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  He’d listened with a kind of disembodied disbelief as they’d outlined the charges and had realised he’d been framed, used as a scapegoat.

  But that hadn’t been the worst of it...

  ‘Hello?’

  He jerked back, almost toppling off the top step as the husky, familiar tone slapped him dead centre in his chest.

  ‘Hey, Lola.’

  There was a long silence, during which Connor wondered if he’d imagined hearing her voice, but then she spoke. ‘Connor? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was passing. Thought maybe I could buy you lunch.’

  Another silence, during which Connor started to question the wisdom of what he was doing. What the hell was happening to him that he found himself this attracted to a woman that he’d act so out of character? Okay, so it wasn’t the first time he’d actually pursued a woman he liked, but this?

  Was this bordering on stalker-ish?

  Maybe his wanting to find out more about her had something to do with those layers. Her intriguing blend of assertiveness, strength, hesitancy, and doubt. It was an explosive mix in a woman, and it fascinated the hell out of him.

  ‘How did you know where I lived?’

  He jolted as her question drew him from his reverie. ‘Heard you tell the taxi driver last night,’ he said, more than a tad embarrassed at the admission.

  Yet more silence. ‘Give me five minutes.’

  Turning, he sat on the stone step, both anticipating seeing her again and wondering what in God’s name he was doing. He should have left it. Should have enjoyed their one night of great sex. Moved on.

  She arrived faster than he’d anticipated, considering that a woman’s five minutes could often stretch to infinity.

  The door opened and he stood, turning to face her. She wore a white tee with a red diagonal flash across her breasts that announced Forever Fit in script lettering, and a snazzy pair of leggings that looked as if she’d poured herself into them. Her hair, all that glorious hair, was pulled back and up into a kind of messy bun.

  She had a battered holdall flung over her shoulders.

  Connor raised his eyebrows. While she looked sexy as hell, she was hardly dressed for lunch at Lavini’s where he’d planned to take her.

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t do lunch,’ she said, reading his thoughts. ‘I’ve got a class.’

  He should have been relieved. Should have shrugged, said ‘Another time,’ and walked away, but instead he slipped his hands into his pockets and stayed where he was. ‘Quick coffee?’

  She glanced at the big white watch on her wrist. ‘Yeah, that would work. But mine would need to be decaf.’

  ‘Where’s your class?’ he asked, taking the holdall from her before heading down the stone steps onto the pavement. ‘We’ll find a coffee shop nearby.’

  She pointed along the road to a building that looked like a community centre. ‘Just across the road.’

  ‘Right.’ He let her lead the way, wondering what the hell she had in the bag that made it feel like a dead body.

  ‘What kind of class?’ he asked as they crossed the busy road.

  ‘Lunch time yoga.’ She eyed him, an amused look in her sexy green eyes. ‘Want to join us?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do I look like I want to join you?’

  She eyed his suit, then laughed with that throaty sound that shot straight to his balls. ‘Funny, but it’s always the people who could use it most that are the most derogatory. Almost like they’re scared to actually relax.’

  ‘I relax,’ he felt compelled to point out. ‘I just prefer not putting myself into complicated positions and cutting off my air supply when I do so.’

  She shook her head, the bun on top wobbling precariously. ‘Another misconception. Some of the most effective poses are incredibly simple. Yoga teaches controlled breathing and only some of the practices involve holding your breath.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  This time she tutted, her expression making him wonder if he’d hit a nerve of some kind. As they’d arrived at the double entrance doors, and Lola was keying in security numbers on the pad beside them, he thought it best not to follow up his insights into the ancient practice.

  Several people milled around in the entrance hall, and a couple of them waved to Lola. She went through more double doors and into a small coffee bar. Most of the tables were taken, so she headed to a bench counter that looked out onto a small garden area.

  She sat on one of the high stools. ‘This okay?’

  Connor gladly put the bag down between them, then sat next to her. ‘Yeah, great.’

  Amused, she looked at him as he settled in. ‘You have to go and order at the counter.’

  He narrowed his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile. ‘What happened to equality?’

  ‘You invited me, remember? That means you go get the coffee. I’ll have a small decaf Americano.’

  Yeah. He really liked her directness. No side. No games. Maybe that was part of the attraction? What you saw was what you got. And he’d been watching closely.

  He turned, almost falling off the stool. She gave a throaty laugh which, combined with the sight of her in all that close-fitting workout gear, went straight to his cock.

  He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it to the counter without disgracing himself but, as everyone seemed happily engaged in their own conversations, he walked off to place their order, hoping to hell nobody checked out the vicinity of his groin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  OF ANY SCENARIO Lola could have imagined, the very last one was having Connor turn up on her door step.

  Her first thought was that he’d discovered who she was, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

  She had gone over half a dozen potential starts to the conversation she knew they needed to have about the Cabacal, but one look at him standing there looking drop-dead gorgeous in his business suit, his blue shirt opened at the collar, and she’d forgotten every single one.

