Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh. Kate Hardy
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Had she? Or had she ripped it up in a fit of temper? Because now he knew exactly what she’d been doing at Felicity Browne’s party, he could guess at her reaction that night after she’d left the balcony—anger at herself for letting him distract her when she’d been there in a business capacity. And underneath that cool, quiet exterior lurked a passionate woman. A woman who’d responded to him so deeply that they’d both forgotten where they were.
He took a business card from a small silver holder, scribbled his personal number on the back, and handed it to her. ‘To replace the one you…’ he paused, his eyes challenging hers ‘…mislaid.’
She didn’t flinch in the slightest; she merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, and went back over to her filing system. She glanced at the name on the card, then paper-clipped it into a book. Then she took a card from a box and handed it to him. ‘In case you change your mind about the dates. But please remember that I have a three-month waiting list.’
‘People plan parties that far in advance?’
‘Weddings, christenings, anniversary dinners…’ She spread her hands. ‘I don’t question my clients’ social lives. I just talk to them about what kind of thing they want, and deliver it.’
‘So you do dinner parties as well?’
‘On Thursdays to Sundays,’ she confirmed.
‘And what if one of your regular clients needed you on a Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday?’ he asked. ‘Or they just decide to throw a party on the spur of the moment?’
‘My clients know that I don’t cook for people on Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Apart from the fact that I have other commitments, everybody needs time off.’
‘True.’ That, together with her comment about a time machine, had just given him another idea. ‘Well, it was good to see you again, Lily.’
‘And you.’
For a moment, he thought about kissing her on the cheek—but he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it there. And he needed the business side of things sorted out before he addressed the issues between them. Before he took her to bed.
He knew that kissing her hand would be way too smarmy, so he settled for a firm handshake. ‘Thanks for your time.’
Even something as impersonal as a handshake made his skin tingle where she touched him. And, judging by the look in her eyes—a look she masked quickly—it was the same for her.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long, long way.
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