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* * *
What the hell was she doing in there?
Ben checked his watch, then poured himself another glass of champagne. It was coming up to three quarters of an hour since he’d heard the lock turn, and since then there had been only the occasional splash. Apparently she was taking the whole relaxing thing seriously. He should have remembered earlier how his ex-girlfriend had complained about Luce disappearing into the bathroom with her history texts and using up all the hot water on ridiculously indulgent baths. At the time he’d just found it comforting to know that the woman had some weaknesses. Now it was seriously holding up his evening.
But at least it gave him the opportunity to do some research. Unlocking the safe, he pulled out Luce’s organiser again and sank into the armchair by the window to read. Really, the woman was the epitome of over-scheduled. And almost none of the things written into the tiny diary spaces in neat block capitals seemed like things she’d be doing for herself. Christmas dinners—plural—for family, attending lectures for colleagues, looking after someone else’s cat... And then, on a Sunday near the end of January, the words ‘BOOK DRAFT DEADLINE’ in red capitals. Interesting. Definitely something to talk about over dinner.
She baffled him. That was why he wanted to know more. On the one hand, he was pretty sure he could predict her entire life story leading from university to here. On the other, however...there was something else there. Something he hadn’t seen or noticed when they were younger. Something that hooked him in even if he wasn’t ready to admit why. Yes, she was attractive. That on its own was nothing new. But this self-sacrificing mentality—was it a martyr complex? A bullying mother? Luce hadn’t ever seemed weak, so why was she doing everything for other people?
Particularly her family, it seemed. Flicking through the pages, Ben tried to remember if he’d ever met them at university, but if he had they hadn’t made much of an impression. Now he thought about it, he did remember Luce disappearing home to Cardiff every few weeks to visit them.
Obviously a sign of things to come.
Leaning back in his chair, Ben closed the organiser and tried to resist the memories pressing against his brain. But they were too strong. Another dark-haired woman, just as tired, just as self-sacrificing—until the day she broke.
‘I’m sorry, Benji,’ she’d said. ‘Mummy has to go.’
And it didn’t matter that he’d tried everything, done anything he could think of to be good enough to make her stay. He hadn’t been able to fix things for her.
Maybe he could for Luce.
Laughing at himself, he sat up, shaking the memories away. Luce wasn’t his mother. She wasn’t tied by marriage or children. She could make her own choices far more freely. And what could he do in one night, anyway? Other than help her relax. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe all she needed was to realise that she had needs, too. And Ben was very good at assessing women’s needs.
A repetitive beeping noise interrupted his thoughts, and it took him a moment to register it as a ringtone. As he looked up, his gaze caught on Luce’s rich purple coat, slung across the sofa on the other side of the glass coffee table. She’d taken her suitcase and handbag into the bathroom with her—obvious paranoia in Ben’s view—but he’d seen her drop her phone into her coat pocket before they left the bar.
Interesting.
He should feel guilty, he supposed, but really it was all for the woman’s own good. She needed saving from herself. She needed his help.
The noise had stopped before he could retrieve the phone from the pocket of her coat, and Ben stared at the flashing screen for a moment, wondering how one woman could have so many people needing to contact her. In addition to a missed call from her mother, her notifications screen told him straight off that she had three texts from a guy called Tom, an e-mail from a man named Dennis and another missed call from an improbably named ‘Dolly’. All in the hour since they’d left the bar.
Scanning over the snippets on the screen told him all he really needed to know—every person who’d contacted her wanted something from her. Dropping the phone back into her pocket, Ben considered the evening ahead.
His plan, ill thought out to start with, had been to have a fun evening and hopefully a fun night. To show Luce a good time, then remind her who he was so they could have a laugh about it. Or he could, anyway. But now...he was invested.
Who was Lucinda Myles these days?
The last time he’d seen her must have been the night of his spectacularly disastrous twenty-first birthday party. He remembered spotting her sloping out of the hotel ballroom towards one of the drawing rooms, but after that far too much champagne had blurred the evening until the following morning and a headbangingly loud lecture from his father about appropriate behaviour and responsibility to the family reputation. Friends had helpfully filled him in on the more humorous of his antics that night, but no one had mentioned Luce.
Then the ex had broken up with him for humiliating her and ‘possibly ruining her future’, whatever that meant, and he’d had no reason to see Luce again. Who knew how much she’d changed in the intervening years?
Ben paused in his thoughts. She couldn’t have changed that much, given what he’d seen so far that day. In which case...
Grabbing the phone from the table next to him, he called down to Reception.
‘Daisy? Can you cancel my booking at The Edge tonight?’ Trendy, stainless-steel, cutting-edge fusion restaurants just weren’t Luce’s style, no matter who the concierge had needed to bribe to get him a table there that night. ‘No, don’t worry. I’ll sort out an alternative myself.’
Something more Luce. More fun too, probably.
One more quick phone call ascertained that the restaurant he was thinking of still existed. Perfect. Hanging up, Ben glanced at the bathroom door and then at his watch again. He’d given Luce long enough. Time to move on to the next stage of their evening.