  She turned and watched appreciatively as he ordered their drinks, knowing that the impressive breadth of his shoulders had nothing to do with the impeccable tailoring of his jacket and everything to do with his muscular perfection. She glanced at his neck, wondering if beneath his collar he sported evidence of the fact that she’d taken big, greedy bites of it.

  Her gaze slid down to his backside and she swallowed, recalling how firm he had been as she’d clenched her hands over his taut flesh, encouraging him to drive deeper inside her.

  She blew out a breath and turned away. God, it was getting hot in here.

  Seconds later, he was back. He slid onto the stool, grimacing a little as he settled there. ‘What time’s your class?’

  She checked her watch. ‘Forty-five minutes yet. I usually like to get here an hour before, but since I had a busy night, and a late start this morning, I’m a little out of sync.’

  He grinned and looked at her as if he was remembering every dirty thing they’d done together. ‘You like to warm up before class?’

  Even if she did, she wouldn’t need it today. Her body was impossibly hot already. ‘I like to set up before class starts.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re the instructor?’

  ‘Is that so unbelievable?’

  He shook his head, his gaze travelling down her body and then back again. ‘No, but I thought you’d just finished uni. Which was the reason you were dancing on my table last night.’

  ‘I have just finished uni. Bachelors and then an MBA.’

  ‘Where does yoga come in?’

  ‘I did a part-time teacher training course. Practical and theoretical. It was almost like taking another degree.’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s a very profound and intricate subject that involves learning about anatomy, physiology and the philosophical side, too. I love it.’
r />   Connor smiled, leaning forward to clasp his hands on the table. ‘I can see that from the way your eyes light up.’ His gaze held hers with such intensity that Lola felt the punch of it right down in her solar plexus. ‘Are you planning to make a business out of it?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I’m going to run my own studio.’

  Habit had her bracing herself for what she feared might follow. Would Connor be like her father, like Damian, and try and convince her of the error of her ways?

  ‘Your own studio,’ Connor said, smiling at the waitress who brought their coffee. ‘What are you planning to offer your clients?’

  ‘Remedial yoga, relaxation therapy, Pilates, and therapeutic massage.’

  Connor took a small sip of his coffee, pursing his lips as he nodded. ‘What size studio do you have in mind? Are you planning to start off just by yourself, or will you take on other tutors immediately?’

  Since there was no hint of censure in his questions, Lola leaned forward. ‘I want to offer a variety of courses and therapies right from the start. There are a few well-qualified teachers on the circuit who are interested in taking on more work. But I intend to be really hands-on and not stick myself behind a desk doing admin.’

  He nodded again. ‘Yeah, I get that. It takes some organisation but it’s doable.’

  Lola caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her face pleasantly warm from the realisation that Connor seemed genuinely interested. It was so refreshing not to have to defend or explain her choices.

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking. I’ve done really detailed planning, based on my research of health clubs from a variety of UK cities, projected out for the next few years. That should give me a really good head start, and some leeway for changing things up if necessary.’

  ‘That’s why you’re looking at property? Potential locations for your studio?’

  She found it hard to look at him, knowing that now was the perfect time to come clean. To admit her plans for the Cabacal. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Found anything suitable yet?’

  She raised her head, met his eyes. ‘I have. A perfect property. Perfect location.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  Her stomach gave a ridiculous lurch, leaving nausea in its wake. ‘It would be, but there are complications.’

  ‘What kind?’

  She kept her eyes on his, trying to find the right words to minimise the damage of her confession. ‘Somebody else is interested.’

  ‘Then make sure the agents know that you’re even more interested,’ Connor said. ‘Make them an offer they can’t refuse.’

  She thought of Damian. How she’d tried to convince him to sell direct to her. ‘You make it sound easy.’

  ‘If it’s what you really want, go for it. Don’t give up until you’ve exhausted all possibilities. Until there’s nowhere left to go.’

  ‘Is that what you would do?’

  A determined look came into his eyes. ‘Every time.’

  Lola knew they were both talking about the same thing, and again she wondered why he wanted the Cabacal property so badly. If it held bad memories for him, wouldn’t he want to walk away, have nothing more to do with it? Or maybe it was more a case of laying old ghosts to rest. In which case, if she remained patient it wasn’t unreasonable to think that he’d be willing to sell it to her.

  Connor shrugged. ‘You just need a plan of action. I’d imagine a woman who studies for a business degree, an MBA, and trains as a yoga teacher at the same time isn’t exactly lacking in the smarts department.’

  It was a strange and pleasurable sensation that filled her chest, for a moment pushing away the uneasy feeling that had settled there at the thought of coming clean about who she was. She really liked his faith in her abilities, that he considered her smart. It was refreshing to have a man who thought her capable of going for her dreams.

  Yet layered beneath the pleasure of that was the nudge of guilt. He’d supported her as she’d laid out her plans to him, encouraged her to go for what she wanted, all the time unaware that those plans and wants were in direct opposition to his own.

