Wow, he hadn’t noticed her before, but now he was scoping out her legs? Nina chewed her lower lip to hide her smile because she was scoping far more than his legs. Sitting this close she could feel the warmth of him, could see the cords of muscle in his arms. The only imperfection she could find was a small scratch on the back of his hand. Pulling her focus away from him was an effort—she made herself glance at her watch.
“You’re worried you’re going to be late?”
She nodded. The fans were on the fourth rendition of their rousing song already and still the train’s engine was eerily silent.
“Work?” he asked.
She nodded again. “And you?” she asked.
“Yes. But my client won’t mind if I’m a bit late.”
So he was a banker. It figured. He had the money, the self-assurance. So why not the private car today? If he worked at Canary Wharf, he could give her a ride every morning. Her face tingled, heating at the double entendre. Oh yes, a ride—every morning and night…
She cleared her throat. Since when was she so one-track minded, thinking of nothing but sex? Was she over Corey at last? It was beyond time. But the sensible bit of Nina wasn’t ready to toy with another guy who was probably just as obsessed and image driven. She was going to travel—alone and indefinitely—finally free to do and be what she wanted. Just herself, no longer trying to live up to someone else’s expectations of interesting and cool. By herself she couldn’t bore anyone else, right?
“You don’t mind working on a weekend?” he asked, managing to speak over the fifth rendition of the supporters’ song.
“Not at all,” she said with a smile. The weekend customers were more fun. It was sometimes busier than weekdays, too, which made for fast-passing days. “I wish I was working even later tonight, to be honest.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have to go out later and I don’t want to.” She really didn’t want to.
“It’s not dinner at Pascal Dumont, is it? Because I have to go there tonight and I don’t want to either.” He looked sheepish.
Why didn’t he want to go there? “No,” Nina laughed disbelievingly. As if she’d go to dinner at a Michelin-starred celebrity haunt? Booked out almost a year in advance, she’d heard the appetizers alone cost a bomb. “Mine is merely a meet up in a pub in North London.”
“With people you don’t want to see?”
She shot him a glance. Perceptive, wasn’t he? She nodded slowly. All Corey’s friends whom she hadn’t seen since she’d broken off their engagement. The entire time she’d known them, she’d been with Corey. She’d known them because of Corey. And most probably they’d known more than she had about the true state of their relationship. Humiliation central.
“Can’t you come down with a sudden flu or something?” He read the dread in her face.
Resolutely she shook her head. “It’d be too obvious.” She wanted to show them she was over it. That she didn’t need their sympathy or their pity—and that she could blank the bitchy laughter behind her back. Corey had been the catch, the one everyone wanted. And no one had been able to believe he’d picked her—least of all Nina. And then his deceit stripped her confidence even further. But was she was supposed to be so grateful to have him that she’d put up with anything? He might have crushed her self-belief, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat.
Yet it had hurt—so much. She’d tried so hard to please him and she hated how naïve she’d been.
Now she sat up straighter, mentally pulling it together. They’d all be there and well into it by the time she got home from work and changed and out again. She’d grin and bear it for an hour or so and that would be that. She was out of here—if she was away while they were all in town, then she’d be fine. No matter about the Games. She’d managed things on her own before and she would this time, too. She’d travel about and prove just how much of an awesome life she could lead alone.
“You know we’re both adults.” Her train companion said idly, his accent lilting more strongly. “We could simply decide not to go. We could do something else.”
Shock tied her tongue. Temptation heated her cheeks. But surely he didn’t mean what she immediately thought of? Never. She shook her head again. “I have to go.”
“Why?” He leaned in close—apparently to avoid another dancer kicking up and down the aisle.
“Dignity.”
“I have to go too.” He smile became more of a grimace. “Duty.”
She swiveled—abandoning any attempt to hold back from looking her fill—not when she had such a close-up opp. “You cannot complain about having to eat at that restaurant.”
Amusement flashed again before he answered wryly. “I’m happy to eat there, but I’d prefer a more interesting dinner companion.”
