The opulent surroundings, glittering diners and expectant buzz in the air were heady, Robyn admitted to herself, as a thrill of excitement vied with the butterflies doing a flamenco in her stomach. And Clay was used to this all the time. It was a different world. She was in Clay Lincoln territory now.
As her eyes returned to Clay, the intensity of his expression unnerved her, and foolishly she said the first thing that came into her head and was a follow-up from her last thoughts. ‘Do you come here often?’
As soon as it was out she realised it was the oldest cliché in the world and blushed furiously, the more so when she could see quite well he was trying not to smile. ‘Fairly often.’ He settled back in his chair, perfectly relaxed and at ease. ‘Surprisingly, for these sort of places, they have an excellent chef who does the best seafood in London. The tempura king scallops with sweet chili sauce have to be tasted to be believed. All too often a place gets a reputation simply because some of the so-called beautiful people frequent it, and the food’s abysmal.’
‘And of course you wouldn’t be guilty of ever going anywhere just for the kudos,’ Robyn said with a tartness that surprised her before she fell silent, secretly ashamed of herself.
He remained perfectly still, staring at her until the colour which had just begun to subside returned with fresh vigour. That had been catty, Robyn acknowledged with silent misery, and she just wasn’t like that, not normally. What was it in Clay that brought out the very worst in her? ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t very nice,’ she said quietly after taking a deep breath for courage. ‘Especially when you’ve brought me to such a wonderful place to eat. It’s no business of mine where you go or what you do.’
‘I’ve had worse things said to me in my time,’ Clay said drily. ‘But to answer your question…’ he sat up, leaning forward slightly and fixing her in the silver light of his eyes ‘…perhaps when I was younger I might have done what you suggested. It helped to play the game then; it was important in the business sense as well as socially. Now? No, I don’t think so. I choose where I go and who I want to be with very carefully, and purely for my own satisfaction.’
‘Oh.’ As always she had underestimated him and he had managed to completely take the ground from under her feet. She wasn’t at all sure if he had paid her a compliment or not for a start. Her stomach muscles tightened and she was never so pleased to see anyone as when the head waiter appeared at the table in the next instant with the cocktails Clay had ordered.
‘Non-alcoholic for you, Mr Lincoln? You’re driving I take it?’ the man said genially with another beaming smile.
‘Just so, Charles,’ Clay returned with an easy nod.
They appeared to be on very good terms. Robyn accepted her own drink with a smile of thanks, and took a sip—finding it delicious and very definitely alcoholic!—before she glanced down at the menu which had been placed in front of her when they’d first been seated. It was written in English, German, French, Italian and what looked like Japanese, but she found most of the English terms incomprehensible so it wasn’t much help. What was Dover sole meunière when it was at home for a start? Or chicken salmagundi? Or roast langoustine with mango salsa?
‘Too much choice, isn’t there?’
As she raised her eyes and looked into Clay’s face she just knew he was aware of her predicament.
‘Perhaps you would let me choose my favourites for you?’ he continued smoothly, the head waiter at his elbow. ‘I can thoroughly recommend the smoked ham linguini for starters.’
She nodded in what she hoped was a cool, languid, cosmopolitan sort of way. ‘Thank you.’
‘The linguini, then, Charles, with perhaps the tempura king scallops to follow. And I seem to remember the white chocolate crème brlée with pineapple was particularly good last time. Do you have any of that tonight?’
‘For you, Mr Lincoln, I will make it myself. I will make sure it is on the dessert menu,’ the waiter said effusively.
‘Many thanks, Charles.’
Did he actually like such fawning? Robyn took another sip of the vivid blue cocktail as the man whipped the menus away and then raised her gaze again to Clay’s. The crystal eyes were waiting for her. ‘It’s expected by most of the clients, Robyn,’ he said as though she had spoken the criticism out loud.
‘Sorry?’ She couldn’t believe he’d read her mind again.
‘It’s part of the illusion,’ he continued quietly. ‘Some people need it; it’s their security, their assurance that they are in control and important, that they’re impregnable.’
She gave up trying to pretend. ?
??I think that’s very sad,’ she said slowly. ‘Don’t you?’ Because he wasn’t like that. She didn’t know how she knew, she just suddenly knew she did know.
He shrugged, the hard face closed and giving nothing away. ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night,’ he said levelly. The light above them was slanting across his face, picking out the tiny lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and his mouth and catching the odd gleam of silver in the ebony hair. But none of it detracted from his appeal; in fact the signs of maturity which hadn’t been there all those years ago added an extra dimension to the lethal attractiveness. It was a cynical face, made all the more devastating by the rugged sophistication that sat on him so easily and was a product of unlimited wealth.
What would it be like to smooth those lines away? To kiss the cynicism from that chiselled mouth and watch it mellow and soften under warm caresses? He’d felt wonderful all those years ago.
As soon as the thought was there Robyn was horrified, her head dropping immediately as she sought to hide her shock.
‘What’s the matter?’ He’d been watching her closely.
‘Nothing.’ Thank goodness he hadn’t been privy to that thought!
‘Meaning you don’t intend to tell me.’
‘Exactly,’ she confirmed coolly as she raised her eyes to his.
He was grinning when she looked at him again and it did the weirdest things to her equilibrium. ‘I blame the red hair,’ he drawled mildly.