Kitabı oku: «Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss: Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife / Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek / Her Ruthless Italian Boss», sayfa 3
She hadn’t spent the last ten years saving and sacrificing to have Dani’s chances at a better life shot to hell…and all because of Cormac.
Cormac. This was all his fault…and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘How do you know so much?’ she demanded in a furious, frightened whisper, and he shrugged.
‘Most of it is on your CV.’
‘So is my name!’ She felt like scratching that arrogant, indulgent smile right off his mouth.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but that information isn’t important to me.’
‘It should be, if you want to pretend to be my husband!’ She’d raised her voice and in one quick, quiet movement Cormac grabbed her wrist, encased her hand in his like a vice. He pressed her fingers against her own mouth in a movement that was almost tender, except for the look in his eyes.
His eyes were cold. Freezing, dangerous. Dead.
‘Careful, Chandler,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t really want to give the game away now, do you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she choked. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. ‘You’re such a—’
‘Now, now,’ he murmured, smiling, although his eyes were still cold, still frighteningly flat. Lizzie choked back her words, her fear.
A flight attendant passed, glancing at them curiously.
She probably thought this was a lovers’ spat, Lizzie thought. A little tiff. If it weren’t quite so horrible, it would have been funny.
Except Lizzie did not feel like laughing.
‘Why?’ she asked, and it came out in a wretched whisper. ‘Why are you doing this? It’s only one commission. And it’s such a risk—you could be ruining both of our lives.’
Her head drooped and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willed the tears and despair back.
Cormac was silent. ‘If you make it through this weekend,’ he finally told her, his voice soft, ‘I’ll pay you double your normal salary for the rest of the year. I’ll make sure you never receive a word of bad press—even if it all comes out.’
Lizzie looked up bleakly. ‘How can you make sure of that?’
‘I can. Trust me, Chandler. I don’t take foolish risks.’
‘This seems pretty foolish to me,’ she retorted, and he smiled.
‘Yes, and foolhardy…and a little bit interesting, don’t you think?’ He leaned forward, his lids lowering, his lashes sweeping the bronzed planes of his face. His breath feathered her hair, her cheek. ‘A bit intriguing, perhaps…’ he murmured, a provocative, questioning lilt to his voice.
Lizzie stared at him, amazed by his sudden transformation. Transfixed by it. ‘No,’ she denied—a matter of instinct. Protection. No.
‘It could be an adventure,’ Cormac continued, his voice turning silkily persuasive. ‘For both of us.’ His eyes glittered and again she saw that flicker, as if something had been stripped away or dropped into place. She didn’t know which.
What was it? It was a shadow, a veil, and yet it also revealed. Revealed the man beneath the hard veneer of calculated charm—if there was one.
‘An adventure? I don’t…’ Lizzie’s breath hitched as she dragged it into her lungs ‘…see how.’
Cormac raised his eyebrows, a smile played about his mouth. His lips were both sculpted and soft…and close. Very close. To her.
‘Don’t you?’ he murmured. He raised one hand to her cheek and twined her hair through his fingers. With each sleepy spiral of his hand he ticked off a point. ‘You’ll be in the Caribbean, in a beautiful villa. Wined and dined with a trunkful of designer clothes at your disposal—clothes which cost a small fortune. Petted, pampered. What woman wouldn’t enjoy that?’
Lizzie swallowed. What woman, indeed? She wanted to say she wouldn’t, insist that she couldn’t be bought so easily, and yet…
There was truth in his words.
Some bizarre, yearning part of her wanted this. Not the clothes, perhaps, or the food or any of the luxuries Cormac thought would entice her.
She wanted the thrill. The adventure, the intimacy. She’d had precious little in her life so far. The last ten years had been a desert of devotion to her sister.
She wanted excitement…and she wanted it with Cormac.
Cormac—the boss she barely knew, who had no interest in knowing her. Yet who was now looking at her, his eyes glittering, a smile of tempting, sensuous promise stealing over his features, softening them…
Stop. Stop.
This was Cormac. This was wrong.
‘What about you?’ she whispered, hating the need and weakness in her voice. ‘How would it be an adventure for you?’
