He went out with catwalk models. Nothing could have been further than a pro bono lawyer whose wardrobe consisted of flowing skirts, baggy tops, faded jeans and waterproof anoraks.
She’d been a trip down novelty lane and that hurt.
When Rose tried to equate that to her own feelings towards him she drew a blank because she had been drawn to him against all good reason.
It didn’t make sense but everything about his personality had appealed to her. She’d been cautious but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist the pull of his intelligence, his easy wit, his charm. Was she more like her mother than she realised? It didn’t matter whether her mother had been a loyal wife. When her husband had died she had behaved in a way that had had lasting consequences for her daughter. She had been promiscuous and eventually she had ended up with a guy who had been so out of her league that it was a mystery that they had lasted as long as they had. Rose had been careful all her life not to repeat any of the mistakes her mother had made and it frightened her when she thought of where she was now.
She had opened up to Art. Even before he had shown his true colours, she had known that he wasn’t the kind of man who should have registered on her radar, but she had still fallen for him and she had actually fooled herself into thinking that he might have had similar feelings for her.
Not so.
For Art, it was all about the sex, hence his openness in telling her straight off the bat that he still wanted her. Had she given off some kind of pheromone that had alerted him to the fact that she still fancied him?
That horrified her but she was honest enough to realise that it had probably been the case because, the second she was in his presence, her head and her body took off in two different directions and she was left rudderless and floundering and he was a guy who could pick up on things like that in a heartbeat.
With her thoughts all over the place and her body threatening to go its own way and let the side down, Rose had gone to town shopping for something to wear to the charity event.
Part of her was determined to show him that she was more than just a country bumpkin lawyer with no dress sense.
Another part was curious to see whether, exposed to the sort of gathering that didn’t frequently occur in her life out in the sticks, she would find that there were other interesting men out there. That Art hadn’t netted all her attention to the exclusion of everyone else. Had he been as much of a novelty for her as she had been for him? Was she giving him too much credit for having burrowed into the heart of her when, in fact, she had just been vulnerable to a charming man because she’d been out of the dating scene for too long?
To this end, she had gone all out and now, with a mere forty minutes to go before Art’s driver called for her, Rose contemplated her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror with satisfaction.
In the background, she absently took in the sumptuous surroundings that had made her gasp the first time she had entered the hotel room. The lush curtains, the blonde wood, the pale marbled bathroom...the decadent chandelier that should have been over the top but wasn’t...the handmade desk on which was stacked fine quality personalised stationery and a comprehensive collection of London guidebooks which she had had precious little time to peruse.
She refocused on her reflection.
She had gone for drama and chosen a figure-hugging dress in a striking shade of raspberry. The narrowness of her waist was emphasised by a silver corded belt that lent the outfit a Roman appeal and the dress fell elegantly to mid-calf. In nude heels, her legs looked longer and her body more willowy than she had ever noticed before.
And her hair. It fell in tousled waves along her shoulders and down her back and was as soft as silk because she had managed to squeeze in an appointment with a hairdresser, who had done some wonderful things with highlights and blow-dried it in a way she couldn’t possibly have done herself.
She’d also bought a shawl in the same nude shade as the heels and she slung that over her shoulders and smiled, excited.
She felt like an exotic bird of paradise.
For the first time in her life, Rose wasn’t being cautious. No, she amended, gathering all her stuff as her cell phone buzzed, alerting her to the arrival of the driver...
She’d already thrown caution to the winds when she’d jumped into bed with Art. She was just carrying on in a similar vein and enjoying herself in the process.
It was sufficient to bring a guilty tinge to her cheeks but she was composed as she slid into the back of the glossy Mercedes and she maintained that composure all the way to the venue and right up to the moment she spied Art, who was waiting for her, as arranged, in the lobby of the hotel.
Stepping out of the car, with the door held open by one of the parking attendants who had sprung into action the second the car had pulled up, made her feel like a movie star.
This was more than just fancy. There were journalists snapping pictures of the arriving guests. In a daze, she realised that she recognised faces from the world of movies and television and one or two prominent politicians and their other halves.
But all those faces faded into a blur alongside Art, who had begun moving towards her and, in the process, created a bubble of excitement around him.
He looked magnificent. The whiteness of his dress shirt emphasised his bronzed complexion. The black bow tie looked ridiculously sexy instead of stuffy, as did the very proper black suit.
Rose was barely aware of him moving to politely usher her inside.
‘You look,’ he breathed without looking at her and only inclining slightly so that he couldn’t be overheard, ‘sensational. Was that the intention?’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ But her pulse raced and she shivered with wild pleasure at his husky undertone.
Art laughed as they strolled away from the lobby and into the impressive ballroom, which was buzzing with the great and the good. ‘Not a description that’s been used much about me but I’ll take it.’
‘I mean it. Look at the women here.’ She was holding onto him for dear life, very much aware that they were being stared at. ‘I recognise some of them from fashion magazines.’
‘And I thought that you never read anything as frivolous as a fashion magazine.’
‘But thank you for pretending that I look okay,’ Rose said distractedly.
‘Where’s this sudden attack of modesty sprung from?’ They’d left the paparazzi outside; there was still a sea of people but without the gawping of the public and the reporters. Art drew her to the side and looked down at her. ‘You’re the most self-confident woman I’ve ever met.’
‘When it comes to work...’
‘You knock spots off every woman in this place.’
Rose burst out laughing. If he wanted to put her at ease, then he was doing a good job of it. ‘I don’t. But thanks.’
‘You’re fishing.’
‘Of course I’m not!’
‘You know how I feel about you. The only thing I want to do right now is get you out of here and into a bed so that I can make love to you until we’re both too exhausted to carry on. I want to peel that dress off your luscious body and touch you in all the places I know you like being touched. So when I tell you that you put every other woman in the shade here, then trust me. I’m not kidding.’
‘Stop!’ Her blood was boiling and she was so very aware of him that she could barely think. ‘You know I don’t want you saying things like that...to me.’
‘Say that like you mean it.’
‘I do mean it. I’m just a little...nervous.’
* * *
‘No