The Tycoon's Instant Family. Caroline Anderson
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long, hard hours, but he wasn’t going to know that. ‘Fine. Look, I’ve put some ideas together, but I don’t think there’s any point in going into too much detail until you see what I’ve come up with and I get a better feel for what you’re expecting.’
‘I agree. So are you able to get down here, because I’m really stuck at the moment?’
‘Sure. When?’
‘Any time. My evenings are all free. It’s a bit late tonight; it’s gone six already—how about tomorrow?’
Her heart thumped. ‘Tomorrow?’ she squealed. She’d been hoping for longer to tweak her ideas, but needs must and tomorrow was better than today! She got a grip on her voice. ‘Um—I can do tomorrow, if you’re not too busy—’
‘What sort of time?’
‘I need to see my father—I’ll be able to get the train at about five-thirty, and it’s just over an hour to Liverpool Street. Then however long to get to you from there. Seven-ish?’
‘Great. I’ll meet you at the tube.’ He told her which station to head for. ‘Ring me when you get there,’ he told her. ‘I’ll come straight over. It’ll take me five minutes from when I get your call.’
It took six, and every one of them was endless, but by then Georgie was in such a ferment a second seemed to take an hour and yet the day hadn’t been long enough. She’d gone over the plans again and again, tweaking and fiddling, quickly dropped into the hospital to visit her father and then had to rush through the shower and leave her hair to drip-dry on the train.
So she had a slightly soggy collar on her coat, and as she hovered outside the tube station the March wind whipped up and chilled her to the marrow.
She was scouring the traffic and trying to guess the sort of vehicle he might be driving when a low, sleek sports car growled to a halt beside her and the door swung open. ‘Jump in,’ he said, leaning across with a grin and giving her a tantalising glimpse of his broad, hard chest down the open neck of his shirt, and she slid into the low-slung seat, hugely grateful that common sense had prevailed over vanity and she wasn’t wearing a skirt.
‘Nice car,’ she said, trying not to think about the chest, and his grin widened.
‘It’s my one indulgence,’ he told her, but somehow she didn’t believe him. The man had the air of one who indulged himself just whenever the fancy took him, and she fancied it took him pretty darned often.
‘Buckle up,’ he instructed, and then shot out into the tiniest gap in the traffic with a squeal from the tyres and the sweetest, throatiest exhaust note she’d ever heard. Just the sound was enough to make her knees go weak. That and the fact that it could pull enough Gs to squish her into the leather!
‘I’d love a car like this,’ she said with a sigh, ‘but it would get ruined on a building site and anyway, I’m not a millionaire playboy.’
‘And you think I am?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Fair cop. Guilty on at least one count,’ he chuckled.
‘There you are, then. Anyway, I’d look ridiculous driving it.’
‘I think you’d look gorgeous driving it, but in this traffic it might not be a good idea to try for the first time.’
He shot down the outside of a queue, cut across the lights just as they were changing and whipped into the entrance of an underground car park before she could register their whereabouts. Moments later he was helping her from the seat and ushering her towards the lift, while she wondered if she’d ever master the art of extracting herself from his car without loss of dignity. Not that it would be a perennial problem, she had to accept. Sadly.
He was totally out of her league, light-years away from her in terms of lifestyle and aspirations, and so far the only things they had in common were a love of the sea, and his car.
Oh, and disliking the original plans for the site.
She began to feel more cheerful, and it lasted until he ushered her into the lift, inserted a keycard into a slot and whisked her straight past all the numbered floors. When the display read ‘P’, the door hissed open and she walked out of the lift and stopped dead.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly.
All she could see were lights—so many lights that the night was driven back, held at bay by the fantastic spectacle of tower blocks like giant glass bricks stood on end and lit from within, layer upon layer of them, explosions of stardust as far as the eye could see.
She could make out the wheel of the London Eye revolving slowly in the distance with Big Ben beyond, and—oh, more, so many more famous London landmarks stretched out in front of them—Norman Foster’s gerkin, the old Nat West tower, City Hall—with the broad black sweep of the Thames snaking slowly past, so close it must almost brush the foundations.
Wonderful. Magical. Stunning.
For a moment she thought they were on the roof, but then he touched a switch and she realised they were standing in a room, a massive open-plan living space with a sleek kitchen at one end and huge, squashy sofas at the other. Between them, the dining area overlooked the deck and the fantastic view beyond the glass walls. And they really were—acres of glass, almost featureless and all but invisible.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said again, and he smiled, a little crooked smile, almost awkward.
‘I wondered if you’d like it.’
‘I love it,’ she said, running an appreciative hand over the back of a butter-soft brown leather sofa and wondering what on earth she was doing here in this amazing place. ‘I’m surprised. I don’t normally like this kind of thing, I’ve always thought they’re a bit cold and unfriendly, but it just does it so well. And the view!’
‘I bought it for the view. It’s got a three-hundred and sixty degree deck. All the rooms open onto it.’
He touched the switch again and clever, strategic lighting lit up planters full of architectural foliage, artfully placed sculptures and even—
‘Is that a hot tub?’
He pulled a face and nodded. ‘Bit of an indulgence.’
‘I thought the car was your only indulgence?’ she teased, and he laughed.
‘Oh, the tub isn’t an indulgence, it’s purely medicinal. I couldn’t cope without it. After a stressful day at the office or a long flight, it’s just fantastic. And anyway, not many people get to see my apartment so it’s pretty much a secret vice, so it doesn’t count,’ he added with a grin.
She found that knowledge curiously comforting. Not that it was any of her business how many people he chose to entertain. Not at all. But somehow…
‘Drink?’
‘Tea would be nice.’
He nodded, put the kettle on and produced a couple of mugs. ‘What about supper? Do you want to go out, or shall I order in? There’s a restaurant downstairs that delivers.’
She didn’t doubt it. So far she’d seen the car park and the view from his apartment, but that was enough. She had sufficient imagination to fill in the bits in between, and she just knew they’d be equally impressive.
‘Here would be lovely,’ she said, unable to drag her eyes from the view. ‘And it’ll give us more time to look at the plans,’ she added, trying to stick to the plot.
‘OK—have a look at the menu and choose something.’
She looked, blinked and handed it back. ‘Anything. All of it. Just looking at it is enough to make me drool. I had a cup of tea for lunch and a biscuit for breakfast, and I’d settle for a bag of greasy chips right now.’
His mouth quirked. ‘I think we can do rather better than that,’