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And colour Damon perceptive but the delectable Ruby Maguire also seemed somewhat overqualified for her current gofer position.
Ruby Maguire was used to dealing with the corporate lions of the world and holding her own. Ruby had severely underestimated her usefulness if she thought that no one but his father would employ her.
Which made Damon feel infinitely better about the seduction campaign he intended to wage on her.
She’d banned touching, teasing and question time but she hadn’t banned looking and she hadn’t banned scent. Her bad.
The cologne collection in the en-suite cupboard gave him a wide and varied selection to choose from. Eeeny meeny miney mo. Catcha … That was the aim. To catch Ruby Maguire and play a while.
Gucci it was.
Run his fingers through his hair, find some shoes, put them on. Plastic in wallet, wallet in pocket.
Damon West was ready to shop.
He found her in the atrium, positioning a delicate porcelain Santa amongst the fern fronds that banked the goldfish pond. ‘There,’ she said as he approached. ‘The perfect spot for Santa to enjoy a little R and R.’
Ruby Maguire stood and turned his way, no comment on the suit. She probably hadn’t expected anything else.
She breathed in deeply though and closed her eyes and smiled. She had the freest smile he’d ever seen.
‘I love that scent on a man,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Brings back fond memories.’
‘Old boyfriend?’
‘Grandfather,’ she corrected sweetly.
This woman was so bad for a man’s ego. Damon smiled and meant it. Nothing like a challenge.
‘Ready to go?’ she said next, and he nodded and watched in silence as she headed for her oversized satchel, her ballet-style slippers making no sound on the marble floor. Odd choice of shoes to be wearing with crisply tailored grey trousers and a vivid fuchsia sleeveless silk top with an embroidered panel down the front that screamed couture, but all became clear when she opened the coat cupboard beside the front door and swapped her soft slippers for strappy black sandals with a stiletto heel.
‘I can’t stand high heels on marble floors,’ she explained. ‘It’s the clickety-clack. Where’s the elegance? Not to mention the ability to retreat without being seen or heard. That’s a very useful skill on occasion. Not, I hasten to add, that I’ve ever had to use that ability here. Your father doesn’t womanise.’ She reset the alarm before closing the cupboard door. ‘It’s a refreshing change.’
‘Yours did?’ he asked as he ushered her out of the door and closed it behind them.
‘Oh, yes. It was just a game, you see. Everything from stealing another man’s woman to the removal of vast sums of other people’s money—it was all just a game.’
‘Where was your mother in all of this?’
‘Living happily in Texas with oil baron husband number three. He doesn’t womanise either, come to think of it. That’s two I know.’
‘Wouldn’t he give you a job if you asked for one?’
‘Probably, but I don’t work for family, Damon. Never have, never will.’ ‘Another rule?’
‘That one’s more of a survival trait. Work for family and before you know it they’re trying to control your life.’ They stepped into the elevator and Ruby pressed the button to the foyer. ‘How loaded is your daddy’s credit card when it comes to buying Christmas gifts for his children?’ she asked. ‘Because I happen to have it with me.’
‘He bought us a plane once,’ said Damon. ‘We had to share it though.’
‘Poor baby,’ she murmured with another one of those carefree smiles that put him in mind of a kid in a sweets shop. ‘Not sure I can swing another aircraft or two at such short notice, but I’ve absolutely no objection to shopping with the sheiks and the sugar daddies if that’s the norm. The Landmark it is.’
The Landmark shopping mall butted onto the Landmark Oriental Hotel, which meant valet parking and rampant indulgence. Ruby’s mode of transport, an Audi R5 in panther-black with a pearl finish, would fit right in.
‘Yours?’ he murmured.
‘Was that a question?’ asked Ruby. ‘I thought we’d banned personal questions.’
‘You just asked me one.’
‘I asked about the cost of Christmas gifts for your family. That was business.’
‘No, that’s about as personal as it gets. I, on the other hand, merely questioned whether this car was yours. It could be a company car. It could be my father’s, though I doubt it. His taste runs to saloons.’
‘It’s mine. I chose it and paid for it myself. Happy now?’
‘Yes. And I heartily approve of your choice of wheels. It almost makes up for your choice of hair accessory. What is that thing on your head anyway?’ She’d slipped it on in the car. He’d been staring at it ever since.