His smile deepened and he dipped closer so his lips touched her ear, sent delicious shivers straight to her soul.
‘Why,’ he whispered, ‘because I’d be with you.’ His lips hovered by her ear, making the little hairs on the nape of her neck quiver with awareness. Awareness of him, awareness of need. Need of him. She’d never needed anyone. Not like this. Never like this.
How had she not missed it? How had she managed without?
The adrenalin, the adventure, they were an addiction. She felt alive, more alive than she’d ever felt before, every nerve and sense twanging with delicious awareness.
And yet it was wrong…
Wonderfully wrong.
‘So?’ Cormac breathed, his lips still close to her ear. ‘What’s your answer…Lizzie?’
He’d known her name. The whole time, she realised, he’d known her name. And somehow, stupidly, that made a difference. That made it almost safe.
She closed her eyes, took in a breath, felt it fill her lungs, felt herself go dizzy. Dizzy, scared and wonderfully excited.
Nothing like this had ever happened to her…and nothing ever would again.
Seize life.
Seize it.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll do it.’
She felt Cormac’s smile, his lips touched her neck in the barest of kisses. ‘I can’t wait,’ he murmured, and sat back in his seat.
She couldn’t even look at him. Cormac smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly at her ridiculous naïveté, her unbelievable innocence. She was embarrassed by the barest brush of a kiss…He wondered if she were a virgin.
She was twenty-eight years old. Surely not. That, he mused, would really be just too pathetic.
Yet it could also prove to be interesting…
Ever since seeing her in that silver gown—and then afterwards in her worn-out bra and jeans—he’d considered whether he would sleep with her. Seduce her. It would be easy, really, all too revoltingly simple, as his brief taste on the plane journey had already proved. A few whispered words, a little caress, and she’d fallen into his hands like softened clay, ready to be shaped to his own desire. His own purpose. He usually liked a bit more of a challenge.
Still…seduction had its uses. A Lizzie who believed herself in love might be more pliable than one who was simply going along because she’d been coerced.
On the other hand, a Lizzie who felt she’d been ruthlessly seduced could be dangerous. Unpredictable.
He’d have to be cautious. Lizzie Chandler needed careful handling.
He gazed out of the window, the stretch of inky sky merely a canvas for the resort he was going to design. The commission he would seize.
The people he would prove wrong.
Lizzie had asked him why this particular commission was so important to him; Cormac hadn’t realised just how much it mattered until the question had been voiced aloud.
No one would tell him what he could or couldn’t do. No one would tell him he wasn’t good enough, worthy enough for anything.
Not any more.
He was in charge, in control of his own destiny—and of hers.
He had Lizzie Chandler in the palm of his hand and that was exactly where he wanted her.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS SOON as their dinners had been cleared—beef fillet and truffle-studded potatoes—Cormac turned brisk and businesslike.
After the few terrifying moments when he’d been so soft, so seductive, Lizzie was grateful for the change.
Brisk she could handle. Businesslike she could do.
‘So…’ Cormac turned to her. The flight attendant had left them with a pot of coffee, two delicate cups and a plate of petit fours. Cormac pushed the sweets aside and took a sip of strong black coffee. He hadn’t touched any alcohol during dinner, Lizzie had noticed, and he’d eaten lightly, despite the many rich offerings.
He was, she realised, a man of incredible restraint. Control. Which made what had happened before—the teasing, tempting breath of a kiss—all the more worrisome. He was just flirting with her, teasing her as a form of amusement. Intimidation. He’d obviously seen how affected she was, just as she’d realised how affected he wasn’t.
‘We need to get our stories straight,’ he said now. He took a sip of coffee before reaching for some papers from his attaché case. ‘If you’re telling Hassell we met at a wine bar and I say we met at work…’ he glanced up briefly, eyes lighting with rare humour ‘…even the most trusting of saints would start to wonder.’
Lizzie nodded. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and thought of the silly films she’d seen where just that scenario had occurred. Then had it been funny; now it was frightening.
No matter how exciting it might be, they both still had so much to lose.
