His gaze darted to her hands—her bare fingers. No. She’d never gotten the ring despite the on-bended-knee question. Then she saw his attention slide further south.
Wow, he hadn’t noticed her before, but now he was scoping out her legs? Nina chewed her lower lip to hide her smile because she was scoping far more than his legs. Sitting this close she could feel the warmth of him, could see the cords of muscle in his arms. The only imperfection she could find was a small scratch on the back of his hand. Pulling her focus away from him was an effort—she made herself glance at her watch.
“You’re worried you’re going to be late?”
She nodded. The fans were on the fourth rendition of their rousing song already and still the train’s engine was eerily silent.
“Work?” he asked.
She nodded again. “And you?” she asked.
“Yes. But my client won’t mind if I’m a bit late.”
So he was a banker. It figured. He had the money, the self-assurance. So why not the private car today? If he worked at Canary Wharf, he could give her a ride every morning. Her face tingled, heating at the double entendre. Oh yes, a ride—every morning and night…
She cleared her throat. Since when was she so one-track minded, thinking of nothing but sex? Was she over Corey at last? It was beyond time. But the sensible bit of Nina wasn’t ready to toy with another guy who was probably just as obsessed and image driven. She was going to travel—alone and indefinitely—finally free to do and be what she wanted. Just herself, no longer trying to live up to someone else’s expectations of interesting and cool. By herself she couldn’t bore anyone else, right?
“You don’t mind working on a weekend?” he asked, managing to speak over the fifth rendition of the supporters’ song.
“Not at all,” she said with a smile. The weekend customers were more fun. It was sometimes busier than weekdays, too, which made for fast-passing days. “I wish I was working even later tonight, to be honest.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have to go out later and I don’t want to.” She really didn’t want to.
“It’s not dinner at Pascal Dumont, is it? Because I have to go there tonight and I don’t want to either.” He looked sheepish.
Why didn’t he want to go there? “No,” Nina said disbelievingly with a laugh. As if she’d go to dinner at a Michelin-starred celebrity haunt? Booked out almost a year in advance, she’d heard the appetizers alone cost a bomb. “Mine is merely a meet up in a pub in North London.”
“With people you don’t want to see?”
She shot him a glance. Perceptive, wasn’t he? She nodded slowly. All Corey’s friends whom she hadn’t seen since she’d broken off their engagement. The entire time she’d known them, she’d been with Corey. She’d known them because of Corey. And most probably they’d known more than she had about the true state of their relationship. Humiliation central.
“Can’t you come down with a sudden flu or something?” He read the dread in her face.
Resolutely she shook her head. “It’d be too obvious.” She wanted to show them she was over it. That she didn’t need their sympathy or their pity—and that she could blank the bitchy laughter behind her back. Corey had been the catch, the one everyone wanted. And no one had been able to believe he’d picked her—least of all Nina. And then his deceit stripped her confidence even further. But was she supposed to be so grateful to have him that she’d put up with anything? He might have crushed her self-belief, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat.
Yet it had hurt—so much. She’d tried so hard to please him and she hated how naïve she’d been.
Now she sat up straighter, mentally pulling it together. They’d all be there and well into it by the time she got home from work and changed and out again. She’d grin and bear it for an hour or so and that would be that. She was out of here—if she was away while they were all in town, then she’d be fine. No matter about the Games. She’d managed things on her own before and she would this time, too. She’d travel about and prove just how much of an awesome life she could lead alone.
“You know we’re both adults.” Her train companion said idly, his accent lilting more strongly. “We could simply decide not to go. We could do something else.”
Shock tied her tongue. Temptation heated her cheeks. But surely he didn’t mean what she immediately thought of? Never. She shook her head again. “I have to go.”
“Why?” He leaned in close—apparently to avoid another dancer kicking up and down the aisle.
“Dignity.”
“I have to go too.” His smile became more of a grimace. “Duty.”
She swiveled—abandoning any attempt to hold back from looking her fill—not when she had such a close-up opp. “You cannot complain about having to eat at that restaurant.”
Amusement flashed again before he answered wryly. “I’m happy to eat there, but I’d prefer a more interesting dinner companion.”
He was turned toward her but had gone still again, like that statue, his silvery blue eyes fixed on her. Unbelievably intense. Her breasts tightened, so did her lower belly. Suddenly she couldn’t hear anything above the beat of the blood pumping through her body. Not even the flashmob performing their kazillionth rendition of their anthem.
It was his commanding presence. His height and breadth and foreign air. And it was definitely that whisper of soulfulness in his eyes, like they were wells of emotion—still on the surface but with hidden depths…
Yeah, she was being ridiculous. All but drooling. She might as well dig out a permanent marker and scrawl “I think you’re hot” across her forehead. And his response? He was watching her, but wasn’t he too restrained about it? Too cool. In other words—not nearly moved to the degree she was.
“Come on!”
Someone grabbed Nina’s hands and pulled her to her feet. One of the dancers—smiling wide and singing loud. Nina swayed—even though the carriage was still stationary—and looked aghast at the guy smiling in her face. They wanted everyone in on it? Weren’t there enough of them? Weren’t they making enough noise? Another of the younger ones was behind her—stopping her from scuttling back to her seat.
Her temperature soared higher than the descant trilling of the lead fan-lady—the Mariah Carey impersonator. But what could she do? The words weren’t hard, she’d heard them enough already and these guys were having fun. Did it matter if she was going to look uncool and uncoordinated? Corey wasn’t here now to hold her back.
Besides, she couldn’t not laugh, she couldn’t not sing, she couldn’t not join in… but no way was she doing the vertical splits thing.
Several bars into it, she got fully over the embarrassment and just went with it—rocking out with her lame house moves. Hey, the moment was beyond redemption. She even got the courage to look at the gorgeous foreign guy. That’s when she almost lost her footing. He’d looked handsome enough standing on that street all aloof, attracting everyone’s attention like a beautifully sculpted deity. But now? With him laughing like that and that heat in his gaze—on her?
She almost dissolved into a puddle of goo on the floor. As it was, she was oozing toward him without any will of her own.
She put her hands on her hips, determined to reclaim some self-control and not throw herself at him. “You’re too cool to make a fool of yourself in public?” she challenged—for once voicing the accusation she should have leveled so many times at Corey. “Or too uncoordinated?”
This guy tilted his head back, lazily amused as his lashes lowered over his eyes and he looked down the length of her legs. “I’m enjoying the show far too much to move,” he drawled.
No doubt his flirty comeback was the auto response of a man who knew how to make any and every woman feel good, but what did that matter? It made her feel alive for the first time in months. The tease was fun.
“Poor excuse,” she chided.