Sweet Deception (25 page)

“You scrubbed up pretty well yourself.” I signalled for the bartender, and flashed Miles my party-girl grin. “So—what're we drinking?”

“Another one?” Miles held up the tequila bottle for my perusal. He had to shout to be heard over the music. I knew the answer he was looking for, but I couldn't find it in me to give it to him. The thought of getting wasted with him made me feel nothing except exhaustion.

Miles and I were three shots in, but unfortunately the alcohol hadn't made him seem any more appealing. He'd spent most of the past half hour telling me how great he was at his job, which was true, but also frankly boring. But that had never been a deal-breaker for me before. A few months back, I'd routinely taken guys to bed who were much bigger jackasses than him. When had I become so discerning?

“I'll skip this round,” I said.

He gave a suit-yourself shrug, and poured another shot for himself. As he downed it, I swivelled my bar stool so I was facing away from him, and looking out into the crowd
of partygoers. I wasn't even aware of what I was looking for at first, and then my eyes found Richard.

He was standing in a group, chatting, but his gaze kept flicking over to me—and Miles. Knowing Richard was watching us suddenly made me reassess the whole situation. I wanted to show him that he was nothing to me—that when I'd kissed him it had meant as little to me as it apparently had to him. And I knew exactly how to do that.

I turned my attention back to Miles. He'd just poured himself another shot. It was halfway to his lips, when I caught hold of his hand. Looking up at him beneath lowered lashes, I took the glass from him, and downed the shot.

“What do you think about getting out of here?” I drawled.

Miles blinked a couple of times, obviously confused by my sudden about-face and wondering if I was being serious. “You what?”

“You heard me.” I slid from the stool and took him by the hand. “Come on. Let's find somewhere that we can be alone.”

A slow grin spread over Miles's face. “Why not?”

I flicked a look over at Richard, just to make sure he was still watching. His eyes were narrow, his jaw tight. Then I tossed my head back and started to lead Miles towards the exit.

We were almost at the door when Richard materialised in front of us. He ignored Miles, and fixed his gaze on me.

“Charlotte.” He spoke my name with a quiet fury. His eyes glittered with anger, and I could see it was taking all his self-control not to explode. “Can you come with me for a moment, please?”

Before I had a chance to object, he took me by the elbow, and began to usher me outside. I could guess that as much as he wanted to talk to me, he also didn't want to create a scene when everyone who worked for him could see. It crossed my mind to refuse to go with him, but deep down I knew that this was what I'd wanted all along—to get his attention.

“Hey—” Miles began to object, but a look from Richard silenced him and he held up his hands and backed off.

My heart was hammering hard in my chest as Richard led me outside into a large, empty hallway. I had no idea what he was planning to say or do, but I sensed that we were at a turning point, and all I could do was wait to see how it played out. The doors to the Great Hall slammed shut behind us, so all we could hear out there were the muffled sounds of the party. Richard looked around. His eyes settled on a side room. He walked over, and checked that there was no one inside.

“In here,” he commanded. I did as he said and went in. It was a small conference room, with an oval table in the middle that could accommodate twelve people. It must have been where the Vinopolis staff held their meetings.

As soon as the door was closed, Richard rounded on me. “What the hell were you playing at in there?”

I leaned back against the table, affecting boredom. “What did it look like? Trying to get laid.”

His mouth twisted in disgust. “Jesus, Charlotte—”

“What?” I challenged. “You don't like that I sleep around?”

Petra's words were still ringing in my head. I hated that her slut-shaming had bothered me so much. And I was determined to defend myself. If Richard didn't want me because I slept around, then that was his problem. But I refused to feel bad about this a second longer.

“What is it with men and their double standards?” I shook my head in disgust. “If I was a guy, you'd be slapping me on the back and congratulating me. Instead, because I'm female, you act like there's something wrong with me because I enjoy sex. Like I'm damaged goods or something.”