‘It’s a headband. It keeps my hair out of my face and what’s more, I guarantee it’ll get us taken seriously when it comes to shopping where we’re shopping. You’ll see.’
‘Ruby, it’s a frothy pink bow on a leopard-skin band.’
‘No, it’s high-end couture. This is serious frou-frou.’
‘I have another question,’ he said.
‘You’re wondering where the money comes from,’ she said. Which he was.
‘Am I really that easy to read?’
‘No, it’s just that it’s the first question everyone asks. Feds, lawyers, strangers … Everyone wants to know if I’m spending my father’s ill-gotten gains. I’m not. The money’s clean. I’m a trust-fund baby, courtesy of my late grandmother.’
‘So you don’t actually need to work for my father. I could, in effect, attempt to engage your affections with a clear conscience.’
‘No, you’d still be stricken with guilt—that is, if you do guilt. My grandmother was not one to encourage idleness. The trust is set up so that for every dollar I earn it releases two. More if I throw in a good deed or two for charity, which, as luck would have it, I do.’
‘And what would your grandmother have thought of the car?’
‘She’d have loved the car,’ said Ruby, and swung out of the car park and into the Hong Kong traffic with a confidence born of insanity. ‘There’s a massage option built into the seat if you feel the need to relax,’ she murmured as she expertly cut her way across three lanes of traffic in order to take the next right.
‘I’m fine,’ he squeaked, but by the time they reached the shopping mall he had renewed his acquaintance with prayer and discovered that Ruby Maguire was either totally fearless, bent on annihilation by way of traffic incident or stark-raving mad.
The shopping centre did nothing to soothe Damon’s already fragile peace of mind. ‘You know what you’re looking for, right?’ he asked a touch desperately as he glanced up at the waterfall of retail stores rimming the central atrium.
‘No,’ said Ruby cheerfully. ‘I have no idea. That’s why you’re here. You can start by telling me whether your sisters are girly girls when it comes to gifts or more practically inclined? Should I be thinking handbags for Poppy or season tickets to the Royal Ballet? She lives in London, right?’
‘Right. And definitely the tickets. Buying tickets online would mean we wouldn’t necessarily have to go into any of these shops. Problem solved.’
‘Or we could put the tickets in the handbag,’ murmured Ruby. ‘Or in the pocket of a black velvet evening coat. Do you have her measurements?’ Damon shook his head. Ruby sighed her impatience. ‘C’mon, Damon. Work with me here. Surely a rake of your stature can hazard a decent guess as to dress size? We’re not going to swing tailor-made at this time of year anyway. It’ll have to be ready-to-wear.’
‘In that case, Poppy’s five seven and too slender for her own good. Size ten, Australian.’
‘Thank you. I knew you could do it. What about Lena?’
‘Lena is a little taller and has spent six of the last eight months in a wheelchair. She’s even skinnier than Poppy these days. I hope it doesn’t last.’
‘So … dress size eight? Or ten?’
‘Yes,’ he said and earned himself an eye roll. ‘Ten would be better. Give her something to aspire to.’
‘And what size am I?’
Nice of Ruby to give him permission to study her delectable form. ‘Arms above your head and turn around,’ he directed smoothly.
‘Funny man.’ Ruby’s honey-coloured eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. Damon’s gaze followed. Her waist was tiny but she did have hips. Not to mention a fine rear and full breasts. Her chestnut curls stayed clear of her face, courtesy of the ridiculous headband, and the black leather tote completed her general air of plenty.
Plenty of curves, plenty of attitude and plenty of challenge to be going on with. Damon smiled his appreciation.
‘Somewhere between a size ten and a twelve, Ruby, though I’m guessing most of your clothes are custom fit. You’ve got that look. How am I doing so far?’
‘You’re a true expert on the female form. Lucky me. Now tell me what kind of clothes your sisters prefer to wear.’
Damon looked warily upwards once again, towards the retail floors filled with shops. They seemed like very spacious shops. Probably not that many per floor. ‘Poppy likes layers. Lena hates dresses. Neither of them are into colour.’
‘That’s just sad,’ she murmured. ‘Do they like jewellery?’
‘They have jewellery.’
