‘Here, let me get your drink. Least I can do after your ordeal.’ Wilchester turned to the barman. ‘Put it on my account, Brad.’
Angel noticed him examining her with guarded but obvious interest while he spoke, his glittering eyes skimming over her body. She didn’t know whether the sensation she was feeling in her belly was surprise or elation. He couldn’t actually be attracted to her, could he, this professional connoisseur of beauty?
‘It feels like I should be getting you one after that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But thanks.’ She topped up her gin with a small amount of tonic, glad to have something to occupy her faintly trembling hands. The ice cubes clinked against the glass as she took a sip, the liquid’s zesty coolness creating a pleasant tingle over her lips and tongue. She hoped the refreshing drink would cool her down and tackle the blush rising fast to her cheeks, while the alcohol took the edge off her nerves.
‘And thanks for saving me,’ she said, looking up at Wilchester from over the rim of her glass. ‘That guy didn’t look like he was going to be put off easily.’
‘Oh, there’s a chancer like him in every bar, testing the gag reflex of anyone in a skirt. They usually give up after a few knock-backs.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘Anyway, glad I could help.’
She felt a shudder run through her, watching the smile light up his face like a fruit machine about to pay out. An attractive dimple appeared in the hollow of one cheek and his sparkling tawny eyes crinkled warmly. For some reason, Angel found herself looking down at her shoes, fighting against the ever-deepening blush.
Things were going well, though. At least she seemed to have got him talking. With a valiant effort, she forced herself to remember her brief before his attention drifted off somewhere else.
Tits and teeth. That was it, wasn’t it? Looking up, she beamed at him and leant forward a little, giving him a premium view of everything her dress was failing to conceal. She saw his gaze dart over the cleft and swell of her partially exposed breasts, then quickly away again.
‘Who do I owe my rescue to, then? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Sebastian. Well, just Seb usually. How about you?’
‘Angel.’ She grinned as he cocked one eyebrow. ‘Yes, really. I know, ridiculous isn’t it? My parents were just about the last of the flower children. I thought about changing it once when I was a teenager but, I don’t know, Angel kind of grows on you after a while…’
Was she waffling? It felt like she was waffling. She stopped, an awkward laugh escaping from her. Smooth, Angel, very smooth…
His eyes scanned her face, dwelling on the tilted nose surrounded by a cluster of pinhead freckles, the large green eyes just a little too far apart, the flushed cheeks now almost bubblegum pink. His approving gaze lingered on each feature, drinking her in until she dipped her chin in embarrassment. Angel swallowed hard. Maybe Steve had made the right choice for this gig after all.
‘Go on.’ He seemed entertained by her discomfort.
‘Um, that’s all there is to it really. Not much of a story.’ She managed a weak smile, twisting an escaping lock of hair around her little finger.
Her gaze flickered to the plasma screen, clutching for a topic of conversation that might get him talking before she bored him to tears with her life story. ‘How’s your team doing? I saw you watching the game.’
‘Not really watching so much as staring aimlessly.’ He laughed, taking another sip of Scotch. The glass was almost empty now. ‘Just got back from a business trip, so I’m a bit spaced out. Jet lag, you know? Sorry. I’m not very good company this evening.’
Okay, strike two. Angel took another mouthful of her drink, the alcoholic tang of the gin blunted by the fast-melting ice. A pleasant fuzz had started to fill her brain and she relaxed a little into the role of seductress extraordinaire.
Leg man, was it? Right. Time to bring out the big guns.
She shifted a little on her stool to face him and crossed her legs languorously, showing off their full, silken length as she did so and just barely brushing his shin with the tip of a leopard-print stiletto. She saw him give a slight jerk as he felt her touch.
Ha! It was working! She must be better at this seduction business than she thought…
‘Well, I’m enjoying your company all the same,’ she heard herself say in a provocative purr, looking at him from under lowered lashes.
She leant towards him, put out her hand and rested her fingertips on his wrist with a light touch, a thrill slamming through her when she felt the throb of his quickened pulse and the warmth of flesh on flesh. At least there was no band of gold on the third finger to provoke any pangs of conscience. Was he old-fashioned, she wondered, or did he just prefer not to advertise the fact he was married?
‘Listen, I really was supposed to be meeting a date here, but it looks like I’ve been stood up. Would you like to… I mean, do you have any plans for tonight? Here I am all dressed up with no place to go and I’d rather not be alone. Maybe we could grab coffee somewhere and, um, I could waffle on at you a bit more.’
For a split second he hesitated before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit late for me. Still on Kiwi hours. Maybe some other time, though.’ Sliding his arm from under her fingers, he drained the dregs of his Scotch and set the tumbler back on the bar, fished in his jacket pocket for his wallet.
Okay, that was strike three. All out.
She couldn’t understand why he was resisting. It was obvious from the way his eyes flickered with interest over her body that he liked what he saw. Even Brad the barman seemed to have noticed him checking her out. Angel could see the man smirking while he polished a shot glass, watching the pair from under veiled lids.
And yet here was Seb turning down an offer of coffee so he could catch an early night. Was the thought of his wife Carole, the porcelain-blonde screen goddess, holding him back? He must know ‘coffee’ was an internationally recognised euphemism for – well, any normal man would have been tearing her clothes off on one of the Hotel D’Azur’s king-sized beds by now.
At her elbow she saw Seb rise and hand Brad a wad of notes to settle his account, telling the barman, to his obvious approval, that he could keep the change.
Last chance, Angel. Stall him. Cue the emergency backup plan.
Reaching for her drink, she knocked her bag to the floor with deliberate carelessness. Credit cards, lipstick, coins, hairclips and other detritus spilled out drunkenly around Seb’s feet.
‘Shit, I’m so sorry! What an idiot.’
‘Here, let me get it.’ Kneeling down, he started reclaiming her possessions from the deep-pile Persian carpet, shovelling them back into the bag’s satin-lined maw haphazardly.
She could see the top of his curly head at her feet, shining burnished bronze in the mellow lamplight of the bar. Unruly locks whispered soft against her calves and she felt his breath, hot and heavy, on her ankles.
Oh God, who was seducing who here? Muscles she barely knew existed spasmed as a surging heat throbbed through her, beginning at the point where his curls unwittingly met her bare flesh.
Angel bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle a telltale gasp, surprised by her body’s reaction to his touch. Squirming on her barstool, she moved her legs away from the kiss of the torturing, teasing strands.
She stared fixedly at a mirrored panel behind the bar. It shot her own flushed face, parted lips and wide, glazed eyes back to her as she struggled to regain control, to banish the too-vivid image that had risen unbidden of gazing down at Seb’s tousled chestnut hair, running her fingers through