sparks my imagination.”
In his dark gray suit and dark gray tie, James Drummond was sparking her imagination in all kinds of undesirable directions. He was so buttoned down that the prospect of tearing off his crisp white shirt or running fevered fingers through his carefully combed hair seemed an intriguing challenge.
Was it wise to bed an enemy? Probably not, but a little flirtation couldn’t hurt. She needed to gain his trust, then figure out how to buy—or steal—her father’s factory back.
She managed another sip of the unfamiliar champagne. She had to stay focused. Her dad needed her and at last she could prove to him she cared. It wasn’t her fault she’d grown up nine thousand miles away, calling another man Daddy. She hadn’t planned the first two decades of her life but she was in charge of the rest and she intended to right some of the wrongs that had been committed against Walter Chen. Starting with the wrongs committed by one James Drummond.
They left the cocktail party together, and James’s driver took them to Rain, the hottest new restaurant, where even he had to pull strings to get a reservation.
“This place is stunning. I had no idea Singapore had so much nightlife.” She stared around at the minimalist decor with its cool green lighting. “Clearly, I need to get out more.”
“Got to keep the worker bees happy or we’d all fly off somewhere else.”
He sat opposite her, pleased by the surprise of having dinner with a beautiful woman who’d been in his life for only one hour. Fiona had his attention. Her company, Smileworks, had created an international splash with its funky graphics and new concepts for things to stick decals to—like walls. That she’d already sold it and banked more money than most people made in a lifetime was impressive.
And she was beautiful as well as smart, with dramatic dark eyes framed by slightly arched brows, and a full mouth that begged to be kissed. Her American accent had surprised him, and added to the layers of intrigue. She was exactly the kind of woman he could see himself marrying.
And he needed to marry.
The waiter gave them shiny black menus. He watched her eyelashes flick lower as she scanned hers. Then she looked up and transfixed him with those bright eyes. “What do you recommend?”
“I’ve heard it’s all good, but I can lend my personal recommendation to the sea urchin.”
Her eyes widened. “I had no idea those were edible.”
The waiter showed him a bottle of his favorite wine and he nodded. When the waiter had filled their glasses and left, he leaned in. “Last time I had the pigeon. That was good, too. All depends on whether you want to eat creatures of land, sea or air.”
She laughed. “How about a pond?”
“The duck is very tender.” He smiled and lifted his glass to her. “And I expect they could even make pond weed taste good if they wanted.”
“A little salt and pepper, sauté it with garlic?” Humor sparkled in her lovely eyes. Then she raised her glass and took a sip. “That’s some good wine.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “At four hundred dollars a bottle it should be. I like it.”
“You spend more time in Singapore than Scotland?” She unfurled her napkin as she asked.
“I do. Scotland’s not exactly an international business hub.” Funny how she hadn’t even asked him what he did yet. That was refreshing. Being new to Singapore, she obviously had no idea of his reputation, which was also a plus. It got tiresome explaining to people that you weren’t a vulture, or—lately—that vultures played an important role in the circle of life. “You can work from anywhere these days. I do most of my work over the internet.”
“I do, too, but nothing beats meeting people face-to-face.” Fiona’s face was lovely. Smooth skin with a radiant glow that contrasted with thick dark hair that swept to her shoulders. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair.
And if all went according to his current plan, he would.
“It’s funny that you have a Scottish first name, when there’s nothing Scottish about you.”
She lifted her slim brow with a slightly defiant air. “I do like plaid. I even bought a pair of plaid shoes the other day. What’s Scottish about you?”
“Good question. I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked it before. I’m probably the only person I’ve ever met who actually enjoys single malt whiskey.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re certainly the only one I’ve met. I tried it once and I won’t be doing that again.”
“I treat it with a healthy respect, myself, as it’s killed a lot of my forebears.”
“They were drinkers?”
“Drinkers, fighters, fast drivers, the type of men who go out looking for the end of a sword to run into.”
Curiosity sparkled in her eyes, and stirred the arousal gathering low inside him. “And you’re not like that?”
“I prefer to be holding the sword.”
He expected a laugh, or at least a smile, but she simply seemed to consider his words for a moment. “I suppose that is a better position to be in. Are you afraid of ending up like your ancestors?”
“Can’t say I am. Though I keep getting emails and letters from my American cousin who’s decided it’s her mission to save the Drummond family from an ancient curse by reuniting three parts of a lost chalice.”
Her eyes widened. “A curse? Do you think there’s anything to it?”
“I don’t believe in that kind of nonsense. Hard work and common sense are the cure for most so-called curses I’ve heard about.”
“You did say your ancestors kept wading into trouble.” She raised a slim brow. “Maybe there’s something to the legend. Where is the chalice supposed to be?”
“According to my cousin’s last rather breathless email, she’s already found two pieces. One was in the family home where she resides in New York—she’s a Drummond herself by marriage—and the other was found in the ocean off an island in Florida, where it sank in a pirate ship three hundred years ago. She thinks the third piece was brought back to Scotland by one of my ancestors.”
“How intriguing.” She leaned forward, giving him a tantalizing whiff of her soft floral scent. “Are you going to look for it?”
Her obvious excitement stirred a trickle of interest in the idea. He’d almost forgotten about Katherine Drummond and her pleas for him to join in the hunt. He’d been so busy lately he couldn’t remember if he’d even responded. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes shone. “It’s so romantic.”
Romantic was good. He was already entertaining romantic thoughts about Fiona, whose black cocktail dress wrapped her slim, athletic figure like a glass around a shot of single malt. “She’s convinced the third part of the cup is hidden somewhere on my Scottish estate. She’s even offered a reward