‘You’ve thought of a story?’ she asked, nodding at the papers.
‘Best to keep to the truth as much as possible. Then we’re less likely to trip ourselves up. Now, the facts.’ He gave her a glimmer of a smile before he began the recitation. ‘We’ve been married six weeks. You’ve always worked for me, and one day…’
Suddenly Lizzie couldn’t help herself. It was a game and she wanted to play. Flirt, even if just for pretend. She wanted to have fun. To seize life. ‘One day,’ she interrupted, smiling with coy promise, ‘I walked into your office with some letters for you to sign and you just realised.’ Cormac glanced at her, eyebrow raised in amused query. Lizzie gave a breathy, delighted sigh. ‘You looked into my eyes…’ she leaned forward and fluttered her lashes ‘…and realised that your life had been so cold, so empty, so meaningless without me. Didn’t you?’
She dared to trail her fingers along his cheek, revelling in the rough stubble, the tick in his jaw. ‘It was so sudden, of course. I never thought my boss would be interested in me for one second…But you insisted on taking me out to dinner, and the rest…’ she shrugged, gave a little laugh ‘…is history. Isn’t it, darling?’ She sat back, smiling triumphantly even though her heart was beating a bit too hard.
She’d meant to take her hand away from his cheek, but he was too fast. He grabbed it, held it to his lips as his eyes roamed, caressed her face. ‘That’s just how it happened, sweetheart. I’ll never forget the moment I realised how hopelessly I’d fallen in love with you.’ He kissed the tip of her finger, nibbled on the sensitive pad. Lizzie gasped. Aloud. He smiled and continued nibbling. ‘And you,’ he murmured in a lower, more seductive voice like the slide of silk on skin, ‘fell rather hopelessly in love with me.’ He was sucking her fingers, his tongue flicking along her skin, her nerve-endings, his teeth tenderly biting into her flesh, filling her with craven need. Desire. His mouth curved into a smile that was all too knowing, and amusement lit his eyes.
She’d been playing a game and she had the feeling she’d just lost.
With one last brush against his lips, he dropped her hand into her lap. ‘Don’t lay it on too thick, Chandler, or they’ll really start to wonder.’ He turned back to his papers, completely unruffled, while Lizzie sagged against the seat.
Lord help her. What the hell had she got herself into?
Somehow she managed to get through the next half hour as Cormac droned on about the basics of what they needed to know. She felt frozen, numb. Afraid.
She wasn’t sure she could do this after all. At that moment she was more afraid of Cormac than the press. More fearful for her body—her heart—than her career or reputation.
She’d had no idea she would react this way to Cormac, to his touch, his look; she was leaning into it, craving it. Craving him. Adventure was one thing; abandon was quite another. Her mind danced with possibilities she had no business entertaining.
This was a charade, she told herself fiercely, not the real thing.
Never the real thing.
Help.
Cormac irritably tapped his pen against the sheaf of papers. ‘You haven’t been listening to a word, have you?’
‘Sorry.’ She flinched guiltily. ‘It’s just so much to take in.’
He capped the pen and gestured to the flight attendant to take their empty coffee cups. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters,’ he said with a shrug. ‘No one will be expecting a deceit, so no one will be looking for one.’
‘No one will think it strange that you’ve only been married for six weeks?’
‘Coincidence rather than convenience,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘People will expect a newly-wed couple, newly in love, and I don’t think it will take much to convince them that’s what they’re seeing.’ He paused, his gaze dipping down to her fingers—the fingers he’d touched. Tasted. ‘I’m rather confident of your acting abilities.’
Lizzie tried for a laugh; it came out like a wheeze. ‘At least it’s only for a few days.’
‘A few memorable days,’ Cormac agreed. His smile turned languourous, his gaze heavy-lidded. All intentional, Lizzie knew, and yet she wasn’t immune. She felt her stomach clench, prepare for an assault of the senses, the flood of damning desire. Cormac’s smile deepened. ‘Who knows what might happen?’
The cabin lights flickered and dimmed. Cormac leaned over, his arm brushing her breasts—intentional again, Lizzie was sure—and he eased her chair into a reclining position.
