Free Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation by Michelle Conder Page B

jerk she’d committed a crime for him she would definitely do jail-time. Lots of jail-time.
    As if all that wasn’t bad enough, the langoustines poached in miso—Élan’s signature dish, which he had enjoyed many times before—had failed to get the taste of her out of his mouth. And that was just damned annoying.
    Lily shifted on the black leather bench seat beside him and for the millionth time he wished she’d just sit still. They had been given a corner booth, overlooking Hyde Park, and whenever she so much as blinked, or turned to take in the view, his mind thought it was a good idea to let him know about it.
    He glanced around at the
über-modern
, low-lit interior and recognised some of the more celebrated restaurant clientele, who all seemed to be having a better time of it than him. Laughter and perfume wafted through the air, along with the sound of flatware on Limoges china, but none of it could distract him from his unhealthy awareness of her.
    He reached for his glass and took a long pull of classic 1956 Mouton Rothschild Medoc, forcing his attention from the spoon Lily was trying to lick the last morsel of ice cream from, as if it was thousand-pound-an-ounce caviar, and back to Oliver’s discourse about his barbaric Scottish ancestors and some battle he’d no doubt claim they had won against the English.
    God, his friend could talk. Had he known that about him?
    Lily leaned forward and laughed, and Tristan refused to look at the way her low-cut silk blouse dipped invitingly, wondering where her tent-like cardigan had disappeared to.
    When they had arrived at Jordana’s prior to dinner the two girls had cried and hugged for an eternity. Then Jordana had whisked Lily away to shower and change, berating him for not thinking of it himself. Tristan hadn’t told her that the last thing he needed was to have Lily Wild naked in his shower!
    Now she was dressed in a red gypsy blouse, fitted denims and ankle boots, all provided by his sister. Her hair was brushed and fell in shiny waves down her back and she’d put on a bra. Pink. Demi-cup. Though he’d be a lot happier not knowing that. Because she had fabulous breasts and he couldn’t help wondering what they would look like naked.
    ‘It was love at first sight.’
    Jordana’s words sounded overly loud to his ears, and brought his awareness sharply back to the conversation.
    What was?
    Tristan looked at his sister, who was thankfully gazing at her fiancé and not at him, and released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.
    ‘That’s rubbish,’ Oliver grouched. ‘It took a month of haranguing you to help me find the perfect anniversary present for my parents before you even agreed to a real date.’
    ‘I wasn’t talking about me!’ Jordana giggled pointedly, and then squealed when Oliver grabbed her leg under the table.
    Lily laughed at their antics—a soft, musical sound that curled through Tristan’s abdomen like a witch’s spell.
    ‘Steady on,’ he said, as much to himself as to Oliver. ‘She’s still my baby sister, you know.’
    ‘Stop your whining, you great plonker,’ Oliver retorted. ‘You’re just jealous because you can’t find someone who’ll have you.’
    ‘Ah, but haven’t you heard, my good friend?’ Tristan drawled. ‘A man doesn’t know what real happiness is until he’s married. And by then it’s too late!’
    Jordana pulled a face. ‘Oh, ha-ha. You’ll fall in love one day. Once you get your head out of those legal bibles and stop dating women who are entirely unsuitable.’
    ‘That swimwear model didn’t look too unsuitable to me.’ Oliver grinned.
    ‘That swimwear model looked like a bobby pin.’ Jordana said archly. ‘Or should I say
booby
pin?’
    ‘Lady Sutton, then?’ Oliver offered.
    ‘Hmmm, right pedigree, but—’
    ‘I
am
still here, you know,’ Tristan grumbled, ‘and I’ll thank you both for staying out of my personal affairs. There’s nothing worse than two people who think