The Playboy In Pursuit. Miranda Lee

and Internet shopping and such.’

      ‘You mean I won’t have to lift a finger?’

      ‘Only to open the champagne, which of course can also be ordered from here. Actually, you don’t even have to open the bottles if you don’t want to. There’s a butler service as well.’

      His rather patrician nose wrinkled at this idea. ‘I’m not really into that sort of thing. But the champagne is a good idea. I’ll order a case. Dom Perignon, of course,’ he added with a wicked grin.

      ‘Your father really isn’t in your good books at the moment, is he?’

      ‘My father doesn’t know the meaning of good,’ he scoffed, then glowered, his mood dropping back into black and brooding. ‘I don’t want to talk about that bastard. I don’t even want to think about him.’ He sank back down against the railing, his head sagging, his attitude one of instant and utter wretchedness.

      For a brief moment Lucille actually felt sorry for him, till she remembered that he was a bastard too, especially with women.

      So this time he’d lost out with Flame, a potential bedmate. Tough! It wasn’t as though he’d been genuinely in love with the girl. Playboys like Val Seymour were only in love with themselves!

      He straightened abruptly and turned to face her, his eyes still tormented.

      Amazing how devastatingly attractive he looked, despite his emotional ravagement. The dark circles under his eyes suited his designer stubble and added to his bad-boy image.

      ‘Are you going to put me out of my misery by coming to dinner with me tonight, Lucille?’ he demanded to know. ‘Or are you going to condemn me to eternal depression?’

      ‘How will a date with me put you out of your misery?’ she challenged, as if she didn’t know. A conquest a day keeps depression at bay!

      ‘It just will,’ he said firmly. ‘I promise to be a gentleman, if that’s what’s worrying you. Just dinner and conversation. Nothing else.’

      Lucille frowned. He actually sounded sincere. Who knew? Maybe he meant the ‘just dinner’ part. Maybe he simply wanted the distraction of company. Maybe he had been in love with that Flame female and was genuinely upset.

      Lucille was startled to find she didn’t like that last thought. Perhaps because underneath she wanted him to want her as she wanted him. Oh, yes, there was no point in denying it, not to herself. She wanted him. Wanted him naked, wanted him in bed, wanted him right now, or at the very latest…tonight.

      Any shock—or self-disgust—at this starkly explicit realisation was eventually overlaid by an angrily defensive train of thought. Why shouldn’t she want him? And why shouldn’t she have him, at least once? Now that her female hormones were up and running again, she’d be stupid not to take advantage of this situation. Erica was right. Who better to have sex with than a man who specialised in the practice?

      It wasn’t as though Val would be hurt by her going to bed with him. Hell, he’d probably be grateful.

      A decidedly erotic quiver ran down her spine at the thought. Despite his promise of gentlemanly behaviour, Lucille knew that a virile man like Val didn’t stand a chance of staying virtuous if she pulled out all the stops, then didn’t say no when he took the bait.

      ‘All right,’ she said, amazed that she could sound so calm in the face of such wicked plottings. ‘I wouldn’t want to be responsible for plunging you into eternal depression.’

      ‘Fantastic,’ he said, finding an instant smile.

      Lucille smiled back. I’ve gone mad, she decided. Stark raving mad.

      Whatever was Michele going to say?

      Nothing, the devil’s voice whispered in Lucille’s head. Because you’re not going to tell her. Tonight is going to be your dark little secret. Your deep, dark little secret.