Prone, supine before him, Lizzie clutched the armrests. Hated feeling vulnerable.
‘Sweet dreams, Chandler,’ he whispered. Lizzie lay there and watched as he adjusted his own seat, settled a pillow under his head and promptly fell asleep.
If only it were so easy for her. She lay in the dark, her eyes wide-open, her body thrumming with fear, excitement and unfulfilled desire.
It was a heady mix.
‘We’ll be arriving in Bonaire in just under forty minutes.’
Lizzie tilted her seat forward, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, although she’d finally fallen into a restless doze only to be jerked awake by the bright Caribbean sunlight streaming through the window and the chirpy voice of the flight attendant as she pushed the breakfast cart down the aisle.
Her damp hands curled around the metal buckle of her seat belt. Next to her, Cormac sat relaxed, calm, smiling.
Her husband.
She smiled, a small stretching of her lips. In little over half an hour they would exit in Bonaire, take a small chartered plane to Sint Rimbert and the charade would begin.
She would be Cormac’s wife. A thrill of terror rippled through her in an icy wave.
She couldn’t eat any of the breakfast, although Cormac was calmly drinking a cup of strong black coffee. Once the dishes had been cleared away, they prepared for landing.
‘Here.’ Cormac pressed something cool and hard into her palm; Lizzie looked down and saw it was a wedding ring. Platinum. Expensive.
‘I can’t…’ she began, shaking her head. Cormac curled her fingers around the ring.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you can.’
Lizzie slipped the ring on with numb fingers. It was a little too big, although not enough for anyone to notice.
She was the only one who would notice, who would care. Who would realise how wrong it felt.
It was too late for regrets, she knew. Far too late for second thoughts. She’d agreed, she’d let Cormac seduce her with his words, his touch, his promise.
Who knows what might happen?
Nothing, Lizzie told herself fiercely now. Absolutely nothing.
It was too dangerous. Too tempting.
The plane landed with a bump.
Cormac stood up, slinging his attaché case over his shoulder. He handed Lizzie her handbag and she started in surprise.
‘Here you are, sweetheart,’ he said, and she stiffened. He smiled over her head at the flight attendant who’d been ogling him for the entire journey. ‘She’s always forgetting her things on aeroplanes.’
The attendant tittered, and Lizzie’s cheeks burned. ‘Ridiculing me to the staff before we’ve even stepped off the plane?’ she hissed. ‘What a loving husband you are…darling.’
‘Just teasing,’ he murmured, but she saw a new flintiness in his eyes and realised she’d scored a direct hit. Pretending to be a loving husband—a loving anything—was going to be difficult for Cormac.
Perhaps as difficult as it was proving to be for her.
A young pilot, smiling and speaking with a Dutch accent, met them as they stepped off the plane. The next half hour was a blur of customs, the glare of the hot sun reflecting off the tin roofs of the airport and giving Lizzie a headache. She barely had time to take in their surroundings before they were on a tiny plane, Cormac relaxed next to her, Lizzie’s hand clutching the rail.
It felt as if they were flying a kite.
The pilot grinned at her. ‘It’s small, but it’s perfectly safe.’
Right. She thought of all the accidents she’d read about in the papers that had occurred with planes like these.
This wasn’t part of the deal.
What deal? Lizzie asked herself. There was no deal. Cormac might have let her pretend there was a deal, asked her permission, but it was a joke. A farce.
There was simply Cormac’s will and her submission to it.
Why had she not realised that before? Had she actually believed she’d had some choice?
She closed her eyes. Cormac patted her hand, a caress that felt like a warning.
‘She’s just a bit nervous…and tired.’ She opened her eyes to see him wink at the pilot, who grinned. Lizzie gritted her teeth.
‘There’s Sint Rimbert now.’ The pilot pointed out of the window and Lizzie craned her neck to see.
Below them, the sea sparkled like a jewel and nestled in its aquamarine folds was a pristine island, magnificent and unspoiled.
For a moment Lizzie forgot the man next to her, and the role he was requiring her to play, and sucked in an awed breath.