  On top of that, he’d told her that he liked her direct approach, yet here she was continuing the deceit. Her only defence was that she was really starting to like him, and she didn’t want her time with him to come to an abrupt halt when she told him the truth.

  He looked at her for several unsettling moments, then flashed a devilish grin. ‘So, yoga,’ he said, looking at her over the rim of his cup. ‘That explains why you’re so freaking flexible.’

  Lola’s body reacted to the sexy implication, an arrow of heat firing through her veins. She clenched her fists in her lap, annoyed that she’d let the perfect opportunity to tell him who she was slip past. She’d chickened out.

  Wrong time. Wrong place. A coffee bar in the community centre, a short time before she was supposed to instruct a class in the art of relaxation, was not exactly the best place to confess all.

  Admitting her identity to Connor would open a whole can of worms that would need explaining. While she hadn’t outright lied to him, Connor wouldn’t see it like that. It would be a double whammy for him. Not just because she’d been economical with the truth about who she was and what she wanted, but also because of her family connection to the man who had brought false embezzlement charges against him.

  That connection was tenuous, especially considering Lola had distanced herself from that side of the family after what had been done to her mother, and over the years she had cut herself off completely from them with absolutely zero interest in their lives or what happened to them. Still, as Connor rightfully harboured a lot of ill-feeling towards her uncle, she knew her blood relationship would matter a great deal. Some people thought the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  She saw a couple of her students enter the building. ‘I have to go,’ she said, swigging down the last of her drink. ‘People are arriving.’

  Should she suggest another coffee meet-up? They needed to talk some more. Talk, not have sex.

  Connor reached for her hand. ‘I had a great time last night.’

  Blood raced through her veins and sexy memories flooded her mind. ‘So did I.’ She reached down for her bag. ‘But it was a one-nighter, remember?’

  As disappointing as it was, she couldn’t have sex with him again. It was one thing giving in to her hormones when she’d thought she wouldn’t see him again but, now that they were essentially in direct conflict over the Cabacal, another hook-up was out of the question.

  He squeezed his fingers around hers as she tried to pull away. ‘It wasn’t good enough to repeat?’

  Sneaky bastard. She wanted to say something pithy, something that would wipe that cocky grin off his face. ‘I surely don’t need to stroke your ego by admitting that it was fantastic, do I?’

  ‘Fantastic is always worth another go-round.’

  Her core muscles clenched and she felt the pull in her blood. ‘I’m betting you can’t afford the distraction any more than I can.’

  ‘As distractions go, great sex always wins out.’

  ‘Not always.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me take you to dinner tonight? Let me prove it.’

  Hell, no. She wouldn’t survive another evening with Connor and his particular brand of seduction. Dinner could so easily lead to so much more, and before she knew it they’d be in bed again. She was finding it hard enough to resist that smile of his as it was, the one that hiked up one corner of his mouth and made him look rakishly sexy. The gleam in his steely grey eyes that gave off a very definite bad-boy vibe. Not to mention the pure male energy that came off the man and surrounded her, swamped her, made her want to fall into his arms, despite her better intentions.

  Absolutely not. No way. End of story.

  She had to stay immune to him. She couldn’t allow him to spin his magic
over her again.

  ‘What do you say, Lola? Want to be distracted again?’

  No. No. No.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’

  * * *

  Lola turned away from the mirror and smoothed down the front of the simple dark-blue shift. She’d chosen the dress for its modest neckline and knee-length skirt, hoping it gave off a specific ‘dinner with a friend’ vibe.

  In the time it took to shower and spritz herself with an innocuous floral body spray, she had to remind herself that having sex with Connor again was most definitely not on the cards. She had to keep him at arm’s length—absolutely no flirting.

  What she planned to do was use their time together to get to know him better. Find out what made him tick. She might be able to discover more about his reasons for wanting the property so badly, and what plans he had for it. If they were based entirely on drawing a line under his past experiences, to put those old ghosts to rest, then she might have a better chance of getting him to sell it to her.

  In the grand scheme of things, since they’d already slept together, keeping the truth from him just a little longer surely didn’t matter that much. While she wasn’t entirely comfortable doing that, she had to believe that the means justified the ends.

  Getting the Cabacal back meant everything to her. It was more than righting a wrong; it was her real link with her past, with her mother.

  So many of her childhood memories were tied up in that building. Parties her grandparents threw there, where she and her friends dressed up in pretty dresses and imagined they were film stars.

  Being allowed to watch from the little balcony at the back of the club with her mother while famous singers performed for the cream of London society.

  Watching her adored grandparents, smiling at each other and so in love as they danced together on the club’s crowded dancefloor.

  As her throat tightened, she reached out for the fitted denim jacket she kept on a hook by the front door, took a fortifying breath and made her way out. She’d chosen basic black pumps tonight—far more practical, since she didn’t possess a car and usually took the tube or walked.