In the Rich Man's World

Maybe he was merely playing her at her own game—plying her with flattery—but here and now Amelia didn’t care. Because whatever Vaughan was up to, it felt good. His positive words were like a salve to her fragile ego, and she decided at that point to relish the moment instead of analysing it—there would be plenty of time for that when this magical night was over.

But Vaughan hadn’t finished yet. He was pulling apart a bread roll and soaking up the last of his balsamic dressing—long fingers working the plate, a decadent flash of gold on his wrist. Even his hands were beautiful!

‘As bitchy as your pieces are,’ Vaughan carried on, his mouth full, but still looking impossibly sexy, ‘they still come across as if you like your subjects.’

‘Because I do like them—neuroses and all.’ She smiled at his frown. ‘I truly admire them.’

‘Admire them?’ Vaughan questioned. ‘It hardly takes a degree in rocket science to croon into a microphone or to strut one’s stuff on the catwalk. I’ve dated a few models in my time,’ he added.

‘I heard,’ Amelia answered cheekily, before responding to his question. ‘Okay, I admit at first I was a mixture of cynical and overawed. Yet the more I interview these people, the more I get to know them as individuals, and the more highly I think of them. Models deserve every last cent of their millions! Can you imagine sitting in a restaurant as divine as this and ordering a tomato salad with dressing on the side if you hadn’t eaten ten courses today?’ Her voice was truly appalled. ‘Heaven knows—someone who can give birth and then get out of her hospital bed and do two hours of Pilates with only an egg-white omelette to look forward to is a woman who knows what she wants. I absolutely couldn’t do it, and I tell them that.’

Her plate was being cleared away now. She ached to dash to the loo, to check that no remnants of food were between her teeth and that Shelly’s make-up was living up to its reputation, but Vaughan was staring at her—staring across the table in a broody, pensive way. And if four years at uni had taught her anything it was that now was not the time to go, that if she left now, then a few minutes after returning so would he.

‘My turn now,’ Amelia said, and she took a deep breath, eternally grateful that she had a completely legitimate reason to ask the one question she really wanted answered; after all, not a woman in Australia would forgive her if she didn’t find out his romantic status.

‘Are you involved in a relationship?’

‘I assume we’re not talking about my family here? Because I am involved with them—very much so.’

‘You assume correctly. So, are you involved with a woman?’

‘Amelia!’ Vaughan feigned surprise. ‘I would have thought someone with your rather cosmopolitan job would phrase her questions more carefully—cast a wider net, perhaps. For all you know I could be gay.’

‘Most gay men don’t have your reputation with women, Vaughan,’ Amelia answered with the sweetest of smiles.

‘Ah, but how do you know that isn’t just a smokescreen?’

‘Please!’ Amelia scoffed, leaning back in her seat. And she would have laughed, was about to respond with some swift but witty retort, but both her laughter and her words died on her lips as she caught his eye. She stared at him for a full moment, meeting his gaze and holding it, and the background noise of the restaurant faded into silence. The moment dragged dangerously on, tipping her from unchartered to dangerous territory.

She didn’t need to ask him. Not for a second had his being gay even entered her head—because Vaughan Mason, in the few hours since she’d known him, had made her feel more of a woman than she’d ever felt in her life.

‘I think we both know that’s not the case.’ Her voice was amazingly even, given her accelerated heart-rate, but she wished he’d drop his gaze first—wished she could win this tiny unspoken battle. Whatever game they were playing, it didn’t come with a rule book. His eyes were holding hers unblinkingly as she wrestled to come up with a response. ‘However, I stand corrected. If you don’t mind, I’ll rephrase my question—are you in a romantic relationship?’

‘No.’

The heady relief that flooded her shocked even Amelia, but determinedly she kept her features impassive, staring back at him, terrified to blink, to break the decadent beat of the moment. But this was work, Amelia reminded herself sharply. This was her career, the break she’d been praying for, and succumbing to Vaughan Mason’s undeniable charms wasn’t going to get her article written.

With a blinding flash of clarity she realised he was playing her—playing her as he did every woman who had crossed his path for the last quarter of a century, playing her just as Taylor had.

