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Lorelei, a little voice of self-preservation whispered. He’s not interested. He’s seen you at your worst. Nobody wants to be around that...
    She was pulled up short. What was that he’d said about calling him Nash?
    ‘Tell me, Ms St James, have you eaten?’
    Suddenly they seemed to be standing so close. Certainly too close for her to think clearly. His blue eyes moved broodingly over her. Lorelei could feel her body actually quivering in response.
    ‘Are you offering to feed me, Mr Blue?’
    A look of amusement flickered unmistakably in those intense blue eyes. ‘It would seem that way.’ He indicated the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’
    Fortunately the answer to that question was always there, even as she scrambled to process the fact he was asking her to lunch with him.
    He murmured, ‘Champagne cocktail,’ to the bartender and then quite casually slid his broad hand around her bare elbow.
    His touch sent a shiver through her erogenous zones and Lorelei found she was wobbling a little on her heels as he began to walk her out of the bar.
    ‘Should I ask where we’re going?’ Was that appallingly breathless sound her own voice?
    His mouth twitched. ‘Why ruin the surprise?’
    It was silly to feel trepidatious but their history had been a little rocky today, and that hand on her elbow was a tad possessive for their short acquaintance. He was a take-charge guy, but she was a little apprehensive about what form that might take. She told herself not to be silly. After all, he was hardly going to throw her into a river with crocodiles. Was he? She’d scratched a car he clearly valued, and she’d apologised for that. Had she apologised?
    Lorelei glanced up at him. He wasn’t smiling, but she had yet to see him smile. Other guests and patrons were staring at them but Nash appeared oblivious. Simone’s phrase... a rock star of the racing world... bumped into her consciousness. She was with a famous man. She guessed he was used to being stared at. Except the Hotel de Paris wasn’t a place people usually stared...
    For the first time in her life Lorelei realised she wasn’t the main event.
    The man she was with was.
    He led her into the Jardin restaurant. It was impossible just to walk in and get a table—she’d tried once or twice before—but Nash did just that. As he seated her at the best table on the terrace, with the Mediterranean as a backdrop, her cocktail arrived. Hand delivered by the bartender.
    This was a new experience.
    ‘Merci,’ she murmured.
    A menu was placed into her hands and a waiter hovered as Nash chose the wine.
    French sparkling.
    How did he know?
    Lorelei glanced at her cocktail and smiled a little at her own foolishness.
    Mon Dieu, she was being positively girlish. Anyone would think she’d never sat down across from...a rock star.
    She met those intense blue eyes and time trickled to a stop. She knew that look in his eyes. He hadn’t looked at her that way when she’d been playing out her theatrics this morning—or perhaps she’d been too self-absorbed to notice.
    No, she would have noticed this.
    He was looking at her as if she was worth his time.
    A flutter of feminine satisfaction winged through her chest even as her ego reminded her she was worth any man’s time.
    But this man wasn’t any man, and he was interested and making no secret of it.
    She felt hot and tingly and aware of her body in ways she hadn’t been in such a long time.
    Then she remembered what Simone had said about him being a player and she stood on the brakes. She lifted the menu.
    ‘Did you plan to have lunch with the charity’s representative, Mr Blue?’ she enquired, pleased that her voice continued to be cool and play-by-my-rules.
    ‘It’s Nash.’ His voice was low and lazy, ‘And no, Lori, it wasn’t on the programme.’
    ‘It’s Lorelei.’ She didn’t lift her eyes from the menu she was pretending to read. ‘And I wouldn’t want to hold up your important day.’
    There was a pause