‘Thirty-five,’ he snapped.
He didn’t like that, and Sally stifled a grin. ‘Still, you’re not getting any younger either. Maybe you will change your mind about marriage. You will certainly make someone a wonderful husband,’ she complimented him, and was actually beginning to enjoy herself. He moved slightly, his arm no longer touching her shoulder, and for the first time since meeting him she actually gave him her whole attention.
She turned her back half against the window in order to face him, and deliberately let her big blue eyes roam slowly over him. His hair was silky black, with a tendency to curl, obviously controlled by superb styling. His eyes were heavy lidded, and at the moment narrowed, hiding his expression. His features were big: large nose, a wide mouth with perfectly chiselled lips, the bottom one slightly fuller, and a square jaw with a delightful indentation in his chin.
Actually, he was very attractive, Sally acknowledged. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad and his muscled thighs were stretching the fabric of his trousers, she noted as he moved further away and crossed the leg nearest to her over his other knee.
A student of body language would probably say that was a sign of rejection…Her ploy had worked, Sally thought. But to make sure, she added, ‘You do have all the attributes to make a good husband—you’re a fine figure of a man, fit and filthy rich.’
Zac had listened with growing disquiet as she spoke. The woman was after a husband—a rich husband. She was the same as all the rest of her species. Her saving grace, if one could call it that, was that at least she had put all her cards on the table up front.
Getting into anything with her would be a huge mistake, his inbuilt sense of survival screamed at him. But, when she had barely looked at him since they met, feeling her gorgeous blue eyes examining every inch of him had been the most erotic experience he had known in ages. Out of necessity he had crossed one leg over the other knee, to hide the wayward reaction of his body.
Thank the Lord the car was slowing down. In a minute they would be at the restaurant. A swift meal and a polite goodbye, and the fact he had trouble keeping his hands off this woman he would put down to his lengthy celibacy. His common sense was telling him this lady was dangerous to his peace of mind. Time to walk away.
He glanced at Sally. She was sitting back in the seat again, but her eyes were no longer cold. They were sparkling. He caught the glint of feline satisfaction in the blue depths, and her soft mouth quirked at the corners in a barely concealed grin.
The little devil! Had she been teasing him? Deliberately trying to put him off? He wasn’t sure, and that was another first for him. Usually he could read a woman like a book, but this one had him tied in knots.
Warning bells rang loud and clear in his head, but he ignored them. He needed to delve a little deeper to discover what really made her tick. He had sensed her sadness and disappointment earlier—at her father or men in general he wasn’t sure. She had done her best to ignore him, but then she had examined him with blatant female thoroughness and he knew she liked what she saw.
He was not a fool. He had felt her reaction the moment he had put a finger on her arm in the office, and again when he touched her cheek. She was not immune to him. But was she really looking for a wealthy husband?
Did he care? He had escaped that trap all his life, and he was smart enough to continue to do so. But he enjoyed a challenge, and Sally Paxton was definitely a challenge—one that he was determined to pursue and conquer.
She was an adult woman, not some shy young virgin, and he did not have to deprive his body of the pleasure of hers simply because she was looking for a husband, he concluded—to his own satisfaction.
Chapter Three
THE restaurant was one of the best in London, and as they were led to their table by the maître d’, with Delucca’s hand firmly in the small of her back, Sally began to wonder if she had been as clever as she thought at discouraging him.
Something had gone wrong. His hand was like a brand, burning through the raw silk of her dress, and if his reaction as he had helped her from the limousine was anything to go by she was in deep trouble. He had declared that now they knew where they stood they could get better acquainted over lunch.
He certainly didn’t believe in wasting time, and she certainly did not want to get better acquainted with the man, she thought as her chair was held out for her and she sat down at the table. Briefly she looked around. There were more people leaving than arriving, and she glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. Not surprising, as it was two in the afternoon.
Suddenly, she was tired. She had been working all week, helping set up the latest exhibition to be staged at the museum. This morning the opening for the press and dignitaries had taken place, and she had attended at the request of her boss to answer any questions about the historical provenance of the exhibits. Usually she went to work in neat skirts and tops, but today she had dressed more smartly for the occasion. For months now she had been researching the history of the different exhibits, some of which had been brought up from the vast storage cellars and never been shown before.
Her boss knew of her mum’s condition and had kindly allowed her to slip away at one o’clock. Almost two years of faithfully visiting her mother every weekend plus holidays, not to mention the constant worry, had taken their toll and she felt completely washed out.
The last thing she needed was to fight off the attentions of a predatory male. What she really needed was her bed…alone…
‘Madam?’
She looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the hover
ing maître d’, and took the menu.
‘Perhaps you would prefer I order for you?’
There it was, that deep accented voice again, intruding on her thoughts. Reluctantly, Sally glanced across the table at her companion. For a moment their eyes met, and she recognised the challenging gleam in the depths of his before glancing down at the menu in her hand.
He was sitting there, all arrogant, powerful male, and she was about to refuse when she thought, why bother? The quicker he ordered, the quicker they ate, and the quicker she could get away from his disturbing presence. Because, being brutally honest, she recognised he did disturb her, in a way she had never felt before. But then he probably had the same effect on every woman on the planet. He was one hundred percent macho male, and then some…
No wonder he wasn’t into commitment. Why would he settle for one woman when he had the pick of the best, according to the article she had read about him. It had extolled his brilliant business acumen and ended mentioning his preference for model girlfriends.
She certainly wasn’t in his league, and nor did she want to be, she concluded firmly.
‘Fine,’ she said, and handed the menu back to the maître d’, and let her hand drop on the table, her fingers idly playing with a fork. She wasn’t hungry—what did it matter what the man ordered?