Kitabı oku: «Just One Night...», sayfa 3

‘I’ll call you back,’ he said into the phone, without taking his eyes from her, without making any attempt to leave the room or cover himself. ‘Something’s come up.’

She risked a glance—there—and immediately wished she hadn’t, for when she looked back at him, his eyes glinted knowingly, the corners creasing, as if he’d known exactly what she’d been doing and where she’d been looking.

‘Evelyn?’

He was waiting for an answer, but right now her tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth, her softly fitted dress seemed suddenly too tight, too restrictive, and the man opposite her was too big and all too obviously virile. And much, much too undressed. The fact he made no attempt to cover himself up only served to unsettle her even more.

He took a step closer. ‘You’re Evelyn Carmichael?’

She took a step back. ‘You were expecting someone else?’

‘No. Nobody else—except…’

‘Except what?’ she whispered, wondering if spiders’ eyes glinted the same way his did as they sized up their prey.

‘I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone like you.’

She felt dizzy, unbalanced and unprepared, and there was absolutely no question in her mind what she had to do next, no wavering. She turned, one hand already fumbling for the door handle, her nails scratching against the wood. ‘Clearly you’re not ready,’ she said, breathless and panicky and desperate to escape. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

But she’d barely pulled it open an inch before a hand pushed it closed over her shoulder. ‘There’s no need to run away.’

No need? Who was he trying to kid? What about the fact a near-naked man was standing a bare few inches away from her and filling the air she breathed with a near-fatal mix of soap and citrus and pure, unadulterated testosterone? A man she’d once been prepared to spend the night with, a lost night she’d fantasised about ever since. A man standing so close she could feel his warm breath fanning the loose ends of her hair, sending warm shivers down her neck. What more reason did a girl need to flee?

Apart from the knowledge that it wasn’t the beast she had to be afraid of after all. It wasn’t the beast she couldn’t trust.

It was her own unquenched desires.

‘Stay. Help yourself to something from the minibar while I get dressed next door. I promise I won’t be long.’

‘Thanks,’ she whispered softly to the door, not sure if she was thanking him for the offer of a drink or for the fact he was intending to put some clothes on. But she was sure about not turning around before he removed his arm from over her shoulder and moved away. Far, far away with any luck. ‘I’ll do that.’

And then the arm withdrew and she sensed the air shift and swirl as he departed, leaving her feeling strangely bereft instead of relieved, like she’d expected. Bereft and embarrassed. God, she must seem so unsophisticated and gauche compared to the usual kind of woman he entertained, practically bolting from the room with her cheeks on fire like some schoolgirl who’d wandered into the wrong loos by mistake!

She could actually do with a stiff drink right now, she mused, still shaky as she pulled open the minibar fridge, assuming she could open her throat wide enough to drink it. Then again, tonight would be a very good night not to drink alcohol, and not just because she probably had no tolerance for it these days. But because drinking anything with anaesthetic qualities in this man’s presence would be a very, very bad idea.

Especially given she was already half-intoxicated just being in his presence.

True to his word, he was already returning from the room beyond by the time she’d made her selection, a pair of slim-fitting black trousers encasing those powerful-looking legs and a crisp white shirt buttoned over his broad chest. Even dressed, he still looked like a god rather than any mere mortal, tall, dynamic and harshly beautiful, and yet for one insane, irrational moment her eyes actually mourned the loss of naked skin to feast upon, until he joined her at the minibar and it occurred to her that at least now she might be able to speak coherently.

‘Did you find something?’ he asked, as she moved aside to give him room as he pulled a beer from the fridge.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, twisting the cap from a bottle of mineral water and grabbing a glass, still discomfited by his presence. Then again, it was impossible to see him clothed and not think about those broad shoulders, the pebbled nipples and the cluster of dark hair between them that swirled like storm fronts on a weather map, before heading south, circling his navel and arrowing still downwards…

She sucked in a rush of air, cursing when it came once again laced with his tell-tale scent. Distance was what she needed and soon, and she took advantage of his phone ringing again to find it. She did a quick risk assessment of the sitting room and decided an armchair was the safest option. She needed to stop thinking about Leo Zamos with no clothes on and start thinking about something else. Something that didn’t return the flush to her skin and the heat to her face.

