himself a stern talking-to? Hadn’t he learned his lesson with Caroline?
Lessons, plural, he reminded himself now. Thanks to his ill-fated affair with Caroline, he’d learned not to get involved with women who were even loosely involved in the fashion industry, and certainly not one with whom he worked. His own personal assistant would be even worse.
He’d also learned that it was probably wise to avoid any sort of romantic attachment to American women altogether. Especially when he was trying to get Ashdown Abbey firmly established here in the States. And when his father was breathing down his neck about the delay in that success.
For those reasons and probably hundreds more, Lillian needed to remain off-limits. He couldn’t deny that he would enjoy a quick, lusty romp with her. No warm-blooded male could without being accused of lying through his teeth.
But better to lie on a too-short, too-narrow cot in the middle of the sitting room, picturing Lillian on the other side of the bedroom door, than to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life.
No amount of pleasure was worth the destruction crossing that line could bring. Or so he tried to convince himself.
“It’s no problem, truly,” he told her, wanting to move things away from the hazardous territory his thoughts were treading upon.
Not giving her a chance to protest further, he grabbed her bags and carted them into the other room, setting them at the foot of the bed. When he turned, she was behind him, watching his every move.
“Go ahead and unpack, settle in. I’ll call down for a cot and ask them to have it delivered by nightfall. In the meantime, I have a business dinner at seven o’clock with the head of one of our most important accounts. I’d like you to come along, if you’re feeling up to it.”
After a short pause in which she didn’t respond, he added, “I’ll understand if you’re tired from the flight and would prefer to stay in.”
“No,” she responded quickly, straightening in the doorway. “I’d love to go.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Excellent. I’ll leave you to freshen up and get ready. We’ll leave in an hour, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
They both started forward at the same time, she toward her luggage and he toward the bedroom door. Their arms brushed as they passed one another, a jolt of electricity, awareness, summer heat pouring through him. It made him catch his breath, swallow hard and wonder if she was suffering the same disturbing effect...or if he was the only one doomed to spend the weekend drenched in sexual frustrations thicker than the Miami heat.
Eight
D inner their first night in Miami. Breakfast in the room—but set out so beautifully and served so elegantly that they might as well have been at a five-star restaurant. A business luncheon. And then, the evening before the Saturday morning fashion show, a cocktail party where a handful of those involved in the show—designers, buyers, planners, executives—could rub elbows and size up the competition in a friendly, noncompetitive atmosphere.
Lily had known the schedule ahead of time, but hadn’t realized how busy or rushed it would actually be.
True to his word, Nigel slept on a cot in the middle of the sitting room of the luxury suite. The roll-away bed looked completely out of place and—to Lily, at least—flashed like a giant neon sign that spelled G-U-I-L-T every time she laid eyes on it.
She didn’t have any other ideas or a better solution to their awkward one bed/two bodies predicament, but it still wasn’t right that she’d kicked him out of the bedroom of his very own suite.
Guiltiness aside, however, she had to admit she was more than a little relieved to have a door to close and a separate room to escape to each time they returned from yet another business-related outing.
She didn’t fear for her safety, exactly—at least not physically. She feared for her sanity and her best intentions.
The longer she was
Lessons, plural, he reminded himself now. Thanks to his ill-fated affair with Caroline, he’d learned not to get involved with women who were even loosely involved in the fashion industry, and certainly not one with whom he worked. His own personal assistant would be even worse.
He’d also learned that it was probably wise to avoid any sort of romantic attachment to American women altogether. Especially when he was trying to get Ashdown Abbey firmly established here in the States. And when his father was breathing down his neck about the delay in that success.
For those reasons and probably hundreds more, Lillian needed to remain off-limits. He couldn’t deny that he would enjoy a quick, lusty romp with her. No warm-blooded male could without being accused of lying through his teeth.
But better to lie on a too-short, too-narrow cot in the middle of the sitting room, picturing Lillian on the other side of the bedroom door, than to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life.
No amount of pleasure was worth the destruction crossing that line could bring. Or so he tried to convince himself.
“It’s no problem, truly,” he told her, wanting to move things away from the hazardous territory his thoughts were treading upon.
Not giving her a chance to protest further, he grabbed her bags and carted them into the other room, setting them at the foot of the bed. When he turned, she was behind him, watching his every move.
“Go ahead and unpack, settle in. I’ll call down for a cot and ask them to have it delivered by nightfall. In the meantime, I have a business dinner at seven o’clock with the head of one of our most important accounts. I’d like you to come along, if you’re feeling up to it.”
After a short pause in which she didn’t respond, he added, “I’ll understand if you’re tired from the flight and would prefer to stay in.”
“No,” she responded quickly, straightening in the doorway. “I’d love to go.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Excellent. I’ll leave you to freshen up and get ready. We’ll leave in an hour, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
They both started forward at the same time, she toward her luggage and he toward the bedroom door. Their arms brushed as they passed one another, a jolt of electricity, awareness, summer heat pouring through him. It made him catch his breath, swallow hard and wonder if she was suffering the same disturbing effect...or if he was the only one doomed to spend the weekend drenched in sexual frustrations thicker than the Miami heat.
Eight
D inner their first night in Miami. Breakfast in the room—but set out so beautifully and served so elegantly that they might as well have been at a five-star restaurant. A business luncheon. And then, the evening before the Saturday morning fashion show, a cocktail party where a handful of those involved in the show—designers, buyers, planners, executives—could rub elbows and size up the competition in a friendly, noncompetitive atmosphere.
Lily had known the schedule ahead of time, but hadn’t realized how busy or rushed it would actually be.
True to his word, Nigel slept on a cot in the middle of the sitting room of the luxury suite. The roll-away bed looked completely out of place and—to Lily, at least—flashed like a giant neon sign that spelled G-U-I-L-T every time she laid eyes on it.
She didn’t have any other ideas or a better solution to their awkward one bed/two bodies predicament, but it still wasn’t right that she’d kicked him out of the bedroom of his very own suite.
Guiltiness aside, however, she had to admit she was more than a little relieved to have a door to close and a separate room to escape to each time they returned from yet another business-related outing.
She didn’t fear for her safety, exactly—at least not physically. She feared for her sanity and her best intentions.
The longer she was
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