He drew in a deep lungful of her heady scent and smiled down at her. ‘I ducked in here to avoid being mauled by a woman with a hungry look in her eyes.’
She looked at him steadily. ‘She fancied a slice of you, did she?’
‘I got that impression, yes.’
‘And you didn’t feel like being her Tristan Topping tonight?’
He laughed. ‘Or any other night.’
She swallowed and stared somewhere to the left side of his head before flicking her gaze back to his. There was a flash of something he couldn’t quite pin down in those baby-blues.
She was one contrary lady. One minute cool and assertive, buying him a drink, the next uncertain and wary.
He’d not come across someone like Lu for a very long time. Since splitting with Marcy he’d only seemed to meet women who had formed hard, flawless shells around themselves, who gave him a perfectly polished response every time—who thought they were giving him what he wanted, when actually he was repelled by their phoniness.
But this woman had something about her that he couldn’t bear to step away from just yet.
She was too damn interesting.
* * *
Pull yourself together, you lunatic.
Lula turned away from the disconcertingly gorgeous man in front of her and glanced over to where her party sat laughing at something Emily had said. Her friend was standing and waving her arms around in an approximation of sexual fervour in her typical crowd-pleasing style.
Em would know exactly what to say to a guy like this, and she certainly wouldn’t have made a total fool of herself by coughing all over him.
He’d taken her by surprise, rocking up to the bar before she could formulate a plan about how best to approach him, and she’d been totally unprepared for the immediate visceral effect he’d had on her.
He wasn’t the type of man she’d usually go for—he was scarily charismatic and his powerful virility and snappy smartness gave her the jitters. He was just so chiselled and smooth-looking with his Roman nose and intelligent, rich brown eyes that sparked with amusement behind a pair of those trendy rectangular-framed ‘invisible’ glasses.
He was totally business.
She had a mad urge to mess with his neatly swept back hair, to ruffle him up a bit and see the raw side of the man concealed beneath the sharply tailored suit.
Blood throbbed through her veins as she entertained the impulse.
She felt slightly bad about not correcting him when he’d asked if her name was short for Louise, but it had occurred to her that she could pretend to be someone else entirely tonight and it wouldn’t matter a jot. She’d never see him again, so why not fully step into the persona she wanted to project? A fake name was a great way to do that, and it wasn’t as if anyone was going to get hurt.
Looking back at him, she realised he was frowning down at her as if trying to figure out what the heck was going through her head. He must think she was a total simpleton, first rambling on about her failed relationships, then suggesting he wasn’t a real man and now staring around like a vacant airhead.
Gah.
After taking one more bolstering swig of wine, she turned to regain eye contact and gave him her most seductive smile.
‘So what made you pick this particular pub for a refuge from the man-eater?’ she asked.
He shrugged and twisted his beer bottle between his fingers. ‘I’m staying in the hotel across the road and this looked like a suitably dark and shady place to hide.’
‘So you don’t live in London?’ That was good. It meant they were unlikely to ever bump into each other again.
Unless they wanted to?
That’s not on the agenda tonight, Lula, get a grip.
Tristan shook his head and frowned. ‘I’m based in Edinburgh.’
‘I’ve never been there. I hear it’s a really cool place.’
‘It is.’
‘So what brings you this far south?’ she asked.
‘Business. I had a meeting in Canary Wharf today and I have something to do for my father tomorrow.’ His voice had become rougher, as if he was uncomfortable—or maybe bored—talking about it.
Lula nodded and smiled, attempting to hide her anxiety. Her radio training told her she needed to latch onto a more interesting topic of conversation or she was going to lose him.
‘So is it true that men who wear glasses make better lovers?’ She cringed inside, amazed at the guff that came out of her mouth in times of stress.
He let out a startled guffaw. ‘That’s not one I’ve heard before, but since I fit firmly into that category I’m going to say yes.’
She smiled, happy not to have been slapped down and amazed to feel the atmosphere begin to zing between them again.
May as well go with it.
‘I think it has something to do with losing one of your senses when you take your glasses off—your eyesight, obviously, in this instance—which makes you work harder with your sense of touch.’
He dipped his head in mirth. ‘That sounds like a load of gobbledegook to me, but I’m willing to go with it if it makes you believe I’ll be better in bed than my non-bespectacled rivals.’
‘Oh, I have no doubt you are,’ Lu said, the heat in her cheeks intensifying as she struggled to maintain flirty eye contact.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Emily making her way over to where they stood at the bar and primed herself for whatever might happen next.
Everything about her friend shouted Look at me!, from her abundance of blonde-tipped, chocolate-coloured curls and large golden eyes to her curvy statuesque figure.
She struck people.
And she made things happen—it was what made her such a successful TV presenter. Normally Lula loved that about her, but right now she needed to be allowed to handle this situation with Tristan without Em’s dominating personality muscling in.
‘So, Lu, I guess you’re not coming to the next pub with us then?’ Emily said as she approached, widening her eyes and unsubtly twitching her head towards Tristan.
‘Er, no. I don’t think so,’ Lula said, hoping her face didn’t look as flushed as it felt.
Emily nodded, narrowing her eyes at Tristan. ‘Hold this for me, will you?’ she said, thrusting her drink at him.
He took it from her and watched in apparent amusement as she rummaged in her bag for something.
‘Do me a favour, take a sip of that and tell me if you think it’s gin or vodka they’ve put in there. I think it’s gin, but the barman swears it’s vodka,’ Emily said, her head still in her bag.
Tristan took a small sip. ‘Definitely not gin,’ he said.
Em pulled her phone out of her bag and took a quick snap of Tristan with the camera on it. Before he had chance to ask her what she was doing, she wrapped a tissue around her hand and took her glass from him.
‘Thanks. Right, well, you look after my friend here, because if you attempt anything she doesn’t like I have your picture, fingerprints and DNA and I will not hesitate to hand them over to the police. Consider yourself warned.’
‘Jeez, Emily, leave the poor guy alone,’ Lula said, rolling her eyes at her friend, hoping to God Tristan would see the funny side. When she turned to give him an apologetic smile she was relieved to find he was smiling, albeit in a rather bemused way.