Something makes my voice a little high-pitched. ‘And you loved her?’
His eyes are swirling with emotion when they meet mine. ‘I did, or I thought I did. I don’t know. I have to tell you, the whole thing turned me off love and marriage for life.’ His laugh is husky.
‘So you’re a dedicated bachelor?’
‘I wish.’ He rolls his eyes and he’s Nicholas Rothsmore, playboy, careless sex god, once more, so I relax, relieved I haven’t sent him into some kind of grief spin by making him talk about his ex. ‘I have been recalled to the manor.’ He grins, showing me he’s joking, only there’s an edge to his words.
‘Rothsmore Manor?’ I tease.
He shakes his head. ‘Actually, our country seat is Becksworth Hall.’
Somewhere I remember reading that. ‘It sounds very grand,’ I tease.
‘Oh, it is.’
‘Like something out of Pride and Prejudice?’
‘Pemberley has nothing on Becksworth.’
I laugh. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Not much to tell. If you’ve seen one grand country home, you’ve seen them all. Ancient, huge, imposing, miles of windows, stables, a lake for trout fishing, strawberry patches for summer picnics.’
I can’t help my sigh. ‘That sounds idyllic.’
‘In some ways.’
‘Not in others?’
But he’s done being questioned.
‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’ My turn to sip my champagne and buy time. It’s delicious. Crisp and fruity all at once, with enthusiastic bubbles that tickle my mouth as I swirl it around.
‘You’re from New York?’
‘God, no, I wish.’ I laugh. ‘I’m a Cali Girl. Can’t you tell?’
His eyes sweep my face, my hair, my golden skin and he grins. ‘Now that you mention it...’
Heat fires in my veins, as hot as any day on a Malibu beach.
‘So why New York?’
‘I like it here.’
He reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ear. ‘It seems a little unfair for you to demand me to open the wounds of my past and you not tell me about something as simple as a geographical shift?’ He says it in a way that’s light-hearted but I feel his will of iron beneath the words.
Only he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand that my move to New York was bound up in the wounds of my own past. How linked it all is to Abbey and a need to flee LA.
I don’t realise I’m frowning until he reaches over and rubs his finger across my lips.
‘It made sense, for the business,’ I obfuscate. And I think he knows I’m not being completely honest, but he lets it go.
‘Where’d you get the idea from?’
‘For The Billionaires’ Club?’