But then, it could have been easy to seem disinterested when she already had material excess through her sister. And she could have been holding out for a billionaire with royal status.
There was probably no way to know what the truth was.
He huffed. “Don’t be so eager to feel sick and depressed. And I believe the suite comes with a twenty-grand-a-night tag.”
Her eyes widened, reflecting the indirect lights that made her look otherworldly. “It’s more expensive, and that’s supposed to slow my plunge into depression? I feel I should be arrested for criminal waste. After you are, of course.”
He came around the table, holding his breath until he brushed against her. Air rushed out at the contact, at the tremor passing from her body to his where his thigh seemed to stick to the side of her hip, his hand to the small of her back.
She broke the circuit, descended—to his satisfaction—very unsteadily into the chair his other hand had pulled back for her.
He waited until he’d taken his seat then drawled, “Strange to hear you talking of waste and extravagance. You live in a palace where most articles cost thousands or are literally priceless.”
Her eyes held his as her fingers sought a silver fork, ran up and down its length. He imagined them doing the same to his length.
“You talk as if I furnished the place when I’m just a long-term guest. Even Julia has no say in being surrounded by stuff that belongs in a museum. And you won’t see either of us spending thousands on anything that isn’t needed or at least useful.”
“Very commendable. Of both of you. But since you seem to know such a lot, you must have an idea about the size of my fortune?”
“Sure. A few hundred grand is pocket change to you. But a few here and a few there, and soon we’re talking real money, even by your standards. And then it’s the principle I’m talking about. Do you usually indulge this kind of extravagance, or are you out to make a statement? I hope that wasn’t your goal as it sure backfired. Unless the statement is that you’re an obnoxious show-off.”
His chuckle overpowered him. If she’d always harbored this confrontational vixen inside her and had been able to project the restful and acquiescent angel he’d known on demand, she was an actress of a scope he couldn’t imagine. “I’m so relieved I wasn’t trying to impress you, then. My intentions were along the lines of…pampering you. I failed to do that, too?”
Her head inclined, sending his heart tripping as her hair cascaded to the same side. “I wonder what gave you the impression that I’d appreciate this.”
“Everyone appreciates luxury.”
“Luxury beyond reason is…”
“Criminal. You’ve already informed me. I can do no right in your eyes, can I? Strange. I remember when you once gave me the impression I could do no wrong.” He gave a sigh of mock regret. “Oh well. I can now shower you with excesses knowing in advance I’ll be reviled for it.” Before she whacked him with another comeback, he went on, “But to settle your mind about my wasting the equivalent of a struggling nation’s income, let me solve the riddle you hurled at me as you came in. I didn’t become who I am by spending money, but by making it. And I make it everywhere you can imagine, and in places you can’t. And no, there is nothing criminal in my pursuits. Everything you’ve seen since you set foot in New York makes me money. From the building I own to the hotel where you’re staying to a dozen others, to this place. Having Presidential suites to offer my guests and exclusive entertainment with no notice are among the many perks of being the major shareholder.”
She glared at him. He managed not to lunge across the table and drag her into his arms. He grinned mockingly at her. “Disappointed I didn’t fork out an obscene amount of money to impress or misguidedly pamper you?”
Her lips twisted. “I was disappointed to think you had.”
“So no perverse disappointment now that you know I didn’t?”
“Now you’re not a spendthrift, but a chauvinist? Harping on the age-old implication that a woman says no when she really means yes?”
“I don’t think it’s female, but human for your logic and morals to clash with your need to feel valued. Criminally extravagant gestures might be abhorrent to one’s ethics, but they sure tickle one’s ego.”
And she smiled. Maledizione, she smiled.
As he tried to deal with a bout of arrhythmia, a giggle escaped her flushed lips. “You became who you are by being an expert on human nature, too, it seems. Okay, I apologize.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. This woman was out to do him some serious damage.
“I jumped to conclusions, ignored obvious explanations because I resented the hell out of you and wanted to believe the worst. And all you did was offer me the benefit of the perks you worked so hard to obtain, when you didn’t have to. When I gave you every reason not to care if I spent the night in a flea-infested motel. Your brand of hospitality may be hard to enjoy without severe pangs of conscience, but I appreciate the thought.”
He pretended to melt back in his chair in relief. He did need the support of something solid with his senses swimming as they were. “Phew. So that’s the obnoxious show-off charge taken care of. What about the unprofessional-wretch accusation?”
Her solitary dimple winked at him. “Yes, what about it?”
He guffawed at her volley, shook his head. The words came to him now, what she felt like; like the sum total of his desires.
And those were indeed fierce. More. They were all-consuming.
Which brought him back to his plan.
He would claim the crown that had once been ripped from him. If he could be convinced once more it was his destiny to wear it.
There were no ifs when it came to her. He would claim her.
If he claimed the crown, it would be on his terms. No negotiations. But in her case…this was were his plot thickened.
He’d pursued her the first time around, always coming back to her as if starved. This time, he would make her do the running. Then he’d claim her.
And when he judged the time right, he would walk away.
He signaled the staff to begin the night’s service, leaned across the table and captured the hand that kept frying his imagination with its restless movements.
“Va bene, Phoebe. Let’s get the myth of my un-professionalism debunked, too. Let’s get down to business. You have the whole night to work…on me.”