Sin nodded. ‘And what work do you do?’
She hesitated before answering. Sin was patently not going to tell her much about himself; despite the attraction between them, he obviously wasn’t interested in having a close relationship with her. So perhaps it would be better to limit the amount of information she gave him about herself. ‘I—why don’t you try and guess?’ she suggested lightly.
Sin smiled derisively. ‘I’m not really into guessing games.’
She regarded him quizzically. ‘Oh, come on, it could be fun.’
‘Okay.’ Sin couldn’t resist her mischievous expression. ‘A model, perhaps?’
She laughed softly. ‘Don’t they have to be tall and willowy?’
This woman might not be tall enough to be a model, Sin acknowledged, but she was certainly stunningly beautiful enough to be one.
He relaxed back against the sofa. ‘So not a model, then?’
‘No.’ She smiled.
Sin shook his head. ‘I somehow can’t see you in an office.’
Luccy frowned. ‘Why not?’
He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘If I had a secretary that looked like you I would never get any work done!’
‘Isn’t it a little chauvinistic of you to assume a woman has to be a secretary if she works in an office?’ she teased.
Sin gave a self-deprecating grimace. ‘Hmm, you have a point.’
Luccy’s earlier tension started to leave her as she realised she was quite enjoying this teasing conversation.
He shrugged. ‘Okay, so you work in an office…’
‘Actually, no, I don’t.’
He frowned. ‘Is it always this difficult to get a straight answer from you?’
Not usually, no, Luccy acknowledged ruefully. But she was loath to confide too much about herself. As well as her earlier concerns on a personal level, she doubted the management of PAN Cosmetics would appreciate it if the incident between herself and Paul Bridger ever became public knowledge. Jacob Sinclair, the owner of Sinclair Industries, was very strict concerning his policy of no bad publicity. So much so that it was actually written into employees’ contracts, including the one Luccy had signed with PAN Cosmetics the previous year.
Usually Luccy was completely professional when it came to her work—it really wasn’t her fault that men like Paul Bridger couldn’t behave in the same way!
And the situation she now found herself in? What woman in her right mind would manage to extricate herself from one potentially dangerous situation only to land herself in another one that could prove equally disastrous? In fact, more so, because Luccy hadn’t been attracted to Paul Bridger, whereas she was definitely attracted to Sin.
As that kiss outside on the terrace had proved…
‘Why are you so interested?’ She frowned at Sin’s persistence.
‘Because everything about you interests me,’ he drawled huskily.
Luccy felt the heat enter her cheeks as she easily read the expression in his eyes. This man didn’t just want to know about her—he wanted her!
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m a receptionist. To a photographer.’ Not completely untrue; she did act as her own receptionist on occasion, usually when Cathy was at lunch or off sick.
His brows rose. ‘Anyone I would have heard of?’
Only if she was very unlucky!
‘I doubt it,’ she dismissed.
‘And that guy earlier—’
‘Paul?’
Sin nodded. ‘You said he’s a work colleague?’
She had said that, hadn’t she? How complicated things became when you told just one little exaggeration of the truth!
She shrugged. ‘He’s more of a prospective client, actually. My boss is out of town so it was left to me to do the wining and dining this evening,’ she added lamely.
Sin nodded. ‘And do you have a husband, and possibly children, too, waiting for you at home?’ He was beginning to think that Luccy’s one-name introduction, and her aversion to talking about herself, showed all the classic signs of a married woman out for a night on the town.
Her mouth, that deliciously tempting mouth, curved into a rueful smile. ‘No husband, and certainly no children,’ she assured him.
‘And Luccy is short for…?’ Sin was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt concerning a husband and children, a glance at her left hand confirming that there was at least no indentation to the third finger, or evidence of slightly paler skin where a ring might have been hastily removed. He drew the line at becoming involved with a married woman.
‘It isn’t short for anything,’ she said mendaciously as she shook her head. ‘And as we obviously aren’t going to meet again after tonight, I really don’t see the relevance of any of these questions, do you? Or their answers.’
This man really didn’t need to know that her full name was Lucinda Harper-O’Neill. Or that she was a photographer, primarily in advertising, with her own studio and apartment right here in London.
‘We can’t know that yet.’
Luccy gave him a startled glance. ‘Can’t know what?’
‘Whether or not we’re going to see each other again. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t. I come to London quite regularly—’
‘And I’m not about to become your “regular London girl”!’ Luccy informed him slightly incredulously. ‘Look.’ She placed her brandy glass down on the coffee table in front of them, releasing her hair from his caressing fingers as she did so. ‘I really am grateful to you for—for rescuing me from a very awkward situation earlier, but I’m not grateful enough to hop into bed with you!’
His gaze was lightly teasing. ‘But we aren’t in a bed.’
‘We aren’t going to be in one, either,’ Luccy told him firmly.
‘Maybe not tonight—’
‘Not ever,’ Luccy insisted flatly.
‘How can you be so sure of that?’
She couldn’t—that was the problem! Each minute—second!—that passed, she only became more aware of this man. ‘Sin—’
‘Luccy,’ he came back softly even as he moved along the sofa so that their thighs touched, his arm along the back of the sofa behind her as he easily held her gaze with the intensity of his.
To say Luccy was unnerved by his close proximity was an understatement. She was completely overwhelmed by his sheer physical magnetism—and the heat of the desire that suddenly burned in those silver-grey eyes as he looked at her.