Cupcakes and Killer Heels. Heidi Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ glanced at her watch. Five-thirty precisely.

      ‘That’s him,’ she muttered. Trust him to be ridiculously prompt. Which was another good reason to dislike the man. Promptness was a skill she’d never quite managed to master herself—as this afternoon’s fiasco with Gregori Mallini proved—and one she found slightly intimidating in other people.

      ‘Do you want me to tell him you’re not here?’ Ella whispered, as if their uninvited guest could hear through walls.

      Ruby considered the offer. For about a second.

      ‘No. He’s probably spotted my car.’ And even if he hadn’t, she somehow knew Callum Westmore would see straight through the ruse. Ella, with her open, uncomplicated nature and big doe eyes, couldn’t lie worth a damn—and, anyway, Callum Westmore clearly wasn’t the sort of guy who took no for an answer.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Ruby said, marching out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll handle this.’

      She threw the words over her shoulder as she strode through the reception area to the front door of the business unit.

      Okay, maybe her attraction to him was a little surprising … and ever so slightly disconcerting. But she had no doubt at all that she could handle Callum Westmore just fine.

      He might have the name and the dominating masculinity of a twelfth-century Scottish warlord, but she was no simpering little virgin.

      The prickle of irritation, though, was twinned with the heightened hum of arousal as she spied Westmore’s tall frame silhouetted against the frosted glass of the door. She took a deep breath and turned the knob, secure in the knowledge that no man got to sweep Ruby Delisantro off her feet …

      Not unless she wanted him to.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘MR WESTMORE, I presume,’ Ruby remarked to broad shoulders—their width accentuated by the perfectly tailored jacket of a dark blue business suit—and the short-cropped hair on the back of his head.

      She swallowed as he turned, and those heavy-lidded emerald-green eyes locked on her face.

       Damn.

      She should have taken the time to put her shoes back on. Without the benefit of the four-inch heels, she was at eye level with his chest, which, even clad in a white shirt and royal-blue silk tie instead of the bicep-hugging T-shirt of earlier in the day, still looked remarkably impressive. She jerked her eyes back to his face, in time to see a slow, distinctly knowing smile curve his lips.

      He slung a hand into the pocket of his suit trousers, disarming dimples appearing in his cheeks—which were now clean-shaven, but no less chiselled.

      ‘Ms Delisantro, I presume,’ he murmured, the husky tone making her pulse points throb.

      Her breath escaped from her lungs in a rush.

      Her imagination had not exaggerated his attractiveness, or that industrial-strength sex appeal, one bit. He really was Super-Gorgeous. Even in a suit. Which was saying something. She didn’t usually go for the slick, executive type. She’d dated an accountant once and it had been a total disaster, his fastidious timekeeping and clinical attention to detail driving her batty within a week.

      She concentrated on breathing evenly and getting her heart rate back under control. Somehow she doubted Callum Westmore was an accountant—or the fastidious type, despite the razor-sharp crease in his trousers. Maybe it was just that force field of raw machismo that radiated off him, but she couldn’t imagine him bothering to crunch numbers.

      ‘Now the introductions are done,’ she said, trying not to sound too breathless, ‘I’m intrigued to know what you’re doing here.’ She paused to think of an appropriate put-down. ‘And why you saw fit to wheedle personal information out of my business partner.’

      ‘I don’t wheedle,’ he said as his gaze glided over her figure. ‘Even in extenuating circumstances.’

      She resisted the urge to curl her toes, the painstakingly slow and thorough perusal making her feel as if it weren’t just her feet that were naked.

      His eyes lifted back to her face, the penetrating green alight with amusement. ‘And I’d say why I’m here is fairly obvious.’

      The suggestive comment and the gruff tone, thick with innuendo, made her feel warm all over, but she refused to fall for the ploy. She wasn’t walking into that one. What did he think? That she was an amateur?

      She cocked her head to one side, and let her gaze rake over him in return. Pursing her lips, she sent him a deliberately quizzical look, pleased when his eyes flicked to her mouth. ‘I guess it’s not as obvious as you thought, because I can’t think of a single reason.’

      He chuckled, acknowledging the hit with an unsettling lack of concern. ‘Why don’t I spell it out, then, Ms Delisantro?’ he said, lingering on her name. ‘So you can stop worrying about it.’

      ‘I’m not worried,’ she said, emphatically. ‘Just mildly curious.’

      He raised one dark brow. ‘Only mildly?’

      He had her there—given that she was about to spontaneously combust with a lot more than mild curiosity. ‘That’s right,’ she lied.

      ‘I see.’ The assured smile made it obvious he wasn’t fooled. ‘Well, happily I’m willing to satisfy your mild curiosity.’ He put the emphasis on satisfy and her whole body began to throb. ‘But only if you’re willing to satisfy me first.’

      Why did she have the feeling they weren’t talking about curiosity any more, mild or otherwise? And why couldn’t she resist the challenge in those smoky green eyes?

      ‘What do you want, Mr Westmore?’ she said boldly, rising to the bait he had so purposefully dangled in front of her.

      ‘I’d like to get to know you better.’ His eyes flashed, the predatory gleam triumphant. ‘A lot better.’

      She’d been expecting the invitation. Had been prepared to turn him down—and put him in his place. But the words refused to come out of her mouth.

      ‘So that’s why you went to all the trouble of tracking me down,’ she replied, putting just the right amount of indifference into her tone. ‘To ask me on a date?’ She battered her eyelashes. ‘I suppose I should be flattered.’

      He didn’t seem fazed by the put-down. If anything, he looked more assured than ever. Drat the man.

      ‘Actually, that’s not the primary reason why I phoned and spoke to your partner.’

      ‘Don’t forget the wheedling,’ Ruby added cheekily, enjoying the sizzle as his eyes narrowed.

      Sparring with this man had an edge of danger that only made it more irresistible. Which was definitely a bad thing. But she was finding it hard to care. She’d had a monumentally crappy day—and he was partially responsible. It seemed only reasonable she should allow herself a moment to flirt with him, as a consolation.

      ‘As I said, Ms Delisantro, I don’t wheedle. That was the fine art of persuasion.’

      Ruby СКАЧАТЬ