Richard's eyes widened. “Is that seriously what you think? Because trust me, nothing could be farther from the truth. I have no problem with a woman enjoying sex, or having as many partners as she wants. But what I hate is seeing you lowering yourself to sleeping with men who are beneath you. Men like that scum”—he spat out the word—“in there. Because I know you're better than that. And I just want you to realise it.”

Now I was confused. “If that's the case, then why did you push me away that night in my flat?” A horrible thought
occurred to me. “Oh God. Do you really find me that repulsive?”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No. It wasn't that.”

“Then what was it? Why don't you want me?”

He turned away. “Just leave it, Charlotte—”

“I can't! I need to know—”

“Because I was scared!” He whirled round, his eyes flashing with pent-up anger. “Because I was scared of how I felt about you!”

It took me a moment to work out what he was saying. Had I heard him right? Because if I had, then it sounded like he had feelings for me.

Anticipation reared inside me. I was suddenly completely sober.

“I don't understand.” My eyes searched his. “What exactly are you saying?”

He turned away and walked towards the window that looked out on the street below. In the reflection, I could see him sigh, and run a hand across his face. For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he started to speak, in a hollow, almost distant voice.

“Hasn't it ever occurred to you that every person I've cared about has died? First my parents, which was bad enough, and then your brother. Do you know what it's like to recover from losses like that? How hard it is not to let the grief consume you? It's one of the reasons I haven't wanted
to get close to any woman over the years. And up until now, it's worked for me. Because I'd never met anyone whom I felt strongly enough to want to let in.”

He paused, and turned to face me. “And then I find myself developing feelings for you, of all people. I've always cared about you, about your family, but lately . . . it's been different. Something changed between us.”

I could see the confusion on his face, and understood it—because I'd felt it, too. That odd sensation of being around someone for so long, but only just feeling like you were getting to know him.

“So I find myself falling for you . . . this person who's living her life on self-destruct.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know how terrifying that is? That night in your flat, when you kissed me, all I could think was: How can I be with someone who seems to have a death wish? Who has so little regard for her life?” There was a catch in his throat, the sound of real agony. “Because I couldn't stand to lose anyone else. And I'm not sure you can promise to keep yourself safe.

“So that's why I pulled away that night—because I didn't want to get close to you. Because if I do—if I allow myself to feel what I'm feeling—I also open myself up to all the pain that would come with losing you.”

I stood, stunned. It had never occurred to me before that Richard had been so deeply affected by what had happened.
I knew of course that he'd grieved for his parents and for Kit—I appreciated that they were both devastating moments in his life. But he'd always seemed so together, as though he could cope with anything. It was a shock to find that he was frightened, too.

“Then why are you here?” I said finally. “If you're scared to be with me?”

His face softened. “Because I realised tonight that I'm more scared to be without you.” He took a step towards me. “Seeing you with Miles . . . I couldn't stand the thought of you being with him. And that's when I knew, however much I might want to deny it, I'm falling for you.”

I felt happiness surge up inside me. Part of me just wanted to end the conversation there, and let him kiss me, but there was something that was still bothering me. I stepped back away from him, so I could keep my head clear. For once, I wanted to think before I acted. “But I don't understand. If that's how you feel about me, then why did you bring Petra tonight?”

“Petra?” He looked genuinely confused. “I didn't.”

“Oh, please. I saw her talking to you earlier.”
Not to mention what she said to me
, I wanted to add. His face cleared. “Yes, she's here tonight, but not as my date. She started seeing Carl Wilcox, one of the art directors, after they worked on a shoot together. She's with him.”

The events of the evening clicked into place. How naïve
guys could be. Petra might be here with Carl, but she was still clearly after Richard. But I suppose as long as he wasn't interested back, then there was no harm.

“I guess I got it wrong,” I said. I could have told him about what Petra had said, but somehow I didn't feel inclined to now. Knowing she was still hung up on Richard, and yet he was here with me, I couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

“I guess you did.” He smiled a little. “But it's nice to see you jealous. Now,” he said, drawing closer to me, “have I answered every question to your satisfaction?”

