Flirting With Intent (2 page)

‘Do you have any plans for the day?’ she asked, for it was definitely time to change the subject.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You. Me.’ She had his absolute attention. ‘Christmas gift shopping for your sisters.’

He drew back abruptly and Ruby smiled, wide and warm. ‘Gotcha,’ she whispered, rocking forward ever so slightly before turning back to the coffee maker to retrieve his espresso and set the machine up for a long black for herself. ‘Do you really think I can afford to proposition the adored son of the only man in Hong Kong who’ll employ me? Trust me, I’m not that reckless.’

‘I’m not that adored.’

‘Yes, you are, Damon. You’d only have to listen to the way your father talks about you
to realise that. He speaks of you with a mixture of love, frustration, pride and respect, and I have to confess: the first couple are what I’d expect of most fathers, but that last one … the fact that one of the most influential money movers in the world respects
you …
Makes me wonder what you’ve done to earn it.’

‘Keep wondering,’ he murmured. ‘I’m all in favour of keeping a fine mind exercised. As for going Christmas shopping with you, the answer is a reluctant yes. Give me five minutes to put some clothes on.’

‘Good idea. Take your time. I’ll need about fifteen to finish up here anyway.’ Ruby pushed the tiny cup of super-strong coffee across the counter towards him and Damon West’s fingers brushed hers as he took it. This time his touch sent desire skittering along her skin, and Ruby frowned as she whipped her fingers away from his. What the
hell
was that?

Apart from a rhetorical question for she knew desire when she felt it, knew the bite of it and the chaos it could bring. The question now became how could she have let this happen? Between one touch of hands and the next?

To
her
of all people. Ruby Maguire, who’d been outplaying players her entire life.

‘What’s wrong?’ Lazy smile on a dangerous man. ‘Coffee too hot?’

‘That’s one interpretation.’ Ruby sighed. ‘Regretfully, I’m going to have to ban the touching from now on in. And the teasing. Probably the question time as well. Sorry, Damon. I can’t afford to play with you.’

‘Because you work for my father? Would he really have to know?’

‘Damon, please. I’m insulted that you even
tried
that line on me. Your father may not keep up with the social lives of all his business acquaintances—that’s my job—but when it comes to the romantic liaisons of his children? Men like your father?’ Ruby slanted him a quelling glance as she topped up her long black with cold water before lifting it to her lips. ‘They always know.’

Ruby Maguire was a babe, decided Damon as he took his coffee back to his bedroom. A high-maintenance glossily gift-wrapped bundle of temptation and contradiction, and what was more she knew it.

Damon couldn’t have asked for a better distraction.

Something to take his mind off a missing brother and a wounded sister and a Christmas that was shaping up to be anything but festive.

He slung his towel on the bed and rummaged through the meagre collection of clothes he kept at his father’s house. A collared cotton shirt in white and a charcoal pinstriped suit. Bespoke, not made to measure. The expensive sports watch that his sisters had given him last Christmas. Clothes to suit his father’s house and reflect his father’s status—a Christmas tradition whereby Damon would look to be the type of son his father expected to see and in return his father would ask no questions as to what Damon had been up to the rest of the year.

What kind of man had Ruby Maguire’s father been before his fall from grace? wondered Damon as he tossed the suit on the bed. Already a wealthy one, if he remembered correctly. Manhattan banking family. Influential. Chances were that Harry Maguire hadn’t stolen the money because he’d needed it.

Maybe he’d been bored.

And colour Damon perceptive but the delectable Ruby Maguire also seemed somewhat
overqualified for her current gofer position.

Ruby Maguire was used to dealing with the corporate lions of the world and holding her own. Ruby had severely underestimated her usefulness if she thought that no one but his father would employ her.

Which made Damon feel infinitely better about the seduction campaign he intended to wage on her.

She’d banned touching, teasing and question time but she hadn’t banned looking and she hadn’t banned scent. Her bad.

The cologne collection in the en-suite cupboard gave him a wide and varied selection to choose from. Eeeny meeny miney mo. Catcha … That was the aim. To catch Ruby Maguire and play a while.

Gucci it was.

Run his fingers through his hair, find some shoes, put them on. Plastic in wallet, wallet in pocket.

Damon West was ready to shop.

