The Billionaire Banker(24)

At eight thirty sharp the bell rings. Peter comes in with a large, flat cardboard box, which he carefully places on the side table. ‘I was asked to drop this off for Mr. Barrington.

You look beautiful, Miss Bloom,’ he compliments awkwardly.

‘Thank you, but will you call me Lana, Peter?’ The champagne has made her feel light-headed. She smiles at him mistily.

‘Of course, Lana,’ he says smiling.

The reception desk is no longer manned by Mr. Nair.

A small, white man with small, suspicious eyes is introduced as Mr. Burrows. He smiles politely, but distantly. This was a man who did not want to get involved with any of the occupants of the building.

After that Peter drives her to a private club in Sloane Square called Madame Yula.





Eleven

lake is waiting for her at the bar. He is wearing an Boyster gray lounge suit and a black shirt. He is even more disturbingly attractive than she remembers. He stands when he sees her and she stops, frozen by his eyes.

Neither move. It is as if they are again in a world of their own. Just his smoldering eyes and her strong desire for more from him—what exactly she does not quite know.

Then he breaks the spell by moving towards her.

‘You look edible,’ he says, his eyes lingering on the curve of her hips.

She blushes and touches her bangs.

‘I like the hair, too,’ he murmurs.

‘Thanks.’ Her voice sounds nervous and shaky.

He reaches a hand out to touch her and instinctively she pulls away. She had not meant to, but her body has its own reactions to him.

He drops his hand and eyes her coldly. ‘Look,’ he says.

‘We can make it a totally sex thing or we can dress it up a little and it will look pretty in the corner. It’s up to you.

It’s all the same to me.’

Pretty in the corner. Strange turn of phrase. She studies him from beneath her eyelashes. ‘Dress it up a little,’ she says.‘Good. Can I get you something to drink? A glass of champagne? You’re partial to it, if I remember correctly,’

he says, and leads her to the bar.

Lana looks around the bar. It is decorated in dark wood and deep red curtains. It actually looks like an old-fashioned French brothel. ‘I’ve already had two glasses.’

His eyebrows rise. ‘You found the alcohol.’

‘It found me. I opened the fridge and there it was begging me to drink it.’

‘Yes, alcohol has a habit of doing that.’

‘I’m hungry, though.’

‘Let’s get some food into you then.’

They are shown into a private booth. The sommelier arrives and she listens to Blake order a bottle of wine that she has never heard of, and realizes that the poor and the middle classes have been conned into believing that Chablis, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Pouilly Fume, and Sancerre are superior wines for the discerning, but the truly rich are imbibing a totally different class of drink.

He picks up the menu and her eyes are drawn to his wrists. It makes her stomach tighten.

‘How was your day?’ he asks.

‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I really am very grateful, but why did you buy me so much stuff?’

He leans back in his chair. ‘Did you have a doll when you were young?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you make little clothes for her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did it give you pleasure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. It was my doll and I wanted it to look good.’

‘That is how I feel about you. You are my doll. I like the idea of dressing you the way I see fit. I want you to look good. Besides, I like that every stitch on your body has been paid for by me.’

Lana feels a frisson of electricity run up her spine. ‘I’m not a doll.’

‘To me you are. A living, breathing doll.’

‘What happens in three months’ time?’

‘Did you eventually get bored with your doll and stop playing with her?’

‘Yes.’ Lana’s voice is soft. She knows where this conversation is going.

‘So will I and when I do I will put you aside as you did your doll.’

‘Well, that’s clear enough.’

‘Good. What would you like to eat?’

Lana looks at the menu. There is fish and chicken. She hopes he will order one of those. But there is also foie gras, which she’d rather die than eat. The waiter appears at Blake’s side. ‘Are you ready to order, monsieur?’

Blake looks at Lana enquiringly.

‘I’m just going to have whatever you’re having.’#p#分页标题#e#

‘Mussels in white wine to start followed by the herb crusted lamb cutlets.’

‘Pommes sables or pommes soufflé?’ the waiter enquires.