Like the decor. Her eyes latched onto a triptych set above the sofa. Perfect. The three black and white prints featured photographs of Melbourne streetscapes from the Fifties and Sixties, their brushed gold frames softening their impact against the cream-coloured wall. Understated. Tasteful. Like the rest of the furnishings, she thought, drinking in the elegant surrounds of the sitting area and admiring how the decorator had so successfully combined a mix of fabrics, patterns and textures. Maybe she should try for something similar…

And then Leo finished the call and dropped onto the sofa opposite, scuttling every thought in her head.

He stretched one arm out along the top of the cushions, crossed one long leg over the other and took a swig from his beer, all the while studying her until her skin prickled with the intensity of his gaze and her heart cranked up in her chest till she was afraid to breathe.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Evelyn Carmichael, my virtual PA. I have to say I’m delighted to find you’re very much real and not so virtual after all.’ And then he shook his head slowly and Eve’s lungs shut down on the panicked thought, He knows! Except his mouth turned up into a wry smile. ‘Why did I ever imagine you were middle-aged?’

And breath whooshed from her lungs, so relieved she even managed a smile. ‘Not quite yet, thankfully.’

‘But your credentials—your CV was a mile long. What did you do, leave school when you were ten?’

The question threw her, amazed he’d remembered the details she’d supplied when he’d first sent his enquiry through her website. But better he remember those details rather than a frenetic encounter in a filing room with a PA with a raging libido. ‘I was seventeen. I did my commercial degree part time. I was lucky enough to make a few good contacts and get head-hunted to a few high-end roles.’

His eyes narrowed again and she could almost see the cogs turning inside his head. ‘Surely that’s every PA’s dream. What made you leave all that and go out on your own? It must have been a huge risk.’

‘Oh, you know…’ she said, her hands fluttering around her glass. ‘Just things. I’d been working in an office a long time and…’

‘And?’

And I got pregnant to one of the firm’s interstate consultants…

She shrugged. ‘It was time for a change.’

He leaned forward, held out his beer towards her in a toast. ‘Well, the bricks and mortar office world’s loss is my gain. It’s a pleasure meeting you at last after all this time, Evelyn. You don’t know how much of a pleasure it is.’

They touched drinks, her glass against his bottle, his bottomless eyes not leaving hers for a moment, and now she’d reeled in her panic, she remembered the heat and the sheer power of that gaze and the way it could find a place deep down inside her that seemed to unfurl and blossom in the warmth.

‘And you,’ she murmured, taking a sip of her sparkling water, needing the coolness against her heated skin, tempted to hold the glass up to her burning cheeks.

Nothing had changed, she thought as the cooling waters slid down her throat. Leo Zamos was still the same. Intense, powerful, and as dangerous as sin.

And it was no consolation to learn that after everything she’d been through these last few years, everything she’d learned, she was just as affected, just as vulnerable.

No consolation at all.

She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He sipped his beer and reflected on the list of qualities he’d wanted in a pretend fiancée as he watched the woman sitting opposite him, trying so hard to look at ease as she perched awkwardly on the edge of her seat, picking up her glass and then putting it down, forgetting to drink from it before picking it up again and going through the same nervous ritual before she excused herself to use the powder room.

She’d been so reluctant to come tonight. What was that about when clearly she ticked every box? She was intelligent, he knew that for a fact given the calibre of the work she did for him. And that dress and that classically upswept hair spoke of class, nothing cheap or tacky there.

As for charming, he’d never seen anything as charming as the way she’d blushed, totally mortified when confronted by his state of undress before she’d tried to flee from the room. He’d had no idea she was there or he would never have scared her like that, but, then, how long had it been since a woman had run the other way when they’d seen him without his clothes on? Even room service the world over weren’t that precious, and yet she’d taken off like the devil himself had been after her. What was her problem? It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger to her after all. Then again, she’d made plain her disapproval of his long line of companions. Maybe she was scared she might end up on it.