These were men who had learnt to flirt from the cradle.

It was Amelia who dropped her eyes, Amelia who gave up on the game she could never win. Sitting up a notch and clearing her throat, she spoke in what she hoped was a more assertive tone than the rather more seductive one that seemed to have been waiting in the wings for the best part of the main course.

‘You’re thirty-four, Vaughan.’

‘Thirty-five, actually.’ He flashed a perfect white smile and Amelia was sure she could see a glint of triumph in his eye…

She knew that he knew that he’d moved her.

‘Thirty-five,’ Amelia corrected herself. ‘Have you ever thought of settling down?’

‘Settling down?’ He frowned.

A tiny cough, a tiny reminder to herself that she was allowed to ask this type of question—it was her job to be nosy!

‘Getting married?’ Amelia responded through slightly gritted teeth, knowing he was merely stalling, dragging things out so he could prepare his answer.

‘I’ve never understood that.’ Vaughan frowned across the table. ‘Why do people refer to marriage as “settling down”? One would assume that you’d love the person you marry, yes?’

‘One would hope so.’ Amelia flashed a tight smile.

‘And one could also assume, then, that you’d find that person incredibly sexually attractive. I mean, to actually have committed to that person for life you’d surely be sexually compatible, barely able to keep your hands off each other…’

Lucky, lucky woman, Amelia thought reluctantly. Lucky the woman who was the sole object of Vaughan Mason’s desire, who had a man as utterly sexy as Vaughan permanently unable to keep his hands off her.

Trying to keep her breathing even, to keep a vaguely detached stance, she gave what she hoped was a vague nod, as if the picture he was painting in her mind wasn’t causing her toes to curl under the table.

‘Which hardly equates to settling down. Personally I’d refer to it as things hotting up—and considerably so.’ He flashed a slightly triumphant smile. ‘Does that answer your question?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ Amelia retorted, cheeks flaming, dying of embarrassment, but determined to get an answer. ‘You do have a reputation,’ she pointed out, then softened it with a smile. ‘It would be almost criminally negligent not to broach the subject; my readers would never forgive me. You’ve been playing the field for quite some time, Vaughan.’

‘But I’ve been sitting on the bench for a while. I have,’ he insisted as Amelia’s lips duly pursed. ‘Leopards can change their spots, Amelia.’

‘Or they learn to be more discreet,’ Amelia responded dryly. ‘Come on, Vaughan. I’ve heard it all before—same tune, different song…’

For a second his eyes narrowed, but then surprisingly he laughed. ‘Where did a sweet thing like you learn to be so cynical?’

‘It comes with the job description.’ Amelia smiled back. ‘I’m writing an article, not a fairy tale.’

‘Taylor Dean changed,’ Vaughan pointed out. ‘You just said so yourself!’ He registered the tiny swallow in her throat, the nervous dart of her eyes—read her as he read every woman who sat before him. ‘You say the guy hasn’t touched a drop in two years, yet every time he snaps at a shop assistant, every time he rocks up ten minutes late or cancels a gig because he has laryngitis, we’re led to believe by your mob that he’s back on the bottle. The guy can’t cross the street without looking twice; the next thing he knows he’s tomorrow’s headlines…’

‘Leave Taylor out of this.’ Her voice was too shrill, too urgent, and Amelia fought to correct it, wishing somehow they could turn back the clock, revert to what they’d almost shared just a matter of seconds ago. ‘We’re talking about you…’

‘I’m merely drawing an analogy. Anyway…’ he frowned ‘…what happened between you two? How come you’re so defensive…?’

He watched her flinch as if she’d been slapped, saw the colour literally drain out of her cheeks, her shaking hands reaching for her water glass. Normally it would have given him a kick, a tiny surge of thrill to have nailed it, to have hit the Achilles’ heel that every living mortal had. Only this time it didn’t. Watching her flounder, that effusive, expressive face struggling to remain bland, he instantly regretted the pain he’d inflicted, and took no pleasure in watching her flail. ‘I’m sorry. That was way too personal.’