A densely forested mountain rose majestically in the centre of the tiny island, framed by a curve of smooth, white sand, the clear azure sea stretching to an endless horizon.
A few buildings nestled against the mountain—cottages in pastel colours with shutters open to the tropical breeze.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.
‘Sint Rimbert is the jewel of the Caribbean,’ the pilot stated. ‘Untouched by crass tourism…and it will remain that way.’There was a warning in his voice and Cormac smiled easily.
‘Absolutely. And the Hassells are more than generous to even consider sharing this piece of paradise with anyone.’
The pilot nodded in agreement and said no more as he began his descent to the island.
The landing strip was a bare brown line of dirt, barely noticeable in its stunning surroundings.
As they stepped off the plane, the air enfolded her in a balmy caress, heavy with the sweet scent of frangipani. The sky above them was a soft, hazy blue, fleecy clouds scudding across its surface.
Lizzie breathed in the warm tropical air, felt it fill her lungs with a fizz of excitement and hope. As long as she could keep her cool—with Cormac as much as with everyone else—she’d be okay.
She could even enjoy this. Maybe.
She wanted to. She wanted to have a weekend to remember.
She might never get the chance again.
A man—short, balding and in his sixties—strode forward. ‘Mr Douglas! We are so pleased! So pleased!’ He stuck out his hand for Cormac to shake and Lizzie’s heart constricted. This had to be Jan Hassell, the man they were deceiving.
Stop it, she commanded herself. She was in too deep now; it was too late to feel guilty.
Hassell turned to her, beaming as he pumped her hand. ‘And this must be your wife…’ He paused, forehead wrinkling, and Cormac interjected smoothly.
‘Elizabeth. But I call her Lizzie.’ He spoke the name as if it were an endearment, smiling at her, his gaze a teasing caress.
Refusing to be baited or belittled, Lizzie smiled back, laced her slick fingers with Cormac’s. ‘Please call me Lizzie, as well,’ she murmured, shooting Cormac a coy smile. ‘Everyone does, although Cormac likes to think it’s his pet name for me.’
Jan clapped his hand in delight. ‘But you are so in love! You will have to tell me all about it. My wife, Hilda, will want to know how it all came about.’
More people to deceive. Lizzie hushed the whisper of her conscience. ‘Oh, that’s girl talk,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Hilda and I will have to chat…I’ll tell her all of Cormac’s secrets.’ She smiled and Jan beamed. ‘I’m sure you two have a story, as well!’
‘Oh, we do,’ Jan assured her with a wink. ‘Now, you must be tired. Your things have been brought to my car…Come, follow me.’
He turned and headed towards a four-by-four parked near some scrub.
Cormac put his arm around her shoulders—heavy, warm, a warning. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said easily, but his hand squeezed her shoulder. He murmured in a low voice, ‘Don’t lay it on with a trowel, Chandler. It’s a bit nauseating.’
‘I can believe that,’ she replied in an angry undertone. ‘Acting like you’re in love has to be completely foreign to you! Do you love anything but your precious designs?’ Smiling again, she laid her head against his shoulder, felt the tension in his muscles, in her own.
Every petty victory cost her something, as well.
Their luggage stowed in the back, Jan opened the rear door for them to enter.
Lizzie clambered in, hoping that Cormac would sit in the front with Jan.
He did not. He climbed in next to her, his large, muscular thigh pressed against hers, his arm around her shoulders once more, drawing her tightly to his side. She could smell his scent—the tang of soap and cedar and something indefinitely masculine, as well.
Jan beamed at them approvingly before taking the driver’s seat. As the Jeep left the airstrip, he told them a bit about the island.
‘As you know, Cormac, from our discussion, Sint Rimbert is a small island. There is only one village and a population of less than six hundred. We have a flying doctor, two shops and a post office. That is all.’ Jan spoke proudly and Lizzie guessed he was glad he’d held out against tawdry tourism for so long.
‘Taking the decision to build a resort was difficult,’ he continued as he drove the Jeep along a tarmac road, the thick foliage so close to the car that Lizzie could have reached out and grasped a fern or palm. She saw coconut and banana trees and even the curious, wizened face of a green monkey perched among the branches.
