Arrogant Playboy (The Art of Love Series Book 2), page 3
“I’m fine,” she says curtly.
“Come on, it’s Friday. Your boss said you’re off the clock. One drink, I promise to behave,” I say, holding up my hands.
She rolls her eyes at me and orders a glass of champagne from the waiter. “You can move to the other side of the table if you like,” she points to the spot Ivy just vacated.
I hesitate before getting up and moving, her shoulders visibly relax as I take a seat. “So, tell me more about your books,” I ask.
She shakes her head. “There’s nothing to tell. They’re books.”
“Romance books, is it like porn?” Because if it is that is something I can get behind.
Rosie rolls her eyes as if she’s heard that question a million times. “Are they spicy? Yes, but porn they are not,” she answers bluntly.
I might have hit a nerve there, ease back a little. “Like how spicy?”
“Depends, but they can get spicy, very spicy,” she answers with a shrug as if it’s no big deal.
“Ever role-played then?”
Rosie stills. “That seems like a rather inappropriate question don’t you think?”
“My dick has been inside of you. I think we are past inappropriate, don’t you?”
She gasps at my words before those cheeks blossom pink again. “Would you stop throwing that night in my face? Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m sure you flutter those blues and women fall at your feet,” she says, rolling her eyes yet again.
“I’m doing it now, but you appear to not be falling,” I tease.
“Falling for bullshit,” she snips and then covers her mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Rosie, relax. You won’t be in trouble for calling me out. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”
The waiter brings over our drinks interrupting our chat. Rosie grabs hers and takes a large gulp.
“So back to these books.” I chuckle as I take a sip of my scotch.
“I’m not answering any more questions about them,” she snips.
“Fine, I’ll change the subject. Are you seeing anyone?”
Rosie glares at me from across the table. “You seriously think I would have been with you if I was seeing someone. I’m not a cheat.” She huffs. It’s good to know she is against cheating, that is my non-negotiable. I saw my father do it to my mother their entire marriage and watched the way it destroyed her. I will not do it nor have someone do it to me. I am not opposed to having fun with a partner at The Paradise Club, but I’ve never dated anyone I’ve wanted to take there.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think you would have slept with me if you were dating someone.” Rosie relaxes a little. “It’s been weeks thought you could have met someone since.”
Her brows pull together as those green eyes narrow on me angrily. “You think I just fall into bed with men I meet, do you?”
“No, of course I don’t, you don’t seem like that, especially since you mentioned that night, I was your first one-night stand.”
“And it was the truth.”
“I’m sure it was. What I’m asking is do you think I can get a second night?”
Rosie’s mouth falls open in surprise at my comment. “This isn’t a date.”
“I wouldn’t bring you here if this were one, I would plan something nicer,” I tell her.
“I’m not interested in dating, I’m focused on my career.”
“What about sex then, if you’re not into having hookups?” I press.
Rosie stares at me, those long, dark lashes blinking slowly. “I don’t need it.”
“Let me guess, you probably have a powerful vibrator.”
“Is this a French thing talking so openly about sex?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“Maybe, English people can be so uptight when it comes to sex.”
“I’m not uptight,” she says, her voice rising.
“You most certainly weren’t uptight at all that night.”
Rosie looks down at the table and starts playing with her cutlery.
“Do you regret that night?” I ask, the slightest insecurity coming through. Silence falls between us.
Oh. Shit. She does.
“No,” her answer is a quiet whisper.
“But you’re not interested in another round?” I ask her honestly.
She lets out a long sigh. “It doesn’t matter, we now work together.” That wasn’t a no. “My reputation means everything to me. I’ve worked too hard for that to be taken from me because of a drunken night.”
I hear you, Rosie, loud and clear.
“Sounds like you’re doing well from the praise Ivy has given and she doesn’t give praise lightly.”
Rosie’s face lights up as she starts talking, “Ivy is amazing. Getting to work with her is honestly a dream come true. I love what I do, bringing my clients’ dreams to reality. I hope one day my future is as bright as Ivy’s.”
“With the billionaire fiancé?” I question her. She doesn’t seem like a gold digger, but I have been fooled before.
Rosie looks offended by my comment. “No, I don’t care about money, I do well on my own. You’re friends with them so you probably see it all the time, but they are couple goals. He is her biggest cheerleader as she is to him. They look like they are each other’s best friends.”
She’s not wrong. “My other two friends are as nauseating as Alex and Ivy.”
“Let me guess, you’re the single one of the group,” she asks and I can hear the sarcasm dripping from her words.
“By choice.” Rosie huffs as if she disagrees. “You don’t think it’s by choice?”
“Oh, I know it’s by choice. You seem like the kind of man that likes style over substance.”
“I mustn’t have done that the night I met you.”
Rosie huffs. “I chose you.”
I raise a brow at her. “Really, now?” I lean forward, interested in what she has to say about that.
