A hot rush of blood to his groin warned him he’d be in serious discomfort if he didn’t lift his mind off the desire she aroused. The car behind him honked impatience. The traffic lights had turned green. He quickly accelerated, signalling his intention to pull over to the sidewalk, and doing so right beside Erin.
She held up a large black and white signature David Jones carry-bag. “Can I put this in the boot of the car?”
“Sure can.” He pressed the central unlocking button, then leaned over to open the passenger door for her.
Having stowed the bag in the boot compartment, she slid into the seat beside him, another flash of legs raising his body temperature again. She quickly closed the door, grabbed the seat-belt and the lush fullness of her breasts was temptingly emphasised as the belt was whipped between them and fastened.
“We’re off!” she declared, lifting a face that glowed with happy anticipation.
No. We’re on, Peter thought, a fierce wave of feeling driving a determination to make Erin Lavelle realise she was his woman. That didn’t mean owning her. It meant he was the man in her life.
“Do I pass muster?” she asked as he put the car into gear, ready to ease into the traffic.
The note of vulnerability in her voice reminded him of what it must have cost her to look the part of his companion at Randwick. He didn’t want her feeling nervous about appearing at his side in public and she certainly had no reason to be.
“You look fabulous, Erin,” he quickly assured her, smiling his appreciation of how incredibly striking she was. “Every guy at the race-course will be jealous of me.”
She laughed her pleasure in the compliment. “Thank you.” Her gorgeous green eyes skated over him, taking in the mid-grey suit with its darker grey pinstripe, the white shirt and gold silk tie. “You look fabulous, too.”
The husky words ended in a sharp intake of breath and a long sigh as though she needed to relieve a tightness in her chest. Peter was suffering a fair amount of physical tightness himself. He concentrated on driving because there was no other optional action at the moment, but he was acutely aware of the woman beside him, wanting her more than he could remember wanting any other woman.
“Are you the jealous type, Peter?” she asked in a wary tone.
“No.” He threw her a teasing look. “You can strike jealousy off the list.”
She looked startled. “What list?”
He grinned. “The bad husband material list you were citing this morning.”
“Oh! I was not…I mean…” She floundered, embarrassed by having her general observations applied so personally to him.
She definitely wasn’t measuring him up as a possible husband.
Was a marriage to him too pie-in-the-sky to her mind?
He didn’t feel she was anti-marriage, just distrustful of how the commitment was worked.
No problem with sharing his bed, so sharing his life had to be the stumbling block. From what she’d said, the idea of sharing any man’s life was not an attractive proposition, and his certainly carried the penalty of public scrutiny. Though she hadn’t backed off from that aspect, probably spending far more than she could really afford on clothes to be with him at Randwick today.
Peter wondered how far he could push the relationship, how far Erin Lavelle would let it be pushed before her strong sense of independence kicked in and cut him out. He didn’t think his wealth counted for anything with her. In fact, far from being a gold-star attraction, that might well be a stumbling block, too.
“It was you who brought up the subject of marriage, Peter,” she said, still discomfited by his husband-list comment.
“Marriage and motherhood,” he readily conceded, intent on stirring some more telling reactions.
“Right! So we’ve covered that ground.”
She was drawing a line of finality under it.
“I’ve never been to the races,” she quickly stated. “Tell me what to expect. Tell me about your horse.”
She made it easy to oblige her, flooding him with eager questions, listening to his answers so she could hit off them, broadening her inquiry into the whole business of horse-racing. In fact, her concentrated interest made it a pleasure to give her the knowledge she sought, and by the time they reached Randwick Racecourse, Peter was thinking he’d never been interviewed so intelligently on a subject.
Her lively curiosity continued over lunch in the directors’ dining room and in the champagne bar afterwards. The people they met—friends, acquaintances and associates of his—all responded very positively to the happy energy she emitted. It was impossible not to like her.
Her smile, the gorgeous green eyes sparkling with fascinated interest, the way she listened, focussing so directly on the person who was speaking to her and soaking in every word that was said…the men were all charmed by her, the women intrigued, surreptitiously eyeing her over, half of them probably wanting to find fault and frustrated at not finding anything to criticise.