Modern Romance October 2018 Books 5-8. Trish Morey

had seen the way men had turned to have a second look. Most women were dressed to kill in black. Rose was a splash of exotic colour, a bird of paradise with her long wild hair and her strong intelligent face. She announced to the world that she was different and that was a very sexy trait. And not just to him.

      Halfway through the evening, he realised that she had disappeared into the crowd. The man who was accustomed to a high level of irritation with women clinging like limpets to him at functions like this found that his irritation level was skyrocketing now and for a different reason.

      Where the hell was she now? And why was he having to hunt for her?

      It got on his nerves. She was a flash of red but, before he could pin her down, she was gone. Nursing a whisky while a blonde tried to get his attention, Art decided that, for Rose’s own good, he would take her back to the hotel.

      ‘Got to go.’ He interrupted the blonde abruptly. Pushing himself away from the wall, against which he had been leaning, he ignored a couple of MPs who had been trying to gain his attention.

      Rose was laughing at something some guy was telling her. Art wasn’t born yesterday. He could recognise a man on the make a mile away.

      He came to an abrupt towering halt in front of them and Rose blinked and frowned at him.

      ‘Mind if I interrupt?’ Art interrupted anyway. ‘I’ve barely seen you all evening...’

      ‘That’s because I’ve been chatting to all the interesting people here,’ Rose returned gaily, swiping a glass of wine from a passing waitress. ‘For instance, this is Steve and he does some amazing work for the UN.’

      Steve reddened and straightened and stuck out his hand, clearly awed by Art, who felt ancient and cynical beyond his years in comparison. He politely asked a couple of interested questions but his attention was focused on Rose and his body language dismissed the young fair-haired man, who duly evaporated into the crowd after boldly exchanging phone numbers with Rose.

      Which made Art’s teeth snap together with annoyance.

      ‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said without preamble.

      ‘But I’m not ready to leave yet.’

      ‘Tough. It’s been over four hours, which is two hours longer than I usually stay at these things.’

      ‘I’m having fun. There’s no need for us to leave together, is there?’ Rose squinted at his darkly disapproving expression. ‘I know,’ she pressed on, ‘we came together, in a manner of speaking, but it’s not as though we’re on a date and there are so many more interesting people I still want to meet.’

      ‘Repeat. Tough. Anyway, don’t you think you’ve had your fill of interesting people? Or is the entire room interesting after a few glasses of Chablis?’

      ‘Not fair.’

      Art shifted uncomfortably, recognising that she had a point. He raked his fingers through his hair and shot her a frowning glance. ‘I apologise.’ He tugged and undid the bow tie. ‘But you’ve had a few drinks and you’re not accustomed to that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here on your own to get on with the rest of what remains of the evening.’

      ‘Do you think the poor little country girl might end up making a fool of herself? These shoes are killing me, by the way. Are there any chairs around here?’

      ‘I think the poor little country girl might end up finding herself in slightly more hot water than she bargained for. And not many chairs, no. The expectation is for networking, not falling asleep in an armchair.’

      ‘What do you mean about me finding myself in hot water?’

      ‘You’re sexy when you get angry.’

      Rose blushed and pouted. ‘Don’t try to change the subject. What do you mean? I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it most of my life.’

      ‘This isn’t a quiet, sleepy village in the middle of nowhere.’ Art didn’t care how this sounded. There was no way he was going to leave her here on her own. The thought of predators circling her, moving in for the kill, made him see red. She was stunning and part of her appeal was the fact that she was so natural, so utterly without pretence, so patently open and honest. Aligned to her intelligence and her dramatic looks...well, it was a recipe for disaster in the big, bad city. If she didn’t see that, then it was just as well that she had him around to see it on her behalf.

      ‘I’d noticed, now that you mention it.’

      ‘Have you paid any attention to the number of lechers who have been hanging around you all evening?’

      ‘Have you?’

      Art flushed. ‘You came with me. I can’t be blamed for wanting to look out for you.’

      Rose’s mouth twitched.

      Art noted the way her pupils dilated and her eyes widened. He clocked the way her breath hitched and was suddenly turned on in a way that shocked him in its ferocity.

      ‘Should I be grateful?’ Rose breathed huskily.

      ‘Don’t.’

      ‘Don’t what?’ The entire roomful of people could have evaporated. There was just the two of them, locked in a bubble in which he was acutely sensitive to every fleeting expression on her face, to the rasping of her breath and the deep, deep longing in her eyes.

      ‘Don’t look at me as though you want to touch me. Do that and you’re playing with fire.’

      ‘I started playing with fire the minute you came into my life,’ Rose said in a tone of complete honesty.

      ‘We should go,’ Art told her roughly, leading the way, his hand cupping her elbow.

      She was coming on to him. He felt it and, much as he would have liked nothing better than to have followed up on those hot little signals she was giving off, a tipsy Rose wasn’t going to do. He wanted her sober and desperate for him, the way he was desperate for her. Nothing else would do.

      It was cool and crisp outside and his car was waiting. Art propelled her into it and slid alongside her in the back seat.

      ‘Do you think you have to show me to my door just in case I get waylaid by some of those lecherous men you seem to think are waiting around every corner for a country bumpkin like me?’

      ‘How did you guess?’

      ‘It’s the dress. It stands out. When you said that it was going to be smart I had no idea what to buy. I didn’t think that everyone would show up in black.’

      ‘I could have warned you. Those functions are usually deadly. Black is an appropriate colour. Anyway, it’s not the dress.’

      ‘You don’t think so?’ Their eyes tangled and she didn’t look away. She licked her lips, shivering in the burning intensity of his stare.

      ‘We’re here,’ Art murmured, relieved.

      ‘So we are. And just when I was beginning to enjoy the car ride.’

      ‘I take it you’re enjoying yourself,’ he responded once they were out of the car and making their way up to her suite.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Enjoying playing with me.’ Art shot her a wry smile. ‘You must know what you’re doing to me... I don’t play games when it comes to sex...’

      ‘You played a game with me when you slept with me.’ She slid the card key into the slot and pushed open the door to her room. When she walked in she didn’t push it shut behind her and she didn’t tell him that it was fine for him to leave now that he had done the gentlemanly thing and seen her safely to her door. She looked over her shoulder, face serious.

      ‘No game,’ Art muttered in a strangled voice. ‘The sex was for real. Stop looking at me like that...