Sizzle in the City by Wendy Etherington Page A

like to plan.”
    Relief washed through her. “Oh, right.”
    He angled his head, studying her. “You don’t mind discussing business over dessert, do you?”
    “No.” She smiled, hoping to cover her brief discomfort. “I do my best work surrounded by food.”
    Enjoying cappuccino with their tiramisu, they discussed the details of a party he wanted to host for a potential new client and his top executives. He emphasized elegance, but nothing stuffy. His would-be clients were running a company started by their proud-to-be-blue-collar grandfather and enjoyed muscle cars and rye whiskey more than limos and fine wine.
    Shelby suggested a steak and potatoes meal, plus a light salad tossed tableside. The meat would be acquired from her prime supplier and butter and cheese always made a popular accompaniment to any kind of potato.
    Trevor agreed simplicity was best and told her his apartment address. She couldn’t swallow her gasp fast enough.
    “I did mention my business was fairly lucrative, didn’t I?” he asked smoothly.
    Actually, he hadn’t. And even though Calla’s article had given her a fair idea of his success, the reminder of the difference in their lifestyles was shoved into the brightness of reality.
    “I figured you worked hard,” she managed to say.
    “So do you.”
    “Caterers don’t make what transportation moguls do.”
    Laughing, he slid his arm around her waist, holding her to his side. “And yet we’re all outpaced by guys who can throw a football sixty yards. It’s a strange world sometimes.”
    After the check was presented, paid and whisked away, Trevor led her outside to a waiting cab.
    “I’m surprised you don’t have a limo and driver.”
    “I like being a regular New Yorker.” He linked his fingers with hers, letting their joined hands rest on the worn black vinyl seat. “I especially don’t like people waiting on me every minute of the day.”
    “I would have imagined you’d be used to that.”
    “No. As I said earlier, I’m the second son. My safety, education and general health was taken care of. But as for anything else, I was pretty much on my own.”
    “On your…” The coldness of his words hit her, even though he communicated no resentment. “Your parents?”
    “My parents divorced—rather bitterly—when I was five. My father was busy with parliament. My mother became obsessed with screwing every tennis instructor in England. My father booted her off the estate when he found out, though I expect the abruptness had more to do with the gossip than unfaithfulness. I’ve always wondered if he still pines for her, no matter how inappropriate she was for him and his proper life, but instead of women, Dad focused all his energy in molding the perfect heir.” With a crooked smile, he shrugged. “Everybody copes with setbacks in their own way.”
    So Trevor was ignored in favor of Max? Shelby could barely contain her outrage. “But—”
    “Being on my own taught me self-reliance. I’ve never had Max’s obligations to the future title, never wanted them. Never had to live up to anything but my own expectations, as long as I did everything my father asked, of course.” Regret filled his eyes. “The divorce hit Max harder than me. He was devoted to Mum, while I had Florence, who was my governess back then.”
    In other words, she was the only one who cared, Shelby thought.
    He stroked her cheek. “Your face is turning as red as your hair. Don’t be outraged for me. Remember, I’m related to George the Third—yes, the one who fought the American colonists. I have an excellent pedigree.”
    She stared at him in disbelief. “Who cares about that?”
    He pressed his lips against her skin. “A great many people.”
    His breath stirred her hair; his scent stirred her senses. Maybe her allure wasn’t the color of her hair after all. Maybe he liked her simply because she was normal.
    Since his upbringing certainly wasn’t familiar. At least to her.
    And all