Sandra Field – The Mistress Deal (страница 8)
He felt her swallow against his cheek. “Right,” she cooed and delicately nibbled at his ear with her teeth.
Sensation scorched along every nerve he possessed. The soft weight of her breast was pressed against his sleeve; her perfume, as sensual and complex as the woman herself, drifted to his nostrils. His body’s response was instant and unequivocal. He wanted her. Wanted her in his bed. Now. Naked, beautiful and willing.
Then Lauren murmured against his earlobe, “You’d better not kiss me, not unless you want scarlet lipstick all over your face when we walk through the door. We don’t have to be quite that convincing, do we?”
She was totally in control. That was the message. She didn’t want him, Reece thought grimly. She was only toying with him, playing a role, the very role he’d insisted on.
He was an idiot. A prize jerk.
With a superhuman effort, he managed to say lazily, “I’m sure we can convince them we’re mad for each other without the benefit of Revlon. Perhaps you’d better wipe my ear.”
Her fingers were warm, brushing against his hair as they smoothed his flesh. He fought down a tide of sensation that would drown him if he let it and said, “The valet’ll park the car. Let’s go, Lauren.”
She took his face between her palms, looked straight into his eyes and whispered with passionate intensity, “I’m crazy about you, honey. You know that, don’t you?”
For a split second he found himself believing her, so convincing was the blaze of emotion in her eyes. But she was acting. Only acting. Feeling a rage as fierce as it was irrational clamp itself around his throat, he said, “Haven’t I believed every word you’ve said from the moment we met?”
Her lashes flickered. Gotcha, he thought. “And don’t call me honey. Even in jest.” Then he climbed out of his car, passing the keys to the uniformed valet. “Callahan’s the name,” he told him easily.
“Thank you, sir.”
Reece walked to Lauren’s door, opened it, and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look?”
She swayed toward him, her lips in a provocative pout. “A hundred times and never enough.”
A man’s voice said loudly, “Reece—good to see you.”
Reece turned. “Marcus, I’m glad you could make it. And Tiffany, how nice to see you. May I introduce Lauren Courtney? Dearest, this is Marcus Wheelwright, CEO of the European branch of my company…and his daughter Tiffany.”
Marcus was fiftyish, heavy-set and jovial. Tiffany, Reece noticed, was her usual ice-maiden self, wearing a white satin gown with diamonds glittering around her throat, her blond hair sleekly perfect. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lauren’s hairdo fell down before the night was over; but Tiffany’s would never do that. And Tiffany was probably never late for anything. Hurriedly he brought his attention back as Marcus shook Lauren’s hand. “Not the sculptor?” Marcus asked. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
“We met recently,” Reece said. “Love at first sight, wasn’t it, darling?”
Lauren laughed up at him, lacing her arm through his. “Absolutely…I’m still in a state of shock. Are you based in Paris, Marcus?”
“Paris. Hamburg. Oslo. You name it,” Marcus said; he had the look of a man recovering from a disagreeable revelation. Whereas Tiffany, Reece noticed, looked coldly furious.
Lauren started to discuss the art market in Paris, skillfully including Tiffany and Reece in the conversation, every movement of her body giving out the message that she was a satiated woman who’d been equally generous in return. It was a masterful performance, Reece thought savagely, and struggled to play his part. Then Marcus drew him aside with a question about their French office; answering automatically, all his senses keyed to Lauren, Reece heard Tiffany say, “So you’re Reece’s latest plaything.”
“That’s not what I would have called myself,” Lauren replied.
“Don’t fool yourself on that count—I’m the one who’ll last. I have breeding, all the right connections.” Tiffany gave Lauren’s earrings a scornful glance. “And taste.”
“Whereas I’m merely talented, intelligent and beautiful,” Lauren said.
“Also incredibly conceited!”
“Merely realistic.”
Reece smothered the urge to laugh out loud and tried to pay attention to Marcus, who wanted to fire his office manager; deflecting him from the topic, Reece said heartily, “I should go inside, Marcus. I’m glad you and Tiffany have had the chance to meet Lauren—I’m a very lucky guy.”
“You certainly are,” Lauren said, laughing as she briefly laid her head on his shoulder; several of her curls, he noticed, were already tumbling from their pins. He let his palm rest warm on her nape, feeling the contact scour his nerves in a way that had nothing to do with deception and everything to do with his hormones. He didn’t need to act. He lusted after Lauren Courtney like a tomcat in springtime.
Did he want her to know that?
He did not.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he said to Marcus and Tiffany. “Come along, darling, let’s get a drink.”
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