it was going to be something that would last. Yes, we were contemplating marriage, and kids were a definite possibility.
His gaze was intense on mine as I stepped from the car, attention turning to us, the paparazzi already gathering.
Except I wasn’t thinking about the paparazzi. I was thinking about what he’d said earlier, about his father and Dumont, and about how he was a petty bastard. He’d flung that at me almost like a challenge, daring me to contradict him, and I’d wanted to.
Because the man who’d reached out and held my hand, who’d talked to me about how I should have had someone when my mother had died, who’d told me my father should have protected me against Mark, wasn’t petty in the slightest.
But I knew he’d argue if I tried to contradict him and it wasn’t the right moment for an argument. I didn’t understand what made me want to convince him he was wrong, anyway. After all, why did I care whether he thought he was a petty bastard or not?
He was certainly a grumpy one, that was for sure, though his temper didn’t bother me. It only made me curious as to why he was like that. Because he struck me very much like a bear with a sore paw, swiping at people who came too close.
Do you want to get close?
Maybe I did. I was curious about the bitterness in his voice when he’d mentioned his father. The throwaway line about him not being good enough.
But it wasn’t a throwaway line, was it? And it kind of explained why he was so driven to succeed and why he was so uncompromising that people had to take him as he was. Why he was so bluntly honest about himself.
He really was afraid he wasn’t good enough.
But I didn’t like that thought and I didn’t like how it hurt him, because it did hurt him. He just covered that hurt with anger.
It made me want to help him in some way, though how I didn’t know. It wasn’t my place to do so anyway.
Well, you are supposed to be his girlfriend, so...maybe it is tonight?
The emerald gown swirled around me as we walked towards the entrance, a reminder of my role: Ash Evans’s girlfriend.
I didn’t know how to be a girlfriend—hell, I was barely used to being a lover, and we’d only been lovers for a single night. Was I even going to be convincing? I could talk about cars for ever, but anything else? Plans for the future and weddings and perhaps a family?
I hadn’t thought about those things. I wasn’t really interested in those things. My life was all about Australis.
What about after this is over? What are you going to do about him?
That, at least, was easy. I would do nothing about him. He’d been a lovely and unexpected interlude while I’d been in Europe, but that was it.
In the meantime, I’d have to play the part I’d promised and hopefully do it well enough that he’d get his precious islands.
‘Don’t look so nervous,’ he murmured in my ear as we turned towards the entrance of the hotel, curling one arm possessively around my waist and drawing me close. ‘Just stick to our story and you’ll be fine.’
I leaned into the heat and hard muscle of his body. ‘I feel like an imposter,’ I murmured back. ‘I don’t know how to be anyone’s girlfriend, let alone yours.’
People stared at us as we entered the hotel, flashes going off as the paparazzi swarmed. Not used to it, I tried to ignore the attention.
‘You don’t have to know.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a matte black card that he flashed at the doorman. ‘All you have to do is act like you can’t wait to rip my clothes off. That should do it.’
My mouth went dry at the thought of ripping off his clothes. Or rather, of pulling open his white shirt and touching the warm skin of his chest, sliding my hands over all that hard muscle.
God...
‘Yes,’ he rumbled softly and approvingly as the doorman pulled open the door and we went inside. ‘That’s exactly the look I mean.’
I flushed. If that was all it took to look like a girlfriend then this was going to be a piece of cake.
A poised and beautiful blonde woman—Imogen Carmichael, apparently—greeted us at the hotel entrance, an American from the sounds of her accent, explaining about the various facilities in the hotel and giving directions. She greeted me without a flicker, her handshake firm and cool, just like her smile.
‘Right,’ Ash said, steering me down one high-arched hallway floored in white marble. ‘Time to find Delaney.’
A flutter of nervousness collected inside me, but I tried not to think about that or how out of my depth I felt in my dress.
Imogen had given us directions to the bar area—a big open space intended to give the feeling of a Bedouin tent, with lanterns of coloured glass hanging over ornate tables in heavy dark wood, and low divans covered in brightly coloured silk cushions. A fountain played in the centre, the splashing water in counterpoint to the murmur of voices and the low pulse of music.
Ash steered me in the direction of one of the tables, where an older man sat, his white hair expertly coiffed, his smile welcoming as he stood to greet us.
‘Evans,’ he said warmly, reaching out to take Ash’s hand. ‘Glad you could make it.’ His attention turned to me. ‘And this is...?’
‘Ellie Little,’ Ash said. ‘Ellie, this is John Delaney, a business associate of mine.’
I swallowed my nervousness and tried for a smile, shaking his hand. ‘G’day, Mr Delaney.’
Delaney smiled. ‘Oh, you’re Australian. How charming. Please, call me John.’
‘Good to meet you, John.’ I gave his hand a firm squeeze.
Ash’s arm stole around my waist again, pulling me close, his hand splayed on my hip, the heat of it seeping through my gown as if there were nothing between his palm and my skin.
It was a very possessive hold and obviously for Delaney’s benefit, though some part of me found it thrilling in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Was it weird to like the thought of being his? To enjoy the way he held me? As if he wanted the entire bar to know who I belonged to?
It’s fake, though.
Yes, it was. Which, in a way, made it okay for me to like it. If it wasn’t real, I could let myself enjoy the sensation of being protected, of having someone at my back in a way I hadn’t had before.
Delaney’s gaze lingered on the positioning of Ash’s hand on me. ‘Don’t worry, Evans. I’m not going to steal her from you, though...’ there was a sparkle in his eye ‘...maybe if I were twenty years younger I might.’
Ash’s smile was little more than bared teeth, the pressure on my hip increasing. ‘Try it.’
Delaney grinned. ‘Relax and have a seat. I want to know how you two met.’
We sat down on the divan, Ash not allowing an inch of space between us, the heat of his powerful thigh pressing against mine. ‘It was at a charity event in July,’ he said gruffly. ‘We got to talking, one thing led to another and the rest is history.’ He sounded impatient. ‘What else do you want to know?’
Delaney watched us from his seat opposite. ‘I must say, I was surprised to hear you had a serious girlfriend. I haven’t heard anything about it in the media.’
‘No, because I wanted Ellie to stay out of the spotlight.’
‘Which I prefer,’ I added, putting a casual hand on Ash’s hard thigh. He was hot there, too, powerful muscles tensing under my palm, making me want to squeeze them, test them.
Delaney