Dirty Aristocrat

He leaned back in his chair. ‘You want a cheeseburger?’

‘With fries.’

He clasped his hands and stared at me. ‘With fries,’ he echoed.

‘And two strips of bacon.’

He shook his head. ‘Right now?’

‘Yeah. I haven’t had one in ages. Robert could never eat burgers, what with his diet being so restricted, so I never did either.’

He lifted his hand. A waiter came. ‘Bill please,’ he said, not taking his eyes off me.

‘Is something wrong, Sir?’ the waiter asked worriedly.

‘Nothing’s wrong. We have to be somewhere else.’

He hurried away. The manager came. His brow was creased and he seemed extremely concerned. ‘Is something amiss, Lord Greystoke?’

Ivan did not even spare him a glance. ‘Not at all. We just remembered that we have to be elsewhere. If you would be kind enough to bring the bill.’

‘No, no, Lord Greystoke! We couldn’t possibly charge you. You haven’t had a bite to eat. The wine will be compliments of the house.’

God! Rich people sure got away with murder.

Ivan dropped a wad of fifty-pound notes on the pristine tablecloth and escorted me out of that august establishment.

CHAPTER 20

Tawny Maxwell

We stopped in front of the cutest little white American restaurant in Mayfair. Chuck’s Diner had a white and red sign that read, Bringing New York to London. Decorated like a steakhouse

it had dark-wood paneling, inviting red booths, a bar counter running the length of the restaurant, and chatty staff that practically sat down to eat with us.

Ivan ordered the two hundred and fifty gram fillet and I very nearly had the four hundred gram rib-eye, but in the end I had the Chuck’s Hefty Hamburger with an extra side of fries.

The salad arrived and while Ivan drizzled dressing onto it, I observed his movements with fascination. The more time I spent with him, the more interested in him I became. I liked

watching him perform even the most mundane action and I wanted to do more than just watch him.

I wanted to touch.

As Chloe had pointed out, he was someone so out of my league that even contemplating such an idea was playing with fire. I was bound to get hurt.

Fortunately, before I could become too morose, my burger arrived and it was something else. Nearly as big as the dinner plate and dripping with melted cheese, bacon grease, and beef

juice, it looked and smelt like the food from my childhood.

I grinned at Ivan. ‘Now that’s what I call a burger.’

‘Bon appétit,’ he said mildly, picking up his steak knife and fork.

I picked up my burger in my hands and took a really big bite. ‘Mmmm,’ I said, and rolled my eyes like I was eating ambrosia.

Ivan stared at me. ‘That good?’

I nodded enthusiastically since my cheeks were so stuffed talking was not possible.

‘Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ he said and cut and speared with his fork what my granddaddy used to call a civilized bite.

I swallowed my food. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. This is so good it practically dissolves on your tongue.’

‘I don’t think I’ve quite seen a woman enjoy her food this much,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘Where I come from they say, fries before guys,’ I said, as I used two thick, golden, salty fries to soak up the excess juices from the meat on the plate and put them into my mouth. I

half-closed my eyes and fluttered them as fast as I could, as if I was in the throes of ecstasy.

‘Give me one of those damn fries,’ Ivan said and, reaching over, grabbed one.

I watched him put it into his mouth and chew thoughtfully.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ I asked, picking the dripping burger up in my hands.

‘Yeah, it is good,’ he conceded.

I widened my eyes. ‘Good? It’s freaking wicked.’

I took another hefty bite. Ketchup ran down my finger and I licked it.

He stared at me.

‘Sorry,’ I said with a grin.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t be sorry. You look cute when you’re stuffing your face, besides, it’s a pleasure to see you truly enjoying something. You’re normally so ready to fly into a

rage anybody would think you’ve a fucking cactus up your ass.’

‘Why, Lord Greystoke, I could have said exactly the same thing about you,’ I said.

‘So you’re a Southern girl. I don’t have much to do with the South. Where exactly are you from?’ he asked flashing one of those smiles that made my stomach go funny and made me glad I

was sitting down.

‘Tennessee. I’m from a little town close to the border of Virginia.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Oh, parochial. Our nightclub only opened on the weekends.’ I wiped my lips.

‘Keep me away from there,’ he said, with mock horror in is voice.

‘No, you’d hate it,’ I agreed.

‘So tell me something about you?’ he invited, slipping a piece of potato into his mouth.

‘Like what?’

He pretended to consider. ‘Hmm … start with your weaknesses.’