by Lucy Ellis
But confidence had never been his problem, and Alejandro grinned and went back downstairs to find out about their meal.
When he returned, carrying a wooden tray, Lulu was rummaging around in her suitcase. She looked up, her big brown eyes doing that uncertain thing again, but that was before she noticed the bottle under his arm and the two glasses wedged between his blunt fingers.
She leapt to her feet. ‘That’s my wedding crystal!’
‘Sí.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll rinse them and they’ll never know.’
‘I’ll know!’
‘We can eat on the floor,’ he said, ignoring her outburst, and settled the tray on the hearth. Then he took a better look at her new outfit. It was wool, full-length, and buttoned up to her neck. ‘Whose grandmother did you steal that from?’
Lulu’s face fell as she glanced down at her dressing gown. ‘I heard that the Scottish nights are cold because of the North Sea,’ she said seriously.
‘The North Sea?’
‘Out there.’ She waved her hand vaguely at the wall.
By Alejandro’s calculations she was pointing inland, or at a stretch of the Atlantic.
He didn’t like her dressing gown, Lulu thought, tugging uneasily at the sleeves. But it was practical, and that was what mattered.
Lulu noticed his hair was wet from the rain, and that he’d brought the scent of the wild outdoors in on his clothes. Her senses stirred. More than stirred. He’d braved the elements for her. She shouldn’t find that sexy…but she did. Her gaze went a little helplessly to the stretch of damp fabric across his upper body, the swell of muscle, the hard male bones.
‘Are you going to eat?’
Lulu realised she’d just been standing there all this time, and that he’d caught her checking him out.
Flustered, she made a production of sitting down on the rug and surveying their dinner. It was stew and dumplings. The kind of food she would have been careful around if she hadn’t been on a break.
‘What’s that?’ she asked rather desperately as he uncorked the bottle.
‘It’s one of the bottles of burgundy I brought over for Khaled and Gigi. They won’t miss one.’
Lulu held out her hand and examined the old faded label. ‘1945?’ she said.
‘It was produced at the end of World War II—I sourced a handful of bottles through Christie’s.’
‘You bought wine at an auction?’
‘Why not?’
‘Wasn’t it a little expensive?’
He angled a speculative look her way that set all the hormones in her body aquiver. ‘Just a little.’
‘This feels so wasteful,’ Lulu half whispered as she watched him expertly decant the blood-dark wine into goblets. ‘I’m sure Mrs Bailey’s stew isn’t up to the standards of a forty-five burgundy.’
‘Good wine improves everything,’ he told her, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the wine.
She found herself checking to see that none of her buttons had come undone.
Non, all accounted for. To settle her nerves Lulu concentrated on sipping her wine. It slid down like heaven, and she gave a soft sigh of approval and looked over at him—only to discover he hadn’t touched his. He was watching her, and she was instantly back in the car with him, his hand at the back of her head, his mouth making all kinds of magic with hers, leaving her breathless and flustered all over again.
‘So,’ he said with intent, ‘from ballerina to topless showgirl. How did you get there?’
*
Lulu glared at him. Sprawled against the post at the end of the bed, long powerful legs stretched out across the rug, bare feet idling in the firelight, he looked like every fantasy any woman could ever have. And he knew it.
Not hers, though. She wanted Gregory Peck. She wanted someone decent and reliable who would always give up his bed to a lady and would not expect her to share it—and he certainly wouldn’t make assumptions about her profession.
Although she guessed half the dancers at L’Oiseau Bleu were topless—nude—there wasn’t anything wrong with that; it was artistic. There was a whole heritage behind it. But Alejandro probably didn’t care much about the history of things. He just liked naked women.
Which shouldn’t have her gaze lingering just a little too long on the wide, sensual line of his mouth. That dark shadow was already making itself known around it and along his jaw, hinting at a heavy beard. She wondered if it would scratch a little if he kissed her again…
Lulu fanned herself. ‘The fire is very warm.’
‘You’ll be glad of it later tonight, when the temperature plummets,’ he commented.
She glanced at the bed and then met his eyes. She waited for him to volunteer to take the chair. He didn’t.
Tightening her lips, she reached for her glass of wine.
‘So, from completely rude man to professional polo player. How did that happen?’
He didn’t even flinch. ‘I was put on a horse when I was four years old and my father handed me a mallet, I didn’t have much choice.’
Against her will, Lulu’s sympathies were stirred. She tried to picture him at four. She failed. He was so big and testosterone-fuelled it was hard to imagine him small and vulnerable.
‘Even if I hadn’t been, my family has bred horses in Argentina for many generations and the sport is popular in my country. It’s in the blood.’
‘So you inherited everything?’ she said, still annoyed about the bed.
If he behaved like a gentleman she might—might—consider sharing it with him. Platonically.
Although Alejandro du Crozier did not strike her as the platonic type.
He was the type to grab a woman and kiss her until she slapped him and then leave her to the mercy of a hundred black-faced sheep.
