have a nice time in the evening—nothing too outrageous. Nothing the family could get too upset about. Succeed at the basics.
So she concentrated on the party at hand, moving among her fellow guests, meeting people. She’d learnt a bit from those years in Paris—found that parties weren’t just about having a good time yourself. It was much more fun if everyone was having a good time. She found her natural curiosity about people helped. But she was most curious about James. She kept her distance but glanced at him often, watching as, oozing with finesse, he schmoozed everyone he was near. But it was a genuine wow factor. He was attentive, he listened. He seemed to care about the conversations and the people he was having them with. Oh, yes, he had it all.
From his own busy networking, he watched her work the party—drink in hand. Tiny sips—the sparkle in her eyes from pure pleasure, not from any alcohol or artificial stimulant. She had everyone’s name right, introduced people with titbits of info that would interest the others. She took the time to talk to everyone—including those clearly a little in awe of talking to a real live princess. Oh, yeah, she had the whole thing down pat—but with a grace so genuine it was dazzling.
You’d think she was the hostess of the place, who’d been here for ever, known them all for ages instead of only having met most of them this very evening.
His body was burning with the need to expend the pent-up energy. She’d coiled him up and then given him that one last little twist to ensure he was on the brink of exploding. He was going to have to get her for that. But he’d keep his distance for now. The paparazzi had turned up and the last thing he wanted was to be the latest escort printed in the papers. So he observed and simmered. He saw now why she liked parties—she was good at them. And that point got him to thinking. Most people liked doing what they were good at and maybe Liss would be better off trying to do a job that she’d actually be good at. Her trying to be a secretary was like a giraffe trying to roller skate—pretty much asking the impossible. But he had to give her credit—she was making an effort.
Eventually, on his way out, he couldn’t resist. He was the moth, she the flame. He grimaced at the cliché. He refused to get burned, but maybe he’d get a little warm.
‘Need a refill? You’ve hardly touched your drink.’
Liss turned towards him, away from the rest of the party. ‘I finish up all the bottles later in the night,’ she quipped, determined to keep things light, free from danger.
‘Ah. So you start the evening as the perfect hostess and end the evening as the wild child.’
‘Some habits are hard to break.’
‘So I should stick beside you later on, then. I’m interested in seeing how wild that side of you is.’
Stick beside her? Temptation called again. ‘Never this side of midnight. It’ll probably be too late for you.’
‘How late do you go?’
‘As late as I like.’
His smile was sharp. ‘And will you be shining with the freshness of a daisy at work tomorrow morning?’
She froze. She should have seen that one coming. ‘My social life doesn’t impact on my work life.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Indeed.’ She caught that gleam in his eye and added for good measure, ‘I keep the two entirely separate.’
His grin was wicked and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. ‘Is that so?’ He repeated the question, dripping in disbelief, slower and even more sarcastic than the first time.
She could hardly blame him. After all, she’d been the one who’d attempted the whole near-miss-kiss thing. But she couldn’t wholly regret that either. Winning that momentary burn in his eyes had been one hell of a thrill. It was nice to pretend that for just one little itty-bitty second she’d had the power over him and he was the one dancing to her tune—well, almost. He’d wanted it.
So now, having scored that point, she could let the matter go—entirely.
She turned, aimed for professional. ‘See you tomorrow.’
He called after her with a triumphant drawl. ‘You’ll be on your own, princess. Tomorrow’s Saturday.’
LISS would have slept in if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about James. One moment he was hot—looking at her as if he wanted her—the next coolly sarcastic and disapproving. The zing was undeniable but the circumstances were all wrong and she got the vibe he thought she was all wrong. Her only logical course of action was to retreat. Be cool and professional during the day and keep her distance should their social schedules intersect.
But, oh, my, he looked so good in a tux—and in a business suit. Thank heavens she didn’t have to see him doing casual; she had the feeling he’d fill a pair of jeans jaw-droppingly well.
She spent a long time in the shower, the noise of the streaming water blocking the oppressive silence within the apartment. She slipped on skinny jeans and a casual tee shirt. Not bothering with much in the way of make-up. After a scrappy lunch she decided to leave for her appointment early—especially as she was determined to master the public transport system this week and not have it beat her. The numerous taxis home at night were beginning to add up and she couldn’t afford to take them during the day as well. And after last week’s nightmare of getting it all wrong, at least now she knew exactly which train and which bus were the ones to get. All she had to do was make it to the station on time.
She picked up her crate of goodies and headed out the door. By the time she was out of the lift and crossing the lobby she was ruefully thinking the crate was bulky and surprisingly heavy. She should have put it all in her wheelie case. Just then one of her slip-on shoes decided to slip off and skitter halfway across the floor.
‘Damn,’ she muttered.
‘Where are you going?’
She jerked her head around. James was walking across the floor—James?
‘To the station,’ she blurted, totally nonplussed.
‘Carrying that?’
She ignored the question, too busy picking up her jaw. She’d been right about the jeans—fit and firm and with that not-too-tight-not-too-loose tee shirt he was stealing all her breath. ‘What are you doing here?’ she half whispered, half hysterical.
‘I live in the penthouse.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to process that while juggling the crate and attempting to slip her foot back into the misbehaving shoe. She failed at all three.
‘Can I help you?’
‘No, thanks.’ Cool and professional. That was the way. Not ogling. Not imagining what his apartment must be like. Not feeling completely thrown.
But he’d already taken the crate from her and was frowning. ‘Which part of town are you headed to?’
‘Oh.
