“That’s all.” He didn’t move, focused instead on looking like he was telling the truth. He was. It was a rather unsettling feeling, to be in a situation where his authenticity and his honesty mattered more than his ability to make money, throw it around, or to deceive people. It mattered more to him very much that she understood he was giving her this tip, because he wanted to with every atom in his being.
Something must’ve worked. He wished he knew what, because that ability to appear honest was right now more valuable to him than an insider trading stock tip. Her body relaxed. “I apologize. Very frequently, clients assume that because of the nature of my work, I am also for sale.”
He didn’t want to buy her. He wanted to seduce her, to tempt her into eating out of his hand. But one thing at a time. “I understand,” he said. “I have no intention of trying to buy you.”
She took the money back into the drawer and locked it again. “What brings you by, Mr. Hamilton?”
“You’re very diplomatic. Is that because you’re French?” he asked, willing to do anything to get her talking about herself.
“I’m diplomatic because I make my living selling extraordinarily expensive couture lingerie to people with the money to purchase it. People with that much money are accustomed to getting what they want, when they want it, and hearing what they want to hear while they’re getting what they want.”
“Ouch,” he said mildly. Hands still firmly shoved in his pockets, he braced himself against the counter.
“It’s not meant as a criticism,” she said. “It’s simply the way the business works.”
He flicked her a glance from under his lashes. “So you’re playing a role,” he said. “In today’s production, the role of the wealthy spoiled customer will be played by Mr. Ryan Hamilton and the role of the subservient accommodating modiste will be played by Simone . . .” He looked at her. “How do you pronounce your last name?”
“Demarchelier.”
He tried to copy her, with the end result of sounding like he was talking through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, then shook his head. “I took Spanish in school. Come again?”
Apparently amused by his willingness to make a fool of himself, she said her name again. He tried once more, with slightly better results the second time around. “See what I mean? Even now, you’re accommodating me.”
“Would you like me to stop?” she asked, then immediately looked like she regretted it.
The heavy summer sunlight glinted off the silver walls, gilding her hair with silver. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said. “I have a feeling that being accommodating is a bit of an effort for you.”
Laughter flickered in her eyes, but she remained calm, even serene. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done in the short time we’ve known each other to make you think I’m anything less than always accommodating.”
“It’s the red hair,” he said. “In my experience there is always some fire to a redhead.”
“If there’s any truth to that generalization, it’s because we’ve been teased for being redheads for most of our lives. Eventually, we get tired of being teased, and we fight back.”
“Were you teased for being a redhead?”
“Not for long,” she said. This time the room’s silver light vibrated like the steel in her backbone, and Christ, he wanted her. The air between them quivered like a rung bell, and a deep flush swallowed the freckles on her throat and cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as she tidied the tissue paper stacked behind the counter. “I’m sure you have many things to do this afternoon. How can I help you?”
“And there you are, being accommodating again.”
“You’re a client,” she said quietly.
“What if I want to be more than a client?”
He saw her startle. It was a tiny reaction, the slightest hesitation in her graceful movement as she put the money back in the desk.
“I’m flattered,” she began.
He cut her off. “No, you’re not. You’re not the kind of woman who deals in flattery. You’re either interested or you’re not interested. I think you’re interested.”
“What would your girlfriend think about this?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” She was using him as an introduction into the rarefied social circle of the one percent. He was fine with that. What wasn’t sitting as well, what made him wish he could reach into his pocket and take two antacid tablets, was that he was using Simone, and not in the usual way.
“She’d like to be.”
He shrugged. “Trust me, she’s forgotten all about me.”
“It’s over already?”
He shrugged again. With her, he could be quiet, not put on the show that grew brighter and hotter and louder and wilder with every day that passed.
“Who got bored?”
“She did,” he said, telling the truth. Jade needed a man enthralled by her face, her body, the way she wore lingerie. It fed her ego, and enthralled men spent more money to keep what they bought. Right now Ryan was too strung out to be enthralled enough for her.
Simone studied him for a moment. “I think you could use a beer.”