Pausing first to replace the diary in the safe, he gave the bathroom door a quick rap with his knuckles and then said, loud enough to be sure he could be heard through it, ‘You’ve got five more minutes in there before I start trying to guess the pass code for your phone.’
To his surprise, the lock turned and the door opened almost instantly. Eyebrows raised, Luce stared at him and said, ‘Threats aren’t traditionally very relaxing, you know.’
But baths clearly were. Especially for Dr Lucinda Myles.
She’d changed out of those clothes he’d been longing to run his hands over, but since she’d replaced them with a slippery, silky purple dress he really wasn’t complaining. Her hair was pinned up off her neck, with a few damp tendrils curling behind her ears and across her forehead. She smiled at him, her deep red lips curving in amusement. ‘I didn’t think you were the sort of man to do speechless. I like it.’
A rush of lavender hit his lungs as she swept past him, reminding him of the château in summer, and he realised he still hadn’t spoken. ‘If I’d known you were using your time so well I’d have been much more patient,’ he said, finding his voice at last.
Luce slipped her arms into her coat, her fingers reaching into the pocket for her phone. Time for another distraction. Ben offered her his arm and she took it, forestalling her return to the world of technology and messages from people who wanted far less fun things from her than he did. ‘Now, if you’re ready, won’t you let me escort you to dinner?’
She still looked suspicious as she nodded, but she left the room beside him, steady on higher heels than he’d have expected her to be comfortable wearing. Ben smiled. This was going to be a good evening. He was sure of it. The hotel and the business were fine, and he had the company of a beautiful and intriguing woman for the night—one he might be able to help a little. And then he’d get to decamp to the cottage for the rest of the week, feeling good about himself.
Life was great.
* * *
There should be laws against men looking quite that good in a suit. Men she was determined to resist, anyway. If Dennis had ever looked even half as good maybe they would have managed more than a few coffees and the occasional fake date when he needed a partner for a university dinner or she needed someone for a family event.
Actually, no, they wouldn’t. Quite aside from the fact that Dennis became intensely irritating after more than a couple of hours in his company, she’d never felt that...spark—that connection she needed to take the risk of building an actual relationship. To her surprise, Ben Hampton had a spark. Not a relationship one, of course, but maybe something more intense. Something that definitely hadn’t been there the last time they met. Which was just as well, as he’d been dating her roommate at the time. But there was definitely something.
It was almost a shame she didn’t have the time, energy or courage to take him up on his offer to find out exactly what.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and her fingers itched to reach for it. She hadn’t called her mother back, and she’d only worry if she didn’t hear from her. Well, actually, she probably wouldn’t. Tabitha saved her concern for Tom and Dolly, safe in the knowledge that Luce could take care of herself far better than the rest of them.
Still, she’d get annoyed, which was even worse, and pull a guilt trip on Luce next time they spoke.
She really should call her back. But Ben’s arm held her hand trapped against his body, and she could feel the warmth of him even through his coat and suit jacket. Was that intentional? Trying to cut her off from her real life and keep her in this surreal bubble of a night he’d created?
Ben Hampton had invaded her life and her personal space since she’d bumped into him again, only a couple of hours ago, and she’d let him. Sat back and let him take charge, point out the problems in her life, rearrange all her plans for the evening. What had happened to taking responsibility and control?
Okay, she needed a new plan for the night. Something to wrest back control. At the very least she needed to know if he remembered her...
She shivered as they left the hotel lobby, the bitter night air stinging her face and her lungs. Icicle Christmas lights dangled above the cobbled streets, twinkling in the night like the real thing. Ben tugged her a little closer, and she wondered how it was he stayed so warm despite the winter chill.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, belatedly realising he hadn’t even told her where he was taking her. Some fancy restaurant, probably, she’d figured when pulling out the dress she’d packed for the conference gala dinner. But that wasn’t the point. No one knew where she was—least of all her. It was madness. She was out in a strange city at night with a man she barely knew. A little surreptitious internet searching in the bar while he’d been fetching the drinks had told her the bare bones of his professional career since university—which mostly seemed to be doing whatever his father needed him to do—but it hadn’t told her what sort of a man he was. She hadn’t seen him in eight years, and she hadn’t known him all that well back then. He certainly hadn’t been the kind of guy the twenty-year-old Luce had willingly spent time with. This was foolishness beyond compare. Dennis would be horrified.
Of course her mother would probably be relieved. Tabitha had always been a little afraid that her daughter had inherited none of her more flighty attributes at all.
‘A little French restaurant I know,’ Ben said, answering the question she’d almost forgotten she’d asked. ‘It’s up past the Cross, on the Rows. You okay to walk in those shoes?’
‘Of course.’ Luce spoke the words automatically, even though the balls of her feet had started to smart as she struggled over the cobbles. Show no weakness. That was another of her grandad’s rules to live by. If she couldn’t keep the other one tonight, she might as well try to hang on to something.
‘You never used to wear shoes like that.’