He found her in the atrium, positioning a delicate porcelain Santa amongst the fern fronds that banked the goldfish pond. ‘There,’ she
said as he approached. ‘The perfect spot for Santa to enjoy a little R and R.’

Ruby Maguire stood and turned his way, no comment on the suit. She probably hadn’t expected anything else.

She breathed in deeply though and closed her eyes and smiled. She had the freest smile he’d ever seen.

‘I love that scent on a man,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Brings back fond memories.’

‘Old boyfriend?’

‘Grandfather,’ she corrected sweetly.

This woman was so
bad
for a man’s ego. Damon smiled and meant it. Nothing like a challenge.

‘Ready to go?’ she said next, and he nodded and watched in silence as she headed for her oversized satchel, her ballet-style slippers making no sound on the marble floor. Odd choice of shoes to be wearing with crisply tailored grey trousers and a vivid fuchsia sleeveless silk top with an embroidered panel down the front that screamed couture, but all became clear when she opened the coat cupboard beside the front door and swapped her soft slippers for strappy black sandals with a stiletto heel.

‘I can’t stand high heels on marble floors,’
she explained. ‘It’s the clickety-clack. Where’s the elegance? Not to mention the ability to retreat without being seen or heard. That’s a very useful skill on occasion. Not, I hasten to add, that I’ve ever had to use that ability here. Your father doesn’t womanise.’ She reset the alarm before closing the cupboard door. ‘It’s a refreshing change.’

‘Yours did?’ he asked as he ushered her out of the door and closed it behind them.

‘Oh, yes. It was just a game, you see. Everything from stealing another man’s woman to the removal of vast sums of other people’s money—it was all just a game.’

‘Where was your mother in all of this?’

‘Living happily in Texas with oil baron husband number three. He doesn’t womanise either, come to think of it. That’s
two
I know.’

‘Wouldn’t
he
give you a job if you asked for one?’

‘Probably, but I don’t work for family, Damon. Never have, never will.’ ‘Another rule?’

‘That one’s more of a survival trait. Work for family and before you know it they’re trying to control your life.’ They stepped into the elevator and Ruby pressed the button to
the foyer. ‘How loaded is your daddy’s credit card when it comes to buying Christmas gifts for his children?’ she asked. ‘Because I happen to have it with me.’

‘He bought us a plane once,’ said Damon. ‘We had to share it though.’

‘Poor baby,’ she murmured with another one of those carefree smiles that put him in mind of a kid in a sweets shop. ‘Not sure I can swing another aircraft or two at such short notice, but I’ve absolutely no objection to shopping with the sheiks and the sugar daddies if that’s the norm. The Landmark it is.’

The Landmark shopping mall butted onto the Landmark Oriental Hotel, which meant valet parking and rampant indulgence. Ruby’s mode of transport, an Audi R5 in panther-black with a pearl finish, would fit right in.

‘Yours?’ he murmured.

‘Was that a question?’ asked Ruby. ‘I thought we’d banned personal questions.’

‘You just asked me one.’

‘I asked about the cost of Christmas gifts for your family. That was business.’

‘No, that’s about as personal as it gets. I, on the other hand, merely questioned whether
this car was yours. It could be a company car. It could be my father’s, though I doubt it. His taste runs to saloons.’

‘It’s mine. I chose it and paid for it myself. Happy now?’

‘Yes. And I heartily approve of your choice of wheels. It almost makes up for your choice of hair accessory. What
is
that thing on your head anyway?’ She’d slipped it on in the car. He’d been staring at it ever since.

‘It’s a headband. It keeps my hair out of my face and what’s more, I guarantee it’ll get us taken seriously when it comes to shopping where we’re shopping. You’ll see.’

‘Ruby, it’s a frothy pink bow on a leopard-skin band.’

‘No, it’s high-end couture. This is serious frou-frou.’

‘I have another question,’ he said.

‘You’re wondering where the money comes from,’ she said. Which he was.

‘Am I really that easy to read?’

‘No, it’s just that it’s the first question everyone asks. Feds, lawyers, strangers … Everyone wants to know if I’m spending my father’s ill-gotten gains. I’m not. The money’s clean. I’m a trust-fund baby, courtesy of my late grandmother.’

‘So you don’t actually
need
to work for my father. I could, in effect, attempt to engage your affections with a clear conscience.’

