‘Believe it or not, there are shops there. A free wardrobe is part of the package.’
‘I don’t feel comfortable with that.’
‘Then we can agree on a repayment schedule— although you might want to settle into your new job when you get back to London before you start working out how to transfer money into my account for a handful of clothes.’
‘I wonder how it is that I never spotted just how infuriating you could be.’
‘That could certainly be one of the things you tell my mother that you dislike about me,’ Lucas pointed out. ‘Although who knows how she might react to the shock of hearing a woman speak her mind? You have to bear in mind that she’s had a stroke.’
‘You’re telling me that no one ever speaks their mind when they’re around you?’
‘Frankly, no. Although you’re more than making up for that.’
The small plane touched down smoothly, skimming over the landing strip like a little wasp before slowly grinding to a halt. Conversation was abandoned amidst the business of disembarking, after which a long, sleek car was waiting for them, complete with uniformed driver.
Cool, early spring temperatures greeted them. She was fine in what she was wearing but, stepping into the car, which was the height of luxury, she was suddenly and acutely aware of just not quite blending into her surroundings. What was appropriate gear for travelling in a luxury chauffeur-driven limo? She was sure that there would be some sort of dress code and, whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t what she was wearing. His mother might disapprove of supermodel girlfriends, but supermodel girlfriends would match expensive limos; supermodel girlfriends would pull off luxury houses and private planes...
And suddenly she felt that tug of self-consciousness that had been her occasional companion growing up—the little pang of knowing that she really wasn’t too sure when it came to the opposite sex, of knowing that she would never really make it into the inner sanctum of the cool set, even though she got along just fine with them. Lucas’s mother might have whimsical dreams about her son finding a suitably wholesome, down-to-earth girl but she would discover fast enough that wholesome, down-to-earth girls were not fashioned for ridiculously wealthy lifestyles.
Her eyes slid across to where he was sitting, casually at ease in his expensive limo. His sense of style was so much a part of him that he could have been wearing a bin bag and he would still have looked stupendously sophisticated. Stupendously sophisticated and utterly, bone-meltingly, sinfully sexy.
He was right. There would be no need for her to pretend because there was no way his mother could fail to notice just how ill-suited they were as a couple. She wouldn’t be deceiving anyone. She would just have to be herself. This was going to be a little adventure, nothing to get all worked up and anxious about. Life threw curve balls and she was catching one. When again would she find herself in this position—freed from all responsibility; no job, nothing waiting for her back in London, suddenly free to do exactly what she wanted to do?
She rested her head back and half-closed her eyes, and when she turned to look at him after a few seconds it was to find him staring right back at her. He had the darkest eyes imaginable and lashes most women would kill for. The perfect, beautiful symmetry of his lean face should have made him too...pretty, but there was a harsh, dangerous strength there that made him 100 percent alpha male.
Her heart skipped a beat. She was supposed to be romantically involved with the guy! What a joke. As though someone like him would ever look at someone like her! Even that gold-digger who hadn’t been a supermodel had probably looked like one. But for a few heart-stopping seconds she imagined what it might feel like to be touched by him; to be seduced by that rich, dark, dangerous, velvety voice; to have him run his hands over her naked body.