The Wealthy Man's Waitress. Maggie CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
fair brow jutted towards his hairline. ‘You’re telling me you didn’t sleep with him?’
Emma sighed and took a careful sip of the dark red wine that Lorenzo had poured out for her. Her tastebuds barely registered the smouldering burst of grape on her tongue. ‘Look, where is this leading? I hardly know you and yet you sit there expecting me to discuss my private life with you as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I’m glad you decided to help your son, Mr Redfield, but as far as he and I are concerned, I don’t actually care if I never set eyes on him again!’
‘So he gave you a hard time when you told him I wasn’t going to help?’ Raking his fingers through his dark blond hair, Piers sat back in his seat and shook his head. ‘That figures.’
‘Look, I really should get back to work.’
‘Stay right where you are.’ Emma suddenly found she had his undivided attention again. Heat ignited in his eyes with all the impact of a dazzling white flare against a coal-black sky, and an answering shiver zigzagged down her spine. ‘We’re supposed to be engaged, remember? You don’t want Lorenzo over there to think we’ve had another fight, do you?’
‘I don’t care what he thinks, considering this whole thing is a complete farce!’
‘I want to see you again.’
‘Why… For what reason?’
‘Because you intrigue me. Isn’t that reason enough?’
She’d never had a man tell her that she intrigued him before and the fact that Piers Redfield—who was generally regarded as a phenomenon himself—said so was more than a little difficult to take in. Try impossible. Emma could only draw the conclusion that he must be up to something…but what?
‘So, you’re intrigued by waitresses? With some men it’s lap dancers or nurses but obviously you—’
‘Emma.’
The soft yet steely command in his voice stopped her dead. Her heart started to race again and she wished her face wouldn’t burn so. ‘What?’
‘I don’t have a fetish for waitresses. Though I’d be lying if I said you didn’t look extremely sexy in that tight black skirt.’
In fact Piers had never seen another woman look half so good in a tight black skirt. Emma was slender but her figure was definitely hourglass-shaped and her fitted clothes showed just how delectable that shape was. Now she was blushing again and Piers sensed his attraction deepening. Surely she was used to men paying her compliments all the time? But there was nothing coy about her response. She merely looked flustered and uncertain, like a young girl out on her first proper date.
She’s too young for you, urged the voice of reason. But Piers was in too deep to pay much attention to it. He was only forty-two, for God’s sake! Nowhere near a mid-life crisis or anything as dull as that, and he didn’t particularly lust after younger women. He’d dated plenty of women his own age and older. He simply enjoyed the company of beautiful women. In his career he’d met many, but he’d never yet met one who intrigued him enough to make that relationship permanent. As far as he was concerned, marriage was out. Been there, tried that and, apart from a few short months when Lawrence was a baby and he and Naomi had felt like a real family instead of two angry people who merely tolerated each other, Piers had hated it. Freedom was far preferable in his opinion.
‘It’s not tight, it’s fitted, and I’m not pursuing this pointless conversation with you any longer. I’ve got to get back to work. We’re already a girl short tonight and you can see that we’re busy.’ Getting to her feet, Emma threw Piers a last flustered look and walked away.
‘Damn.’ Piers’s male friends envied the ease at which women seemed to fall over themselves to get to know him, but somehow tonight it seemed his famed ability had vanished. He was left in no doubt that he’d failed to impress or attract Emma Robards. Signalling a passing young waiter, Piers paid his bill, collected his coat and walked back out into the cold, wintry night, not caring that the rain showed no mercy as it pelted him hell for leather as he walked.
‘Why did that man tell Lorenzo you and he were engaged if you’re not?’ Cradling her much-needed cup of coffee, Liz Morrison sat across the cleared table from Emma in the now empty restaurant, endeavouring to get to the bottom of the most surprising thing that had happened all evening.
‘Oh, he was just playing stupid games.’ Emma shrugged, momentarily shielding her expression behind her own coffee-cup. I’m not playing, he’d said, but clearly he’d lied. She really had no idea why he’d taken the trouble to come to the bistro and find her and nor did she buy the reason he had given—that he was somehow ‘intrigued’ by her. So ‘playing stupid games’ was all her befuddled brain could come up with.
‘He was rather gorgeous all the same. When Lorenzo came into the kitchen and told me I sneaked a look while you weren’t looking. Where did you meet him?’ Liz asked conversationally. But behind her employer’s deceptively casual tone, Emma knew there was a wealth of curiosity just bursting to get out. Liz was always trying to fix Emma up with some suitable male or other but was continually frustrated by the younger woman’s inexplicable lack of interest.
‘Oh, he’s a friend of a friend.’ Hoping to brush him off as just that, Emma prayed they could now change the subject. Piers Redfield’s name and presence had simply dominated her day too much. It was time to get back to reality. Not always easy, but at least it was a devil she knew.
‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’
‘Liz!’ Aghast, Emma stared at the other woman as if she had just confessed to some heinous crime.
‘You know very well I love Adam, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another man’s good looks, does it? And your friend of a friend was certainly worth taking a second look at. Loved the suit too. Bet that cost a pretty penny.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Emma! You’re a beautiful young woman and you’ve got about as much interest in the opposite sex as somebody who’s gay!’ Her hazel eyes suddenly narrowing, Liz lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘You’re not gay, are you, darling?’
‘No!’ Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Emma put down her coffee-cup and licked the cream from her top lip. ‘I can assure you I’m not gay.’ It was the second reference to her sexual proclivities that day—first Lawrence’s hurtful jibe, now her friend’s concerned probe. So what if she didn’t have a relationship? Why did everyone seem to believe that coupledom was the only important choice in life? Couldn’t they see that most people’s relationships fell apart on a regular basis? Who needed the grief? All she had to do was remember how heartbroken her mother had been when Emma’s father had walked out on them when Emma was only nine. She’d never really recovered and they’d never set eyes on him again. They’d heard from a friend of his who’d come around to the house once that he’d emigrated to Australia soon after the divorce he’d insisted on, but after that…nothing. He never even kept in touch with his own mother—Emma’s beloved Gran. He’d obviously wiped out the memory of his previous life with heartless precision and had disowned them both. So who needed a man? Certainly not Emma—not right now, and probably not ever.
But just as she reaffirmed her decision to remain single to herself, an uncalled-for recollection of Piers Redfield’s crystalline blue eyes sliding hotly down her body brought a flush of warmth to parts of her anatomy that hadn’t experienced that sensation in a very long time…
‘Men are a hassle. I have enough to deal with without getting screwed up by some relationship. Stop worrying about me, Liz. I’m really quite happy in my single state.’
‘So tell me a bit more about the guy who came in earlier.’
Smiling in spite of her exasperation at Liz’s tenacity where Piers Redfield was concerned, Emma got up, pushed her chair into the table, and went to collect her coat from the nearby