Playing the Billionaire's Game - Pippa Roscoe Page 0,13

in his mind of Sia Keating in a pool of royal blue silk sheets.

Which was presumably the only reason the question he asked came out of his mouth.

‘What do you do for fun, Henri?’

I honestly don’t know, would have been Sia’s reaction. But Sebastian had asked Henri, so she answered.

‘You mean besides having a drink with a notorious playboy?’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you’ve had drinks with other notorious playboys?’

This time the mock arrogance and outrage in his tone lifted her lips into a reluctant smile. Because, for some reason, for all its apparent mockery, his reaction had felt so much more real than his insistence that he had no self-restraint.

‘Are there so many of you?’ She dramatically shuddered. ‘Women be warned.’

‘No, I can assure you. There are none like me.’

And Sia was beginning to think that he was right. There was something about the directness of his gaze, the way that his features almost seemed to relax when he was telling the truth. As if thankful for the brief respite from having to hold a mask constantly in place.

Sia turned her attention back to the question, feeling a slight ache in her heart as she did so. When was the last time that she’d had fun? When had she laughed until she’d cried, when had her stomach ached with joy and her chest heaved with an air so light it could have been helium rather than oxygen? Since she’d taken the job at Bonnaire’s she’d worked all hours she could, desperate to prove her worth. To prove that she wasn’t her father. Her salary hadn’t left much over after rent and travel, food and basics. The offset was that she travelled with work, she supposed—Sharjarhere, Greece, Istanbul, New York to name just a few. But in that time the few friends she’d gathered from school or university had gone their own ways. A few work colleagues had stuck—Célia in particular. But she was now happily married and working on starting a family. But even with Célia it had been a close friendship, but perhaps not one based on fun exactly.

‘It hurts that you have to think so hard to answer that question.’

Sia looked up to find him studying her once again, but this time sincerely, not for show, with his head angled towards his shoulder. She couldn’t quite take the whiplash change of direction their conversation was taking. One moment full of tease and taunt, the other full of painful introspection.

‘It is getting late. You have responsibilities? Work in the morning, I would imagine.’

The query hit a little too close to home. It felt a little as if he were pushing her, taunting her as if somehow he knew about her suspension and, despite the notion being fanciful, she couldn’t help the bitter words which fell from her tongue.

‘And what would you know of responsibilities?’ she bit out, the acidity painful on her tongue.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very little. After all, apparently I’m the most notorious playboy in Europe.’

‘So humble.’

‘I don’t believe in humility.’

‘Really?’

‘In most it is a lie and in others it is simply the desire to be considered worthy which, in itself, is hardly humble. I have neither the need to lie nor the desire to be considered worthy.’

‘Because you don’t think yourself worthy?’ Sia asked, genuinely curious.

‘Because I don’t care how people consider me.’

‘Not even the most beautiful woman in the room?’ she asked ruefully.

‘Oh. I know how you consider me,’ he said with such a self-satisfied smile she had a strong urge to wipe it from his lips.

‘And what would that be?’

‘You consider me overly arrogant, purposely obtuse, careless and thoughtless. But I’m incredibly handsome, you can’t help but be entertained by my charm and you’re curious to see if there’s a deep well of inner turmoil that could possibly redeem me.’

Well. He had her there.

‘May I tell you a secret?’ he asked, seemingly intent on using her words against her. She nodded and stilled as he moved towards her, one arm braced against the bar and the other at the back of her chair. As he leaned in, his lips close to her ear, she breathed in an aftershave that made her mouth water and her pulse race.

‘There isn’t,’ he whispered, sending a chill down her spine as he promised no redemption.

As enticing as it was—the promise of hedonistic, irredeemable pleasure—she didn’t fully believe it. So, before he could lean back, before she could question her own intention, she turned her head