man, and he was interested and making no secret of it.
She felt hot and tingly and aware of her body in ways she hadn’t been in such a long time.
Then she remembered what Simone had said about him being a player and she stood on the brakes. She lifted the menu.
‘Did you plan to have lunch with the charity’s representative, Mr Blue?’ she enquired, pleased that her voice continued to be cool and play-by-my-rules.
‘It’s Nash.’ His voice was low and lazy, ‘And no, Lori, it wasn’t on the programme.’
‘It’s Lorelei.’ She didn’t lift her eyes from the menu she was pretending to read. ‘And I wouldn’t want to hold up your important day.’
There was a pause and from the corner of her eye she caught the movement of his arm as he reached into his jacket. ‘Excuse me one moment.’
She lowered the menu. He was keying a number on his cell.
‘Luc, I won’t be back.’ His tone of voice was abrupt and to the point—nothing like the easy male drawl he used with her. ‘Have them send the contracts straight over to Blue. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.’
Lorelei put the menu down.
He pocketed the cell.
‘I take it that was for me,’ she observed, lifting a finely arched brow.
The wine had arrived. He poured her a glass himself, then lifted his tall glass of sparkling wine and touched the flute in her hand.
He didn’t smile, but his eyes caught and held the part of her fighting to get free, and in that instant Lorelei stopped struggling.
His voice was deep and affectingly roughened, as if coming from a part of himself he usually held in check.
‘Consider me all yours for the afternoon.’
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