Page 27 of The Charmer

He chuckled. “So you’re fixated on my behind too, huh?”

Shooting him a glare that could melt wax, the scorching glance he fired right back surprised her. Thankfully, they were stopped at traffic lights, otherwise the heat they created with that one locked stare could’ve made him ram a light pole.

With a superior smile, she said, “The way I observed your body was purely professional. Anything else you imagine you saw is pure speculation on your part. Incorrect speculation I might add.”

He laughed and refocussed on the road as the lights changed to green, his deep, rich laughter rolling over her like low-lying clouds on a sultry summer’s day. “Come on, Ariel, admit it. You want my body.”

“I want your head on a platter, preferably with an apple stuffed in that big mouth of yours.”

To her annoyance, heat crawled under her skin, setting her nerve endings alight with longing.

He was right, damn him.

She did want his body.

Looking-but-not-touching had driven her slowly but surely mad over the last two weeks. The more time they spent together, the more quips they traded, the more they laughed, she knew it wasn’t just his magnificent body she wanted.

His mind attracted her too.

The same mind that is busily hatching plots to snatch the gallery and your life away from you.

How gullible could she be?

“On that note, we’re here,” he said, pulling into a long, tree-lined driveway boasting enough expensive vehicles to keep car thieves rolling in wealth until the next century.

Men in prim, black uniforms rushed about like hyperactive penguins, opening car doors, taking keys, and keeping the long line of vehicles moving at a steady pace past the imposing double doors at the front of the house, thrown open to let light from a crystal chandelier spill onto the marble tiled entry porch.

Ariel unconsciously reached for a curl to twist around her finger, forgetting she’d piled most of them on top of her head in a poor imitation of a posh up-do.

This place made her feel gauche.

From the ostentatious cream-rendered, double storey house that sprawled across the large block, the flood-lit tennis court she glimpsed behind the house to the right, and the hand-trimmed topiary trees that looked like a real, live zoo leading up to the entrance, every self-preserving instinct told Ariel to make a run for it.

People who lived in places like this, who drove cars like the ones lining the drive, who attended parties like this, meant one thing to her.

Trouble.

She’d battled the prejudices of rich people her entire life and despite how far she’d come, she hated the feelings evoked as they looked down their aristocratic noses at the scruffy, weird artist like she hadn’t risen out of the gutter far enough.

She didn’t think she had a hang-up about her past but whenever she got within two feet of a patronising snob, all her old insecurities rushed back and left her feeling inadequate.

“What’s wrong?” Cooper had put the car into Park mode and turned to face her, a frown lining his forehead.

“This isn’t my scene.”

Her hand fluttered to her face, searching for that elusive curl to twirl in comfort and coming up empty again.

Great, the one time that lousy curl behaved itself and actually stayed tucked up and off her face she had the urge to rip it down and twist it around and around her finger.

“Consider it part of your job,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “This is networking at its best, where you get to scope out potential customers, feed them what they want to hear, and promote your business. And if all else fails, fall back on the old standard.”

“What’s that?”

“Picture the lot of them naked.”

She managed a tight smile, grateful for his presence and the support he offered. It would’ve been much harder to attend this soiree alone, yet with Cooper, one of their own, she could blend into the background without too much difficulty.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a fixation for the naked human form?”

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