Luce couldn’t tell if the warm feeling that settled over her shoulders at Ben’s words was relief or confusion. ‘You do remember me, then?’ she blurted out before she could stop herself. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘You think I invite strange women up to my suite all the time?’
Luce shrugged. ‘University was a long time ago. I have no idea what kind of man you are now. And, actually...’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Eight years ago I’d have invited all women up to my room.’
‘I hope you’ve grown up a little since then.’ A hitch in Ben’s step made her glance up. ‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just depends who you ask.’
Picking up speed again, Ben led them up the very steep steps onto the medieval Rows, a second layer of shops and restaurants above the street-level ones. The historian in Luce was fascinated by the structure—the timber fronts, the overhanging storey above making a covered walkway. There was no other example in the world—the Chester Rows were unique. She should be savouring every detail.
And instead all she could think was, He remembers me. Well, at least she knew now. Except...just because he remembered her, that didn’t mean he remembered the last time they’d seen each other.
Maybe he’d forgotten it entirely. And maybe that meant she could, too.
It was too cold for much more conversation. They made their way along the Rows, Luce tucked tightly into Ben’s body for warmth, until he said, ‘Here we are,’ and Luce’s whole body relaxed at the sight of a cosy little restaurant tucked away behind a few closed shops with sparkling Christmas window displays.
‘Thank God for that,’ she said, smiling up at Ben. ‘I’m freezing.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SMILING UP AT HIM, complaining about the cold, Luce seemed relaxed for the first time. As if this was any usual date, not a peculiar arrangement to help an uptight woman cut loose. And she remembered him. That was a start. He wasn’t sure he could have made it all through dinner without knowing.
Ben pushed open the door to La Cuillère d’Argent and let Luce walk into the warmth first. Her face brightened in the candlelit restaurant, and she glanced back at him with surprise on her face.
‘I’m overdressed,’ she said, taking in the rustic wooden tables and chairs. There weren’t many other people eating there, but those who were wore mostly casual clothes.
‘You look perfect.’ He smiled at the waiter approaching. ‘Table for two, please?’
Seated at a candlelit table in the window, looking out at the people hurrying past, Luce stripped off her coat and asked, ‘How did you know about this place?’
‘Not what you were expecting?’
She shook her head, and Ben knew what she was thinking. She’d expected somewhere impressive, somewhere fancy and expensive—somewhere that would make her feel kindly towards him when he paid, possibly impressed enough to take him to bed when they got back to the hotel. Somewhere like The Edge. Somewhere that said, I’m Ben Hampton and I’ve just inherited half of a multi-million-pound hotel chain, and I still have time to flatter and treat you. Aren’t you impressed?
But that would have defeated the object of the evening. He wanted Luce to relax, and he knew she wasn’t the sort to be impressed by or enjoy over-priced, over-fiddly food. Too practical for that, with her epic ‘To Do’ lists and her martyr complex. She’d probably feel guilty the whole time, which wouldn’t help his cause at all.
No, he needed somewhere cosy and intimate, somewhere he could actually talk to her, learn about her life since uni, find out what made her tick. This place was perfect for that. Ben blinked in the candlelight as he realised, belatedly, that he wanted to know her. Not just seduce her or entertain her. He wanted to know the truth of Luce Myles.
Of course seducing her was still firmly part of the plan. He just didn’t mind a little small talk first.
‘Have you been here before?’ Luce asked, scanning the wine list. ‘Do you live in Chester?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Just visiting to check on the hotel. But I came here with my mother years ago. She was born in France, you see. Knew every great French restaurant in the country.’ It must have been fifteen years ago or more, he realised. ‘I checked while you were in the bath to make sure it was still here, actually. It really has been a while.’
‘What does it mean?’ Luce asked, staring at the front of the menu, where the restaurant name curled across the card. ‘“La Cuillère d’Argent”,’ she read slowly.
‘The Silver Spoon,’ Ben translated, tapping a finger against the picture under the words—an ornate piece of silverware not unlike the ones on the table for their use.
‘I like it,’ Luce announced, smiling at him over the menu.
Ben’s shoulders dropped as a tension he hadn’t realised he was feeling left him. That was wrong. She was the one who was supposed to be relaxing. He was always relaxed. That was who he was.
‘Good,’ he said, a little unnerved, and motioned a waiter over to order a carafe of white wine to start. He rather thought he might need it tonight.
They made polite conversation about the menu options, and the freshly baked bread with olive tapenade the waiter brought them, before Luce asked, ‘So, if you’re just visiting, where is home these days?’
Ben shrugged. Home wasn’t exactly something he associated with his stark and minimalist penthouse suite. And since he hadn’t been to the cottage in Wales for over a year, and the château in France for far longer, he was pretty sure they didn’t count.
‘I’m based out of London, but mostly I’m on the road. Wherever there’s a Hampton & Sons hotel I’ve got a bed for the night, so I do okay.’
Across the table Luce’s eyes widened with what Ben recognised as pity. ‘That must be hard. Not having anywhere to call home.’
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