Kept by the Spanish Billionaire(31)

‘That’s right. James. He’s my type.’ How on earth could she be attracted to a man who rubbed her up the wrong way most of the time? Who seemed to enjoy silently laughing at her? ‘I’ve always been a sucker for blonde hair,’ she babbled on, staring at Rafael and feeling all her foundations swaying dangerously beneath her. He was sinfully sexy. How could she have blithely assumed that she would be immune to that just because he didn’t fit her norm? ‘Some people are like that, aren’t they? I’ve always gone for the fair-haired guy.’ She tried to look wistful, amused and sincere all at the same time. ‘I bet you’re the same.’ She pretended to scrutinise him. It was horribly easy to lose herself in the dark, rugged masculinity of his face. There was nothing pretty about him. Every feature was strongly delineated, from the slashing cheekbones and angular nose to the curving mouth and raven-dark hair swept away from his face. He was all man without benefit of moisturisers, hair gel or expensive cologne. She realised that she was losing track of what she was saying in the process of inspection, and she cleared her throat. ‘I bet…’ she drew out the syllables in a comical impersonation of a B-rated movie detective ‘…you go for brunettes. Yes. Outdoorsy brunettes who love nothing better than hiking up the side of a mountain or running in marathons. The sort who believe that make-up is a sin against Nature.’ She laughed, although she could feel her heart beating fast and her eyes drinking in his face, memo-rising every line for future reference.#p#分页标题#e#

‘James is not noted for his good reputation as far as women are concerned…’

‘Why do you keep acting as though you know him intimately?’ Although she was well aware that his track record wasn’t good. He surfaced frequently in the gossip columns of tabloid newspapers and there was always a dishy, leggy blonde on his arm. Now Amy knew why that had never particularly troubled her in the past, even though she had made all the right disgruntled noises to Claire. Because he had never really got under her skin. Not like this man.

‘Doesn’t that bother you?’ Rafael persisted.

‘Why should it?’ Amy said carelessly.

‘You mean you’re that convinced of your charms…?’

‘Oh, well—the way I see it is like this: James goes out with stereotypes. They’re all tall, they’re all blonde and they all look like they’ve stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine. So maybe he might be dazzled by the fact that I’m different…’ The theory, not that it mattered, was only now occurring to her, but, thinking about it, it made sense. She decided to elaborate on it as a means of backtracking from her embarrassing assertion that they should lay their cards on the table. As a way, too, of covering up the shocking revelation that the sexy images in her head had nothing to do with James.

‘I mean, think about it…’ She didn’t think that she had ever seen such fathomless dark eyes. A woman could lose herself in them. A fair few probably had and she wondered, jealously, what they had been like. Mountain-climbing amazons, as she had implied? ‘He might be bowled over by the novelty of a woman who bears no resemblance to anything from the cover of any magazine…’

Bowled over by the novelty…

Rafael was forcibly struck by the significance of her passing phrase. He didn’t know whether this was a theory she was working on or whether she had come to the Hamptons with the express purpose of putting it into practice, only to be derailed by finding him with another woman. Certainly, in either case it was a plan waiting in the wings for opportunity to meet circumstance.

Something bristled inside him. James was a big boy and he could look after himself, but Rafael could feel the stirring of intent begin to crystallise inside him. He had been sent to the Hamptons on a mission to babysit his brother. His mother had been thinking of a far more straightforward babysitting job, but he was pretty sure that she would feel the same as he did now. That Amy must be kept away from James and remain that way. Permanently.

His mobile phone vibrated and he excused himself, using the opportunity to pay the bill at the counter, snapping it shut as he approached her.

‘Don’t tell me…’ Amy stood up, her smile bright, over-bright, her eyes making a point of not leaving his face. ‘Your boss. Checking to make sure that you’ll be back out to work tomorrow, just in case your head gets turned by all the exciting things happening in Manhattan.’ She pictured him wearing the faded, low slung jeans she had insisted he buy and once the image was in her head, found it very difficult to release.