Now, there was a thought…

He discounted the idea as quickly as it had come. She was his PA after all, even if a virtual one, and a rule was a rule. Maybe a shame, on reflection, that he’d made that rule, but he’d made it knowing he might be tempted from time to time and he’d made it for good reason. But at least he knew he wouldn’t have to spend the night forcing himself to smile at a woman he wasn’t interested in. He found it easy to smile at her now, as she returned from the powder room, coyly avoiding his eyes. She was uncannily, serendipitously perfect, from the top of her honey-caramel hair to the tips of the lacquered toenails peeping out of her shoes. And he had to smile. To think he’d imagined her middle-aged and taking nanna naps! How wrong could a man be? He would have no trouble at all feigning interest in this woman, no trouble at all.

He rose, heading her off before she could sit down, her eyes widening as he approached and blocked off the route to her armchair so she was forced to stop, even in heels forced to tilt her head up to look at him. Even now her colour was unnaturally high, her bright eyes alert as if she was poised on the brink of escape.

There was no chance of escape.

Oh no. His clever, classy little virtual PA wasn’t going anywhere yet. Not before he’d convinced Culshaw that he had nothing to fear from dealing with him, and that he was a rock-solid family man. Which meant he just had to convince Evelyn that she had nothing to fear from him.

‘Are we late?’ she asked, sounding breathless and edgy. ‘Is it time to go?’

He could be annoyed at her clear display of nerves. He should be if her nervousness put his plans at risk. But somehow the entire package was so enticing. He liked it that he so obviously affected her. And so what that she wasn’t plain? She wasn’t exactly classically pretty either—her green eyes were perhaps too wide, her nose too narrow, but they were balanced by a wide mouth that lent itself to both the artist’s paintbrush and to thoughts of long afternoons of lazy sex.

Not necessarily in that order.

For just one moment he thought he’d noted those precise details in a face before, but the snatch of memory was fleeting, if in fact it was memory at all, and flittered away before he could pin it down to a place or time. No matter. Nothing mattered right now but that she was there and that he had a good feeling about tonight. His lips curved into a smile. A very good feeling.

‘Not yet. Dinner is set for eight in the presidential suite.’

She glanced at the sparkly evening watch on her wrist and then over her shoulder, edging ever so slightly towards the door, and as much as he found her agitation gratifying, he knew he had to sort this out. ‘Maybe I should check with the staff that everything’s good with the dinner,’ she suggested. ‘Just remind them that it’s for a party of six now…’

He shook his head benevolently, imagining this was how gamekeepers felt when they soothed nervous animals. ‘Evelyn, it’s all under control. Besides, there’s something more important you should be doing right now.’ He touched the pad of his middle finger, just one finger, to her shoulder and she jumped and shrank back.

‘And what might that be?’ she asked, breathless and trembling and trying to mask it by feigning interest in the closest photographic print on the wall. A picture of the riverbank, he noticed with a glance, of trees and park benches and some old man sitting in the middle of the bench, gazing out at the river. That wouldn’t hold her attention for long. Not when he did this…

‘You’re perfect,’ he said, lifting his hand to a stray tendril of hair that had come loose and feeling her shudder as his fingertips caressed her neck. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better pretend fiancée.’

Her eyelids fluttered as he swore she swayed into his touch until she seemed to snap herself awake and shift the other way. ‘I sense a “but” coming.’

‘No buts,’ he said, pretending to focus on the print on the wall before them. ‘We just have to get our stories straight, in case someone asks us how we met. I was thinking it would make sense to keep things as close to the truth as possible. That you were working as my PA and one thing led to another.’

‘I guess.’

‘And we’ve been together now, what, two years? Except we don’t see each other that often as I’m always on the move and you live in Australia.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘That makes perfect sense. And explains why we want to wait before making that final commitment.’

‘Marriage.’ She nodded. ‘We’re taking our time.’

‘Exactly,’ he said, slipping a tentative arm around her shoulders, feeling her shudder at the contact. ‘We want to be absolutely sure, which is hard when we only get to see each other a few snatched times a year.’

‘Okay. I’ve got that.’

‘Excellent.’ He turned towards her. Put a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes. ‘But there’s one thing you don’t get.’

