“No sane man could refuse that offer, Ian,” LaGrange finally conceded, raising his champagne flute for a toast. “So here’s to your new company.”
Ian’s smile seemed a little strained as Francesca joined them in the toast. “Lin Soong delivered all the necessaries to my penthouse this evening. We can go there for a nightcap following dinner and take care of all the paperwork.”
Talk turned to more mundane matters. LaGrange encouraged Francesca to talk about her artwork and school, which she did so more ebulliently than usual, likely due to the champagne. Ian gave her a gleaming sideways glance when the waiter poured her a third glass, but she determinedly ignored his subtle warning for propriety. Instead, she heartily agreed with LaGrange when he suggested they get another bottle.
Halfway through her delicious entrée of wild black bass, she felt an imperative need to attend the ladies’ room. She excused herself and started to push back her chair. Ian stood and pulled it back for her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. He blinked when she started to remove the cover-up. “I’m a little warm,” she explained breathlessly.
He really had no other choice but to help her remove it, but she noticed the stiffness of his jaw. She grabbed her clutch and headed in search of the ladies’ room, both embarrassed and thrilled by the number of heads that turned her way as she progressed across the dining room. She prayed Ian’s eyes were on her as well. The attention she was getting was more intoxicating than the champagne.
Was this the type of thing that beautiful women experienced on a daily basis? Incredible, she thought, as she smiled at a man in his forties who was staring at her, and he tripped, ruffling his female companion when he grabbed for her arm to steady himself.
LaGrange looked highly amused when she returned to the table and Ian stood to seat her. “I expect you bring traffic to a halt on a regular basis, Francesca?” he murmured, holding her stare over the rim of his champagne glass.
“Never,” she replied with sincere cheerfulness. “Except for once—I tripped in the middle of Michigan Avenue after running a mini-marathon and getting a bad cramp.”
LaGrange laughed as if she were being delightfully coy. He wasn’t so bad was he, really? Ian was being too harsh. She grinned back at him, glancing sideways at Ian. Her smile faded when she noticed the subdued flash in Ian’s eyes that always reminded her of heat lightning—the signal of an approaching storm.
The rest of the dinner passed by in a sensual whirl of delicious food, Swarovski crystal, LaGrange’s admiring glances and flirtations—Ian’s dark, intense sexuality simmering next to her all the while . . . building . . . coiling tight. She laughed a good deal more than she should have, and did the same drinking champagne and taking pleasure in the admiring glances of Xander LaGrange and many of the other men in the restaurant. She was exquisitely attuned to Ian as the three of them chatted, and somehow knew he was just as aware of her. She relished in the knowledge that she held a man like Ian Noble fast on the hook of the intoxicating power of her sexuality.
When she backed up her chair a tad as they sipped coffee later, she realized the tight dress had ridden up on her thighs, revealing the lacy top of one of her thigh-highs. She saw Ian’s hand pause as he reached for his coffee cup and felt his gaze on her lap.
Stunned by her daring, she slipped a finger beneath the lace of the thigh-high, stroking the soft skin in a slow, sensual, in-and-out fucking motion. Risking an innocent glance at Ian’s face, she saw a barely contained inferno blazing in his blue eyes.
She swallowed thickly and lowered her dress, feeling scorched by his stare.
* * *
Ian was quiet where he sat next to her in the back of the limo on the return to the penthouse. She strained to keep up the conversation, hoping LaGrange didn’t take Ian’s silence for surliness. Hadn’t Ian asked her to attend this business dinner to charm LaGrange, to soften him up a bit for the final negotiations? Well, she’d done it, hadn’t she? LaGrange had appeared to have a wonderful time at dinner, and he seemed all too ready and willing to sign on the dotted line now.
LaGrange proved a little too ready and willing, however, as he shouldered Jacob aside and helped her out of the limo when they reached Ian’s. His hand dropped to cup her hip as she alighted, then lowered to stroke her ass. Francesca started and immediately moved away, repelled by the man’s touch. She recoiled internally when she glanced back and saw the icy gleam in Ian’s eyes as he got out of the limo.
Crap. He’d noticed.
She was quiet on the elevator ride up to Ian’s penthouse. The intoxicating effect of the champagne was waning, and she suddenly felt the full weight of her foolish behavior that evening. Ian was polite but quiet—perhaps furious with her, it was always hard to tell with his stoic expression—while LaGrange continued on with his pointless banter, apparently clueless as to Ian’s thundercloud mood and Francesca’s flattened, suddenly regretful one.
“I’ll just leave you two to finish your business,” Francesca said when they reached the entry to the penthouse. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Xander.”
LaGrange took her hand and held it between both of his. “No, you must come with us for a nightcap. I insist.”
“I insist I can’t,” she said, her manner friendly but equally firm. “I have a big day tomorrow at school. Good night,” she said, edging in the direction of Ian’s bedroom suite. She suddenly was wild to get out of this dress.
“But no, that’s—”