Modern Romance October 2016 Books 5-8. Kate Walker
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lifetime of manners being drummed into her by her father and strict boarding schools couldn’t let her ignore his hand. She reached out, intending it to be a sterile and quick transaction, but the first thing that registered when his hand encompassed hers was a surprising roughness, which only reinforced her impression of him being less civilised than he looked.
She felt a pulse throb between her legs...her intimate flesh reacting to his touch. It was so powerful that she pressed her thighs together, and her fingers tightened reflexively around his in reaction as she said faintly, ‘I’m Julianna—Julianna Ford.’
* * *
As slim, feminine fingers tightened around his all Ben could think about was how it would feel when other, more intimate muscles would tighten around a more sensitive part of his anatomy. He’d never had such an immediately carnal response to a woman, but the feel of her slimly curvaceous body colliding with his outside the hotel had had an impact he couldn’t ignore.
He’d seen her from across the street, an intent look on her face, a small frown between her eyes. And then, as her long legs had closed the distance between them, he’d been too mesmerised by her graceful movements to budge an inch.
And then she’d cannoned straight into him.
The lush imprint of her soft breasts against his chest was still vivid. As soon as their bodies had collided lust had hit him like an injection of adrenalin to his heart. And it hadn’t been one-sided; he’d seen the effect on her too. Those widening shocked eyes. Her cheeks flooding with colour. Her hands tightening around his arms. She was tall enough for him to have just dipped his head down slightly to claim that provocative mouth, if he’d so wished.
And now he was drowning in dark blue eyes, glossy dark brown hair, pale ivory skin and that mouth, so sweetly curved it was all he could do not to sweep the table to one side and devour her right here.
She was stunning. Exquisite.
And she was pulling her hand back from his now with a little tug. He let her go, reluctantly.
A waiter came to take their drinks order. Julianna appeared flustered for a moment, and then quickly ordered a bourbon on the rocks. Ben ordered a soda water.
When they were alone again Ben dragged his mind out of the carnal gutter and said, ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’
She looked at him and his blood surged south and his flesh hardened. Ben cursed the rush of rogue hormones. It wasn’t even as if she was wearing anything overtly provocative. A pale silk shirt that was buttoned to her throat and a dark pencil skirt. Discreet make-up and jewellery. High heels. Classic. Elegant. But as far as his libido was concerned she might as well be naked.
‘Look—’ she said, but was cut off when the waiter returned with their drinks, setting them down.
Ben noticed that she took a swift sip of the amber liquid before putting the glass down again.
She appeared edgy all of a sudden, and he made allowances for the fact that she was nervous, saying, ‘I believe you’re only here for a week? You’re based in London?’
She swallowed and his eyes followed the movement. Even that small movement was graceful. Her refined elegance was impacting upon him somewhere deep. And it surprised him. He’d long ago rejected the cool upper-class beauties who thronged around him—drawn by the hard shell he knew he wore, hewn over years of hard graft as he’d remoulded himself into something much more durable. He knew they were attracted to the rough edges he’d acquired. They didn’t want to know he’d once been one of them. They only wanted the thrill of thinking they were with someone vaguely dangerous. Rough. Someone whose industry was gritty. Base.
He took pleasure in rejecting them because he rejected that world—and yet here he was, sitting mere inches away from a woman who could put all those other society bitches in the shade with a mere arching of her elegant brow. And his blood was pumping so hard and so hot he could hardly think straight.
She looked at him and dark tendrils of hair trailed over her shoulders like silk. ‘I...yes, I’m based in London. So, to be perfectly honest, I think this date is pretty redundant.’
It took a second for her cut-glass English accent to sink in—and her words. And then they did...along with the very cool expression on her face.
Ben blinked. ‘So why agree to a date if it’s redundant?’
Her gaze narrowed and she took a deep breath, and despite the sudden chill in the air Ben’s gaze helplessly dropped down to take in the press of those luscious breasts against the thin silk of her blouse.
‘Because I wanted to meet you face to face and tell you that I know you met my father before, when you tried to take him over.’
Ben’s gaze snapped back to her dark blue one. The heat in his blood simmered, not diminishing under the positively frosty vibes she was sending his way now. He hid his surprise that she’d registered the connection and shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It’s a small world.’
She sounded bitter. ‘Evidently too small.’ She took another sip of her drink, her fingers pale around the heavy glass.
Ben tensed. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Now she looked almost angry, with two spots of colour coming into her pale cheeks. ‘What I’m saying, Mr Carter—’ she put heavy emphasis on his name, as if he might still be under any illusion that things weren’t deteriorating rapidly ‘—is that, based on your previous history with my father, you can’t seriously expect me to believe that this date is pure coincidence?’
Ben thought of how mesmerised he’d been by that photo of her and felt exposed. Her cynicism shouldn’t have surprised him, but somehow it did. He was on high alert now. Carefully, he said, ‘I can’t say that it’s pure coincidence, no. I am aware of who you are—who your father is.’
She smiled, but it was hard. ‘And so you saw an opportunity and grabbed it?’
Ben forced a smile too, in some kind of an effort to try and relieve the tension. ‘Evidently you joined the Leviathan agency because you’re interested in dating, I would have thought the fact that we have something in common is a good conversation-starter.’
Julianna’s eyes glittered like dark sapphire jewels. ‘Well,’ she said coolly, ‘I’m afraid I have no interest in starting any kind of conversation with you, Mr Carter. I came here merely to inform you of that, in case you’d be left in any doubt.’
With that, she downed the rest of her drink in one go and gathered up her bag, which was on the seat beside her.
She stood up and looked down at him. ‘And as for my father—his position has not changed, so I suggest you seek your opportunities elsewhere. Thank you for the drink, Mr Carter, I’ll see myself out.’
Before Ben could fully process what was happening she was hitching her bag strap onto her shoulder and walking away from the table.
Ben finally stood up, his reflexes dulled, thanks to shock, and was just in time to see the anxious-looking maître d’ helping her with her overcoat. Then she was walking out of the bar without a backward glance.
Ben looked at his watch incredulously. The date had lasted less than fifteen minutes.
He sat down again, her haughty accent reverberating in his head. ‘I suggest you seek your opportunities elsewhere.’ If it wasn’t so disturbing it would be funny, but the fact was that her father had been the furthest thing from his mind until she’d brought him up.
Julianna Ford, with her glacial dark blue eyes and her upper crust accent, had just pulled the rug out from under Ben’s feet. And it was only now that he fully registered that last look she’d sent him—disdainful and dismissive. As if he wasn’t fit to clean her shoes.
Ben signalled for the bill. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that and, even though he knew he should be writing Julianna Ford off as a spoilt rich bitch, his blood still ran