‘I knew there was a but coming,’ she said, and he would have laughed, but she was so nervous, so on edge, and he didn’t want to spook her. Not when she was so important to him tonight.

‘This one’s simple,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is relax with me.’

‘I’m perfectly relaxed,’ she said stiffly, sounding more like a prim librarian than any kind of lover.

‘Are you, when my slightest touch…’ he ran a fingertip down her arm and she shivered and shied away ‘…clearly makes you uncomfortable.’

‘It’s a dinner,’ she said, defensively. ‘Why should you need to touch me?’

‘Because any red-blooded man, especially one intending to marry you and who doesn’t get the chance to see you that often, would want to touch you every possible moment of every day.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed. You see my problem.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

Her eyes were wide and luminous and up close he could see they were neither simply green nor blue but all the myriad colours of the sea mixed together, the vibrant green where the shallow water kissed the sand, the sapphire blue of the deep water, and everything in between. And even though she was supposed to be off limits, he found himself wondering what they’d look like when she came.

‘I find practice usually makes perfect.’

She swallowed, and he followed the movement down her slender throat. ‘You want to practise touching me?’

Fascinated, his thumb found the place where the movement had disappeared, his fingers tracing her collarbone and feeling her trembling response, before sliding around her neck, drawing her closer as his eyes settled on her too-wide lips, deciding they weren’t too wide at all, but as close to perfect as they could get.

‘And I want you to practise not jumping every time I do.’

‘I…I’ll try,’ she said, a mist rolling in over her eyes, and he doubted she even realised she was already swaying into his touch.

He smiled as he tilted her chin with his other hand, his thumb stroking along the line of her jaw. ‘You see, it’s not that hard.’

She blinked, looking confused. ‘I understand. I…I’ll be fine.’

But he had no intention of ending the lesson yet.

Not when he had such a willing and biddable pupil. ‘Excellent,’ he said, tilting her chin higher, ‘and now there’s just one more thing.’

‘There is?’ she breathed.

‘Of course,’ he said, once again drawing her closer, his eyes once again on her lips. ‘We just need to get that awkward first kiss out of the way.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE barely had time to gasp, barely had time to think before his lips brushed hers, so feather-light in their touch, so devastating in their impact that she trembled against him, thankful for both his solidity and his strength.

More thankful when his lips returned, this time to linger, to play about her mouth, teasing and coaxing and stealing the air from her lungs.

She heard a sound—a mewl of pleasure—and realised it had emanated from the depths of her own desperate need.

Realised she was clinging to him, her fingers anchored in his firm-fleshed shoulders.

Realised that either or both of these things had triggered something in Leo, for suddenly his kiss deepened, his mouth more punishing, and she was swept away on a wave of sensation like she’d only ever experienced once before. He was everywhere, his taste in her mouth, his hot breath on her cheek, his scent filling the air she breathed.

And the feel of his steel-like arms around her, his hard body plastered against her, was almost too much to comprehend, too much to absorb.

It was too much to think. It was enough to kiss and be kissed, to feel the probing exploration of his tongue, the invitation to tangle and dance, and accept that intimate invitation.

How many nights had she remembered the power of this kiss, remembered what it felt like to be held in Leo’s arms? It had been her secret fantasy, fuelled by one heated encounter with a stranger, but even she had not recalled this utter madness, this sheer frantic expression of need.

It was everything she’d ever dreamed of and more, that chance to recapture these feelings. And then he shifted to drop his mouth to her throat and she felt him, rock hard against her belly, and she shuddered hard against him, a shudder that intensified as he skimmed his hands up her sides and brushed peaked nipples in achingly full breasts with electric thumbs.

She groaned as his lips returned to her mouth, a feather-light kiss that lasted a fraction of a second before the air shifted and swirled cold around her and he was gone.

She opened her eyes, breathless and stunned and wondering what had just happened. ‘Excellent,’ he said thickly. ‘That should do nicely. Wait here. I’ve got something for you.’ He turned and disappeared into the other room. She slumped against the credenza behind her, put her hands to her face and tried not to think about how she’d responded to his kiss exactly like she had the first time. Drugged stupid with desire, shameless in her response to him.

