The Playboy in Pursuit

by Miranda Lee

  ‘Lucille Jordan,’ she said with cool politeness as she came forward and held out her hand.

  Almost reluctantly, he fished his right hand out of his pocket and briefly shook hers. ‘Val Seymour,’ came his curt rejoinder. ‘Can we get going straight away?’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘Good. Thanks for the bolthole, Erica. And the help. I owe you one,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the front door, leaping up the steps in a single bound.

  ‘Oh, goodie,’ Erica muttered salaciously under her breath, her eyes fixed on Val Seymour’s very nice backside.

  Lucille rolled her eyes and hurried after her rapidly departing client.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER a slight detour to circumvent the roadworks, it was only a ten-minute drive across the bridge and over to their destination at Darling Harbour, especially at this time of day. Peak hour traffic hadn’t yet begun to build.

  But it seemed endless.

  As much as she’d been determined not to be unnerved by Val Seymour’s intimidating male presence, Lucille found herself becoming more and more tense with each passing second.

  If only he would say something, instead of just sitting there in a darkly brooding silence with his head tipped back against the seat, his eyes shut and his arms grimly folded. Lucille couldn’t make out if he was exhausted, or just being abominably rude.

  Whatever, some light, ice-breaking conversation on her part wouldn’t have gone astray. But be damned if she was going to be the first to speak.

  So the seconds ticked slowly away and Lucille’s irritation increased. By the time she steered her Oxford-green Falcon into one of the guest bays in the underground car park of their destination, she was seriously on edge.

  ‘We’re here,’ she brusquely informed her seemingly sleeping passenger as she turned off the ignition. When he made no immediate move, or reply, she exhaled a deep and weary-sounding sigh.

  His eyes half opened and slanted over to meet hers. ‘That’s exactly how I’m feeling at the moment,’ he murmured. ‘Tired to the bone. Are you tired too, Lucille? Or are you simply wishing Erica hadn’t fostered such an impossible pain in the neck onto you for the afternoon?’

  Everything he said flustered her inside, but especially his softly-voiced use of her Christian name. He had a lovely voice when he wasn’t snapping and snarling. Low and warm and sensual. Her name had rolled off his tongue like liquid chocolate. His eyes were sensual too, when half opened in that heavy-lidded way.

  He would look like that after he made love…

  ‘No, not at all,’ she denied with seeming calm whilst her thoughts went simply haywire. ‘I get a little tense driving through the city centre, that’s all,’ she added by way of an excuse, struggling to regain her inner composure.

  But the images of him lying next to her in bed persisted. Which was perverse. Val Seymour was the last man on earth she would want as her lover! Heavens, till this very moment, she hadn’t wanted any man as her lover.

  Lucille looked into his lazily hooded eyes and was suddenly seized by more than a spark. It was an inferno, spreading all through her body, melting her frozen libido and giving her a thirst for things she thought she’d never thirst for ever again.

  It took an enormous effort of will to look away from him. ‘Most people I deal with are under some kind of stress, Mr Seymour,’ she elaborated as she removed her car key and retrieved her purse from the back seat.

  By the time she glanced back into his face, her eyes were quite composed, though she couldn’t say the same for the rest of her. ‘It’s my job to alleviate that stress by placing them in just the right accommodation. I’m sure you’re going to be thrilled with this apartment. It has everything you’re looking for. And more.’

  He smiled a wry smile and sat up straight. ‘Erica said you were her best consultant and I can see what she means. You have great tact and stay cool in the face of rudeness—which is what I’ve been up till now. Please accept my apology. I’ve had a difficult weekend followed by an even more difficult day. Which is no real excuse for my boorish behaviour, but it’s all I have to offer. I’ll try to be more congenial for the rest of the afternoon, but I can’t promise perfection. And it’s Val, all right? Mr Seymour sounds like my father, and, believe me, the last person on earth I want to be reminded of at this moment is him. Fair enough?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ she agreed, successfully hiding her ongoing inner turmoil with a plastic smile. Thank God he had no idea of the thoughts still tumbling through her head. Where on earth had they come from?