‘No, you’d still be stricken with guilt—that is, if you
do
guilt. My grandmother was not one to encourage idleness. The trust is set up so that for every dollar I earn it releases two. More if I throw in a good deed or two for charity, which, as luck would have it, I do.’

‘And what would your grandmother have thought of the car?’

‘She’d have
loved
the car,’ said Ruby, and swung out of the car park and into the Hong Kong traffic with a confidence born of insanity. ‘There’s a massage option built into the seat if you feel the need to relax,’ she murmured as she expertly cut her way across three lanes of traffic in order to take the next right.

‘I’m fine,’ he squeaked, but by the time they reached the shopping mall he had renewed his acquaintance with prayer and discovered that Ruby Maguire was either totally fearless, bent on annihilation by way of traffic incident or stark-raving mad.

The shopping centre did nothing to soothe Damon’s already fragile peace of mind. ‘You know what you’re looking for, right?’ he
asked a touch desperately as he glanced up at the waterfall of retail stores rimming the central atrium.

‘No,’ said Ruby cheerfully. ‘I have no idea. That’s why you’re here. You can start by telling me whether your sisters are girly girls when it comes to gifts or more practically inclined? Should I be thinking handbags for Poppy or season tickets to the Royal Ballet? She lives in London, right?’

‘Right. And definitely the tickets. Buying tickets online would mean we wouldn’t necessarily have to go into
any
of these shops. Problem solved.’

‘Or we could put the tickets
in
the handbag,’ murmured Ruby. ‘Or in the pocket of a black velvet evening coat. Do you have her measurements?’ Damon shook his head. Ruby sighed her impatience. ‘C’mon, Damon. Work with me here. Surely a rake of your stature can hazard a decent guess as to dress size? We’re not going to swing tailor-made at this time of year anyway. It’ll have to be ready-to-wear.’

‘In that case, Poppy’s five seven and too slender for her own good. Size ten, Australian.’

‘Thank you. I knew you could do it. What about Lena?’

‘Lena is a little taller and has spent six of the last eight months in a wheelchair. She’s even skinnier than Poppy these days. I hope it doesn’t last.’

‘So … dress size eight? Or ten?’

‘Yes,’ he said and earned himself an eye roll. ‘Ten would be better. Give her something to aspire to.’

‘And what size am I?’

Nice of Ruby to give him permission to study her delectable form. ‘Arms above your head and turn around,’ he directed smoothly.

‘Funny man.’ Ruby’s honey-coloured eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. Damon’s gaze followed. Her waist was tiny but she did have hips. Not to mention a fine rear and full breasts. Her chestnut curls stayed clear of her face, courtesy of the ridiculous headband, and the black leather tote completed her general air of plenty.

Plenty of curves, plenty of attitude and plenty of challenge to be going on with. Damon smiled his appreciation.

‘Somewhere between a size ten and a twelve, Ruby, though I’m guessing most of
your clothes are custom fit. You’ve got that look. How am I doing so far?’

‘You’re a true expert on the female form. Lucky me. Now tell me what kind of clothes your sisters prefer to wear.’

Damon looked warily upwards once again, towards the retail floors filled with shops. They seemed like very spacious shops. Probably not
that
many per floor. ‘Poppy likes layers. Lena hates dresses. Neither of them are into colour.’

‘That’s just sad,’ she murmured. ‘Do they like jewellery?’

‘They have jewellery.’

‘I’m working on the general assumption that they have everything,’ said Ruby dryly. ‘In here, Damon,’ she said, gesturing to the nearest shopfront. ‘No one does neutrals better than the French.’

Bracing himself, Damon followed her inside.

It wasn’t Ruby’s headband that got them exemplary service, decided Damon a few minutes later. It was her attitude. The way she knew not to browse the racks herself but describe what she wanted and then let the assistants fetch the stuff. The way she efficiently sorted the offerings into discards
and items she wanted to consider. There was seating, and Damon availed himself of it. Refreshments, which he declined.

Three saleswomen and one curvaceous general. Two presents to purchase. Five minutes, tops.

He was so wrong.

What kind of maniac put a beige trench coat over what looked like a corseted black baby-doll nightie? Or covered a perfectly serviceable strapless black mini dress with a sheer purple overgown that rippled to the floor?