Part 10 (1/2)
”I am honest,” he corrected. ”You are free for lunch, yes?”
She glanced toward Ryder and barely escaped blanching at the expression on his face. He looked murderous, and the way he was staring at her companion didn't bode well. He'd been talking to another businessman while everyone was being seated. Now he'd returned, to find himself supplanted by a younger, obviously smitten foreigner, and he didn't like it. He couldn't have made his disapproval more obvious if he'd fired a gun.
”You'll have to ask my boss about that,” Ivy said evasively, and dropped her eyes, leaving Ryder to deal with the gentleman.
She didn't know what was said. But the young man actually flushed as he got quickly to his feet, murmuring something that sounded vaguely like an apology.
”Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle,” he said fervently, and perfunctorily kissed her hand before beating a hasty retreat with a wary glance at Ryder as he departed.
”Did you tell him you were a hit man or something?” Ivy asked, all eyes as he sat down in the chair the Frenchman had vacated.
He didn't answer her. He was obviously still smoldering. ”You're here to work, not to get involved with amorous playboys,” he said shortly.
”Was he a playboy?” she asked curiously, refusing to let him needle her.
He s.h.i.+fted restlessly and seemed to relax a little. ”Yes,” he replied. ”His people are well-to-do. t.i.tled, in fact.”
”How flattering that he noticed me, then,” she murmured demurely.
”Flattering, h.e.l.l!” He glowered at her. ”Unless you want to see him knocked senseless in front of your eyes, don't encourage him again.”
Her eyebrows arched in sheer surprise. ”Ryder!”
”You just don't understand, do you?” he bit off. ”My G.o.d...!”
The speaker's voice blared out from the microphone, cutting off Ryder's heated reply. He crossed his long legs and glared straight ahead, but he was still bristling. She could almost feel him vibrating.
She didn't understand. Well, that was an understatement if she'd ever heard one. He was violent about her, and probably that violence should have frightened her, but it didn't. It was oddly flattering, that he didn't like other men flirting with her. It could, of course, be a purely physical jealousy...
Her mind dismissed the unpleasant thought. She had to start thinking positively. He was very protective of her, he loved kissing her, he wanted her madly and he was jealous. That had to add up to more than just desire. She was just going to have to work a little harder, that was all.
He didn't make it easy. After the workshop, he took her to lunch and translated the more useful remarks he'd memorized from the workshop. He did it rapid-fire, watching her scramble to get it all down on paper and apparently even enjoying her discomfiture.
”You're being vicious,” she muttered between mouthfuls of a delicious chicken-and-rice entree.
”Of course I'm being vicious! I bring you to Paris, and the first chance you get, you start appropriating natives!”
”I was not trying to appropriate him,” she shot back, and her black eyes glittered in a face reddened with temper. She put her fork down. ”He asked me to go to lunch with him. Just that. He was a nice, kind young man.”
”He was a wolf looking for a woolly appetizer,” he countered doggedly. ”A man knows when another man's hunting, honey. It's an inborn instinct.”
”I wasn't going to go out with him,” she protested.
”Weren't you? I arrived in the nick of time to prevent it unless I'm blind.”
”You sure might as well be blind,” she raged. ”You alternately freeze me out and turn on the heat. One day you're Mr. Cool, the next day you're Romeo, and the day after that you suddenly discover that you harbor brotherly feelings for me! It's like swimming in a blizzard!”
”You're shouting,” he observed.
She took a deep breath and tried not to see the amused looks she was getting. With her long hair smoothed down her back, and the neat navy-blue dress with white collar she was wearing, she looked very young and very pretty. Not to mention very angry.
Ryder, his dark suit complementing his olive complexion, was watching her with mingled exasperation and amus.e.m.e.nt. In a temper, she was vivid-not the shy, biddable little creature he remembered from her girlhood. He very much liked her tempestuous outburst. Not that he was going to admit it to her.
”I don't know what you want from me,” she muttered.
”I'll drink to that,” he agreed, lifting his winegla.s.s with a mocking smile.
She was having wine, too, although she was carefully sipping hers because she wasn't used to it. Everyone drank wine with lunch, except for an occasional diner sipping Perrier water. Ivy had no taste for what she thought of as plain seltzer, so she'd opted for a light, dry white wine. Now she was regretting it, because it made her temper worse and fractured her credibility.
”If I'm to be just the a.s.sistant, why can't I go out on a date?” she asked.
”You're the one who told me you were still in mourning for your husband,” he said harshly. ”Or was that because I'm too old to suit you?”
She wondered if she'd actually heard him say that. ”Too old?” she parroted.
”Handy to flirt with, but not to get too close to, is that it?” he continued, fanning the flames of his temper. ”Maybe the young Frenchman is more your style. After all, you married Ben, and he was barely a year older than you-not a jaded, aging workaholic like me.”
He looked as if he meant it. Worried, she slid her soft hand over his big one. ”Ryder, I've never thought of you as old or jaded.”
His jaw clenched. ”Haven't you?”
She looked down at the long fingers hers were caressing. Strong hands. No jewelry on them. Flat nails, immaculately clean. ”You're the one with the doubts,” she said quietly. ”I think it's that I don't appeal to you.”
His hand turned and clenched hers. ”And that is a lie,” he said.
”Physically, maybe I do,” she said, refusing to look up. ”But your world and mine are so different. I never felt-” She stopped, shocked at what she was about to admit.
But he wouldn't let it go. His hand contracted again. ”You never felt what?” he demanded. ”Tell me!”
She drew in a steadying breath. ”I never felt that I was good enough for someone like you,” she said miserably. ”I was too young, too unsophisticated, and too poor to ever fit in your world.”
He was quiet for so long that she looked up, surprising a glimpse of some horrible deep wounding in his lean face.
”You never told me that,” he said after a minute.
”You must realize that you're rich,” she chided softly. ”Ryder, I barely knew which utensils to use in this very exclusive restaurant. If you hadn't ordered for me, I couldn't have read the menu. I don't drink wine as a rule, and I don't know how to act in high social circles. It embarra.s.ses me and frightens me.”
”Baby,” he breathed huskily, ”why didn't you tell me?”
Her spine tingled at the way he said it, at the way he was looking at her. ”I didn't know how.”
He sighed and brought her hand, palm up, to his warm lips. ”I'm sorry. I didn't realize there was a difference between us socially. I've always accepted you as part of my own circle. Mine, and Eve's.”
He meant it! Her eyes searched his curiously and were trapped by the same dark electricity that always held her in thrall when he was close. His mouth brushed sensually over her damp palm while he looked at her.
”That was partly why you ran from me, wasn't it?” he asked slowly.