‘I’m working on the general assumption that they have everything,’ said Ruby dryly. ‘In here, Damon,’ she said, gesturing to the nearest shopfront. ‘No one does neutrals better than the French.’
Bracing himself, Damon followed her inside.
It wasn’t Ruby’s headband that got them exemplary service, decided Damon a few minutes later. It was her attitude. The way she knew not to browse the racks herself but describe what she wanted and then let the assistants fetch the stuff. The way she efficiently sorted the offerings into discards and items she wanted to consider. There was seating, and Damon availed himself of it. Refreshments, which he declined.
Three saleswomen and one curvaceous general. Two presents to purchase. Five minutes, tops.
He was so wrong.
What kind of maniac put a beige trench coat over what looked like a corseted black baby-doll nightie? Or covered a perfectly serviceable strapless black mini dress with a sheer purple overgown that rippled to the floor?
The purple gauzy thing and the mini beneath it were discarded on account of Lena not being one for colour or dresses. In the end, Ruby settled on a pewter-coloured miniskirt for Lena. It had ruffles and looked softly feminine and would not emphasise his sister’s frailty. Damon approved. The ivory-coloured waist-length jacket Ruby chose to go with it had some sort of sculpted band around the hem but it went with the skirt better than expected. The beige trench coat and the baby-doll nightwear combo that she’d set aside was apparently for Poppy.
‘Do I get a say?’ he murmured and four perfectly styled women turned to regard him with varying degrees of pity. ‘You said handbags,’ he said to Ruby mildly. ‘To put the tickets in?’
‘Dammit, you’re right,’ she said, and turned to the attendants. ‘We’ll need to look at handbags too. Satchels, I think.’
‘In the black?’ asked an attendant.
‘Of course.’
Half an hour later they left the shop, goodies in hand, and with Ruby sporting the kind of glow that only came from hitting a credit card hard. ‘Now you,’ she said. ‘Would you like a new suit?’
‘Why? What’s wrong with my suit?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then I don’t want another one.’
‘How about a watch?’
‘I got this one from Poppy and Lena last Christmas. I’ve worn it once.’
‘Well, that’s hardly the watch’s fault,’ she said with a glance at his wrist. ‘It’s a very nice watch. What about gadgetry? New phone? Camera? Computer? What is it that you do?’
‘I troubleshoot computer systems.’ ‘For who?’ She looked intrigued. ‘For those who ask.’ ‘Where are you based?’
‘I don’t have a base. The job’s portable.’
‘But surely life isn’t? Or are you one of those people who just can’t seem to settle anywhere?’
‘Something wrong with variety?’
‘I guess not.’ She didn’t sound impressed. ‘All right. What about a new set of travel bags for Christmas? We’re in the neighbourhood.’
‘There’s some new computer tech I’m interested in. Why don’t you leave it with me?’
‘That’s not what I’m paid to do, and, frankly, I hate leaving jobs undone. It’s a little quirk of mine.’
‘Another one.’
‘Exactly.’ There was that disarming smile again. Feminine weaponry at its finest. ‘If I don’t have a gift for you by the end of the day I won’t sleep. If I don’t sleep I get cranky. It’s not a good look.’
‘How so? Do you abandon the fuchsia headband for a schoolmarm’s bun and a riding crop?’ It was possible. Judging by the shop they’d just raided, anything was possible. Ruby’s golden eyes narrowed. Damon offered up his own disarming smile. ‘I can see that working for you.’
‘I’m glad we went shopping together,’ she murmured. ‘You’ve saved me from fantasising about you later.’
‘Because I’m hard to buy for? Or because I’m homeless.’
‘Neither. There’s something else about you that makes you a dismal relationship choice, and once again I can credit my recently departed father for giving me a heads up.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘It is. It’s about deception and disguise and people who deliberately portray themselves as something they’re not. You make a charming wastrel, by the way. I’m very impressed. But that’s not what you are.’
‘So what am I?’ he asked quietly.
‘Far smarter than you’re letting on, for starters,’ she offered bluntly. ‘Beautifully evasive when it comes to talking about your work, your needs and your lifestyle choices. An old hand, I surmise, at keeping whatever passes for the real you completely hidden from view. You’re not feckless, Damon. You’re a liar.’
CHAPTER TWO