  It was all Michele’s and Erica’s fault, Lucille decided angrily. They’d put them into her mind. All that talk of lovers and libido! And then there was the man himself. He was something else, as Erica had pointed out. Sex on two legs. A walking woman-trap. Those eyes! And that mouth!

  ‘Right,’ the object of her agitation said as he unsnapped his seat belt and threw open the car door. ‘Let’s go check out this apartment. Though if you claim it’s perfect for me, Lucille, then no doubt it will be. A man would be a fool not to trust the judgement of a lady of your beauty and intelligence.’

  He was out of the car in a flash, leaving her floundering after these last remarks. Common sense warned her that compliments to women would be an automatic part of his playboy arsenal, but why was he bothering to use them on her? She wasn’t his usual style of bedmate.

  Was he looking for an easy bolster for his bruised ego? An afternoon quickie to soothe the savage beast?

  Such a prospect didn’t repulse her nearly as much as it should have.

  Oh, God.

  She struggled out in her high heels, then cringed with embarrassment when she pointed the hand-held lock at the car and zapped the boot open instead of the doors closed.

  ‘Botheration,’ she muttered, hurrying forward to manually close the boot, then re-zap the doors.

  ‘I do that all the time,’ he said, materialising by her side with the stealth of a cat. ‘When I drive, that is. Which isn’t often. I don’t own a car. I travel too much to be bothered. I usually borrow one of Max’s when I’m in Sydney, but be damned if I will be this time. Sorry,’ he said with a quick smile. ‘Would you believe me if I said I don’t usually swear in front of ladies?’

  Lucille didn’t. She’d already heard him swearing over the phone. Val Seymour was a man who did what he wanted, when he wanted, in front of whoever he wanted. He was being charming with a purpose in mind. She was sure of it. But what purpose? Seduction?

  ‘I’ve heard worse,’ she returned coolly, determined not to surrender to his easy charm.

  His eyes glinted as they locked with hers. ‘You have? I’m surprised anyone would dare in your presence.’

  Her shoulders squared defensively. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘You have a formidable air about you, Lucille. Somewhere between ice princess and stern headmistress. Though the shoes are a bit of a worry. They don’t fit either scenario.’

  She blushed. She actually blushed.

  He looked startled, and then confused. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Again. Yet I’d just resolved to be polite.’ His expression of bewilderment had a boyish quality about it which was even more dangerously attractive than his rampant sexuality. ‘I’m not having a good day, am I?’ he said with a sigh. ‘Forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ came her starchy reply. ‘The client is always right.’

  ‘Ouch. Now I feel really guilty. Perhaps we should just get on with the inspection. Then I can say yes straight away, give you my credit card number and move straight in. After which you can be on your way and out of my reprehensible presence. Unless, of course, you need to check my references before I can take possession?’

  His words took on a wicked double entendre in Lucille’s erotically charged brain. But instead of being shocked, this time she felt nothing but a warped amusement. How ironic that this man of all men could turn her on! It was truly laughable.<
br />
  ‘Mr Seymour,’ she chided drily. ‘You are being facetious.’

  ‘Would I do that?’ He smiled at her.

  She couldn’t help it. She simply couldn’t keep up the ice princess act. Or was it the stern headmistress? She heartily disapproved of Val Seymour, and everything he stood for, but his charm was irresistible.

  Her smile was still slow in coming, teasing the corners of her mouth before she finally surrendered to its pull.

  His dark eyes danced at the sight of it, and her stomach flipped right over. The man was a devil, all right. An attractive and dangerous devil.

  ‘Does that mean I’m forgiven?’ he enquired flirtatiously.

  Lucille decided enough was enough. She had to quickly regain control of this situation or she would be in deep trouble. As much as she might have been mentally fantasising about Val Seymour becoming her lover, she refused to let it actually happen. Pride demanded she keep him at bay and not do anything she might seriously regret.