“You looked like the kind of man who … you know …” she says, waving her hand at me.
I shake my head. “I can assure you, Miss Hunt, I don’t know.”
A tiny grumble falls from those plush pink lips. “You’re a playboy.”
I’m a little taken aback that is how she perceives me. “You seem to have dated a few of them?”
“Oh no, I steer clear of them.”
“Except for me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I wanted, and you were the person who I knew would give it to me,” she answers honestly.
“So, you used me?”
Rosie’s face falls upon hearing my words. “It wasn’t like that. Most men aren’t turning down some fun in the bushes. You used me, too.”
“And I asked you to come home with me, does that seem like using you?”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it? Things have changed, and whatever happened can never happen again. Delphine explained it’s a common occurrence so I’m fine with leaving things as they are,” she says, throwing her napkin on the table and standing up. “I appreciate the art lesson today, Mr. DuPont, I learned a lot, but I think I should go before this working relationship sours.”
Fucking, Delphine.
“I don’t want you to leave, Rosie. Please stay, it may not seem like it, but I’m enjoying your company. You don’t take my bullshit. You at least deserve lunch as a thank you for listening to me drone on about art.” She eyes me suspiciously but slowly sits down. “Look, it’s been a shit of a week, actually, it’s been a shit couple of months which isn’t an excuse, but seeing you again has been a highlight.”
“Seeing me has been a highlight? Is that a line you use on women,” she questions.
“No.” Picking up my tumbler of scotch, I swill the amber liquid in the glass. “Like I said, it’s been a shit time.” I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I ask, my head tilting as I look across the table at her. “It’s not your fault.”
“That you’re having a rough time.”
“Family, what are you going to do?” I throw back the last of my scotch and ask the waiter for another round. “And just so you know, Delphine didn’t tell you the whole truth when she gave you, her warning.”
Rosie’s eyes narrow on me, and if given the chance, I think she would flip me off if we weren’t in the middle of a high-end restaurant in the middle of Mayfair. “Delphine’s been overprotective ever since a woman I had an encounter with didn’t like that I didn’t want to continue after a couple of dates. Unfortunately, she turned into a stalker, and things went downhill from there. I now have a restraining order which stopped the stalking, and I haven’t heard anything in months.”
“That sounds scary.”
“I’ll be honest, it was. And as much as I am this ‘playboy’,” I say, using my fingers as air quotes, “as you so call me, I haven’t dated much since then.”
“Don’t blame you,” she says as she takes a sip of her champagne.
“This isn’t a sob story for you to feel sorry for me. Just giving you context. Maybe we could start over?” I ask.
Silence falls between us again as Rosie mulls over my question.
“Hi, I’m Rosie Hunt. I’m a designer at Starr Designs. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, giving me her hand across the table.
“Daniel DuPont. Art agent and DuPont gallery owner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” I say, shaking her hand.
4
ROSIE
Idon’t want to be having fun with him but I am.
We’ve moved onto a pub now as it’s late afternoon, and I’m in no state to go back to work after the amount of champagne I’ve had. Once we got past whatever it was that happened between us, we ended up having a great afternoon chatting about art and interior design. It was nice talking to someone about it and not getting a glazed look over their faces as I talk passionately about a paint color or fabric.
“I’m having the best time, Rosie Hunt. You don’t know how much I needed this,” Daniel says his turquoise eyes now a little glassy as we settle into the booth at the pub. I didn’t realize how much I needed a night like this, too. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun with a male.
“I’m having a great time, too, Daniel DuPont.” I giggle, using his full name like he did. We clink glasses, it sloshes over the edge, and my champagne drips down my fingers.
“Oops,” I say, shaking my hand, and the next thing I know, Daniel grabs my hand and slides a couple of my fingers into his mouth and sucks them. I still as I stare at his lips wrapped around my fingers, my body burning me alive as heat rushes through it. He slides his tongue along my fingers and it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done. Suddenly, Daniel drops my hand and I swear there is a blush forming on his cheeks.
“Rosie. Shit, I wasn’t thinking,” he says, raking his hand through his hair.
“You’re fine,” I say, waving the hand that was just in his mouth at him.
The air between us crackles and sizzles as we stare at each other. My breath shudders as I try to calm my racing heart. He licks his lips as those turquoise pools fall on mine. I’ve had too much champagne, and it’s making me hope he fills the gap between us. I shouldn’t want those lips on mine.
“You probably don’t want to hear it, but fuck I want to kiss you, Rosie Hunt,” Daniel declares. I swallow hard because I want him to kiss me, too, but it’s a bad idea. “Say the word, Rosie, and my lips will be on you.”
“We can’t,” my words are barely a whisper.
Daniel slides closer to me in the booth, I can feel his warm breath against my skin, making it break out in goosebumps. “All I can think about is sliding my hand between your thighs and making you come in front of all these people.”
