The Debt / Cross My Hart. Clare Connelly

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      She stared at me in the mirror, hints of gold and emerald glinting from beneath long, silky dark lashes, and there was no deference in her gaze. It was full of curiosity and a certain boldness that I found…exciting.

       Been a long time since you had a worthy opponent.

      Yes, it was true. A very long time. Not that I was into physical fights these days, at least not outside the gym and never with a woman. But it had been a while since I’d met anyone who could hold their own against me. And every fighter needed a challenge to improve their game.

      If you didn’t get better you didn’t win, and if you didn’t win, all you got was your teeth kicked in.

      I’d never been a fan of getting my teeth kicked in.

      She grinned at me. ‘Are you ready to go, Mr Evans?’ Her tone was ridiculously chirpy, yet her voice had a soft, smoky edge that somehow made it sexy at the same time.

       She could be your challenge.

      Nice idea, but no.

      I’d felt the chemistry between us the moment she’d taken my hand back in the hotel room, and when she’d jerked away, her skin pink, I knew she’d felt it too.

      Normally that would be something I’d explore, since I never denied myself something when I wanted it, but fresh-faced, tomboyish little Australians who should know better than to smile at men like me were not worth the trouble of tangling with.

      And besides, I had a golden rule: never screw the staff.

      She might only be a substitute for Bill for a couple of nights, but she was still a staff member. Which made her out of bounds.

      ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready, Miss Little,’ I growled, irritated for no good reason.

      ‘Of course,’ she replied with the same chirpiness, apparently impervious to my annoyance. ‘You can sit here as long as you like. I only asked so I could be ready to open your door for you.’

      My irritation increased. She looked so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and eager to please.

       You could think of a few ways she could please you.

      Yes, but again, not happening.

      I stared hard at her, trying to put a dent in her insufferable cheerfulness, but she kept staring boldly back, apparently impervious to my game. And also, apparently, unaware of the blatant challenge she presented by doing so.

      A certain tension began to gather in the car, one she also seemed blithely unaware of. At least until I noticed a hint of red glowing in her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

      So. Maybe she wasn’t as unaware as she seemed. Not that I was going to be doing anything about it.

      ‘Then what are you waiting for?’ I said, unaccountably irritated with the direction of my thoughts. ‘I’m ready now.’

      Once again, she didn’t bat an eye at my tone, immediately getting out of the car, coming around to my door, and pulling it open for me with a little flourish.

      Normally I didn’t bother with that kind of theatre, but tonight I was making an exception.

      I glowered as I got out, unfolding myself to my full height, looming over her like the hulking, scarred beast that I was.

      She was very small, her head tilting back as she gave me a searching look. Her forehead creased, her smile turning sympathetic. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Evans. You’ll have a great night, I’m sure of it.’

      The comment was so unexpected that for a second I had no idea what she was talking about.

      ‘Do I look fucking worried?’ I said.

      Either she didn’t hear my sarcasm or ignored it, because she gave me another thorough scan, her expression becoming serious. ‘Actually, on second thought, you don’t. You just look really grumpy.’

      No one made casual observations about me quite like that. Certainly no one said them out loud. To my face.

      I opened my mouth to give her another lesson in driver etiquette, but she charged on, giving me another sunny smile before reaching out to pat my arm. ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down, eh?’

      People didn’t touch me, not these days. In fact, the only people who did were the women I took to bed.

      No one ever patted me sympathetically on the arm.

      No one would dare.

      To make matters worse, the brief touch sent a ghost of the same electricity I’d felt back in the hotel sparking through the leather of my jacket and straight into me.

      Christ. That was all I needed.

      My temper, already mean, took a feral turn.

      I glanced pointedly down at her hand on my arm. ‘I’m not a dog, Miss Little.’

      Colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘Oh. Sorry.’ She dropped her hand, her cheerful smile returning. ‘No worries.’

      For some reason that didn’t make me feel any less irritated.

      Trying to ignore my inexplicable annoyance, I turned away without another word, starting towards the entrance of the hotel and pushing her out of my mind.

      The pretty, rich people in their glittering couture gowns and perfect tuxes were gathered around the doors and they all stared at me as I approached.

      I scowled, staring them down in turn.

      I didn’t miss their looks of disdain and the whispers, their glances at the limo and then at me in my jeans and black T-shirt, leather jacket thrown over the top. I knew what they were thinking. They were thinking that I couldn’t possibly belong in their rarefied circles. I wasn’t handsome enough, glittering enough, rich enough.

      Poor bastards. They were in for one hell of a shock.

      The thought mollified me and I was cheered still further by how they all rushed to get out of my way like antelopes before a lion as I strode for the door.

      The impressive-looking doorman, though, was not an antelope and there was not a whiff of disdain from him. He gave me a nod and pulled open the door as soon as I approached, ushering me into the foyer with a simple, ‘Welcome to The Billionaires Club, Mr Evans.’

      I hadn’t been expecting to be treated with respect and it took the wind out of my sails slightly.

      The foyer was a huge space with an impressive staircase leading to the upper stories and a massive chandelier that dripped jewelled light into the vaulted space.

      Directly in front of me was an ornate and obviously antique table with a huge spray of white orchids in a glass vase on top. The simplicity of the arrangement was in direct contrast to the chandelier and the table it sat on, and the floor of horrifically expensive Italian black marble. A few chaises longues were strategically placed for people to sit on, covered in luxuriously СКАЧАТЬ