Читать книгу The Millionaire's Inexperienced Love-Slave - Miranda Lee - Страница 8

ADRIAN had spotted the attractive brunette through the glass front of the café before coming inside. Despite his having a penchant for attractive brunettes, her presence had nothing to do with his entering. Since moving into his luxury apartment in Bortelli Tower a month ago, Adrian had become a regular at the ground-floor café, partly because of its convenience but mostly because the food was great.

The brunette had looked up when he’d walked in. Looked up and looked right at him. Hard.

At another time, Adrian might have encouraged her by returning solid eye contact, instead of averting his own gaze and pretending he hadn’t noticed her interest.

Today, however, he was not in the mood for female company. He was still smarting over what Felicity had said to him last night.

‘You should never have a real girlfriend,’ she’d thrown at him after he’d been appallingly late for a dinner date. ‘What you need is a mistress! Someone on tap who’s just there for the sex. Someone you don’t have to seriously care about, or consider. What I need is a man to love me with his whole heart and soul. The only thing you love, Adrian Palmer, is yourself, and your bloody buildings. I’m sick to death of waiting for you to ring me, or to show up. A good friend warned me about your reputation as a womanising workaholic, but I stupidly thought I could change you. I see now that I can’t. So I’m out of here. Maybe one day you’ll meet some girl who’ll break your heart. I sure hope so.’

Being told he had a reputation as a womanising workaholic had shocked Adrian. So had the realisation that he’d hurt Felicity, whom he’d always thought was as career-orientated as he was. Obviously, she’d been more emotionally involved with him than he’d ever been with her.

He should have noticed, he supposed. But he hadn’t.

He’d spent a sobering few hours last night, vowing to change his self-centred ways. Which was why he continued to ignore the brunette, despite his male ego being seriously stroked by the way her eyes followed him all the way across the room.

But when he sat down and scooped his hair back out of his own eyes, he caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window.

Wow, she wasn’t just attractive. She was very attractive, with long glossy black hair framing a pretty face and big brown eyes, which remained flatteringly glued to him.

When he picked up the menu, Adrian couldn’t help slanting a quick glance her way. Her eyes immediately dropped away, but not before he saw embarrassment in them.

Thank goodness she wasn’t the bold type, he thought, otherwise he might be tempted to go over to her table and ask her to join him for lunch. Which didn’t say much for his resolve to mend his womanising ways.

The brunette’s action of getting up from her table and approaching his totally surprised Adrian.

‘Um…excuse me,’ she said, rather hesitantly.

He glanced up from where he’d been pretending to read the menu.

She was even prettier up close, with a heart-shaped face, clear skin, a sweet little turned-up nose and a very kissable mouth. Her figure wasn’t half bad, either, shown to advantage in superbly tailored black trousers and a fitted pink jumper, which emphasised her full breasts and tiny waist.

‘I’m sorry,’ she went on, ‘but I have a question which I simply must ask you. You’ll probably think it very rude of me, but I…I need to know.’

‘Know what?’

‘Are you adopted, by any chance?’

Adrian blinked up at her. As a pick-up line, this was a highly original one and very effective. Far better than the old ‘Have we met somewhere before?’

Maybe he’d misread her earlier. Maybe she was bold. But with enough womanly wiles to be subtle in pursuit of what she wanted.

That was one of the reasons he was drawn to brunettes. He’d always found them interesting. And more of a challenge.

Adrian was a man who liked a challenge.

‘No, I’m definitely not,’ he replied, and wondered what she’d do now.

She frowned, her expression bewildered.

‘Are you absolutely sure? I mean…I don’t want to cause trouble, but some parents don’t tell their children they’re adopted. Is there any chance at all that you could be?’

Adrian finally appreciated that she wasn’t trying to pick him up. Her question was genuine, evidenced by the distress in her quite lovely brown eyes.

‘I assure you that I am my parents’ biological child, and I have photos to prove it. Besides,’ he added, ‘my father would never have kept something as important as that from me. He was a real stickler for honesty.’

‘That’s incredible, then,’ she said. ‘Truly incredible.’

‘What is?’ he asked, curious now.

She shook her head. ‘No matter,’ she muttered rather dispiritedly. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you.’

‘No, don’t go,’ he said when she began to turn away. There was a mystery here to solve.

Adrian loved mysteries almost as much as challenges.

‘You can’t leave me up in the air like this. I need to know why you thought I was adopted. Sit down and tell me.’

She glanced worriedly back at her table where she’d left her handbag, along with several shopping bags.

‘Why don’t you get your things and join me for lunch?’ he suggested.

She stared back at him for a long moment. ‘I’m sorry. I…I don’t think I can do that.’

‘Why not?’

Her eyes grew agitated, as did her hands, their wringing action bringing his attention to her wedding and engagement rings.

The realisation that she was married disappointed Adrian more than anything had in a long time.

‘Because your husband wouldn’t like it?’ he said, nodding towards her left hand.

Mentioning her husband seemed to agitate her more.

‘I…I don’t have a husband any more,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m a widow.’

Adrian found it hard to hide his satisfaction at this news.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and tried to sound sincere.

‘He was killed in an accident. I…I identified his body. I…Oh, God, I…I have to sit down.’

She slumped into the chair opposite him, her pale skin having gone a pasty grey colour.

Adrian hastened to pour her a glass of chilled water from the carafe on the table. She gulped it down, after which she shook her head again.

‘You must think me mad. It’s just that you…you look so much like him.’

‘Like who?’ he said just before the penny dropped.

‘Ray.’

‘Your dead husband.’

‘Yes. The resemblance is uncanny. You…you could be twins.’

‘I see,’ Adrian said. ‘So that’s why you wanted to know if I was adopted.’

‘It…it seemed the only solution.’

‘They say everyone has a double, you know.’

‘Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. That must be the case here. But it was still a shock.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Actually, now that I see you up close, your features are not exactly the same as Ray’s. Some things are a bit different. I’m just not sure what…’ Her head tipped to one side as she studied his face.

‘How long ago was your husband killed?’ he asked, thinking it had to be recent.

‘Five years.’

Adrian frowned. Five years! And she was grieving still. She must have loved him a lot. Still, it was high time she moved on. She was still young, and very lovely. Very, very lovely, he thought with a familiar prickling in his loins.

‘Ray was killed in a train derailment in the Blue Mountains,’ she explained sadly. ‘Several people died that day.’

‘I remember that. It was very tragic. And preventable, if I recall rightly.’

‘Yes. The train was going too fast for the conditions of the track.’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss. Did you and your husband have any children?’ She looked old enough to have had children. In her late twenties, or maybe thirty.

‘What? No,’ she said a bit brusquely. ‘No, we didn’t. Look, I…I think I’d better get back to my own table. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for the water.’

Adrian extended his right hand over the table towards her before she could escape.

‘My name is Adrian Palmer,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m an only child, son of Dr Arthur Palmer, general practitioner, now deceased, and Mrs May Palmer, one-time nurse, long retired. I’m thirty-six years old, unmarried and a successful architect. I designed this building.’

She stared at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘So that I won’t be a stranger. That is why you refused to have lunch with me, isn’t it?’