That wicked glint in Lucca Chatsfield’s eyes had lured dozens of women into his sensual orbit. She would have to fight with every atom of her being to not become yet another one of them. He was so practised at seduction. Even the way he spoke was like a caress—the deep mellifluous voice with its well-bred English accent that now and again betrayed his half-Italian heritage over certain words. The way he slipped endearments in so casually, the way he smiled with that sexy tilt of his mouth, the way his touch was so electric and exciting.
Lottie allowed him to seat her at the table but tried desperately not to show any sign of the impact his presence had on her. She had dined with numerous guests at the palace over the years. She knew how to get through a meal without spilling food or wine or leaving ghastly silences unfilled. But something about sitting opposite Lucca Chatsfield was another story entirely. His knees were almost touching hers underneath the table. She had tucked herself well back in her chair, and had even surreptitiously edged it back a little farther from the table after he had seated her, but even so she was aware of those long, strong, lean legs just inches from her own.
She picked up her wineglass with the tiny measure of wine she only ever allowed herself. ‘What do you do in your spare time, apart from partying?’
‘Not much.’
She searched his features for a moment. His eyes had shifted from hers as he reached for his glass and raised it to his mouth to take a sip. ‘Don’t you ever get bored with doing nothing other than spend your family’s money?’
‘It’s my money too. I can’t help if it I was born into a wealthy family. I just take what I’m given and make the most of it.’
She frowned at him. ‘But don’t you want to do something with your life? Something meaningful?’
He gave her another one of his devil-may-care smiles. ‘Like what?’
‘Study. Train for a career in something. I’m sure you’re not without a brain. You could do something, surely? What about volunteer work? Work for a charity? Set up one like your brother has.’
He gave a negligent shrug. ‘I tried studying but I got kicked out of Cambridge during my second semester. I won’t tell you why. It’d make you blush.’
Lottie blushed anyway as her imagination ran riot. She didn’t like to think what sort of stunt got him expelled from one of England’s finest universities but she had a pretty fair idea it would have had something to do with his prolific sex life. ‘Are you good at anything? I mean, other than seducing women?’
He averted his gaze as he twirled the contents of his glass. ‘I have a few hobbies. Nothing too serious or strenuous. I didn’t inherit the ambition gene in my family.’ He put the glass down and levelled a look at her. ‘What about you? What do you do apart from smashing champagne bottles against boats?’
She pursed her lips. ‘I do lots of things behind the scenes. I don’t like the spotlight so I leave the showy stuff to Madeleine. I organise the palace timetable. Setting up dinners for visiting royals or dignitaries. Garden parties, guided tours of the palace, that sort of thing.’ ‘Boring stuff, then.’
Lottie pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek and inhaled a long breath. ‘It might seem hideously boring to someone like you, but I happen to find it immensely satisfying.’
The edge of his mouth tilted upwards, setting off a mocking light in his eyes as if the same muscles were involved. ‘Sounds like a riot. Getting all those unruly ducks in a neat little row. Day after day after day. Year after year after year.’
She shifted in her chair as his satirical scrutiny continued. ‘So I like order. Is that a crime?’
That same side of his mouth lifted in a lip shrug. ‘You can’t control everything in life. You have to leave some wriggle room for spontaneity. No fun waking up each day to the same old tedious routine.’
She gave him an arch look. ‘I am quite sure no two days in your calendar are ever the same. Waking up every morning with a different woman lying beside you would almost certainly guarantee that.’
‘Ah, but that’s where you’ve got me all wrong.’
She tried to ignore the wicked gleam in his eyes but even so the backs of her knees tingled. ‘Oh, really?’
‘I never spend the whole night with someone.’
Lottie couldn’t decide whether to show surprise or disgust. ‘Why not?’
‘Why would I want to? Once the sex part is over it’s time to say goodbye. I need my beauty sleep.’
‘So no post-coital hugs or pillow talks till dawn?’
He gave a deep rumbling laugh. ‘No. Not my scene, I’m afraid.’
‘Interesting choice of words.’
His smile was still in place but it had hardened slightly around the edges. ‘Which words would they be?’
‘You’re afraid.’
The hardness moved up to his eyes like a screen of opaque glass. ‘What would I be afraid of?’
‘Intimacy.’
He pressed his index finger on to the table-top and made a game-show ‘wrong answer’ sound. ‘Nope. I love sex.’
‘I’m not talking about sex,’ Lottie said. ‘I’m talking about allowing someone to get close to you.’
‘You can’t get much closer than having sex. Or is it so long since you got down and dirty you’ve forgotten the moves? Do you want me to give you a refresher course? I’d be happy to oblige. I’ll even do a house call—or palace call, I should say.’
Lottie gave him a quelling look. ‘Do you really think I would sink so low as to indulge in a fling with you?’
‘Whoa there, sweetheart, I didn’t say anything about a fling.’ He winked at her. ‘Just one night of bed-wrecking sex.’
She arched one of her eyebrows. ‘One full night?’
‘Half.’
‘You drive a hard bargain.’
He glinted at her again. ‘You won’t find anyone harder than me.’
She suppressed a shiver of reaction and hoped he didn’t see it. ‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘Sure you were.’
‘I was!’
He reached across the table and captured her right hand before she had time to snatch it away. He turned her hand upwards and traced a light-as-fairy-footsteps circle around her palm, all the while holding her gaze with the impaling sexiness of his. ‘You think by hiding your assets underneath that horse blanket you’re wearing you’re going to stop me from wanting you?’
Lottie swallowed. His touch was like fire against her skin, his gaze like a searing laser. Her body was a pathetic traitor. It trembled and ached. It pulsed and throbbed. It wanted.
She pulled her hand out of his with a sharp little jerk. ‘I hate to deflate that overblown ego of yours, Mr Chatsfield, but I am not going to be seduced by you.’
His smile was lazy and supremely confident. ‘You want me so bad I can feel it from here.’
She coughed out a disparaging laugh. ‘You’re mistaking disgust for lust. I loathe you. You’re the total opposite of the sort of man I would consent to sleep with.’
‘Describe him to me.’
Lottie beetled her brows. ‘Describe whom to you?’
‘Your fairytale lover. Your dream date—’ that wicked gleam danced in his eyes ‘—the man you’d drop your granny knickers for.’
Granny