Before I had a chance to respond, he kissed me.

Unlike last time, in my flat, there was no sense of him holding back and taking things slow. His mouth was firm and demanding against mine, his hands in my hair, as he kissed me like his life depended on it. The control he usually displayed seemed to have deserted him. He couldn't seem to get enough of me, and before I knew what was happening, he was backing me up against the table, lifting me in one deft move so I was sitting on top of it. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. As his erection rubbed against the gusset of my underwear, I felt myself moisten. It reminded me of how I'd reacted that night we'd kissed in my flat. My body seemed to respond to him in ways I never remembered experiencing before.

But I didn't want to start analysing that now. Instead I
tugged out his shirt, my hands smoothing over the warm flesh of his back. His lips were on my neck, and my head dropped back. It was only when I reached for the zipper of his trousers that I felt Richard tense. His hands came down to stop me, and with a groan of frustration, he pulled away.

From where I was perched on the table, I frowned up at him. “What now?”

“This isn't right.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to get himself under control. “We're not doing it here, like this. As much as I may want to.”

“Are you serious—?”

“Deadly.” He took a step forwards, closing the gap between us. His gaze fixed on me, dark and intense, like he was hypnotising me. “That night at your flat, when you kissed me? I wanted you so badly. Do you know the willpower it took to walk away from you then?” He reached out, his right hand cupping my face. I was looking directly into his eyes, so I could see the sincerity there, as his words rolled over me like silk. “I don't want to be just another one-night stand to you—a quick roll in the sack. When we sleep together, I want it to mean something. I want you to feel every moment—not to be so drunk you can't remember what happened or enjoy the way I touch you.”

I felt warm desire spread through my belly. For so long, sex had meant nothing to me. Richard was right—I'd had so many sexual encounters, and yet I wasn't sure if I'd ever
enjoyed any of them. I knew instinctively that it would be different with him.

He bent his head so his mouth was close to mine. “When we sleep together, I want every second to be exquisite pleasure.”

I gasped as he drew his thumb across my bottom lip. How was it that such a simple gesture was more erotic than all the one-night stands I'd had?

“I want to wine you and dine you,” he went on. “Treat you properly.” His eyes twinkled wickedly. “And then, at the end of it all, seduce you.”

The thought sent shivers through me. “How very old-fashioned of you.”

Even though I felt a bit frustrated, I had to admit that I secretly liked the way he was thinking—it would make a change to go on a proper date.

“So when are we going to do this dinner?”

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

“Perfect.” Our gaze held for a moment, and I felt my breath catch. It was going to take all my willpower to make it through to tomorrow night. “Well, I suppose we better get back to the party,” I said reluctantly.

“I suppose we should.” He held out a hand, and I hopped down from the table. We walked hand in hand towards the door. When we got there, Richard stopped, and turned back to me. “I'll text you details about our date tomorrow.” His
head dipped down to murmur in my ear. “And trust me when I say I can't wait.”

His throaty voice was full of promise. Before I could respond, he opened the door for me. I floated back to the party, already feeling impatient for it to be tomorrow night.

“What the hell—?” Lindsay sat up from where she'd been stretched out on the sofa watching Saturday night TV, and stared at me bug-eyed from across the back of the chair.

I glanced down at myself, chewing at the inside of my mouth. “Is it really that bad?”

After the excitement of arranging my date with Richard last night, I'd come crashing back down to earth over the course of today. It hadn't helped that he'd been cagey about where we were going tonight. He'd texted me that morning to say that he was sending a car for me at seven thirty, to take me for dinner. But he wanted to keep the destination a surprise. I'd asked him what I should wear, and he'd told me, “whatever you feel comfortable in.” But I wasn't stupid enough to fall for that. Richard was used to frequenting the best restaurants in London, and I imagined wherever we went, it was going to be somewhere upmarket, which meant
trying to look glamorous and sophisticated.