He was turned toward her but had gone still again, like that statue, his silvery blue eyes fixed on her. Unbelievably intense. Her breasts tightened, so did her lower belly. Suddenly she couldn’t hear anything above the beat of the blood pumping through her body. Not even the flash mob performing their kazillionth rendition of their anthem.
It was his commanding presence. His height and breadth and foreign air. And it was definitely that whisper of soulfulness in his eyes, like they were wells of emotion—still on the surface but with hidden depths…
Yeah, she was being ridiculous. All but drooling. She might as well dig out a permanent marker and scrawl “I think you’re hot” across her forehead. And his response? He was watching her, but wasn’t he too restrained about it? Too cool. In other words—not nearly moved to the degree she was.
“Come on!”
Someone grabbed Nina’s hands and pulled her to her feet. One of the dancers—smiling wide and singing loud. Nina swayed—even though the carriage was still stationary—and looked aghast at the guy smiling in her face. They wanted everyone in on it? Weren’t there enough of them? Weren’t they making enough noise? Another of the younger ones was behind her—stopping her from scuttling back to her seat.
Her temperature soared higher than the descant trilling of the lead fan-lady—the Mariah Carey impersonator. But what could she do? The words weren’t hard, she’d heard them enough already and these guys were having fun. Did it matter if she was going to look uncool and uncoordinated? Corey wasn’t here now to hold her back.
Besides, she couldn’t not laugh, she couldn’t not sing, she couldn’t not join in… but no way was she doing the vertical splits thing.
Several bars into it, she got fully over the embarrassment and just went with it—rocking out with her lame house moves. Hey, the moment was beyond redemption. She even got the courage to look at the gorgeous foreign guy. That’s when she almost lost her footing. He’d looked handsome enough standing on that street all aloof, attracting everyone’s attention like a beautifully sculpted deity. But now? With him laughing like that and that heat in his gaze—on her?
She almost dissolved into puddle of goo on the floor. As it was, she was oozing toward him without any will of her own.
She put her hands on her hips, determined to reclaim some self-control and not throw herself at him. “You’re too cool to make a fool of yourself in public?” she challenged—for once voicing the accusation she should have leveled so many times at Corey. “Or too uncoordinated?”
This guy tilted his head back, lazily amused as his lashes lowered over his eyes and he looked down the length of her legs. “I’m enjoying the show far too much to move,” he drawled.
No doubt his flirty comeback was the auto response of a man who knew how to make any and every woman feel good, but what did that matter? It made her feel alive for the first time in months. The tease was fun.
“Poor excuse,” she chided.
The carriage went quiet as the song ended. She caught his eye. “Once more with feeling,” she mouthed. Sure enough, a half second later, it was all on. Again.
He laughed—and groaned—as everyone started in the main chorus. But then he stood. Stra
nge, but she’d forgotten how tall he was. He towered, so much closer than before and she had to lift her chin to see him, promptly forgetting the lyrics she’d learned by osmosis. He put a hand to his chest, frowning as he opened his mouth to join in. She laughed. He actually looked self-conscious.
Suddenly, the train thrust forward, jerking them off their feet as it finally started again and immediately strained for top speed. Nina fell back, just managing to land in a sprawl in her seat, her butt hanging off the edge of it, her body almost horizontal. He didn’t have the same luck. She heard the rough yelp, saw his hands spread wide as he lost his balance and tripped over her legs—falling between them. Next thing he was on his knees in front of her.
Her heart bounced out of control. So did her mouth.
“You lie in my lap.” She misquoted some Shakespeare in amusement, not really for him to hear. Because yeah, her flirt was a lame, goofy, geek-fest that he’d never understand—but the desire was impossible to resist. Nor could she stop the smile bursting onto her face. With a guy this gorgeous on his knees at her feet, with his hands on the armrests either side of her, his mouth inches from her thighs—it was a moment of sensual heaven.
