Pride After Her Fall
‘Yeah, it is beautiful,’ he responded a little huskily, and framed her face with one hand. At last she opened up enough to let him kiss her. ‘Second only to you.’
He tasted her—the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her breath—and the magic happened all over again. He knew he’d be taking her to dinner.
* * *
‘So I’m to be your sex doll?’
Nash schooled his expression into something neutral as Lorelei emerged from the master bedroom, a tiny scrap of lace nothing dangling from her little finger.
He’d rung his housekeeper here at the bungalow and told her to organise some clothes through several boutiques at the resort, giving a vague approximation of size and stressing sexy. The helpful women at the boutiques had clearly interpreted this as less being more. He wasn’t complaining.
Lorelei stood in the doorway looking unimpressed, although he did detect a tiny quiver about her mouth that told him she was trying not to laugh.
She looked sensational in an ankle-length orange pleated silk chiffon dress, embroidered with tiny crystals at its plunging neckline. It was the neckline that had his attention. His mouth was suddenly dry.
Belatedly he noticed she had swept her hair up into one of those sophisticated knots that took lesser women hours, and wore delicate crystal earrings. The juxtaposition between the ice goddess standing before him, her short sharp nose in the air and the little bit of erotica hooked over her finger finally dragged his eyes away from her braless breasts.
‘You can be whatever you want to be,’ he corrected, coming towards her. ‘You could try being yourself.’
Lorelei’s lips parted slightly.
‘I am being myself.’
He plucked the bit of lace from her hand. ‘Then there’s no problem. I’ve seen your lingerie, Lorelei. You wear a great deal less than this.’
‘Currently I’m not wearing any, but I would have preferred the choice.’
Nash’s mind went blank.
‘You look very smart,’ she said with an arch lift of her brows.
Endeavouring to get himself under control, he rasped, ‘It’s the tailoring.’
A little smile sat at the corner of her mouth, as if she was very well aware of something else. ‘Shall we go?’
* * *
The restaurant was open-air, on the beach, and the rhythm of local Sega music thrummed as a backdrop. Lorelei sipped her iced water, too nervous to risk a glass of champagne.
On the charity circuit she was always working to get people to like her, to respond to her, to open their chequebooks. Tonight she wasn’t sure of the rules.
The large table was peopled with several couples: various identities from the motor-racing world, and one retired driver, Marco Delarosa, so famous even Lorelei recognised his face instantly.
This was Nash’s world, both corporate and competitive, with the glamorous edge provided by sport. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but amidst the thumping testosterone-fuelled talk about commercial deals and television rights she became conscious that Nash was talking about racing again.
This was confirmed when Nicolette Delarosa leaned over and murmured, girl to girl, ‘We need to form our own team—at least then we might be a viable part of this conversation.’
A team.
One by one the pieces fell into place.
He was staging a comeback.
With Eagle.
This was why he was so media-shy. This was why he’d cancelled their date. Yet here she was, at this table, privy to the big secret.
She couldn’t understand why, but Lorelei felt a frisson of unease.
Seeking reassurance, she flashed her gaze up to Nash beside her. His body language was relaxed—shoulders loose, open. He was fully himself because he was among friends. This was nothing like what she had built up in her mind. He wasn’t treating her like a rich man’s arm candy, as she had feared, those were her own insecurities.
It was clear in this company that when Nash was private it was because he needed to be—monosyllabic, as Simone called it, because everything he said publicly was weighed and measured. With his friends he was this relaxed and good-humoured man.
His thick black lashes were screening the full impact of his eyes, but although he was listening to Delarosa she knew his attention was on her. Had been on her all evening.