Читать книгу The Billionaire's Captive Bride - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 6

“PETER RAMSEY.”

His voice held a clipped self-assurance, demanding an efficient reply.

Erin took a deep breath to calm her jiggling heart. Speak to the man. Reach out to him, she told herself. You have this one chance!

“Hi! It’s Erin Lavelle.” The words spilled out in a breathy rush. Oh great! she thought. He’s probably hearing the pant of a gold-digger who hopes she’s onto a good thing with this call.

“You do have a very distinctive voice,” he said, and it sounded as though he was smiling through the words.

Smiling with pleasure!

A wild, wonderful hope danced through her mind. “You asked me to call,” she reminded him.

“It’s come later than I expected. I thought you weren’t going to contact me. I’m glad you have.”

It was pleasure. Warm pleasure. A smile burst across Erin’s face. “Mrs Harper didn’t come until five o’clock. She’s only just left.”

“Ah!” The sound of satisfaction. “There must be a lot to tell me and I do want to know all of it. Would you join me for dinner, Erin? I’ve been with Dave Harper most of the afternoon, getting his side of the story to a good lawyer. I need to hear your impressions of his wife.”

“Dinner…” she repeated dazedly. The invitation had come so fast her head was spinning.

“Regardless of what people might have told you about me since our meeting in the park, I promise I’m not the big bad wolf, and you don’t have to fear my gobbling you up on the spot,” he assured her with dry mockery.

“Right!” she said, though the idea of being gobbled up by Peter Ramsey had actually sent her pulse-rate zooming. “Where and when?” she asked, trying to sound efficient and not too eager.

“Whatever suits you, Erin.”

Which lobbed the ball straight into her court.

Was it a test of how much she would try to screw out of him?

What did he expect her to choose?

Best to go for her own comfort zone, she swiftly decided, given she was in an absolute tizz about meeting him again. The intimidation of a ritzy restaurant would only make her more nervy.

“Are you okay with a downmarket place?” she asked, wondering if he preferred the privileges that went with being recognised in trendy surroundings.

“No problem,” he assured her.

So he didn’t need ego-stroking.

“Do you like Thai food?”

“Fine with me.”

He was being very accommodating.

Glowing happily, Erin gave directions. “Along Oxford Street, between the end of Hyde Park and Taylor Square, there’s a little restaurant called Titanic Thai. I could meet you there at seven-thirty.”

“Should I book a table?”

“No. I’ll drop in and ask them to keep me one.”

“You live nearby?”

“More or less,” she answered vaguely, not wanting to divulge too much about herself at this point. “I’ll see you there then?”

“Seven-thirty, Oxford Street, a Thai restaurant called Titanic but it’s only little,” he said in a tone of amusement.

“That’s it,” she confirmed and rang off, feeling pleased with herself for not only seizing the chance he’d held out, but for taking command of proceedings, as well.

Her feet wanted to skip all the way to the bus stop.

Got her!

Peter’s hand clenched in exhilarating triumph.

Then he laughed at himself for being so absurdly excited over another meeting with a woman whose life was so remote from his, they’d probably have nothing to talk about apart from Dave Harper’s miserable situation.

Nevertheless, that bit of reality did not dim his desire to experience all there was to know of Erin Lavelle. He’d been in the mood to embrace the wildly improbable ever since she’d smiled at him at the pedestrian crossing, and tonight was another step in the same vein. Knowing who he was, she could have taken him for an expensive dinner at a top class restaurant. He wouldn’t have cared if she had, but he was delighted with her choice. It was in keeping with this whole encounter—totally off-the-wall.

“Titanic Thai, here I come!” he said out loud, grinning to himself as he bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom of his Bondi Beach apartment. Shower, shave, change of clothes, get to Taylor Square, scout the restaurant…tonight he was going to get the princess with the magic rainbow smile and the heart of gold!

Erin knew that the most sensible course was to play it cool with Peter Ramsey, not look as if she expected anything from him, turn up in jeans and pretend she wasn’t madly wishing he found her too desirable to pass up. Their lives were too different to envisage any serious relationship between them.

On the other hand, she’d never been so captivated by a man. Even if it could only be a mad fling with him…

Temptation wove its own more exciting path around common sense and was in full swing by the time she reached the Hyde Park apartment hotel where she invariably stayed while in Sydney. It was in easy walking distance of the Thai restaurant where she had frequently dined.

As she showered, washed and blow-dried her hair into a silky black mane that rippled over her shoulders, her mind moved into a totally reckless whirl of wanting to make something happen between her and Peter Ramsey. Her hands reached into the clothes cupboard and pulled out the lemon, lime and green dress. It was a gorgeous dress. She loved the colours and the colours loved her. It was also a wicked little dress. In fact, her London editor, Richard Long, who regularly tried to move their relationship into a sexual one, had described it as a bed-me dress.

