That throwaway observation meant that he didn’t recognise me from our encounter in the Bull’s palace all those years before. It had lasted only a few seconds so that wasn’t completely surprising but it meant that, despite my white hair and eye colour, he hadn’t connected me to my father. He’d pegged me as one of the lower-class Sidhe, probably from a minor Clan. My chances of success had just quadrupled.
‘I don’t get out much,’ I told him. Then I crossed my legs. It was deliberately calculated body language to give off the vibe that I wasn’t interested. ‘Hard to get’ would win the day.
Byron beckoned the bartender, who’d finished serving the annoying Cockney. He gave a deferential bob of his head and poured him a neat whisky without asking what he’d like. I guessed that this wasn’t Byron’s first evening here. And he probably took a different girl home with him every night. As long as I was that girl tonight, nothing else mattered.
‘One for the lady too,’ he purred. ‘But make it the really good stuff.’
Shite. ‘I’m good with what I have.’
‘I’m sure it’s nice. I happen to know, however, that there are wonderful vintage bottles in the cellar. They only bring them out on special occasions.’
The last thing I wanted was for the bartender to pop a cork right in front of us. ‘Well,’ I said lightly, ‘this occasion isn’t that special.’
Byron’s eyebrows shot up. ‘In that dress? I’d say it was very special.’
Watch it, I thought. You’re verging on sleazy now. ‘I’m not wearing this because I’m looking for attention,’ I said, coolly. ‘I’m wearing it because I like it.’
His eyes glittered. ‘You like hot pink?’ he asked, emphasizing the word ‘hot’ so it was laden with innuendo.
‘I do,’ I replied, irritation flashing down my spine.
Byron appeared amused. ‘Then make that bottle pink champagne, Timothy,’ he instructed the bartender, who nodded again and walked off, no doubt to the famed cellar. So much for my bribe then. I had to admit, though, that it was interesting Byron had taken the time to learn the man’s name. I hadn’t.
If I protested any more, I’d end up going too far. Beaten for now – at least in the alcoholic stakes – I caved. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
His eyes held mine. ‘You can thank me later.’
I shivered. ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘I’ll thank you now.’
Byron threw back his head and laughed. ‘Very well. Thank me by telling me your name.’
I turned back towards him, deliberately relaxing my posture as if I were warming to him. Which I most definitely wasn’t. He was a wanker who’d once treated me as if I were a piece of dirt. He’d called me pathetic. Well, I wasn’t so pathetic now. I was going to wrap him round my little finger, take from him exactly what I wanted, and then never, ever see him again. ‘What would you like it to be?’
He reached out and placed his hand on my bare arm. His touch seared my skin and, involuntarily, I jerked away. That wasn’t in the script. ‘Tell me,’ he repeated.
I hadn’t had a name when he knew of me before and the best lies are those that are wrapped around the truth. Deciding it wouldn’t do any harm, I told the truth. ‘Integrity.’
‘Interesting name.’ He leaned forward. ‘So, Integrity, do you live up to it? Are you honest and morally upright?’
‘If I wasn’t, would I admit it?’ I asked. Both of us were amping up the flirtation. It was faster than I’d have liked but I had to follow his lead. I had to make sure I didn’t screw this up.
He laughed again. ‘I guess not.’ He reached out again, this time taking my hands. I managed not to flinch. His thumb stroked the centre of my palm in a manner that was too familiar for someone I’d just met. Damn, but he was good. ‘You have very soft skin,’ he told me.
‘Actually, I have eczema all over my chest,’ I said with a straight face.
For the first time he appeared taken aback. ‘Really? That’s awful.’
‘Yes.’ I cast my eyes down and tried to look sad. ‘I have a cracking pair of tits.’
For a horrifying heartbeat I thought I’d completely misjudged the moment. Then Byron’s eyes crinkled and he laughed again. Without taking his eyes off my face, he purred, ‘I can’t disagree with that.’
I winked saucily just as Timothy returned with the bottle. Without so much as a flicker of apology for breaking our earlier deal, he presented the label to me. I swallowed. That was seriously expensive stuff. I gave a tiny nod – what else could I do – and he pulled out the cork in an expert motion. Without spilling a drop, he filled my glass.
I murmured my thanks and sipped. Although champagne wasn’t my usual tipple, this was damned good. ‘Aren’t you having any?’ I asked.
‘I’m more of a Scotch man myself.’ His eyes danced. ‘Even if whisky does make me frisky.’
I sucked in a breath. I opened my mouth to match his comment with one of my own when one of the other giggly Sidhe girls elbowed her way between us. ‘Your highness!’ she cooed. ‘Why don’t you come back and join us?’