‘That’s because I’ve been chatting to all the interesting people here,’ Rose returned gaily, swiping a glass of wine from a passing waitress. ‘For instance, this is Steve and he does some amazing work for the UN.’
Steve reddened and straightened and stuck out his hand, clearly awed by Art, who felt ancient and cynical beyond his years in comparison. He politely asked a couple of interested questions but his attention was focused on Rose and his body language dismissed the young fair-haired man, who duly evaporated into the crowd after boldly exchanging phone numbers with Rose.
Which made Art’s teeth snap together with annoyance.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said without preamble.
‘But I’m not ready to leave yet.’
‘Tough. It’s been over four hours, which is two hours longer than I usually stay at these things.’
‘I’m having fun. There’s no need for us to leave together, is there?’ Rose squinted at his darkly disapproving expression. ‘I know,’ she pressed on, ‘we came together, in a manner of speaking, but it’s not as though we’re on a date and there are so many more interesting people I still want to meet.’
‘Repeat. Tough. Anyway, don’t you think you’ve had your fill of interesting people? Or is the entire room interesting after a few glasses of Chablis?’
‘Not fair.’
Art shifted uncomfortably, recognising that she had a point. He raked his fingers through his hair and shot her a frowning glance. ‘I apologise.’ He tugged and undid the bow tie. ‘But you’ve had a few drinks and you’re not accustomed to that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here on your own to get on with the rest of what remains of the evening.’
‘Do you think the poor little country girl might end up making a fool of herself? These shoes are killing me, by the way. Are there any chairs around here?’
‘I think the poor little country girl might end up finding herself in slightly more hot water than she bargained for. And not many chairs, no. The expectation is for networking, not falling asleep in an armchair.’
‘What do you mean about me finding myself in hot water?’
‘You’re sexy when you get angry.’
Rose blushed and pouted. ‘Don’t try to change the subject. What do you mean? I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it most of my life.’
‘This isn’t a quiet, sleepy village in the middle of nowhere.’ Art didn’t care how this sounded. There was no way he was going to leave her here on her own. The thought of predators circling her, moving in for the kill, made him see red. She was stunning and part of her appeal was the fact that she was so natural, so utterly without pretence, so patently open and honest. Aligned to her intelligence and her dramatic looks...well, it was a recipe for disaster in the big, bad city. If she didn’t see that, then it was just as well that she had him around to see it on her behalf.
‘I’d noticed, now that you mention it.’
‘Have you paid any attention to the number of lechers who have been hanging around you all evening?’
‘Have you?’
Art flushed. ‘You came with me. I can’t be blamed for wanting to look out for you.’
Rose’s mouth twitched.
Art noted the way her pupils dilated and her eyes widened. He clocked the way her breath hitched and was suddenly turned on in a way that shocked him in its ferocity.
‘Should I be grateful?’ Rose breathed huskily.
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’ The entire roomful of people could have evaporated. There was just the two of them, locked in a bubble in which he was acutely sensitive to every fleeting expression on her face, to the rasping of her breath and the deep, deep longing in her eyes.
‘Don’t look at me as though you want to touch me. Do that and you’re playing with fire.’
‘I started playing with fire the minute you came into my life,’ Rose said in a tone of complete honesty.
‘We should go,’ Art told her roughly, leading the way, his hand cupping her elbow.
She was coming on to him. He felt it and, much as he would have liked nothing better than to have followed up on those hot little signals she was giving off, a tipsy Rose wasn’t going to do. He wanted her sober and desperate for him, the way he was desperate for her. Nothing else
