The Playboy In Pursuit. Miranda Lee

make out if he was exhausted, or just being abominably rude.

      Whatever, some light, ice-breaking conversation on her part wouldn’t have gone astray. But be damned if she was going to be the first to speak.

      So the seconds ticked slowly away and Lucille’s irritation increased. By the time she steered her Oxford-green Falcon into one of the guest bays in the underground car park of their destination, she was seriously on edge.

      ‘We’re here,’ she brusquely informed her seemingly sleeping passenger as she turned off the ignition. When he made no immediate move, or reply, she exhaled a deep and weary-sounding sigh.

      His eyes half opened and slanted over to meet hers. ‘That’s exactly how I’m feeling at the moment,’ he murmured. ‘Tired to the bone. Are you tired too, Lucille? Or are you simply wishing Erica hadn’t fostered such an impossible pain in the neck onto you for the afternoon?’

      Everything he said flustered her inside, but especially his softly-voiced use of her Christian name. He had a lovely voice when he wasn’t snapping and snarling. Low and warm and sensual. Her name had rolled off his tongue like liquid chocolate. His eyes were sensual too, when half opened in that heavy-lidded way.

      He would look like that after he made love…

      ‘No, not at all,’ she denied with seeming calm whilst her thoughts went simply haywire. ‘I get a little tense driving through the city centre, that’s all,’ she added by way of an excuse, struggling to regain her inner composure.

      But the images of him lying next to her in bed persisted. Which was perverse. Val Seymour was the last man on earth she would want as her lover! Heavens, till this very moment, she hadn’t wanted any man as her lover.

      Lucille looked into his lazily hooded eyes and was suddenly seized by more than a spark. It was an inferno, spreading all through her body, melting her frozen libido and giving her a thirst for things she thought she’d never thirst for ever again.

      It took an enormous effort of will to look away from him. ‘Most people I deal with are under some kind of stress, Mr Seymour,’ she elaborated as she removed her car key and retrieved her purse from the back seat.

      By the time she glanced back into his face, her eyes were quite composed, though she couldn’t say the same for the rest of her. ‘It’s my job to alleviate that stress by placing them in just the right accommodation. I’m sure you’re going to be thrilled with this apartment. It has everything you’re looking for. And more.’

      He smiled a wry smile and sat up straight. ‘Erica said you were her best consultant and I can see what she means. You have great tact and stay cool in the face of rudeness—which is what I’ve been up till now. Please accept my apology. I’ve had a difficult weekend followed by an even more difficult day. Which is no real excuse for my boorish behaviour, but it’s all I have to offer. I’ll try to be more congenial for the rest of the afternoon, but I can’t promise perfection. And it’s Val, all right? Mr Seymour sounds like my father, and, believe me, the last person on earth I want to be reminded of at this moment is him. Fair enough?’

      ‘Fair enough,’ she agreed, successfully hiding her ongoing inner turmoil with a plastic smile. Thank God he had no idea of the thoughts still tumbling through her head. Where on earth had they come from?

      It was all Michele’s and Erica’s fault, Lucille decided angrily. They’d put them into her mind. All that talk of lovers and libido! And then there was the man himself. He was something else, as Erica had pointed out. Sex on two legs. A walking woman-trap. Those eyes! And that mouth!

      ‘Right,’ the object of her agitation said as he unsnapped his seat belt and threw open the car door. ‘Let’s go check out this apartment. Though if you claim it’s perfect for me, Lucille, then no doubt it will be. A man would be a fool not to trust the judgement of a lady of your beauty and intelligence.’

      He was out of the car in a flash, leaving her floundering after these last remarks. Common sense warned her that compliments to women would be an automatic part of his playboy arsenal, but why was he bothering to use them on her? She wasn’t his usual style of bedmate.

      Was he looking for an easy bolster for his bruised ego? An afternoon quickie to soothe the savage beast?

      Such a prospect didn’t repulse her nearly as much as it should have.

      Oh, God.

      She struggled out in her high heels, then cringed with embarrassment when she pointed the hand-held lock at the car and zapped the boot open instead of the doors closed.

      ‘Botheration,’ she muttered, hurrying forward to manually close the boot, then re-zap the doors.

      ‘I do that all the time,’ he said, materialising by her side with the stealth of a cat. ‘When I drive, that is. Which isn’t often. I don’t own a car. I travel too much to be bothered. I usually borrow one of Max’s when I’m in Sydney, but be damned if I will be this time. Sorry,’ he said with a quick smile. ‘Would you believe me if I said I don’t usually swear in front of ladies?’

      Lucille didn’t. She’d already heard him swearing over the phone. Val Seymour was a man who did what he wanted, when he wanted, in front of whoever he wanted. He was being charming with a purpose in mind. She was sure of it. But what purpose? Seduction?

      ‘I’ve heard worse,’ she returned coolly, determined not to surrender to his easy charm.

      His eyes glinted as they locked with hers. ‘You have? I’m surprised anyone would dare in your presence.’

      Her shoulders squared defensively. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

      ‘You have a formidable air about you, Lucille. Somewhere between ice princess and stern headmistress. Though the shoes are a bit of a worry. They don’t fit either scenario.’

      She blushed. She actually blushed.

      He looked startled, and then confused. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Again. Yet I’d just resolved to be polite.’ His expression of bewilderment had a boyish quality about it which was even more dangerously attractive than his rampant sexuality. ‘I’m not having a good day, am I?’ he said with a sigh. ‘Forgive me?’

      ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ came her starchy reply. ‘The client is always right.’

      ‘Ouch. Now I feel really guilty. Perhaps we should just get on with the inspection. Then I can say yes straight away, give you my credit card number and move straight in. After which you can be on your way and out of my reprehensible presence. Unless, of course, you need to check my references before I can take possession?’

      His words took on a wicked double entendre in Lucille’s erotically charged brain. But instead of being shocked, this time she felt nothing but a warped amusement. How ironic that this man of all men could turn her on! It was truly laughable.

      ‘Mr Seymour,’ she chided drily. ‘You are being facetious.’

      ‘Would I do that?’ He smiled at her.

      She couldn’t help it. She simply couldn’t keep up the ice princess act. Or was it the stern headmistress? She heartily disapproved of Val Seymour, and everything he stood for, but his charm was irresistible.

      Her smile was still slow in coming, teasing the corners of her mouth before she finally surrendered to its pull.

      His dark eyes danced at the sight of it, and her stomach flipped right over. The man was a devil, all right. An attractive and dangerous devil.

      ‘Does that mean I’m forgiven?’ he enquired flirtatiously.

      Lucille decided enough was enough. She had to quickly regain control of this situation or she would be in deep trouble. As much as she might have been mentally fantasising about Val Seymour becoming her lover, she refused to let it actually happen. Pride demanded she keep him at bay and not do anything she might seriously regret.

      ‘Mr Seymour—’ she