‘Inherited?’ He appeared to inspect the word. ‘No, I earned it. Every acre, every pound of horse flesh, every match. No hand-outs,’ he said, with an emphasis that made her think she’d hit a nerve. He paused, taking a mouthful of wine. ‘I run a working estancia, Lulu,’ he added, meeting her eyes, ‘and I have a corporate portfolio that among other things supports our national polo team.’
‘That must keep you busy.’
‘You have no idea, querida.’
No, but she was going to. Once she started college in a month’s time, coupled with a full season at L’Oiseau Bleu. That was pretty impressive on its own, although she guessed it didn’t stand up to breeding horses and captaining his country in international polo matches.
‘I don’t know anything about polo, but it must take a lot of work—with the horses, I mean.’
‘You get out of it what you put in. But, sí, it’s all about the ponies. You’re only as competitive as your mount.’
She imagined he was incredibly competitive. You didn’t get to that level in a professional sport without it.
Weirdly, she liked it. She liked his assurance…the way he got things done. Mostly she liked talking like this with him.
For the first time it occurred to her that maybe she could have tonight for herself. The other girls weren’t here to tell him that there was something wrong with her…her parents weren’t here to make it abundantly clear that there was something wrong with her. She didn’t even have any responsibilities to Gigi tonight.
This could be her night. Which meant she had to stop talking on and on about polo!
She took a big gulp of wine. ‘Your parents must be proud of you.’
Alejandro shifted his long legs in front of the fire restlessly.
‘They divorced when I was fifteen,’ he said easily.
He was a child of divorced parents, just like her. They had something in common.
‘I didn’t have much to do with my father after that,’ he added, swirling the contents of his glass.
‘Divorce can be tough.’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘My parents conducted a war of attrition, Lulu. Divorce was the day peace was declared.’
She knew e
xactly what he meant. But she wasn’t opening up that can of worms. ‘Did you stay with your mother?’
‘Sí, we stayed with her—my sisters and I.’ He took another mouthful of wine and then put down the glass. ‘Before you ask, querida, my mother is too busy with her new husband in Rio de Janeiro to follow my career now.’
Ouch. But he looked too big and tough to really care.
‘So your father put you on a horse—but why did you choose to play professionally once you grew up? You must enjoy it.’
‘I’m naturally competitive.’ He said it the same way someone might say their eye colour was brown. ‘I’ve had the opportunity to play against the world’s best. Why pass it up?’’
He made it sound so easy. Lulu wondered what he’d say if he knew that some days she couldn’t even go outside.
‘I admit polo takes up a lot of the time I’d prefer to spend on the ranch, but I think it’s worth it if my involvement helps popularise the sport. My ex-wife would probably disagree. Professional sport takes its toll on your personal life.’
‘You’ve been married?’
‘This surprises you?’
‘It’s just you don’t look like the marrying kind.’
He cast a speculative look her way. ‘What kind do I look like?’
‘Busy,’ she said, a little astonished by her own boldness.
‘Not as busy as you imagine, querida,’ he drawled, with a faint hint of a smile, and Lulu suddenly couldn’t hear above the thundering of her pulse.
She hadn’t done the prep for this. Being interested in a man, flirting, and all the while wondering what he really thought of her.
Not much, she suspected.
‘We have an internationally renowned breeding programme on the estancia,’ he went on.
Just when she thought she had the measure of him he got more impressive.
‘It’s how I got to know Khaled—sourcing Kabardian stock in the Caucasus a few years ago. We got tight.’
Lulu didn’t want to talk about Khaled Kitaev. But she realised she’d stumbled into something she’d heard about from the other girls at the cabaret. Talk to a man about what fascinates him and he’ll think you’re riveting.
‘So you’re the best friend,’ he said, immediately confounding her expectation that he would only want to talk about himself.
‘Pardon?’
‘Of Gigi. You were flatmates? Was that the set-up?’
Disconcerted that he knew that much about her, Lulu wondered a little uneasily what else Khaled and Gigi had told him. Nothing, she decided. They would have told him nothing.
‘We auditioned for the Bluebirds at the same time,’ she explained self-consciously, ‘and Gigi was looking for a flat. My parents had arranged one for me in a nice neighbourhood, so she moved in.’
She glanced up at his dry chuckle.
‘What is so funny? You think my parents shouldn’t help pay my rent? Didn’t your parents help you out when you got started in life?’
‘My parents just got in the way, frankly, querida, and no, they didn’t. Relax—I’m not judging.’
Lulu narrowed her eyes on the faint amusement that danced around his wide, disturbingly sensual mouth.
He was judging.
She wondered what he’d say if he knew that in addition to living in her beautiful flat, owned by her parents, she was driven everywhere by her mother or her stepfather’s driver, and her bills were often met by her parents. It was all part of the highly stratified life put in place for her when she was eighteen, to cushion her anxieties. What would he think of her if he knew she was a walking, talking failure at the game of life?
‘So it’s just you in the parents-endorsed flat nowadays?’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly, not sure where this was going.
‘Is this why you resent him?’
‘Who?’
‘Khaled. Gigi’s done well for herself.’