  ‘Mr Seymour—’ she began in a businesslike tone.

  ‘Val,’ he corrected.

  ‘Val…’

  ‘Yes, Lucille?’

  Why, oh, why did he choose that precise moment to say her name again? And to look at her like that again. With a warm, teasing smile and sparkling black eyes.

  She shook her head in frustrated denial of his ongoing effect on her. ‘You are a truly irritating man.’

  ‘In what way?’ he asked, his very real puzzlement as disarming as his natural charm.

  ‘I was determined not to like you at all.’

  Oh, God, had she really said that?

  Now he was truly taken aback. ‘I’m flattered. But was that a compliment or a criticism?’

  ‘A fact,’ she snapped, annoyed with herself.

  ‘Well, I like you too,’ he returned, looking amused. ‘But I had no bad preconceptions of your character to battle against. You’ll have to tell me over dinner tonight just what terrible things you’d heard about me that made you determined not to like me.’

  Her mouth went instantly dry. ‘Dinner tonight?’

  ‘You have another engagement?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘Erica said you weren’t dating anyone at the moment.’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘Neither am I, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘No more buts, Lucille. You’re coming to dinner with me tonight and that’s that.’

  Lucille could not contain a burst of exasperation. ‘Did it ever occur to you that I may not want to come to dinner with you tonight?’

  The expression on his face was classic. Lucille wondered if any woman had ever said no to him.

  But then she remembered Flame.

  Flame’s defection was probably why she was being asked out in the first place. Loverboy needed his male ego stroking. Fast.

  The thought piqued her own ego. ‘I was going to put a treatment in my hair tonight,’ she lied.

  His eyes lifted to her hair, which had had the works at Janine’s only the week before and was shining with health. ‘It doesn’t look like it needs one, but if you simply must, you could always do that before I pick you up. I never eat till late.’

  Lucille almost rolled her eyes. He never ate till late. What was it with men that they never thought of anyone else’s time-table but their own?

  ‘I was planning on visiting my mother,’ she persisted in prickly tones.

  ‘You can do that another night.’

  ‘What if she’s ill in hospital?’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘No, but what if she was?’ she challenged.

  ‘I’d buy her flowers and come with you. Then, afterwards, I’d take you to dinner.’

  She sighed and gave up that tack. ‘Why do you want to take me to dinner? And I want the truth.’

  He smiled that incredible smile of his. ‘The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you have to ask, then maybe you should have your sight checked. You’re a beautiful woman, Lucille. I like beautiful women. And I like taking beautiful women to dinner.’

  So there it was, in a nutshell. If she’d been plain, he wouldn’t have asked her. The man’s motives were skin-deep. What else?

  Lucille knew that if she went to dinner with Val Seymour he would surely make a pass before the night was out. Given her sexual responses to him so far today, she didn’t stand a chance in Hades of resisting him if he went into seduction mode. No point in kidding herself.

  Lucille might have been out of the dating game for a good few years but she knew the score. Even ordinary thirty-something guys expected sex in exchange for the privilege of buying you some wine and a meal these days. A playboy like Val Seymour would consider it a foregone conclusion. Saying yes to dinner would be the same as agreeing to a one-night stand with him.

  Given Lucille’s present vulnerability to the man, it was an incredibly corrupting thought.

  ‘Can I take a few minutes to think about it?’ she said, trying to sound cool and not panic-stricken.

  Again, he looked surprised. But he recovered quickly, to flash her a warm smile. ‘Yeah. Sure. Take all the time you want. Meanwhile, let’s go look at my new digs.’

  He took her arm on the walk across the car park to the lift, the touch of his hand doing incredible things to her whole body. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin and her heartbeat took off at a wild gallop.

  Lord help me, she thought.

  His hand dropped away in the lift, for which she was grateful, as she was for the talkative couple who got on at lobby level. The apartment they were to inspect was on the twelfth floor, by which time the lift was again empty, except for themselves.

