Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(35)

“Champagne’s a good option for you.” Amy grins. “You’ll be able to sleep through Frank the Shagger’s bedtime antics.”

“Or maybe you’ll sleep with Frank the shagger.” Sophie hands me the champagne.

“God, no.” I laugh loudly. The champagne slips down too quickly. “I won’t be sleeping with Frank the Shagger.”

The girls’ eyes widen like saucers as a deep voice behind me chimes in, “Unusual surname.”

How the hell did he manage to cross the room so quickly without me noticing?

“Mr. Kane,” Sophie says in a high-pitched squeal. “We weren’t expecting you. Don’t you have the Law Society annual ceremony this evening? You usually speak at it.”

I grimace and force myself to turn around. Standing with your back to the company owner isn’t the most strategic move, even if I am trying to hide from him.

“I sent one of the partners,” he answers Sophie, but his eyes hold mine. “I wanted to welcome our new recruits. I interrupted your conversation.” His lips curl into an amused smirk. “Don’t stop on my behalf.” He takes a step into the circle.

For Fuck’s sake. I stink of salmon and eel. I take another deep sip of my champagne.

His eyes fall to my lips as they part around the champagne glass, watching the liquid pass down my throat. The bubbles come out too quickly and I choke, spilling drops down my chin. Can’t he look at the others?

“What were you talking about?”

Our eyes dart between us. Do we make something up?

“This is outside of work hours. You don’t need to talk about work, ladies.”

“Eh,” says Amy, “Elly was just telling us the funniest stories about her house-share.” She grins at me as Sophie grimaces. “You should start a blog.”

“I’m pretty sure most graduates can resonate with my issues,” I reply dryly.

Amy looks guilty. With her flat fully paid for by her parents, she’s the exception.

“Who do you live with, Elly?” His voice is deep and husky. I wonder if Charlie and Sophie notice how seductive it sounds.

“Just a bunch of lunatics,” I mutter.

“Last night, one of them mistook her bedroom for the bathroom when he was sleepwalking,” Amy discloses, and this time Sophie’s look is filthy. I guess we’re wasting valuable airtime. “Can you imagine!”

Tristan looks appalled. “How do you know this guy?”

I shrug. “From the internet. Eight of us have been thrown together by fate/misfortune/the devil’s work/however you would like to view it.”

“Eight of you?” He scowls, turning towards me. I wonder if the others notice. “It sounds like a commune. You’re telling me you don’t know any of them?”

“Oh, I know things about them that I should never know,” I say. “I know their eating habits, sleeping patterns, work schedule, exercise regime…I could go on.”

He stares aghast. “Why don’t you find somewhere by yourself to live?”

What a ridiculous question to ask someone under thirty in London. Does he know how expensive even renting a studio is?

“I can’t afford it,” I say in a clipped tone. “Yet.”

He rakes a hand through his thick dark hair. “How many are men?”

“Most of them,” I reply haughtily. “Have you always lived by yourself, Mr. Kane?”

He stiffens.

Sophie eyes widen.

“No,” he says after a beat. “But I’m alone now.”

Silence envelopes us. That was quite the conversation killer.

“What are your weekend plans, Mr. Kane?” Sophie asks with a dazzling smile.

He smiles warmly. “I’m spending the day with my son tomorrow. We’ve got tickets to rugby at Twickenham then we’re going to the Harry Potter theatre production. He’s getting to meet the cast.”

“Sounds lovely,” Sophie croons.

“Does he look like you?” I ask, feigning innocence. I already know the kid is the spitting image of his willowy ex-wife.

A muscle in his jaw jumps. My question has hit a deeper nerve than I expected. I just wanted to get a rise out of him. “No, he doesn’t look like me.” He changes the subject. “What are you ladies doing for this weekend?”

Sophie and Amy explain their weekend plans.

Now, it’s my turn.

His eyes brim with interest.

Me? What am I doing? Should I lie? Oh, what’s the point? “I’ll wake up early so I can be first in the queue for the washing machine. Then I’ll supervise the wash because if I don’t, someone else will take it out, and I’ll lose half my socks.”

Masculine laughter rings in my ears. The girls laugh too, like I’ve made a joke, but I’m deadly serious.

“That doesn’t sound very relaxing,” he says softly. “Perhaps you need to do something fun after it.” His eyes gleam. “Like swimming.”

I swallow too much air.

“I personally love swimming,” he continues in his low voice with a hint of humour in his eyes. “Really gets the blood pumping. Helps release tension. Especially if you have a great swimming partner.”

He slowly and deliberately runs his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking at me. I feel my face match the shade of the salmon tartare on the plate and I glance at the others. They look like smitten dogs.