Those startling blue eyes met hers, only now the blue was a thin ring around the swollen black pupils.
“‘My head upon your lap.’” He corrected swiftly, his accent intensifying the intimacy of the speech.
Stunned, she uttered the next line automatically. “‘Ay, my Lord.’”
“‘Do you think I mean country matters?’” he continued the quote softly, his face even closer to her legs, his words a whisper of wickedness that she read in his eyes as well.
Her body whooshed cold then hot and she sucked in a hit of burning air. That part so cunningly referred to in their quoted prose tightened—because yes, she had been thinking of c’untry matters. The play on words made that most private part clench in the desire she’d been failing to fully suppress since first seeing him. She couldn’t hold back her delighted laugh now, either. “You know your Shakespeare?”
“Hamlet, yes,” he confirmed, smiling as he moved to reclaim the seat beside her. “Doesn’t everyone?”
No. Not at all. She sat upright and tightly crossed her legs, gripping her upper thighs to still the rush of wet heat there. “Not everyone remembers that bit.”
“You do.” He laughed again—that warm, sexy, infectious sound. “Do you have other good quotes memorized?”
She turned to meet his gaze. His eyes gleamed like silver fire and oh boy, was she in trouble. He was gorgeous enough already—but that he could hold his own in the nerdy Shakespearean stakes?
“A few.” She answered audibly enough, but inside she was stunned at the flare emanating from him and ridiculously elated at their shared Shakespearean flirt.
Only then the train slowed—coming into her station. She stoutly took the blow. Of course, this would come to an end—only a passing meeting. Of course this was nothing.
She stood, but as the train shuddered to a halt, she swayed and quickly grabbed hold of the safety straps above her—no doubt giving him an eyeful of her tight, turned-on breasts. Damn instinctive body language, she might as well have all out preened. Still, all she could do now was attempt a sophisticated goodbye—not try to prolong the encounter, no, that would be desperate.
“I hope your evening goes better than you expect.” She walked to the door, conscious her hips were rolling with a hint of swagger but powerless to control it.
“Thanks,” he called after her. “You too.”
Nina smiled as she left the train, her battered ego boosted higher than it had been in months. She didn’t turn to see if he’d gotten off too. Single and staying that way, right? She’d had a second of flirt—one she’d never have expected, certainly not with him. She’d even managed a sassy goodbye. But a contrary flicker of disappointment snipped at her uplifted spirit, because all it had been—all it would ever be—was a moment.
…
Eduardo Ruiz suppressed the twitch in his muscles, forcing himself to walk slowly. Thank God the car hadn’t come for him today. Instead, he’d had the most fun in ages with the pretty brunette with a shockingly tuneless singing voice. Heaven knew he needed some light relief and now she was walking right in front of him. As he tracked her progress, heat spread though his stomach, softening the stone-cold sensation pressing deep in his gut. Eye-candy didn’t usually ease that familiar ache, but this particular woman had the one thing slipping from Eduardo’s sphere—vitality.
The first time he’d seen her she’d been almost bouncing along the street, an effervescent smile lighting up her whole face—relentlessly drawing an answering smile from anyone who looked. And Eduardo had looked. Then he’d climbed into the car and smiled, his spirit lifting despite the heartache of his destination. But he’d noticed her artless energy had become increasingly leashed over the past few days. That unconscious reflection of joy muted by something. Until today—when he’d had the sheer dumb luck to be stuck on the train with her and those crazy singers. And finally that energy had shone again—her sparkle had bubbled over.
He reined in his own explosion of energy in order to keep a few paces behind, watching the sideways rock of her hips and the peachy jut of her butt beneath that slim gray skirt. The heat in his veins scalded him from the inside out. His attention lowered to her legs—finally having enough time to give them a proper look. They were bare, lightly summer bronzed, long and trim with narrow ankles. He curled his fingers, instinctively trying to ease the sudden itch as fantasy slugged him. He’d wrap his hands round those ankles and pull—so her thighs would part and she’d wind those long limbs around his waist and he’d be right inside that vivacious fire. Country matters called loud and strong.