  ‘I presume this place has a good view of Sydney,’ Val remarked when the lift stopped and they alighted onto a grey-carpeted corridor.

  ‘One hundred and eighty degrees,’ she answered matter-of-factly. ‘The Casino on the left, the Darling Harbour complex and Marina directly opposite, and the central business district on the right.’

  ‘It does sound perfect,’ he agreed.

  And perfect it was, provided you liked blue. That colour dominated every room, ranging from the palest ice-blue to a bold navy. The walls, the floor coverings, the bench-tops, the soft furnishings. They were all blue in one shade or other. Sometimes the brighter, darker blues were combined and softened with grey. In other places the designer had contrasted them with white. White woodwork. White appliances in the kitchen. White lampshades and cushions.

  The rooms were spacious, the furniture sleek and expensive, yet comfy and liveable. Huge squashy leather sofas and chairs. Roomy tables. Big beds.

  There was a very big bed in the main bedroom. A very big spa bath as well. Large enough for the most decadent of orgies.

  ‘Now, that’s my kind of bath,’ Val remarked on seeing it, and Lucille tried not to think of his climbing into the darned thing with a bevy of naked beauties.

  The bath, however, was not as big a hit as the terrace, which stretched the entire length of the best side of the building and was wide enough to easily accommodate the plethora of white wrought-iron furniture, grouped in several settings over the grey slate floor. Large white-painted pots filled with amazingly real-looking ferns gave it a summery resort-style look, and a built-in slate barbecue made it perfect for entertaining on balmy summer evenings.

  Not this evening, however. A brisk breeze was blowing up from the water, promising a cool spring night and messing up Lucille’s hair.

  Val’s hair, however, remained impervious to the wind. It stayed exactly as it was, totally messy and looking sexy as hell.

  ‘You’re right, Lucille,’ he said as he leant against the curved grey railing and soaked up the panoramic view. ‘I could happily live in this place. What’s the damage?’ he asked, glancing her way.

  ‘The damage?’ she echoed, having tuned out momentarily. She’d been too bus
y watching him move, and thinking the wickedest of thoughts.

  ‘How much does it cost?’

  ‘I thought money was no object,’ she reminded him stiffly, positioning herself so that her hair blew back from her face and not across it.

  ‘It isn’t. I just want to know how much this is going to cost Max. I’ll be charging it to the company’s expense account.’

  ‘Four thousand a week,’ she said, and he grimaced.

  ‘Not nearly enough.’

  ‘That’s the flat rate. It’ll climb once you add on the other services provided.’

  When his eyebrows arched, she slanted him a droll look. ‘Sorry. Not that kind of service. I was talking about cleaning and meals and Internet shopping and such.’

  ‘You mean I won’t have to lift a finger?’

  ‘Only to open the champagne, which of course can also be ordered from here. Actually, you don’t even have to open the bottles if you don’t want to. There’s a butler service as well.’

  His rather patrician nose wrinkled at this idea. ‘I’m not really into that sort of thing. But the champagne is a good idea. I’ll order a case. Dom Perignon, of course,’ he added with a wicked grin.

  ‘Your father really isn’t in your good books at the moment, is he?’

  ‘My father doesn’t know the meaning of good,’ he scoffed, then glowered, his mood dropping back into black and brooding. ‘I don’t want to talk about that bastard. I don’t even want to think about him.’ He sank back down against the railing, his head sagging, his attitude one of instant and utter wretchedness.

  For a brief moment Lucille actually felt sorry for him, till she remembered that he was a bastard too, especially with women.

  So this time he’d lost out with Flame, a potential bedmate. Tough! It wasn’t as though he’d been genuinely in love with the girl. Playboys like Val Seymour were only in love with themselves!

  He straightened abruptly and turned to face her, his eyes still tormented.

  Amazing how devastatingly attractive he looked, despite his emotional ravagement. The dark circles under his eyes suited his designer stubble and added to his bad-boy image.