The Playboy's Ruthless Pursuit. Miranda Lee

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      ‘It’s just along here,’ she said, and hurried down the carpeted corridor.

      He kept up with her easily, his stride almost twice one of hers. Of course, he was a good six inches taller than she was, with long legs. Plus she couldn’t walk all that fast in four-inch heels and a short, tight skirt.

      The corridor eventually opened out into a larger space where a couple of staff members were putting the finishing touches to a bar area along one wall.

      ‘Pre-dinner drinks are scheduled from seven-thirty onwards,’ Alice said crisply as she walked over and pulled open one of the closed double doors that led into the ballroom, her eyes finally forced to meet those of her companion. ‘The official time for the dinner to start is eight-thirty. I asked you to be here at seven so that you would have time to read through the list of items to be auctioned, and to discuss how you might want to proceed.’

      ‘Proceed?’ he echoed in that wonderfully rich voice of his, stepping forward to hold the door open for her.

      Alice smothered a sigh. Trust him to have gallant manners. She supposed it was part of his seductive armoury to play the gentleman with women. No doubt he would pull out chairs and hold taxi doors open. And always wear a condom.

      Alice only just managed not to gasp at this last thought. Where in heaven’s name had that come from? Okay, so she found Jeremy Barker-Whittle attractive. Any woman would. He was drop-dead gorgeous. But finding him attractive was a far cry from thinking about having sex with him. Yet, as her gaze dropped from his beautiful blue eyes to his wickedly sexy mouth, she couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to go to bed with him. He must be good at it, she reasoned, if Fiona’s sister hadn’t stopped raving about him. She’d met Fiona’s sister, who was a real party girl. She’d sleep with anything in trousers, according to Fiona. So Melody must have slept with Jeremy.

      ‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said with a wry smile.

      Alice blinked, swallowed, then shot him a small, stiff smile. ‘Sorry. I had this sudden awful thought which distracted me.’

      ‘Anything I should know about?’

      ‘Not at all,’ she said, thankful that she wasn’t a blusher these days. She had been once, but not any longer. Working in women’s refuges had toughened her up considerably. ‘I’ve been a little OCD about the seating arrangements for dinner and it suddenly occurred to me that I might have made a mistake on one table.’ Lord, but she was better at lying than she would ever have imagined. ‘Still, nothing that can’t be rectified,’ she went on. ‘Now, what I meant by how to proceed is do you want to have the whole auction after dinner, or sell off a few items between courses?’

      ‘Definitely sell off a few items between courses. It will keep the guests in a buying mood. And stop them from getting bored.’

      ‘I agree. Right. Follow me.’

      * * *

      Jeremy followed her into the ballroom, appreciating the sight of her satin-encased derrière much more than her still less than warm demeanour. The ice in her voice and eyes might have melted a little but there was still a long way to go before he could confidently engage her in a conversation that might satisfy his curiosity over her, as well as give him an opening to ask her out. Still, he had several hours in which to achieve his goal.

      Alice led him between a myriad of circular tables, each one set to a high standard with white linen tablecloths, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and beautifully appointed name cards placed at each setting. Every table had a number in the centre, which no doubt had been emailed to the guests so that they knew where to head on entering. That was what had happened at the last charity dinner Jeremy had been to, the one that had bored him to tears.

      He already knew that this evening’s dinner would not bore him in the slightest. In fact, Jeremy was looking forward to every intriguing second.

      ‘It all looks splendid,’ he complimented in Alice’s wake.

      She didn’t stop or turn around, just said a cool, ‘Yes, it does...’ over her shoulder.

      Jeremy frowned, wondering exactly what was bugging the lovely Miss Waterhouse. Surely she didn’t act like this with every man she met. Was it him personally, or something else? Maybe she’d had a row with someone. The missing boyfriend perhaps?

      ‘You organised all this by yourself?’ he threw after her.

      ‘Most of it,’ she tossed back at him. ‘The hotel staff were very helpful, of course.’

      They arrived at the stage, which ran across the far end of the ballroom and which could be used for many purposes. Concerts. Award nights. Presentations. Whatever. Tonight it was set up with a podium in the middle, a microphone attached. There was a long wooden table behind it, which held an array of objects and a laptop computer, open, at one end. Clearly, this was where Alice would be standing, handing him items and jotting down the numbers of the winning bidder.

      A man wouldn’t want to be of a nervous disposition, Jeremy thought as he glanced up at the podium. Fortunately, he wasn’t. But he wondered how Jacobs would have coped. Not that he knew the man well. Kenneth could be a secret exhibitionist for all he knew. Lazy did not mean shy.

      There were three flights of steps, which led up onto the stage. One at each end and one in the middle. Alice stopped at the base of the one in the middle and finally turned to face him. She looked a little flushed in the face, but her eyes remained cool.

      ‘I left the list of items for sale on the podium,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps you could have a look at them whilst I go check that seating.’

      ‘Okay,’ he agreed, and watched as she wound her way back through the tables, not stopping till she reached the one nearest the door, at which point he shrugged and made his way up onto the stage.

      The list of items was extensive and varied. Sporting and entertainment memorabilia. Several dinners for two at five-star restaurants. A family weekend at a B&B in Weymouth. A short holiday for two in Spain. Premiere seats to a rock concert. Return flights to various European capitals. An oil painting of the Duchess of Cambridge by an up-and-coming London artist. Last but not least was the privilege of having Kenneth use a person’s name—amend that to two—in his next thriller.

      Jeremy didn’t take long to scan the list, replacing it on the podium before taking a moment to inspect the wooden gavel, even giving it a practice bang, which echoed through the cavernous room and had several waiters lifting their heads for a moment. Not Alice, however, who was already no longer at the table near the doors. Jeremy wondered if that had just been an excuse not to remain in his company longer than strictly necessary. His teeth clenched in his jaw as he made his way down from the stage and headed for the exit. Frankly, he was beginning to feel slightly peeved. And confused. What was it about him that she didn’t like? He wasn’t used to women not liking him. He certainly wasn’t used to being given the cold shoulder.

      Jeremy soon saw that Alice wasn’t outside in the pre-dinner drinks area, either. People had begun to arrive, but it wasn’t crowded enough for him not to spot her. Creamy blonde hair like hers did stand out.

      ‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle!’ a male voice boomed out from just behind his shoulder. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

      Jeremy turned with some reluctance to face the owner of that voice. George Peterson had been a client of his СКАЧАТЬ