Rage surged through her body at his implication, and, lifting her hand, she struck out at his handsome mocking face. But before the blow connected he caught her slender wrist in a grip of steel.
'Now, now, Lena, temper, temper. Surely you don't want to arrive at the restaurant with your partner's face bearing your fingermarks? No doubt the efficient Claude has arranged for the Press to be on hand—think what the publicity would do to your model-girl image.'
'You're hurting my wrist,' she bit out between clenched teeth. Determinedly she counted silently to a hundred to prevent herself screaming at him like a banshee. His hold gentled on her wrist, but if anything it was worse, as Jake's thumb gently stroked her inner wrist, sending an electric current of awareness shooting up her arm. Then to her utter amazement his dark eyes softened on her flushed and furious face.
'I apologise, Lena; my less than flattering comments were uncalled for.'
She shivered, although the evening was warm. She had told herself she was over Jake years ago, but as they sat in the close confines of the luxury car the subtle male scent of him teased her nostrils, which, she despairingly admitted to herself, she would recognise if she were deaf, dumb and blind as uniquely Jake.
'I wouldn't hurt you for the world.' And for a fleeting instant she saw something she did not recognise in his eyes before he partially lowered his lashes, masking his expression. But she quickly dismissed the notion as he added hardily, 'But I will have you tonight, Lena, darling.'
She took a deep breath and forced herself to ignore his last statement;
perhaps if she tried to keep it light, or reason with him... 'Jake, I've known you since I was fourteen. Why bother bidding at a charity auction for a date? You could have just called me.'
'And of course you would have said yes,' he mocked, his dark eyes gleaming with devilment. 'Does that mean I could have had a freebie... ? Damn,' he chuckled, 'I should have realised; they do say a woman never forgets her first lover.'
'Why, you arrogant, conceited pig...' All thoughts of reasoning with the man flew from her mind as she almost choked with rage. 'How-----?' How dared he remind her of the one night they had spent together?
He cut her off before she could complete the sentence. 'Shh, Lena, we've arrived; prepare to face the Press.'
Flushed and shaking with anger, she watched as Jake unfurled his long frame and slid out of the door the chauffeur was holding open. Behind him she saw a smattering of photographers, and it was only with the greatest effort of self-control that she was able to slide along the seat and accept the hand Jake held out to her.
She flashed a mutinous look at his darkly handsome face and saw a grimace of disgust twist his sensuous mouth as one photographer, more pushy than most, knelt on the pavement and took what she knew could only be a rather revealing picture as she bent to get out of the car, all long legs and revealing much more cleavage than was normal.
She pasted a smile on her face and linked her arm through Jake's, leaning slightly against him. She felt him tense, and felt a fleeting sense of triumph: he was not immune to her, after all. As for the publicity, he would hate it. His staid banker image would take a knock tonight. Serves him right, she thought gleefully.
Photographers she could handle, and did. She smoothed one slender hand over her hip, highlighting the beautiful applique butterfly in red and gold that curved across the midriff of the skimpy dress, lifting the style from the mundane to the exotic. She owed it to Claude to show off his design to the best advantage, and the fact that it was one of her own drawings he had adopted for the motif gave her an added sense of pride. With another brilliant smile for the Press, she allowed Jake to lead her into the exclusive French restaurant in the heart of Mayfair.
At first glance the restaurant appeared to be full, but within seconds of entering the place the head waiter was t Lena's side. His dark eyes flashed appreciatively over her as he bowed courteously, declaring it was a great pleasure to see her in his restaurant and leading them swiftly to a small table for two set in the very centre of the room.
Beside her, Jake, every inch the dominant male, immaculately dressed in a dark dinner suit and snowy-white shirt, exuded an elusive aura that went with wealth and sophistication. As every man's head in the place turned to watch Lena sit at the table, so too did every woman's head turn to study her strikingly attractive companion.
Why wouldn't they? Lena thought wryly. She had almost forgotten how overwhelmingly masculine he was and it helped that he was a millionaire many times over.
Thankfully she accepted the menu from the waiter, and assumed her role as hostess with a sophistication she was proud of. She would show Jake she was no young girl to be intimidated by his potent brand of charm.
'What would you like to eat, Jake? I'm going to have avocado and salmon mousse, followed by the monkfish with the mild curry sauce, plus the fresh vegetables. How about you? The same?'
She arched one perfectly shaped brow enquiringly at the man seated opposite her as she placed the menu on the table. She was still in shock, but she had controlled her earlier anger and was determined to take charge.
He met her cool look with an equally chilling smile before turning to the hovering waiter and rattling off her order and a main dish of peppered steak in cream sauce for himself, plus a bottle of vintage champagne.
'I may be your guest, Lena, but I never allow a woman to order for me, or to me...' His dark eyes flashed with a hint of anger then softened perceptibly as his gaze roamed blatantly down to the soft curve of her full breasts.
She felt a flush of heat creep from her stomach to cover her whole body at his sensuous explicit look, and bitterly she cursed Claude under her breath. If only she had known who it was she was dining with she would have conveniently developed a dreaded allergy of some kind. Jake had the capacity to make her feel like a gauche teenager with just one glance from his knowing brown eyes.
'Except, perhaps, in bed, and then I don't mind if the lady takes the initiative. Sometimes it can be quite exciting ...' He laughed out loud at her shocked expression. 'Don't you agree?' he teased.
'Do you think you could possibly bring your mind out of the gutter long enough for us to enjoy our meal with some semblance of civility?' she said curtly. She was sick to death of his crude innuendoes. 'A truce, Lena, hmm?'
'And there's no need for you to call me Lena. You always called me Katy when we were f—friends.' She hesitated on the word 'friends', then blundered on. 'It is only in France I'm known as Lena. Now I'm home I prefer Katy.'
'Friend. I once had a friend called Katy, but I don't see her in the woman before me now. Would you like to know what I do see?'
'Not particularly, but I have no doubt you will tell me anyway,' she said with a small laugh to cover the swift unexpected stab of hurt she felt at his denial of their friendship. It was stupid, she knew; they had not been close in four years, but before that she had believed he was her friend and more...
'I see a very beautiful, very sexy young woman who has spent the last few years playing on those attributes, with great success. How does it feel, Lena—sorry, Katy— to know most of the men in two continents go to bed fantasising about your body? Does it turn you on?'