There was a hint of smugness to the words that needled me even further.
I knew I shouldn’t let him get to me, that I should be thinking of this as another opportunity to talk to him about Australis, but the irritation and disappointment sat inside me all the same. And by the time I’d pulled up outside the Covent Garden address he’d given me, it wasn’t so much him who was in a foul temper, but me.
The bar looked exactly like the kinds of bars he’d be used to, complete with a long line of beautifully dressed hopefuls outside, an ostentatious-looking bouncer, and a velvet rope to sort the aristocracy from the peasants.
‘Here we are,’ I said unnecessarily, trying to force my bad mood away with a cheerful smile. ‘Do you want me to get your door?’
‘No.’ Another gleam in those blue eyes. ‘I want you to come and have a drink with me.’
‘Excuse me?’ This time I actually turned around in my seat.
The impact of his direct gaze was like a physical blow.
‘One drink, Miss Little,’ he murmured. ‘I have a proposition I want to put to you.’
He sat there, dark and scarred and powerful, and so achingly compelling I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. And, God, he was incredible. I didn’t know how he managed to look so damn hot simply in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—this time a dark blue one that somehow intensified the colour of his eyes—but he did.
‘A proposition?’ I echoed stupidly. ‘What proposition?’
‘Come and have a drink and you’ll find out.’
Fighting the pull of his charisma, I gave him a narrow stare. ‘You’d better not be rude again. I haven’t bloody got time for that kind of carry-on.’
Again, his hard mouth twitched. ‘I can’t guar
antee there won’t be any “carry-on”. But I can guarantee it will be worth your time.’
I didn’t want to accept, not just like that. It felt like giving in.
‘I’m supposed to be working,’ I said, prevaricating.
‘You are working. For me. Think of it as a business meeting.’
Huh.
I gave him a suspicious look. ‘About what?’
‘Australis. I’ve been investigating your family’s company.’
Shock pulsed down my spine, my bad temper vanishing in an instant. ‘Seriously? In that case, yes. I’d love to have a bloody drink. Though it’ll have to be non-alcoholic. I’m still driving.’
I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, but I couldn’t stop the excitement that gathered in my gut as we were ushered to the head of the queue outside the bar, the velvet rope being pulled aside so we could enter in front of everyone else.
Inside, the bar was dark, full of dimly lit alcoves and small rooms where people could sit and chat in complete privacy. Another room had a dance floor in it, but we passed it by, Mr Evans leading me to an out-of-the-way alcove furnished with a dark blue velvet couch and a low coffee table in dark wood. The lighting was atmospheric, the music low and seductive.
As we sat, a waitress came to take our drinks orders and I went with an orange juice while he had a Scotch.
I perched awkwardly on the couch while he sprawled out beside me, surveying me, the electricity in his eyes turning into something hotter and more potent, and I was very conscious of how close he was, his knee nearly brushing mine.
His proximity was insanely distracting, near enough to me to feel the heat pouring off his body. It made it hard to concentrate on anything else.
‘Okay, so what’s this proposition?’ I asked when the waitress had gone. ‘And why couldn’t you ask me in the car?’
‘Because I didn’t want you to be distracted by driving.’
‘Fair enough. This is about the investment money, yes? About what I asked you in Paris?’
‘Yes.’