Kathryn Ross – Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal (страница 3)

His face was so full of charm that it took her breath away and turned her very bones to water.

Her voice sounding impeded, she said, ‘It’s against the clinic’s policy for staff and clients to get familiar or meet on a social basis.’

He grimaced at the prim phrasing. ‘If we do get familiar I promise not to breathe a word to a soul.’

‘I’m not dressed for eating out.’

‘You look absolutely fine to me.’ He grinned.

Before she could make any further protest, she found herself drawn towards the car and urged into the back seat.

He slid in beside her, and she went hot all over when his muscular thigh pressed against hers as he reached to fasten first her seat belt and then his own.

Sensing that heated confusion, and warning himself not to rush things, he moved away to leave a little space between them.

With a silent sigh of relief, she glanced at him.

He met her gaze directly. The sun slanting in showed that her long-lashed aquamarine eyes had in their depths a sprinkle of gold dust, and her flawless skin a peach-like down.

His fingers itched to stroke it.

Controlling the urge, he asked lightly, ‘Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?’

Wits scattered, knowing she shouldn’t be here at all, she shook her head. ‘No, I—’

Touching a button, he instructed the chauffeur, ‘Just drive around for a while, Michael.’

As the limousine pulled smoothly away from the kerb, feeling rather as though she’d been hijacked, Madeleine began weakly, ‘What made you…?’

‘Chance my arm?’ Rafe suggested when she hesitated. ‘Sheer determination. If I’d been sure of seeing you again, I might not have rushed things. But when I made a few tactful enquiries I discovered that you wouldn’t be here Monday evening…

‘Which could have meant one of two things: either I was just another patient you didn’t mind if you never saw again…or else someone you could be interested in and felt, because of the clinic’s policy, you should steer clear of. I rather hoped it was the latter…’

Trying to control the surge of excitement that ran through her, she bit her lip.

Though his phrasing had been reasonably cautious, there was an air of confidence about him that suggested he felt fairly sure it was the latter.

And the way she had allowed herself to be shepherded into the car without protest must have reinforced that assumption.

‘It opens up such possibilities…’ He smiled at her. ‘And I’m only too pleased you’re free to explore those possibilities…’

The sexual chemistry between them was like an electrical force she could sense through every pore in her skin.

But recalling what Eve had said about women throwing themselves at his feet, and disinclined to let him believe that she might be one of them, she tried to appear cool and unmoved.

Judging by his face, her strategy hadn’t worked.

In an effort to take the wind out of his sails she looked him in the eye and asked, ‘What makes you so sure I’m free?’

Apparently unruffled, he answered, ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not wearing a ring—’

‘That’s nothing to go by these days.’

‘True. That’s why I waylaid your colleague.’

‘Which colleague?’

‘The pretty, dark-haired girl who first took my details. I happened to see her leaving the clinic and spoke to her. Eve, isn’t it? I gather she’s a good friend of yours.’

Without a blush, he added, ‘I managed to coax quite a bit of information out of her.’

An edge to her voice, Madeleine asked, ‘What kind of information?’

‘I needed to know if you were married or in a steady relationship. When I asked her, she told me you’d lost your husband and been alone for quite a while now. I couldn’t imagine a beautiful woman like you being on your own, but she seemed fairly sure there was no man in your life at the moment.’

When Madeleine merely looked at him, he added, ‘Which means you have no commitments, no one waiting at home for you?’

‘No.’ As though he was willing her, she found herself unable to lie.

‘Then I’d like to think that having dinner with me is marginally more appealing than eating alone?’ he said quizzically.

When she made no immediate response, he urged, ‘Please say it is, for the sake of my fragile ego.’

She smiled in spite of herself, a smile that brought her beauty to life and set those tiny gold flecks in her eyes dancing.

As he stared, entranced, she said a shade tartly, ‘I have the distinct feeling that your ego is robust enough,’ then, throwing caution to the winds, added, ‘But yes, it is. Marginally.’

He laughed. ‘A woman with spirit, I see…So where would you like to go?’

His mouth was beautiful, she thought, at once controlled and sensitive, the lower lip a little fuller than the upper. It was a mouth that tied knots in her stomach.

Somehow she managed, ‘I really don’t mind. Anywhere you choose.’

That was the first hurdle cleared, Rafe thought triumphantly as he instructed the chauffeur, ‘The Xanadu, please, Michael.’

Knowing he shouldn’t touch her—yet—but desperate to do so, he took her hand and, his thumb stroking across her palm, went on softly, ‘I think you’ll agree that it’s the perfect setting for a romantic evening.’

She shivered.

Things were moving fast. Too fast.

Knowing she needed to apply the brakes, she withdrew her hand and, gathering herself, stared resolutely out of the car window.

But she was still breathing unevenly when they drove through tall ornamental gates and drew up outside the celebrated Mayfair restaurant.

Once a private house, the Xanadu was built in the style of a Spanish hacienda, and stood in its own discreetly floodlit gardens. Mature trees and shrubs provided a pleasant backdrop to smooth green lawns, and flowering shrubs climbed the stuccoed walls.

When the middle-aged chauffeur got out to open the door, Rafe told him, ‘Don’t bother hanging around, Michael. Get off home to the wife.’

His look grateful, the man said, ‘Thank you, sir. Goodnight sir, madam…’

Rafe opened the thick smoked-glass door with an easy courtesy that she soon came to know was part of his nature.

Inside the foyer, his jacket was whisked away and they were greeted by the proprietor. ‘Good evening, Mr Lombard…madam…How nice to see you. Your usual table?’

His usual table…Did he make a habit of bringing his women here? Madeleine wondered.

‘Please, Henri.’

The maître d’ appeared to show them through a series of archways to a secluded corner table in the stylish, white-walled restaurant.

Long windows looking onto the gardens were open wide, letting in warm evening air fragrant with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. A few bright stars were appearing, and a thin, silvery disc of moon floated in the blue sky.

As he’d said, it was the perfect setting for a romantic evening.

Watching her glance round, and instantly on her wavelength, he queried, ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed with a smile.

While they sipped an aperitif she tried to concentrate on the menu, but, try as she might, she couldn’t prevent herself looking at him, and whenever he wasn’t watching her her eyes were drawn to his face.

He wasn’t merely good-looking. With a cleft chin, a mouth that was at once ascetic and sensual, a strong nose, high cheekbones, brilliant, thickly lashed green eyes and dark, curved brows, he was intriguing, riveting.

But it was more than his looks. Much more. There was something about the man himself. Something she couldn’t quite put a name to, but something that fulfilled a need in her. It felt right to be with him, as if she had always known him, as if they belonged together.

While they ate an excellent meal he kept the conversation light and general, moving from topic to topic, finding out what interested her, seeking her opinion on the subjects that did.

In spite of her awareness of him, the heated attraction that lay just beneath the surface, she found herself responding with an ease that, when she thought about it later, surprised her.