All He Wants For Christmas...: Flirting With Intent / Blame it on the Bikini / Restless. Kelly Hunter
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