Pride After Her Fall

She was a huge distraction, but he would make the time.

As he had led her to their table he’d appreciated for the second time today the graceful dip of her long, slender back before it gave way to the small curve of her hips, and the subtle sway of those hips as she walked with ease on deathtrap heels. She possessed an innate old-style grace and a hint of athleticism he couldn’t quite link up with the sybaritic lifestyle she seemed to embrace.

She intrigued him.

He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since he’d left her on the highway. In the past if he’d wanted something he’d gone after it. But this something had turned up at exactly the wrong moment.

In a week’s time his re-entry into racing was going to hit the media like a virus. Everything he did would be scrutinized—the places he went, the parties he attended, the women on his arm. Crazy drama-queen blondes were not part of the package. He intended to keep a low profile and wait out the blood in the water period until the media moved on to the next high-profile sportsman and hounded his private life.

Any woman he was seen with now needed to be low-key, and preferably without her own media circus. He’d broken off an on again/off again sexual relationship with a well-known British actress earlier in the year for just that reason. He knew the press would dig something out and air it in the months to come, but he also knew she was soon going to be announcing her engagement and that should put paid to any rumours. He wanted his re-entry into the sport to be as low-key as possible—the opposite of the media circus he’d been caught up in during his twenties.

The woman sitting across from him was exactly what a PR team would order. Cool, classy, understated. Not that he had any interest in involving anyone else in his decision. This was between him and his libido...and the lovely Ms St James. Although he didn’t intend to give her much say. Action, in his experience, was a far more direct method.

His gaze lingered on her uncovered shoulders.

There was something about the delicacy of her throat and collarbone and the quiver of those bare shoulders that made him think about her naked under a sheet.

‘All mine?’ She echoed his words. ‘You should be careful what you promise, Nash.’

It was the first time she had used his name and her accent curled enticingly around it. His body tightened.

But those amber eyes were direct.

‘Are you planning a long lunch?’ she enquired sweetly.

Quiet amusement tugged at his mouth. ‘Isn’t that a requirement of your job description?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Public relations.’

She looked genuinely surprised. ‘Mais, non, I am not in public relations.’

He leaned back in his chair, enjoying looking at her, enjoying the game. After spending the last two hours fine-tuning contracts this was a nice reward. Lorelei was certainly easier on the eye.

‘What do you call it, then?’

‘A favour.’

He lifted a brow.

‘I’m on the board of the Aviary Foundation,’ she explained. ‘The usual publicist broke her ankle and I was deputised as her stand-in.’

It fitted. Yet he was disappointed. The idea that she actually worked, held down a career, had weighted those glamorous blonde looks of hers in something concrete. He studied her fine boned face, looking for something else beyond the undeniable beauty.

‘It’s an influential charity,’ he said finally. ‘How did you get involved?’

‘My grandmaman set up the foundation some years ago. I have her seat on the board.’

In other words she came from money. She hadn’t lifted a pretty manicured fingertip to earn it. He glanced down at those hands, checked for a ring, then looked again. Her nails were unvarnished and worn down.

But a seat on the board? She’d merely stepped into the niche carved out for her. Broken nails aside, perhaps there wasn’t anything here beyond the eyes and the smile and the sexy accent.

He shifted in his chair.

‘Do you do a lot of charity work?’

‘I do my share. If one is in a position to do so I think there’s no excuse not to.’

‘Agreed.’

‘About this morning...’ she said slowly.

He shook his head. ‘I think we’ve moved on from that, don’t you?’