Hate to Love You(88)
“The receptionist mentioned that you went out last night,” he said. “You look tired.”
A euphemism for “you look like crap”?
“I went dancing with friends and I’m a bit sleepy.”
“Take the afternoon and evening off.”
“But what about translating for you later?”
“My Spanish is fluent—it’s just better that clients not know that,” he said, confirming a niggling suspicion I had. “I’ve booked you back into the hotel for tonight.”#p#分页标题#e#
“But we’ve been invited to Sr Doria’s party, remember?”
James didn’t meet my eyes and I clocked that he’d booked me back into the hotel, not himself and Greg.
“Well, you can un-book me because I’m going with you and Greg to the party. My professional conduct is being observed at all times, isn’t it?” I said, happy to throw his words back at me. “I wouldn’t want to be derelict in my duties.”
James stood up. “Be in the lobby at one p.m.” A congested expression settled on his face. “Were you told what to expect tonight?”
Jesus, was he always this anal at the prospect of a good time? His tone made it sound as though we’d be rounded up and slaughtered.
“Now’s the time to warn me if I should hide,” I said.
“Look around and you won’t need the warning.”
For me a car is a car. If it’s got four wheels, a working engine and will get me from A to B, I don’t care what make it is. But as soon as I settled into James’s bright yellow MG, I changed my tune. Driving along the Spanish coast in a sports car was exhilarating. And there’s nothing like a smooth ride and a masculine, sexy driver. The small, supple space seemed to be filled with James, with a sort of powerful animal tension. Sitting next to him while he shifted gears and manoeuvred, sunglasses on and oozing testosterone, definitely revved my engine. James’s penchant for sports cars now seemed like a forgivable trait.
I inhaled the scent of leather and let out a long sigh of pleasure. “You can drive me around any time.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “The bend?”
“You do that already.”
The hatch was down and once we hit the motorway conversation was impossible. We sped through miles of arid brown earth, cracked with thirst. A few tourist resorts dotted the coastline, high-rise modern buildings in close clusters that looked incongruous against the sparkling turquoise sea. I lifted my hands to feel the wind buffet my arms. James cocked a brow at my childishness and I shrugged, raising my face to the sun. I was in a little bubble of brightness, enjoying the heat.
Sr Doria’s villa turned out to be a mansion complete with marble floors, Michelangelo-type ceilings and no fewer than four swimming pools. James’s face was neutral but I could sense his snobby distaste at our nouveau riche surroundings.
His relaxed demeanour during the drive had metamorphosed into the kind of formality more suited to a boardroom than a holiday home.
“Definitely a schizo,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Décor’s a bit scary.”
He grimaced and it made me want to shake him. Or better yet, remind him of a certain bridal suite which had been anything but staid or classy.
The senior partner’s niece, Patricia, was a dumpy brunette who turned out to be pleasant, if vacuous. She informed me that “us girls” could chill out at the pool while the men worked. It seemed pretty sexist to me but at the end of the day I’d rather veg by a pool than be stuck indoors. Besides, vitamin D is essential for your health.#p#分页标题#e#
My room for the night was on the third floor, along the corridor from James and Greg. After an afternoon and evening where I saw nothing of either boss I did the Spanish thing and took a siesta, then showered and changed for the party.
I dressed conservatively—for me, anyway—in a tight spaghetti-strap dress the colour of blood. I checked my cleavage. Yep, definitely on display. Too much, I wondered? My nipples were suitably contained so I decided not to worry. Heart of a Harlot Scarlet coated my lips and I’d combed my hair into shiny waves down my back. I’d overslept, but I hoped my tardiness would be overlooked.