Her smooth creamy forehead creased as her eyebrows lifted above the colourless rims of her spectacles. ‘To whom are you referring?’
Instead of dismissing the slip—the only prudent thing to do at this point—James lost his head completely to a potent mixture of compelling curiosity and a rebellious rush of seriously displaced hormones.
‘Your partner for the ball tonight,’ he shot at her.
She looked incredulous. ‘You want to know if he’s an accountant?’
‘Is he?’
‘Do you need an accountant on hand for some reason?’
‘No, I don’t need one.’
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Then why are you asking?’
Why, indeed? James gritted his teeth. He was getting no satisfaction here and was fast making himself look foolish. His mind zapped through possible escape routes.
‘Conversation always goes more smoothly if I’m prepared with a knowledge of people’s backgrounds. Your partner is the only one I won’t know at our table.’
She stared at him. Her chin took on a mulish tilt. Her shoulders visibly squared. In fact, her whole body took on a tense rigidity. Even her hands clenched. James had the wild notion she was barely stopping herself from stepping forward and hitting him. Which, of course was ridiculous! He’d made a reasonable statement. He did like to be prepared with background information before meeting anyone. She knew that.
Though he had to concede this was more personal than professional ground. Her private partner wasn’t exactly his business. Maybe it was simply the effect of the glass lenses but her eyes looked very glittery and he was definitely sensing some dagger-like thoughts being directed very sharply at him. But dammit all! He was going to meet the guy tonight so what was she getting so uptight about?
‘Why do you think my escort for the ball is an accountant, James?’ she bit out, her voice dripping with icicles.
‘Well, is he?’ he persisted, frustrated by her evasive tactics.
‘Generally speaking, people consider accountants boring,’ she stated, once again denying him an answer.
‘Not at all. Obviously they’re very intelligent, very clever, very astute,’ he put in quickly.
‘Boring,’ she repeated as though she was drilling a hole in his head. ‘Boringly worthy for Lucy Worthington.’
Uh-oh! James saw the red rag waving. He instantly gestured appeasement. ‘Now, Lucy, I have never thought you boring. You know that,’ he pressed earnestly. ‘And I can’t imagine you tolerating a boring man. You’re taking this the wrong way. I was merely wondering…’
‘What kind of man I’d bring.’
The intense focus of her eyes was like an electric drill, sparks flying as it kept tunneling into his brain to the true core of his question. James shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the sense of her seeing right through him. No doubt about it—he’d dug himself a hole and somehow he had to climb out of it with some fast face-saving.
‘It would be helpful if you’d give me his name, Lucy,’ he said reasonably, dropping the background issue which had stirred her into this totally unacceptable attack. ‘It would save any slip-up with introductions.’
Her mouth thinned. Her eyes glittered even more sharply. He sensed her fierce urge to cut him to ribbons and perversely enough—given the tricky situation he’d brought upon himself—he felt quite pumped up by the passion she was emitting. Nothing cool and collected about this Lucy. Clearly he’d tapped into the real flesh and blood woman beneath the navy suit and James found himself actually getting excited—aroused by the prospect of the inner Lucy emerging. If she did step forward to tangle with him physically…
‘Josh Rogan,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You asked for his name,’ she tersely reminded him.
James gave himself a swift mental shake as deflation set in. The navy suit had won again, damn it! The Lucy he’d wanted to experience was in full retreat. Which was just as well, he told himself, quelling the madness of imagining her sprawled across his desk while he satisfied a rampant desire for the most intimate knowledge of her. It was absurd to have this sudden burst of sexual fantasies about his secretary when he had Buffy Tanner more than willing to satisfy his carnal needs.
‘Josh Rogan,’ he repeated, grateful that Lucy had her head on straight and was heeding what was appropriate in the work-place between boss and secretary. However, something about the name she’d given niggled him. ‘Isn’t there a lamb curry called Josh Rogan?’
He was almost sure of it, the suspicion instantly growing that Lucy was paying him back by giving a false name that would embarrass him when he used it tonight.
‘No,’ she said with a fine edge of scorn. ‘The curry is called Rogan Josh.’
‘Oh!’ He frowned. Was she playing him up or not?
Her mouth softened and curled. ‘Actually, I don’t think Josh would mind your confusing him with the curry.’ Her hips gave a wicked little wiggle as she added, ‘He is hot stuff.’
Hot stuff? Lucy with hot stuff? Unaccountably James felt his temperature rising. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he snapped. ‘You can take these files now. I’ve made notes for you.’
‘Fine!’
She smiled at him as she stepped forward and scooped them up from the desk. Then she sashayed out of his office with all the feline grace of a cat, waving its tail in his face.
James sat brooding over this aspect of Lucy Worthington for some time. He was definitely right about her. There was much more to Lucy than met the eye. The navy suit was nothing but a front, designed to put him off seeking the real truth about the kind of woman who burned inside it.
Good thing he’d given her those free tickets. It was going to be interesting—illuminating—to see how she behaved with her hot stuff tonight. Hair down, sexy dress, full make-up on, no spectacles…if her Josh Rogan was truly hot stuff, he’d expect that of her.
A zing of anticipation tingled through James. It had nothing to do with looking forward to having Buffy Tanner on his arm tonight. He didn’t even think of the swimsuit model with the lush curves and sexy pout.
Tonight he was going to see the unbuttoned Lucy Worthington in action!
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY was still boiling mad as she stomped up the stairs to her first-floor apartment in Bellevue Hill at six o’clock that evening.
An accountant!
A boring old accountant!
O-o-o-o-h, she wanted to punch James Hancock’s lights out with Josh tonight. She wanted to see him sitting at their table, looking like a stunned mullet as her partner outshone him, which Josh was perfectly capable of doing, the ultimate party guy when he was in brilliant form—huge charisma, pouring out his energy in bursts of winning charm. And he was as handsome as sin.
It was handy that he lived right next door to her in this old apartment block. All she had to do was ask and either Josh or his partner, Larry Berger, would help her with anything she needed help with. Gay men, she had decided long ago, could make the very best friends for a woman.
Even before she had known Josh was gay, back in their school days, she had really liked him as a person and they’d been good friends. He was kind and sensitive and supportive, as well as being great fun.
She had been grateful to have him as her boyfriend then, being able to go out as a couple without any of the hassle of being pressured to have sex. Some boys could get mean and nasty