But he looked at her. And he wanted to touch. In fact he wanted to provoke—that would only be fair. Because that rampant lust was back as bad as it had ever been.
He followed her up the stairs, trying hard not to stare at her sweet curves. Instead he glanced around, checking out her digs. The distraction was not good.
The stairwell was poorly lit but he could still see the grimy, peeling paintwork and he could smell something horrendous—like several stale dinners mixed with the stench of wet wool. How many tiny apartments were squished into this ugly building? They passed a million doors as they marched on. No wonder she was looking fit given all these stairs she had to climb.
‘So you’re doing the garret-in-Paris thing?’ He ground the feeble joke out. This place was hardly the Left Bank and giving her a nice view of the river.
‘I’m not starving. I’m doing very well,’ she said as they finally got to the top floor. She unlocked her door and paused. ‘And calligraphy is a craft as much as it is an art. I’m happy.’
‘Good for you.’ He ignored the ‘goodbye’ in her tone and walked right past her, into the shoebox of an apartment— a child’s shoebox at that. ‘But there are better garrets. With better views.’ He frowned, learning all there was to know in a swift glance. One room with a cupboard for a kitchen and another for a bathroom. The place sucked.
‘I don’t need a better view. I only need good light.’
She’d set up a small workspace in the room. The biggest bit of furniture was her desk. Angled and pushed against the window to maximise use of the natural light. On a flat desk beside it was her computer. Against the far wall—as if it were an afterthought—was the smallest single bed he’d ever seen.
The place wasn’t miniature doll’s-house cute, it was cramped.
‘How can you work in here?’ He looked away from the itty, bitty bed. ‘It’s hardly a ‘studio’ is it?’ It wasn’t big enough for anyone to be comfortable in. Not even petite blondes with leaf-green eyes.
‘That’s exactly what it is.’ Her chin lifted high, as if she was just waiting for the criticism.
Confronted with that expression, much as he wanted to criticise, he found he wasn’t going to. She was trying—independent and alone. Far more than she’d been five years ago. Good for her, right? Except for some reason it annoyed him more. Why should it matter? Couldn’t he, of all people, understand the need to succeed?
‘Why don’t you come to my hotel and work there? I have a suite—it’s three times the size of this place.’ He knew before he’d finished saying it that it was a mistake. He knew how she’d react—call him worse than a flirt. Thing was, he meant it. Grudgingly. It wasn’t a line.
‘Oh, please, that was so unsubtle.’
Yep, she boxed him right back into flirt mode.
‘But we wouldn’t have to share a bathroom this time.’ He walked up to her, giving into her expectations—and his own need to provoke. And stand closer. ‘Unless you wanted to.’ He smiled and lifted a hand to her jaw, unable to resist touching her again. ‘Now, that was unsubtle.’
He’d never forget the time he’d walked in on her in the bathroom. It had been his first night there that Christmas break. To his relief she hadn’t screamed the place down. She’d been mortified. In truth so had he. He’d covered up by joking, of course. But he’d soon got derailed. The towel had covered her most private parts—parts he’d ached to see. But there’d been so much damp skin on show and with the steam and the sweet scent of her soap? Of course he’d made a play. A huge one.
It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d learned she was Oliver’s girlfriend—the one he’d been with for a couple of years. Who Oliver’s family loved and expected him to marry. The good girl who slept in her own room when she stayed—not Oliver’s. It was all so perfect.
But it was already too late. Liam had been young and dumb and so callow. He’d mistaken insta-lust for love at first sight. He’d been unsubtle in his attention. Unable to stay away.
‘That wasn’t just unsubtle.’ Victoria lifted her chin sharply, so his fingers slipped from her skin. ‘That was sledgehammer.’
‘This is a dodgy neighbourhood,’ he said, wishing he could see her out of here.
‘Don’t try to get me there under the pretext of caring for my welfare.’ She looked amused.
There was no shifting her. And—albeit reluctantly— he respected that. ‘So where do you see it—’ he waved his hand at her desk ‘—in a few years?’
‘You want to know my business goals?’
Yep, oddly he did. ‘How are you going to expand when it’s so dependent on you? What happens if you sprain your wrist or something?’
‘I have business insurance. In terms of expansion—is it necessary? I only need to make enough for me to live comfortably.’
A single bed was never comfortable, no matter how slight she was. She clearly needed to make more than she currently was. ‘How are you going to factor in holidays? When you own your own business, it’s very easy to forget about holidays.’
‘How do you factor in holidays?’ She laughed at him.
‘I love my work. Work is a holiday for me.’ Sailing was and always would be his first, his ultimate, passion. He loved the challenge on the water. It was his home—the place he felt safest. And the most free.
She turned and looked at him. Her green eyes were very bright—he felt their power right into his bones.
‘And you don’t think it’s possible for me to feel the same about my work?’ she asked.
Frankly? No. ‘Not in this environment.’ This place was stifling at best. ‘But maybe it doesn’t matter to you. Maybe you only see what you’re working on.’ He walked over to the scrupulously tidy desk. ‘You’re very good at what you do.’
Victoria couldn’t get over his nerve. He couldn’t try to make it better now with flattery. Not when he hadn’t even seen her work. He’d only seen that mess on the card at the chateau. She’d boxed the others away and right now her desk was completely clear. So he had no idea how good she was. Unless—
A horrible suspicion occurred to her. ‘Did you recommend me to Aurelie?’
He stilled.
‘You did. You Googled me. You found my website. You—’ She broke off.
For once the self-assured expression was wiped from Liam’s face. He looked guilty. He was guilty.
Victoria gritted her teeth. She couldn’t back out of Aurelie’s job now, but a huge part of her wanted to.
‘I didn’t think I was going to make it to her wedding.’ Liam offered an explanation. ‘And I never expected to see you even if I did. But, yes, I wanted to help.’
Help who—her or Aurelie?
It shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to feel beholden to him. And she’d felt so stupidly proud to have gotten this commission. That she was succeeding independently and on her own merit. Oliver had implied that her early success in London had only been because of his contacts. Not the quality of her work. She’d thought this job an antidote to that bite.
‘I mentioned your name when she was boring me with wedding details one day.’ Liam fiddled with one of the tins she had on her desk, pulling out the pencils one by one and dropping them back in. ‘She looked you up herself and decided whether or not to hire you. She likes your work.’
Victoria swallowed. She couldn’t let pride ruin this. She could still get business off the back of Aurelie’s wedding. Her work would