Excellent? Hardly. Not when in another ten seconds he could have had her dress off. Another twenty and she would probably have ripped it off herself in desperation to save him the trouble. And all because he didn’t want her to be nervous around him! God, how was she supposed to be anything but, especially after that little performance? Had she learned nothing in the intervening years?

She’d barely managed to catch her breath when Leo returned, a tie looped loosely around his collar, a jacket over his arm, and an expression she couldn’t quite read on his face. Not the smug satisfaction she’d expected, but something that looked almost uncomfortable. When she saw the two small boxes in his hand, she thought she knew why and she didn’t feel any better.

‘Try these on,’ he said, offering the boxes to her. ‘I borrowed them for the night. Hopefully one should fit well enough.’

‘You borrowed them?’ she said, considering them warily, knowing what came in dangerous-looking little blue boxes like those. And if his words were a hint that whatever sparkly bauble she would wear on her finger wouldn’t be hers to keep, it wasn’t terribly subtle. But that wasn’t what bothered her. Rather, it was the artifice of it all, like they were gilding the lie, layering pretence upon pretence. ‘Is this strictly necessary?’

He lifted her hand, dropped the boxes on her palm. ‘They’ll notice if you don’t wear an engagement ring.’

‘Can’t I simply be your girlfriend?’

‘Fiancée sounds much better. All that added commitment.’ He winked as he shrugged into his jacket. ‘Besides, I’ve already told them. Go on, try them on.’

Reluctantly she opened the first. Brilliant light erupted from the stone, a huge square-cut diamond set in a sculpted white-gold band, inlaid with tiny pink diamonds. She couldn’t imagine anything more stunning.

Until she opened the second and imagination took a back seat to reality. It was magnificent, a Ceylon sapphire set with diamonds either side. She had never seen anything so beautiful. Certainly had never imagined wearing anything as beautiful. She put down the box with the white-gold ring, tugged the other ring free and slipped it on her finger, hoping—secretly praying—that it would fit, irrationally delighted when it skimmed over her knuckle and nestled perfectly at the base of her finger.

She looked down at her hand, turning it this way and that, watching the blue lights dance in the stone. ‘They must be worth a fortune.’

He shrugged, as if it was no matter, using the mirror to deftly negotiate the two ends of his tie into a neat knot. ‘A small one, perhaps. It’s not like I’m actually buying them.’

‘No. Of course not.’ He was merely borrowing them for a night to help convince people he was getting married. Just like he was borrowing her.

But even his ruthless designs couldn’t stop her wondering what it must be like to be given such a ring, such an object of incredible beauty, by the man you loved? To have him slide that ring on your finger to the sound of a heartfelt ‘I love you. Marry me,’ instead of, ‘Go on, try them on’.

The sapphire caught the light, its polished facets throwing a dozen different shades of blue, the diamonds sparkling, and she felt her resistance wavering.

With or without the ring, she was already pretending to be something she was not. Could she really make the lie worse than it already was?

‘Very nice,’ he said, lifting her fingers. ‘Have you tried the other one?’

She looked down at the open box, and the pale beauty that resided there. ‘No real need,’ she said, trying to sound like she didn’t care as well as make out that she wasn’t bothered by his proximity, even though her fingers tingled and her body buzzed with his closeness. ‘This one fits perfectly.’

‘And it matches your eyes.’

She looked up to see him studying her face. ‘You know you have the most amazing eyes, every shade of the sea and more.’

‘Th-thank you.’

He lifted a hand to her face and swiped the pad of his thumb at the corner of her mouth. ‘And you have a little smudge of lipstick right here.’ He smiled a knowing smile. ‘How did that happen, I wonder?’

Instinctively she put a hand over her mouth, backing away. ‘I better repair my make-up,’ she said, sweeping up her evening purse from the coffee table and making for the powder room. How had that happened indeed. She really didn’t need to be reminded of that kiss and how she’d practically given him a green light to do whatever he wanted with her. It was amazing it was only her lipstick that had slipped. Well, there would be no more smudged lipstick if she had any say in it. None at all.

