I stared dumbly, my mouth dry as he came up to the limo, pulled the door open and got in.
And when I looked in my rear-view mirror, there were those eyes. Those searing blue eyes.
‘You didn’t open the door for me,’ he said, his familiar, deep, gritty voice vibrating through me. ‘I really expected better service from you, Miss Little.’
Oh, hell. I’d forgotten about the stupid door. I’d been too busy staring at him.
I tried to find my usual laid-back, cheerful persona, but it had slipped away on me and all I managed to take hold of was anger. At him for being so ridiculously hot and at myself for being so susceptible.
‘Sorry, Mr Evans.’ I let a touch of acid tinge the words. ‘I wasn’t sure what temper you were going to be in this evening. Outright rude or merely mildly offensive.’
His eyes gleamed, as if with appreciation. ‘Tonight I thought I might try pleasant.’
‘Pleasant? You?’
‘Drive, Miss Little. There’s a bar I want you to take us to.’
Us?
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant by that, then decided against it.
Not my business. Just as it wasn’t my business to ask him why he’d chosen me to drive him for the night. Silence was probably the best response I could give.
It was a resolve that lasted all of two seconds.
‘Interesting pick-up address,’ I said, unable to contain my curiosity. ‘Not your usual billionaire hang-out.’
There was something about his expression in the mirror that fascinated me, similar to the savage satisfaction that had burned there the night after he’d come out of the club in Paris. The look of a man who’d beaten all comers to win.
‘Not usually,’ he said. ‘But it’s mine. I used to live there.’
I blinked in surprise.
So that was the dodgy council estate he’d grown up on. Interesting. Was that where he’d fought too? I could imagine that, him with his fists raised, blood on his face and on his knuckles, that savage look in his eyes...
Hot.
A shiver went through me. I had no idea why I found the idea of him as a street fighter so damn sexy, but I did.
I glanced in the mirror. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. My mother still does.’ His hard mouth quirked in something that looked very close to a smile, sending another shiver of heat chasing across my skin. ‘I renovated a perfectly nice place in Chelsea for her but she refuses to move. Says she likes it there.’
‘Why?’
‘No idea. She’s a stubborn woman, my mother.’ His gaze caught mine. ‘Perhaps that’s why I like stubborn women.’
Surely he wasn’t meaning...me?
Irritation needled at me. If he was trying to angle for another encounter in the back seat he needed to think again.
‘Is there any reason you asked for me in particular tonight?’ I asked, sounding more belligerent than I’d meant to. ‘Because if you’re hoping to get me in the back seat again—’
‘No,’ he said, before I could finish. ‘Rest assured, that’s not what I want from you tonight.’
‘Then why?’ I demanded, annoyed by the fact that I felt disappointed, which I totally shouldn’t have.
‘You’ll see.’