It was halter-necked, virtually backless, had to be worn braless, the low V-neckline in front showing a seductive hint of cleavage. A wide tan leather belt drew attention to the curvy lines of her figure, and the soft fabric flowed into a frothy skirt that was deliciously feminine. Teamed with strappy tan leather sandals and no jewellery, it wasn’t too, too dressy, Erin decided.

And so what if it did stir the pot tonight!

Peter Ramsey had appeared like magic in her life.

Why not use a bit of female witchery to keep him in it, at least for long enough to explore the feelings he’d aroused?

She was thirty years old and had virtually perfected the role of an onlooker of life, a passer-by who’d never felt truly wanted enough by anyone to become enmeshed in a deep involvement. A lasting attachment to Peter Ramsey was not really within the bounds of reason, but a brief one…a fiercely compelling conviction surged through her…that was worth going for, given that no other man had ever made such a deep impact on her.

Peter glanced at his watch as the waitress uncorked the bottle of chardonnay he’d bought from the liquor-mart next door and proceeded to pour him a glass of wine. Seven twenty-five. Only a few more minutes to wait if Erin was punctual. No reason for her not to be, he reasoned. Her choice of restaurant was very much a drop in place.

The front half of it was divided into a kitchen along one wall with a bench-seat along the wall facing it for takeaway customers to wait for their orders to be cooked. The back section had just two rows of five tables each side. He’d been led to the third one behind the kitchen, which provided privacy from the more transient customers.

The table had a laminated surface for easy cleaning. Paper serviettes were available from a dispenser. Pepper and salt and various sauces were contained in a holder. A corked bottle of water stood by two drinking glasses. If customers wanted to drink wine with their meal, it was a case of bring your own—information Peter had received when he’d arrived earlier. An ice bucket could be provided and was, the waitress leaving the bottle in it after she finished serving him.

He sipped the chardonnay—a fine Margaret River wine that he hoped would be to Erin’s taste. He wanted to please her, wanted her to be pleased with him. This meeting place virtually shouted that to her mind, any romance between them was out of the question. No doubt, the Ramsey name had intimidated her into thinking that. A smile of happy anticipation spread across his face. He relished the challenge of overriding that barrier with a full-on charm offensive.

Except it wasn’t needed.

That realisation hit him the moment Erin walked into his line of vision. There was nothing casual about her appearance. It was a full-on female offensive.

Desire to take what she was offering instantly kicked in. Erin Lavelle was an outstandingly gorgeous babe, long silky black hair swinging free, lush breasts free, too, playing peekaboo from a very sexy bodice. The dress she was wearing was a knockout—a stunning combination of colours that brought out the green in her eyes, and was styled to stir the juices of any red-blooded male.

Yes reverberated around in Peter’s brain.

But it was tinged with disappointment—the challenge had just been snuffed out.

And laced with cynicism—was this a reaction to his name and all it stood for? Had rainbow girl decided to take a crack at the pot of gold?

Mistake!

Elation had bubbled through Erin as Peter Ramsey rose from the table to greet her, looking stunned by this more glamorous version of herself, but there was something wrong with his smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. And it curled into a twist of irony.

Her fluttering heart closed its wings and shrunk inside itself. Her mind cringed with embarrassment. She’d misread his invitation to dinner. The attraction she felt towards him wasn’t mutual and she’d just made a gigantic fool of herself.

Defence instincts sprang into action. The fertile creativity in her mind was fast-tracked into finding a scenario that would wipe out his impression of availability signals being flaunted.

“Hi!” she said brightly, quickening her step towards him, holding out her hand, fixing a wry little smile on her mouth. “Excuse the glad rags. A bit out of place here. But I’m going on to a party afterwards and it was easier not to have to do a change of clothes later.”

“Please don’t apologise. No man could look at you tonight without feeling a sense of pleasure,” he rolled out, politely intent on putting her at ease, though the hand holding hers made that impossible. It gripped hard, almost possessively, sending a charge of heat into her bloodstream. “Meeting up with your boyfriend?” he asked, a laser-intensity in the blue eyes scanning hers, jolting her into giving up the truth.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

An arched eyebrow expressed surprise. “Then I’m sure there’ll be plenty of contenders for the position at the party.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, given the blatant sexiness of her dress. “But will I click with any of them?” she tossed out a touch ruefully, knowing how very rare that had been in her life, and the one possibility of it happening tonight was distancing himself from her.

“Very elusive, that click,” he remarked dryly.

“You find that, too?” She was babbling—babbling because she was so knotted up inside, any words were better than silence.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The hard challenge in his eyes made her feel silly. It derided any assumption that everything was easy for him. She really had no idea what his life was like, had come to find out, but…this wasn’t why he was here and she was putting every foot wrong.

“I’m sure you have a bigger choice of candidates for the click than I have,” she shot out defensively.

“Believe me, that doesn’t make it any less elusive.”

“I’m told you’ve had a lot of women, Peter.”

“Trial and error. How many errors have you made, Erin?”

She shook her head, completely rattled by the swift riposte and the highly personal probing in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how we moved onto this stuff. You wanted to know about Mrs Harper.”