He watched her go, his eyes missing nothing of her ramrod-straight spine or the forced stiffness that hampered her movements. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered a few moments ago, when she’d all but rested her cheek against his hand. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

‘Evelyn,’ he called behind her, and she stopped and turned, gripping her purse tightly in front of her chest. ‘Something that might make you feel more relaxed in my company…’

‘Yes?’ She sounded sceptical.

‘As much as I enjoyed that kiss, I have a rule about not mixing business with pleasure.’

She blinked those big blue eyes up at him and he could tell she didn’t get it. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA. Whatever I do tonight, a touch, a caress, a kiss, it’s all just part of an act. You’re perfectly safe with me. All right?’

And something—he’d expected relief, but it wasn’t quite that—flashed across her eyes and was gone. ‘Of course,’ she said, and fled into to powder room.

There. He’d said it. He blew out a breath as he picked up the leftover ring from the coffee table, snapped the box shut and returned it to the safe. Maybe it was, as he had said, to put her at her ease, but there’d also been a measure of wanting to remind himself of his golden rule. Because it had been hard enough to remember which way was up, let alone anything else in the midst of that kiss.

He hadn’t intended it to go so far. He’d meant to tease her into submission, give her just a little taste for more, so she’d be more malleable and receptive to his touch, but she’d sighed into his mouth and turned molten and turned him incendiary with it.

And if he hadn’t frightened her away by the strength of his reaction, he’d damned near frightened himself. He’d had to leave the room before she could see how affected he was, and before he looked into her ocean-deep eyes and decided to finish what he’d started.

He ached to finish what he’d started.

Why did he have that rule about not sleeping with his PAs? What had he been thinking? Surely this was a matter that should be decided on a case-by-case basis.

And then he remembered Inge of the ice-cool demeanour and red hot bedroom athletics and how she’d so neatly tried to demand a chunk of ice for her finger by nailing him with her alleged pregnancy.

There was good reason for his self-imposed rule, he reluctantly acknowledged. Damn good reason. If only he could make himself believe it.

She didn’t recognise herself in the powder-room mirror. Even after repairing her make-up and smoothing the stray wisps of her hair back into its sleek coil, she still looked like a stranger. No amount of lipstick could disguise the flush to her swollen lips. And while the ring on her finger sparkled under the light, it was no match for the lights in her eyes.

Not when all she could do was remember that kiss, and how he had damn near wrenched out her mind if not her soul with it.

It was wrong to feel excited, even though its impact had so closely mirrored that of the first. But he’d simply been making a point. He’d been acting. He’d said as much himself. It had meant nothing. Or else why could he so easily have turned and walked away?

Yet still she trembled at the memory of his lips on hers. Still she trembled when she thought of how he’d felt, pressing hard and insistent against her belly, stirring secret places until they blossomed and ached with want.

Want that would go unsatisfied. Cheated again. Just an act. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA.’

And part of her had longed to laugh and tell him that he’d had his chance, years ago, and blown it then. Another part had wanted to slump with relief. While the greater part of her had wanted to protest at the unfairness of it all.

Damn. She’d known this would be difficult. She’d known that seeing him again would rekindle all those feelings she had been unable to bury, unable to dim, even with the passage of time.

She dragged air into her lungs, breathed out slowly and resolutely angled her chin higher as she made one final check on her appearance. For surely the worst was over. And at least she knew where she stood. She may as well try to enjoy the rare evening out.

How hard could it be?

‘Remember,’ Leo said, as they made their way to the presidential suite, ‘keep it light and friendly and whatever you do, avoid any talk of family.’

Suits me, she thought, knowing Leo would be less than impressed if she started telling everyone about Sam. ‘What is it exactly that their sons are supposed to have done?’

‘You didn’t see the articles?’

She shook her head. ‘Clearly I don’t read the right kind of magazine.’

‘Or visit the right websites. Someone got a video of them at a party and posted it on the web.’

‘And they were doing something embarrassing?’

‘You could say that. It was a wife-swapping party.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed. Half the board were implicated and Culshaw couldn’t stand seeing what he’d worked for all his life being dragged through the mud.’ He stopped outside the suite. ‘Are you ready?’