After they exited the hotel, Dominic abruptly stopped and gazed at Kate with a slight frown. ‘You’re going to be cold.’ The air had a bite to it, the wind off the harbour chill; Hong Kong in January required a jacket. ‘Come, we’ll get you in the car.’

Once Kate was seated, Dominic leaned in. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He shut the door and sprinted back inside the hotel. Minutes later he returned, a white cashmere shawl draped over his arm. ‘She said white goes with everything.’ He tossed the shawl to Kate as he entered the car. ‘I should have thought of it before.’ He signalled the driver and the car pulled away from the hotel entrance.

‘No you shouldn’t have. Here.’ She held out the shawl. ‘I keep saying no, and you keep ignoring me.’

‘I don’t like hearing no,’ he said, like it was the most reasonable statement in the world. ‘And why should you be cold tonight? It doesn’t make sense.’

His gaze was dead serious. ‘I suppose.’ She let her hand drop. ‘Still.’

‘Still, nothing.’ He gave her a nod. ‘Put it on. It cost a few bucks. Don’t make a federal case out of it.’

‘I’m still trying to deal with these clothes,’ she said, plucking at her skirt, ‘what it says about me.’

‘You’re taking this too seriously. There’s nothing to deal with. Wear them or don’t wear them, give them away. I’m sure some charity will take them.’

‘You gotta be kidding.’

‘Not in the least. If they make you unhappy don’t wear them, although,’ he said, his gaze sliding down her body, ‘you look beautiful in every one of Greta’s designs. So if I get a vote, keep them. Now put this on.’ He took the shawl from her lap, said, ‘Sit up,’ wrapped it around her shoulders and dropped back against the seat with a grin. ‘Why don’t we wait until we’re really drunk before we fight. It’ll be more interesting.’

‘Or maybe it’ll just be more violent.’

A wicked smile. ‘Now I’m really hopeful.’

Oh lord, that sexy smile and treacherous murmur zeroed in on her clit like a heat-seeking missile, detonated, and sucked the air from the car, from the universe. She tried not to let him hear her gasp, tried not to squirm – and failed miserably.

‘You OK?’

Another one of those I’ll-take-you-to-the-moon smiles, damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing to her and probably to every other woman who came within his sexual force field. ‘I’m good,’ she choked, forcing herself to think about glaciers or lake ice or snow.

‘If you need anything, let me know.’

The low, husky tenor of his voice was like silk on her skin. ‘Nothing right now, thanks,’ she said firmly. Call her bitchy or maybe competitive, but she didn’t want to be so fucking available. He had it too easy with women. ‘And we’re not done talking about these clothes,’ she added, wanting to change the subject, put a curb on her libido. ‘You can’t always have your own way.’

‘I know how to compromise,’ he said mildly, having watched with admiration as she’d brought herself under control. She wasn’t the only one who liked complicated puzzles. She might be naive, but she had a self-confident wilfulness that intrigued him.

Kate snorted. ‘Remember, I just saw you in action in Singapore.’

‘They were stealing my money. Why should I compromise?’

‘The question is – do you ever compromise?’

He tipped his head faintly in her direction. ‘Are we still talking about the clothes?’

‘No. We’re talking about you rolling over anyone who gets in your way.’

He grinned. ‘May I roll over you? Later? Right now, I’m starved.’

She gave him a jaundiced look. ‘Such smug arrogance. Do women like that?’

‘Women like me, Miss Hart, because I have a helluva lot of money. Ah, here we are.’ He unfurled from his lounging pose.

The car came to a stop near a quay where a sleek cruiser, obviously Dominic’s now that she knew he had a home here, was moored. They were shown into a warm cabin where a steward offered them drinks. Kate shook her head, Dominic said, ‘A single malt,’ and soon they were speeding across the harbour to Hong Kong Island where another car was waiting.

They were driven to the China Club, a members-only oasis taking up the top three floors of the old Bank of China building in Hong Kong’s Central district. ‘We’ll cab to Cépage from here,’ Dominic explained to the driver. ‘Meet us there.’

The club interior was colonial 1930s Shanghai teahouse decor with elegant ceiling fans, rotary phones, art deco architectural touches, an extensive art collection and a dress code. Informal here meant a suit and tie.

Since the handover of the territory from the British to the Chinese in 1997, fewer white men were members. But Dominic was ushered in with his usual deference because he was a member and even if he hadn’t been, men like Dominic Knight were always welcome everywhere. Even without a tie.

An attendant showed them into the small, cosy library, empty of guests.

‘Would you prefer champagne or drinks?’ Dominic asked as he ushered Kate to a fawn-leather club chair. ‘The cellar is excellent here.’

A small, irresolute pause. ‘You decide.’

Dominic gave her a teasing look as he dropped into an adjacent chair. ‘Feeling out of your element, Miss Hart?’