The Rogue's Fortune
She hadn’t said that. “They’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.”
His smooth compliments were having a detrimental effect on her professionalism. Flutters attacked her stomach. Warmth flooded her as delight scampered along her nerve endings. Her body appeared to have a mind of its own, wanting to curl up in the chair and cradle the phone like some smitten teenager.
“The card mentioned you had a job for me?”
“A proposal,” he corrected, caressing the word.
“What sort of proposal?”
“I’d like to discuss it in person.”
And she’d prefer to arrange everything over the phone so his enticing sex appeal wouldn’t prove her undoing. “Would you like to come to my office this afternoon?”
“I was thinking perhaps you could meet me at my apartment. Say in an hour?”
“Your apartment…” She trailed off, at a loss for words since she didn’t dare accuse him of hitting on her when she wasn’t completely sure what was going on.
“Don’t you visit a client’s apartment when you’re planning a party for them?”
“You want me to plan a party?” Her relief came through loud and clear.
“Of course.” He sounded amused. “What did you think I wanted?”
The arrogance of the man.
Elizabeth fumed for about five seconds and then reminded herself that this was business and she was a businesswoman. She’d worked with demanding clients before. Just because Roark Black was sinfully handsome and dangerously exciting was no reason to let her baser instincts get the better of her. He was a client. Nothing more.
“An hour and a half,” she countered, feeling ridiculous the second the words were out of her mouth. It was silly to try to play power games with this man when all he had to do was hit her with his crooked grin and every sensible thought fled her mind.
“I’ll text you my address.”
At one minute to ten, she stood outside Roark’s loft in Soho. She recognized her nerves had gotten the better of her when she’d gone home to change into a sweater dress in a silvery blue. She loved the color. It intensified the gold tones of her hair and drew out the flecks of cobalt in her eyes. But most important, the outfit gave her confidence.
Briefcase clutched before her, weight on the balls of her feet, she awaited the appearance of the first man in a year who’d imperiled her no-bad-boys edict. Pulse hammering, she dredged up every hurt and disappointment caused by the men she’d chosen over the years. Remembering past injuries took the edge off her unwelcome excitement at seeing Roark again.
And then, the door opened, revealing him in all his male splendor. He was dressed casually in worn denim and a long-sleeved gray shirt that intensified the smoky tones in his eyes.
“Elizabeth.” Her name sighed out of him like a lover’s exhalation. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Crap. Her heart fluttered like some idiotic debutant at her first cotillion.
“And you are more charming than ever.” Her voice snapped like a whip, snatching the compliment right out of the words.
He grinned at her, unfazed by her tartness. “Come in.”
The loft was as incredible as she’d expected. Sixteen-foot ceilings, enormous arched windows, exposed brick everywhere she looked. Wood floors gleamed beneath couches slip-covered in white. The living space was so huge he was able to have three separate sitting areas. One flanked the stone fireplace at the far end. One clustered in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves near an opening that she guessed led to the bedrooms. A third near the open kitchen with its dark granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.
“This is nice,” Elizabeth murmured, reflecting on the shoebox she lived in. “Perfect for entertaining. How many people are you inviting?”
“I was thinking about a hundred or so.”
Elizabeth pulled out an electronic tablet and began jotting notes. “Did you have a date picked out?”
“I was thinking next Saturday.”
“That is short notice.”