“Daniel.” His name comes out more like a moan than a warning.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night we met,” he whispers into my ear, his lips grazing against my neck as his hands slide over my thighs, teasing me.
“Me too,” I confess.
Fingers slide around the nape of my neck and grip me tightly. “Say the word, Rosie,” he declares. I turn my face, and our lips can almost touch, he is that close, every part of me is screaming … Do it … Do it. I want this man badly, but I know the alcohol has taken over, and I want to throw caution to the wind and say fuck it because I want that man’s lips, mouth, and hands on my body again. His face is what I see when I pull out my vibrator and service myself. You wouldn’t have to when he is offering you the real deal.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say, pulling myself from his grasp. I can see the disappointment and hunger in his eyes, but he lets me go.
“Would you hurry up, I need to pee,” I yell at him. The stupid pub’s female toilets were out of order and the smell coming from the males had me gagging. Daniel assured me his home was around the corner from the pub and that I could use his bathroom. If I wasn’t desperate there would be no way in hell I’d be going home with him. We have both had way too much to drink as we stumble along the streets.
“Here it is,” he says as we stop out the front of a terraced house in Mayfair. I stare at the building and my jaw drops. This must be a ten-million-pound home. How rich is this guy? He inputs a code to his front door and walks in, I follow him. He throws his jacket onto the cloak hook in the entrance and then kicks off his shoes, leaving them to lay haphazardly to the side.
“There’s a bathroom around the corner,” he says, pointing down the corridor past the kitchen and living area. I follow his direction, turn, and find the bathroom. Stepping in, I marvel at the grey marble that encases the powder room as I do my business. I admire the gorgeous veins that run through it. I take in the brassware, the black concrete sink, the light fixtures, everything is perfect. After washing my hands, I head back out to where Daniel is in the kitchen.
“Love your powder room. Did Ivy do it?”
He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. I bought the home like this.”
“Well, they did a good job,” I add as I watch him pull out pots and pans. “What are you doing?”
“Making us croque monsieur’s,” he states as if that is normal.
“A what?”
He stills and looks at me. “Please tell me you have had one before?” I shake my head. He then mumbles something in French as he pulls out the ingredients he needs.
“Do you need any help?” I ask as I stand there awkwardly.
“I’d love a bottle of water. They are in the fridge. Grab one for yourself, too,” he says, pointing to the fridge. I open the fridge, find two bottles, and place one down in front of him, then take a seat on the other side of the counter and watch him make whatever it is he is making.
Silence falls between us and I hate it. I don’t know what to say or do after the way we left things in the pub. I mean, my bladder really saved the day as I was seconds from letting him kiss me and that would have been a disaster. But now you’re at his home, so did it really save the day?
“Do you have any siblings?” I blurt out, trying to kill the awkward silence.
“Yes, a half-brother, Louis, he lives in France, and I have my two cousins, Matthieu, who runs the Paris office, and Deveraux, who runs the New York office of DuPont,” he explains.
“You’re all in art?”
“My aunt and uncle are very much in that scene, my father was not. I chose to follow in their footsteps, not his,” he says through gritted teeth. “I only found out about my brother recently. Unfortunately, my mother hid the secret all my life, my father had an affair with his secretary, who is my brother’s mother. My own mother confessed the secret just before she passed because she knew she would be leaving me alone.” A frown mars his face as if remembering how happy he was to find a brother but then losing his mom. “Do you have any siblings?” he asks, changing the subject.
“An older brother. He’s a fisherman down south, married, and they had the family’s first grandbaby only a couple of months ago.”
“What did they have?”
“Little boy called George.” He gives me a smile.
“We’re all very excited. I’m close to my family even though I live in London. I’ve known my best friends my entire life. We all grew up in a small village, you know the place where you marry your high school sweetheart, pop out babies, and never leave the area.”
“And that’s not what Rosie Hunt wanted was it?” He grins as he continues to cook.
“None of us wanted that. We couldn’t get out of the village quickly enough. We worked our asses off to get into our colleges here in London so we could escape.”
“And did your friends make it?” he asks.
“Yeah, they all did. What about you, how do you know Ivy’s fiancé?”
“I met the boys around London. They all went to university together, so they knew each other from way back,” he explains.
“And what about your friends in France?” I ask.
“Yes, I have friends there, but some have moved to other parts of France or Europe. Most are married with families so having time to catch up is hard,” he explains.
“So, you’re the odd man out with your friends as the single guy?”
He nods as he continues to create this strange French sandwich. “Are all your friends single?”
“Yes.”
“All concentrating on your careers?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“We are all very passionate about what we do.”
“That’s admirable, not many people love their jobs.”
“You don’t love yours?” I ask.
He looks up and grins at me, those dimples popping as he does, and I want to melt just like the cheese is on the sandwich. “I love what I do. I’ve been accused of being a workaholic before.”