Si, he was ogling and it was crass. It was also irresistible. Given where he was going now, and the dutiful torture he had to endure tonight, Eduardo needed a moment. So he was damn well going to enjoy it.
But after watching where she went, he lengthened his stride so he wouldn’t be any later than he already was. Out of the shopping mall and along the expensive dockside apartments—homes to men and women every bit as workaholic as he.
The evening ahead was family business and he couldn’t escape it. Nor could he escape the fact that he had no time to put into anything other than work this week, next week or even the next year. Exactly how he liked it. There was no room for the relationship he’d foolishly invented in a flippant moment over the phone. No room for any kind of relationship—fictional or otherwise. He didn’t have the time or the heart to give.
But that pretty Canadian was leaving—off for an adventure. Therefore not looking for a relationship—not a week out from departure. Now temptation gnawed. The maddest of ideas tickled as urges drove his body. All he could hear was her low laughter as she’d quoted Shakespeare’s bawdy bits. He wanted her at his table. Honestly? He wanted her in his bed.
That was the only way his night was going to go better.
A preview of GAMBLE IN GOLD, the third novella in the FLIRTING TO WIN trilogy!
Chapter One
“I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” Lexie Peterson called back to the whimpering dog lying in the middle of the massive bed.
With a laugh, she headed down the hall to the gleaming fridge in the luxury kitchen. She’d never have picked Luke Marchetti to own such a pathetic excuse for a pooch. Sure the thing was cute, but it was so not Luke. And what kind of a name for a dog was Mango? And how on earth could Dani’s stepdaughter be afraid of a dog smaller than the average cat and burdened with a snuffle instead of a bark?
Not that Lexie was going to argue with Dani. Lexie had landed in London three days ago with no money, no job, and nowhere to stay. Her best friend—and Luke’s sister—had handed her Mango and the keys to Luke’s apartment. Lexie had resisted until Dani assured her that Luke was out of town for the month and his serviced apartment was empty. Given that poor Mango had gone on a hunger strike at the ke
nnel where Luke had dumped him, and that Dani’s four-year-old stepdaughter was paralytically afraid of any kind of hound (even uber-midget hounds like Mango), Lexie was really doing them all a huge favor by taking care of the critter while Luke was away. That way she could find a job and a flat, and frankly, a life. Dani always had all the answers.
So here Lexie was, in the lion’s den. The home of the one and only Luke Marchetti, her high school crush. Her first-ever crush. Now some superstar management consultant at one of those trendy global firms that only hired amazing graduates with extreme extracurricular success. Which pretty much described Luke to a tee. The guy didn’t just go for gold, he was gold. Even now he was off being awesome, doing something most mere mortals couldn’t ever manage—a marathon. But he wasn’t just running a marathon. He was blistering his feet to help someone else.
Lexie tried hard not to be all that impressed. She was determined that seven years had taken care of her crush. Seven years in which she’d not seen him, other than in the family pics Dani occasionally posted on Facebook. And Lexie absolutely did not scan each with microscopic care in case he featured in the background somewhere. But Fantasy Luke still made the occasional appearance in her dreams. She’d tried to ban him, telling herself he wasn’t worth the brain space. Or the angst. She’d had enough of that when she was a teen. Because Lexie knew that even the greatest people have some kind of weakness. And Luke Marchetti’s weakness was women. Lots and lots of women. Bluntly put, he was a super mega slut who would never settle down. In reality, Mr. Perfect was Mr. Playboy.
And worse? To him she’d always been—and doubtless always would be—the shy New Zealand exchange student who’d stayed with his family for six months all those years ago. And while he’d been driven in his achievements even back then, he’d also driven right over the hearts of several pretty young things just during her time there. Too charming and successful for his—or anyone else’s—good. The number of ex-flirts must be in the thousands by now. He had no clue the impact that summer in Boston had had on her. As far as Lexie was concerned, he never would.
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