“And the errors made there,” he agreed, releasing her hand and gesturing to the chair opposite his. “Are you in a hurry to get this dinner over with?”

The question flustered her. Everything about this meeting seemed to be going hopelessly awry, including her fiction about a party, which he naturally assumed would put a limit on this meeting. “No. No. Time doesn’t matter,” she muttered, settling on the chair and shooting him a look of appeal for a less pressured feeling to this meeting. “It’s Thomas who matters. His life is being screwed up by warring parents.”

“You care more about the child than the father?” Peter queried as he resumed his seat.

It made Erin pause to consider. “I guess I empathise more with Thomas. My own parents divorced when I was seven.”

“Were you the only child?”

“Yes.” She grimaced, remembering all too well the sense of being deserted. “A very lonely only child.”

“Who got custody of you?”

“My mother.”

“Was that what you wanted?”

“I wanted them to stay together.” She flashed him a look of burning conviction. “You shouldn’t have children if the marriage isn’t rock solid.”

“Is that why you haven’t married? You’ve never felt secure enough in a relationship?”

This conversation was going right off the rails. She didn’t want to analyse herself, not to him or anyone else. As it was, he’d drawn stuff from her she never talked about and it was none of his business. “We’re not here to talk about me,” she tersely reminded him.

“Just curious about where you’re coming from,” he said amiably, reaching for the bottle of wine, which was resting in an ice-bucket. “This is a Margaret River Chardonnay. Would you like to share it with me?”

No way was she going to add alcohol to the volatile mix of feeling emotionally torn up by this man. Her tongue was running out of control and she needed to put a guard on it. She nodded to the corked bottle on the table. “I’ll stick to water, thank you.”

“Saving yourself for party drinks.”

Erin paused to take stock of what was happening here. The party lie kept spawning questions that were pricking at her private life. Why was Peter Ramsey putting her so much on the spot if he had no personal interest in her?

His reaction to her attempt to look as attractive as she could had definitely been negative, yet since she’d dismissed her dressed up appearance as nothing to do with him, he seemed intent on finding out more about her than the main purpose of this meeting warranted.

Feeling uncomfortably confused with the situation, she looked him straight in the eye and belligerently stated, “No. I just prefer water. I like to keep a clear head.”

“Even at a party?”

“Especially at a party.”

“Had a bad experience,” he assumed.

“No. And I don’t want to invite one.”

“Sounds like being in control is of prime importance to you.”

He was boring in again, the piercing blue eyes focused so intensely on hers, answers to his questions had been spilling out as though drawn from her by a magnet. Despite being stone cold sober, Erin felt hopelessly out of control with Peter Ramsey. Her pulse was racing and her mind was struggling to keep up with his.

“I will not give control of my life to someone else,” burst from her lips before she even realised how revealing that was about herself.

He zoomed straight in on it. “Being independent is safer than trusting anyone, Erin?”

“When the people you should be able to count on keep shuffling you around for their convenience, you learn independence pretty darned quick,” she answered with considerable heat, feeling him burrowing under her skin, going deeper and deeper. “And that’s probably what’s in store for Thomas Harper,” she added emphatically, trying to move this conversation onto the track it should be taking.

Needing action to break the highly charged current flowing between them, she turned and grabbed the bottle of water, proceeding to fill one of the glasses provided with a long, cool drink.

“I’m sorry. I should have done that for you.”

The apology grated on her frayed nerves. “Why?” she shot at him.

He shrugged, his mouth twitching into a bemused little smile. “It’s what a gentleman does for a lady.”

“And what does a lady do for a gentleman in your world, Peter?”

She goes to bed with him.

The cynical thought was in her mind, even as she posed the question. Nevertheless, it came as a shock when she read it in his eyes, the sudden simmer of desire directed straight at her.

Even his smile seemed sensually seductive as he answered, “In my world a gentleman looks after a lady who answers his needs.”

Her mind was in an absolute whirl. “What need am I answering?” shot straight out of her mouth.

“My need to talk with you.”

His reply was so smooth, his expression shifting so swiftly to serious sincerity, Erin wondered if she’d imagined the hot flash of desire. But her skin was still tingling from it.

Fortunately the waitress arrived at their table to take their meal orders, diverting Peter Ramsey’s attention and giving Erin a breathing space. She needed a blast of oxygen in her brain to clear her confusion and get some reasonable perspective on what had eventuated from this meeting so far.

She had paraded her wish to be desirable to him with blatant honesty.

He hadn’t liked it.

Yet now…did he find a hard-to-get scenario more stimulating—the challenge of winning over resistance? Perhaps he’d had too many women offering themselves to him on a platter and he’d envisaged her being different—more of a novelty for him, like her choice of this restaurant.

She sighed.

Nothing in real life was simple.

Which was why she much preferred living in the stories she made up in her mind. She had total control over how her characters acted and what their response to each other would be.

“Erin?”

Peter’s prompt snapped her out of fantasy and back to the immediate demands of the present. She smiled at the waitress. “I’ll have the Chilli Jam Prawns.”