Had she really hoped he’d be thrilled to have her turn up? All they’d shared was a one-night stand. Not even a night. An evening. A casual sexual encounter.
‘I confess I’m intrigued.’ His deep voice, at least, was familiar. Too familiar. Heat swept her skin and, in its wake, wave after wave of goose bumps. She’d dreamed of that voice with its suede caress. ‘Won’t you take a seat?’
‘Thank you.’ Alice turned, again ignored the straight-backed chair near the desk, and instead crossed to a cluster of lounge chairs. They were grouped beneath an eye-catching work in oils, a wintry city street scene, daring in its use of colour.
The painting eased her nerves. No man with such taste in art could be as ice-cold as he seemed now.
The man she’d made love to—no, had sex with—hadn’t been cold at all. He’d been warm and generous and passionate. Where had he gone?
Gratefully she sank into a leather armchair. Stress made her knees wobble and her stomach churn. ‘I like your artwork.’
One dark eyebrow rose, a questioning slash on his olive forehead. ‘You didn’t come here to talk art.’
Alice waited for him to cross and take a seat too, but he remained standing. His cool stare chilled and she fought the impulse to rub her hands up and down her arms.
Okay, he definitely wasn’t happy to see her.
Alice pushed aside stupid regret and the even more foolish daydream she’d had that maybe, just maybe, he’d welcome her with open arms, literally. That he’d smile and hold her close and tell her he was pleased to see her. That he’d make everything okay. Even that he’d been searching for her.
She huffed in a little breath of self-disgust. Since when had she believed in such pathetic twaddle?
The answer was easy. Since the man before her, or perhaps his amiable, generous, friendly twin, had seduced her so thoroughly she was more than half in love with someone who existed only in her head. Someone with humour, tenderness, strength and passion.
Alice bit back a sigh and met his guarded stare head-on. ‘You’re right. I didn’t come to discuss art.’
* * *
Adoni was stunned at the depth of his response to the slim woman in the sober suit, her dark hair pulled back in an uncompromising arrangement. He had perfect recall of every sinuous centimetre of creamy skin she hid beneath stark black. So perfect he found himself breathing quickly as she sauntered across the room to stare provocatively up at him.
Or was that simply the natural effect of her sulkily sexy mouth and wide eyes beneath long, silky lashes?
No, definitely provocative. Was she annoyed that he’d kept her waiting? He felt his forehead pinch into a frown at the touch of sass he detected in her attitude.
If she’d come to cajole him into an affair so she could part him from his cash she was a little too...deliberate, ignoring the chair before his desk and appraising him so frankly.
He’d expected her to be more conciliatory, more charming. Yet though Adoni felt the impact of her stare like a punch to the ribs, she wasn’t conforming to any of the scenarios he’d considered. Neither the vamp nor the tease, nor even the frail female in need of protection.
But then Alice Trehearn hadn’t conformed to any stereotypes the first time they’d met either.
Amusement brushed through him as he remembered the outrageous things she’d said that night and her shock as she realised what she’d let slip. Until he recalled it had all been a clever tactic to win his trust and sneak under his guard.
He watched her sashay across to a lounge chair, his gaze roving her tidy, beautifully curved rear as she sank into a seat, her attention apparently on his picture. Beneath the down-lights her hair glowed with a warm hint of auburn.
She was good, he’d give her that. Not even a hint of discomfort on that pale face, though she must know he’d cancelled his credit cards.
Adoni strolled across, drawn despite himself.
Curiosity, that was all.
‘You’re right. I didn’t come to discuss art.’ Her voice was husky, as if she wasn’t as confident as she appeared. The flickering pulse at the base of her throat drew his eyes and he recalled how he’d kissed her there as she came down from a rapturous high, her whole body quaking. She’d tasted sweet as honey and—
‘What did you come for?’ His voice was harsh, fuelled by annoyance that the memory of her was indelibly branded on his brain.
She started and her hands clasped tighter in her lap.
‘I needed to see you...’ She paused and swallowed.
If he didn’t know better, he might have been taken in by her sudden show of nerves. She looked paler than before, frail even. But that was an illusion. This woman was tough as tempered steel.