A cold feeling pooled in Lulu’s belly and a hot feeling flashed up through her. What did he mean? What was he implying?
‘I do not resent him. Who told you that? I’m very happy for Gigi.’ She was aware she had raised her voice. She never raised her voice. ‘And what do you mean, she’s done well for herself?’
‘He’s writing her some pretty big cheques.’
Lulu almost choked. ‘Excuse me? Gigi is not marrying Khaled for his money!’
‘I’m aware of that. I was talking about you.’
‘Me?’ she spluttered. ‘I don’t want Khaled’s money!’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Do you mean am I looking for a billionaire of my own?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first girl.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WEALTH OF cynicism in that comment left Lulu flabbergasted.
‘Gigi and I weren’t starring in our own version of How to Marry a Millionaire, if that’s what you mean,’ she said, trying to sound as dismissive as he did, but knowing it just came out defensively. ‘We’re working girls. Gigi’s still working. She runs the cabaret. I work!’
‘You’re a woman who by her own admission is supported by her parents.’
Lulu went to deny it, but she couldn’t, and nor could she explain her circumstances. It was so frustrating!
‘You wouldn’t be the first person to want what your friend’s got. Maybe I’m wrong…’ He shrugged.
Lulu hated him for that shrug, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. It did matter when you were the one being unjustly accused!
‘You are wrong! And Khaled Kitaev has no right to talk about me to you or anyone.’
‘He’s hardly said a word.’ Alejandro leaned back, all wide shoulders and amused speculation. ‘I’d worked you out five minutes into that flight, querida.’
‘You’d worked me out?’ Lulu could feel herself crumbling inside like a sandcastle.
‘Troublemaker.’
‘What…?’ The word emerged as a whisper.
All of a sudden she was convinced he knew everything about her. Gigi might not have spilled her secrets to Khaled, but somehow this man knew everything.
Did he know she’d never had a boyfriend? Probably. Did he think she was some kind of misfit freak? Probably. Did he think it was funny, making a joke of spending the night with her?
Her confidence hit an all-time low.
Khaled had taken her best friend away and it had felt as if a large piece of her inhabited land had been annexed by a ruthless invading force because her private world was already so small. How would Alejandro like it if he was forced to question everything about his life, let alone try to start again?
But she couldn’t begin to explain it to this man.
And why should she?
‘What have I done to make you say those things to me?’ she defended herself. ‘All you’ve done is attack me since we met on the plane. I’m not a bad person, but I think you want me to be awful so you can take your bad mood out on me. I thought—I thought when you kissed me—’
Mon Dieu, what was she saying? Lulu scrambled to her feet, belatedly aware that there wasn’t anywhere to go.
Her derrière hit the bed-end.
‘You don’t know a thing about me,’ she muttered fiercely, turning her back on him, ‘and I hope after this weekend we never see each other again.’
Alejandro’s first instinct was to turn her in his arms and kiss her. But the last time he’d done that she’d been upset, and he’d just had his conscience slammed up against the wall.
He dated independent, self-assured women every time. Not that it always worked out. His ex-wife had independently propelled herself into other men’s beds. But Lulu’s words had truth to them.
Everything about her rang true.
Was he still judging other women by his relationship with his ex-wife?
Sometimes it was just about chemistry and timing. Both of which he had here. He was wasting it by twisting this girl around the knot that had been his long-ago short-lived marriage.
He looked at her
rigid shoulders and it occurred to him that this was about her only defence with him.
She’d been using it all day.
He felt even more like a bully.
‘Forgive me, Lulu, it’s been a long day and I’ve unfairly taken it out on you.’
Lulu hadn’t expected an apology, and she hadn’t expected him to be on his feet so fast and standing behind her. She didn’t want to turn around because she knew her face would be red and her mascara streaky.
More, she didn’t want to turn around because she suddenly felt at a loss as to what was expected of her, and she wasn’t quite sure what this tension between them was.
‘Lulu?’
‘I accept your apology,’ she said stiffly.
There was an odd little silence, in which Lulu suffered the indignity of knowing he probably just felt sorry for her. Which was about as sexy as porridge.
‘We could try to just be civil to one another, do you think?’ she said in a small voice.
‘Agreed. But I’m finding being civil to you taxing.’
‘Why?’ She looked up over her shoulder at him.
Why was he looking at her like that? He could probably hear her heart beating. Beating? It was fairly stomping, like the chorus at L’Oiseau Bleu when they were still learning new moves.
‘I think you know why.’ There was a faint smile on his lips but those eyes were serious, and they promised things she couldn’t quite get a clear visual on. She knew only that they would probably put what they’d done in the car into the shade.
It was the unknown, and Lulu knew she was losing traction on all her firmly held beliefs about herself as she began the slide towards it. A little too fast for her…a little too soon. But everything seemed to go fast when she was around this man.
One minute she truly hated him, and the fact that he’d seen her at her most foolish made it worse.
But now she was tempted beyond belief just to step up to him, pull at his shirt and make him kiss her again.
But that wasn’t going to happen now.
‘I really think I should go to bed,’ she said, and told herself she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t argue with her.