8

"Your phone call this morning made it clear you expected me to be here promptly at five o’clock, whether it was convenient or otherwise," she reminded him with barely concealed impatience.

"Indeed" Simon stood up and moved slowly round his desk to lean back against it as he looked down at her between narrowed lids. "And the fact that you are here would seem to imply that you were no happier than I was on Saturday at the possibility of having a slur cast upon your reputation?" 

A frown appeared on that smooth alabaster brow. "That’s hardly a fair comparison, Mr Hamilton, when the threats you made to me this morning were in regard to my professional reputation, not my personal one." 

"I believe the saying is 'payback can be a bitch'?" He gave an unrepentant shrug. This woman had wilfully—deliberately!—played with him on Saturday evening by not revealing her true identity, insulted him to his face and no doubt was highly amused at his expense because of it.

Simon had thought about it long and hard over the weekend, finally deciding that if Sara McCall wanted to play games then he was happy to oblige her. With that in mind he had phoned her office himself that morning and demanded to speak to her personally. After a short delay there had been a more or less one-sided conversation during which Simon had informed her that there would be no more canceled appointments. If she didn’t want him to tell anyone and everyone who cared to listen just how unreliable he had found her professional services she would come at five.

Her only answer had been to end the call abruptly, causing Simon to chuckle wryly as he slowly placed his phone down on his desk. Nevertheless, he had been sure that Sara would be here at five o’clock. He knew that she was now aware that it was well within his power to seriously damage her professional reputation if he chose to do so.

"You’re unusually quiet today," he remarked, lifting his dark brows mockingly. "That is so unlike you. You usually have a lot to say… I've observed," 

Oh, Sara had plenty she wanted to say to this man. She was just erring on the side of caution—for the moment. She had realized after leaving Senator Ashcroft’s cocktail party on Saturday that it probably hadn’t been a wise move on her part to antagonize a man as powerful as Simon Hamilton. Yeah, her brother was influential as well, but she was trying to grow her own business and doing something like that was unwise. Unwise and a little childish, she now accepted reproachfully. As if it would really matter to a man as powerful as Simon Hamilton if some little interior designer chose to snub him!

Except, having met her on Saturday evening, it obviously did matter to him. It didn’t help, having duly arrived at Hamilton Tower at five o’clock, that Sara was now totally aware of the way in which Simon Hamilton managed to exude a predatory air—despite the expensive elegance of his tailored dark gray suit and paler gray silk shirt, with matching tie knotted meticulously at his throat.

"Did you and Mark Forbes enjoy your late dinner on Saturday evening?" he prompted softly.

Sara's mouth tightened at this reminder of the time she and Mark had spent together at an Italian restaurant after leaving the Senator’s party. Several hours during which she had desperately tried to dredge up some of her former approval of Mark as an IVF donor, only to find that, rather than appreciating Mark's healthy good looks, she was comparing them to the hard and chiseled features of the man now standing in front of her. A man she wouldn’t even consider putting on a shortlist of potential donors for her baby.

Oh, Simon Hamilton was definitely handsome, and obviously he was healthy and intelligent, but that was where all suitability as the possible father of her child ended. Also, a man as powerful as Simon would never agree to clinically, calculatedly father a child by donating his sperm for IVF.

In fact her experience with Mark now made her wonder if it might not be better to opt for an anonymous donor after all. In the meantime, she had to cope with knowing she was physically responsive to Simon in a way she hadn’t experienced in the years since her engagement ended—if ever!

 Sara had been convinced—with the experience of her disastrous relationship behind her, that she was destined to be the one woman who wouldn’t ever be stupid enough to fall under the sensual spell of any man, especially when all he had to offer were charm and charismatic good-looks.

Which only went to prove what an arrogant fool she had been.

Because Sara now knew she only had to be in the same room as Simon Hamilton to be aware of every single thing about him. She could feel the tug of that desire even now, causing her hands to tremble slightly, her breasts to feel hot and swollen, and a dampness between her thighs. She could see the same desire reflected towards her in the warmth of those dark green eyes. It was a physical attunement that seemed to make the very air between them crackle and dance.

"It was fine," Sara dismissed abruptly. "Now, if we could—" 

"Have you and Mark been together long?" 

Sara frowned slightly. "I’m not sure that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t “been together” at all." 

Sara had gently but firmly refused Mark's suggestion, before they parted on Saturday evening, that the two of them might go out together again this week, having lost all interest in him with regard to approaching him about IVF.

Simon raised questioning brows. "Yet…?" 

"Really, Mr Hamilton—" 

"Simon." 

"Simon." She gave a brief, meaningless smile of acknowledgement. "I really didn’t come here to discuss my personal life with you—so if we could we just get down to business?" 

Simon settled more comfortably against the front of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. He considered Sara with narrowed but appreciative eyes. Her features really were extremely delicate: those beautiful brown eyes, high cheekbones, slender jaw, those full and sensuous lips glossed a deep peach today.