‘Of course it’s what I want,’ she snapped. ‘Surely you don’t think I’m sharing a room with you?’
‘It would be a novel experience,’ he observed softly. ‘And one I’d be willing to try.’
‘In your dreams,’ she retorted as a valet approached to open the door for her.
‘Yours too, perhaps?’ he suggested, with a pointed glance at her hardening nipples.
‘Will you please stop making innuendos?’
‘I’m not.’ He slanted her a mocking smile. ‘I’m merely making an observation.’
Pre-empting the approaching valet, Emily opened the car door herself, furious at the accuracy of Alejandro’s arrogant words but even more furious at the way she couldn’t seem to help her body from responding to him. Suddenly she was aware of a rush of heat which pooled at her groin, but most of all she was aware of the Argentinian’s appreciative gaze on her bare legs as she wriggled out of the car.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘IT’S HIM! IT’S definitely him! Hey, Alej—can we get a selfie with you?’
Two beautiful young American women with tumbling hair and super-tight denim shorts had spotted their entry into the hotel and were clattering their way across the lobby towards them on gravity-defying shoes.
‘No,’ snapped Emily. ‘Refuse politely.’
Alejandro turned his head towards her, his dark brows raised. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you’re serious about politics, you need to stop people constantly seeing you with gorgeous women fawning all over you. It makes you look like a lightweight and a flirt. Tell them you’re expecting a call.’
‘But I’m not.’
‘Just make an excuse.’
‘If you insist,’ he said drily.
‘I do. And my advice is what you’re paying for. Remember?’
‘When did you get so insistent, Emily?’
‘When I started my own business and recognised the need to assert myself. It’s a particularly useful trait when I’m dealing with stubborn men.’
‘You don’t say?’ he mocked.
‘Indeed, I do. Now, be polite by all means—if such a concept isn’t alien to you—but walk straight past them.’
Without pausing mid-stride, Alejandro called out his apologies to the two women, who pouted prettily as he and Emily made their way towards the elevator. She wondered if she had imagined their look of astonishment as they’d stared at the Argentinian’s companion but an unexpected glimpse of herself as they walked past an enormous rose-gold mirror made her realise just how awful she looked.
The doors of the executive elevator slid open and the rapid ride towards the penthouse was just long enough to remind her what real luxury felt like. She hadn’t experienced it since her mother’s marriage to Paul, when extravagance had been part of her daily life and it had been drummed into her that she must be grateful at all times. Grateful that her stepfather had given her a home—and what a home!
And she had tried. She’d tried so hard. Pretended not to mind those interminable dinners, which had gone on and on and the adults had forgotten she was there. Pretended not to be bored at being dragged around yet another stuffy museum to which her stepfather had donated money in his attempt to ingratiate himself into society. Because wasn’t all that preferable to listening to the muffled sobs of her mother and having to play ignorant about where she’d left her bottle of pills?
Sometimes it seemed she’d spent her whole life pretending. She was e
ven pretending now, wasn’t she? Trying to make out that she wasn’t in the least bit affected by the sexy hunk who was standing on the other side of the elevator.
‘We’re here.’ Alejandro’s words shattered her reverie and Emily followed him into an enormous suite where the first thing she saw—perched on a raised dais—was a white baby grand piano.
Searching round for evidence of more luxury, she quickly found it. Futuristic glass lights in candy shades spilled shafts of colours all over the modern, monochrome furniture. An angular sculpture stood framed against the city sky in one of the vast picture windows. Everything seemed so stark and pristine, which somehow emphasised Alejandro’s earthy appeal as he put down her suitcase and walked towards a large desk. His olive skin glowed as he glanced down at a pile of cards and began to flick his way through them. The thick tumble of his hair looked almost blue-black in the sunshine and suddenly Emily found herself wanting to run her fingers through the lustrous waves, just like in the old days. She wanted to press her body up against his and slide her tongue against the roughness of his shadowed jaw. And yet it was dangerous to feel like that. She might be unfulfilled, but at least she was not hung up and obsessing. Not bereft or aching or staring at her phone, waiting for some man who was never going to ring.
She thought how at home he seemed in this lavish setting, he who had been born to abject poverty—and how, ironically, it was her who now felt out of place. And her travel-weary and un-showered state wasn’t exactly helping. How could she possibly concentrate on work when she still felt so hot and sticky—especially when Alejandro looked so cool and pristine?
‘Perhaps you’d like to point me in the direction of my room?’ she suggested. ‘I’d like to freshen up before we get down to work.’