as much as Gerd is,’ she returned coolly, hoping she’d banished every trace of defiance from her voice.
Alex’s mouth—unsoftened by its compelling hint of sensuality—relaxed into a smile that was more challenge than amusement. ‘Indeed?’
‘Indeed,’ she returned, infusing the word with complete assurance.
‘Good.’
She shot him a questioning glance, parrying a look that sent a quiver the full length of her spine. He let his gaze wander across her face, finally settling it on her lips. A voluptuous excitement smouldered through her.
Surely—yes, she thought with a triumph so complete she could feel it radiating through her—he was flirting with her. And she was going to respond.
But first she had to know something. That suspect recklessness gave her the courage to say, ‘I’m surprised you’re alone this week.’
His latest reputed lover was a gloriously beautiful Greek heiress, quite recently divorced. Rumour had it that Alex had been the reason for the marriage breakup but Serina found that difficult to believe. He was noted for an iron-bound sense of integrity, and it seemed unlikely he’d let a passing fancy for a beautiful woman compromise that.
However, she thought with another spurt of cynicism, what did she really know about him? Nothing, except that he’d used his formidable intelligence, ruthless drive and an uncompromising authority to build a worldwide business empire.
Besides, his fancy for his Greek lover might not be passing.
Alex’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Why? I have no partner or significant other.’
So that was that. Neither have I seemed far too much like a bald, much too obvious invitation.
Serina contented herself with a short nod, and kept her eyes fixed on the throng whirling behind him. He was an excellent dancer, moving with the lithe, muscular grace of an athlete, and wearing his formal clothes with a kind of lethal elegance that proclaimed the powerful body beneath.
‘So what’s ahead for you?’Alex asked coolly. ‘More of the same?’
‘More weddings? No one else I know is getting married in the immediate future,’ she returned, deflecting the query.
He met her glance with a glinting one of his own. ‘You’re happy just doing the social round?’
A little shortly, Serina replied, ‘Actually, I’m planning to go back to school.’
Alex’s gaze sharpened. ‘You surprise me. I thought you’d settled into being Rassel’s muse.’
‘We decided he needed a new one,’ she told him without rancour.
Her time with the up-and-coming Parisian fashion designer had been stimulating but, although losing the very generous salary was a blow, she’d been relieved when he’d decided he needed someone more edgy, more in tune with his new direction.
She had no illusions. Rassel had originally chosen her because she had the entrée to the circles he aspired to. The fact that she both photographed well and possessed the body to display his clothes superbly had helped him make the decision. It had always been a problematic relationship; although Rassel referred to her as his muse he’d expected her to behave like a model, and had only reluctantly accepted any input from her. Now that he’d made his reputation he didn’t need her any more.
And she didn’t miss his monstrous ego or his insecurity.
Alex asked, ‘So what are you going to study? Horticulture?’
Did he know she wrote a column on gardens?
‘Landscape architecture.’
She was so looking forward to it. She’d just come into a small inheritance from her grandfather, the last King of Montevel. Added to the money she earned for the column, the bequest would provide enough money for Doran to finish university as well as pay her tuition fees and living expenses.
It would mean an even more rigorous routine of scrimping, but she was accustomed to that.
‘I suppose that figures. Will you continue writing your garden column for that celebrity magazine?’Alex’s dismissive tone made it quite clear what he thought of the publication.
‘Of course.’ Loyalty to the editor made her enlarge on her first stiff response. ‘They took a chance on me and I’ve always done my best to live up to their expectations.’
Why on earth was she justifying herself to this man? She tried to ignore a turbulent flutter beneath her ribs when she parried his enigmatic gaze.
‘Why landscape architecture? It’s a far cry from writing about pretty flowers and people who never get their hands dirty.’
Allowing a hint of frost to chill her words, she said, ‘Apart from admiring the beauty of what they achieve, I respect the hopeless, impossible ambition of gardeners, their desire to create a perfect, idealised landscape—to return to Eden.’ Crisply she finished, ‘And I’ll be good at it.’
‘Your title and social cachet will see that you succeed.’
The comment, delivered in a negligent voice, hurt her. Especially since she knew there was an element of truth to it.
Serina hid her stormy gaze with long lashes. ‘It will help. But to succeed I’ll need more than that.’
‘And you think you have whatever it takes?’
‘I know I have,’ she said calmly.
For answer he pulled her hand into a suitable position for inspection. ‘Perfect skin,’ he murmured on a sardonic note. ‘Not a scratch or stain anywhere. Immaculately manicured nails. I’ll bet you’ve never got your hands dirty.’
The corners of her mouth curved upwards and her eyes glittered. ‘How much will you wager?’
Alex’s laugh smashed through defences already weakened by the feel of his arms around her and the subtle connection with his body, the brush of his thighs against her, the barely discernible scent that seemed to be a mixture of soap and his own inherent male essence.
‘Nothing,’ he said promptly, returning her hand to its normal position. ‘If you want to gamble you shouldn’t show your hand so obviously. Did you have a flower garden as a child?’
‘I did, and a very productive vegetable plot. My mother believed gardening was good for children.’
His expression gave nothing away. Hard-featured, magnetic, he was far too handsome—and Serina was far too aware of his dangerous charisma.
He said, ‘Of course, I should have remembered that your parents’ garden on the Riviera was famous for its beauty.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother had been the guiding light behind that. Working in her garden had helped soothe her heart whenever her husband’s affairs figured in the gossip columns.
The property had been sold after her parents’ deaths, gone like everything else to pay the debts they’d left behind.
The music drew to an end, and Alex loosened his strong arm about her, looking down with a smile that was pure male challenge. ‘You should come to New Zealand. It has fascinating plants, superb scenery and some of the best gardens in the world.’
‘So I believe. Perhaps one of these days I’ll get there.’
‘I’m going back tomorrow. Why not come with me?’
Startled, she flashed him a glance, wondering at his unexpectedly keen scrutiny. Why on earth had he suggested such a crazy thing? Yet she had to resist a fierce desire to take him up on his offer—and on whatever else he was offering.
Just pack a small bag and go…
But of course she couldn’t. Reluctantly she said, ‘Thank you very much