‘It is very important to us that the resort won’t disturb the local population,’ Jan said, ‘or the environment any more than necessary. This is not simply a money-making operation for us.’
‘Of course not,’ Cormac agreed. ‘And I am grateful that you have preserved this paradise for us. It would be my pleasure—as well as my duty—to continue to preserve it for those fortunate enough to visit.’ His voice was smooth and assured without being sycophantic.
He knew how to deal with someone like Jan, Lizzie thought with a tinge of reluctant admiration. How to manipulate him—just as he was manipulating her.
The thought was unwelcome for it held the bitter gall of truth. Her emotions and senses might be quivering with awakened awareness, but Cormac Douglas felt nothing for her. She was a prop, simply to be used. Only to be used.
And she’d better not forget it.
Jan turned the Jeep into a private drive, large wooden gates open to the road.
Lizzie’s eyes widened at the luxurious surroundings. The road wound through the thick tropical forest before it gave way to landscaped gardens bursting with colour and scent.
Jan drove the Jeep over a little wooden bridge, a still, glassy pond covered in lily pads below.
The road curved close to the sea before revealing a large circular drive and a low rambling villa that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, a maze of white stucco and terracotta roof tiles.
‘Onze Parel,’ he said fondly as he stopped the Jeep and gazed fondly at his home. ‘Our Pearl. My great-grandfather named it, and truly it has been a pearl beyond price.’
‘Your family has been on this island for a hundred years?’ Lizzie queried, feeling both curious and a need to say something.
‘Yes. It was sparsely populated before that, mostly with convicts and pirates. Then my great-grandfather received part of the island from Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, as payment for services in the Boer War. He improved the harbour so that ships could land safely—part of the reason Sint Rimbert has been so scarcely populated—and built a plantation.’ He smiled sadly. ‘It was a sugar plantation, built inland, but the house burned down in the nineteen seventies and the plantation dwindled. We built this villa soon after.’
Lizzie nodded. She was fascinated by the history, yet she also wondered if the building of the resort had more financial motivation than Jan Hassell had let on.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘and Hilda will show you to your rooms. You will want to rest before dinner.’
Cormac climbed out of the Jeep, holding his hand out for Lizzie to grasp as she stepped down. She took it as a matter of course and wasn’t prepared for the jolt of sensation that shot up her arm and down to her toes when Cormac’s cool, dry fingers encased her own.
He glanced at her, eyes dark, sardonic. Knowing.
He knew too damn much.
She dropped his hand and strode towards the villa.
Wide wooden doors opened to a tiled foyer and lounge, decorated more for comfort and practicality than to impress. Still, it impressed Lizzie. The windows were open, the wooden shutters thrown wide to an open-air corridor that led to the bedrooms. Only metres away Lizzie could see a strip of white sand and the jewel-toned sea.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ Jan’s wife, Hilda, entered the room. Like Jan, she was short and plump, her white hair elegantly coiffed. She wore loose, flowing trousers and a white silk blouse and she looked cool and comfortable and happy for them to be in her home.
Lizzie’s sense of discomfort and guilt at deceiving these people returned with a sharp pang. As if he knew, Cormac reached out and clasped her hand, twining her fingers with his as she had done earlier. It was an intimate, proprietary gesture and Hilda saw it and smiled.
As Cormac had known she would.
‘You must be tired,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Let me show you your room.’
Room. Not rooms. And no doubt with one bed. Of course they would be sharing a room; they would most likely be sharing a bed. Lizzie had been dimly aware of this earlier, but now it came to her with nauseating force as Hilda led them down the corridor, hibiscus and orchids spilling from pots, their sweet fragrance heavy on the air, making Lizzie’s stomach roil all the more.
Hilda opened a mahogany door and Lizzie took in the room—a wide wooden bed with linen sheets the centrepiece. The tiled floor was scattered with colourful woven rugs and the windows had only shutters, like the rest of the house, now thrown open to the sea.
‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ Hilda murmured. ‘Your bags will be here shortly. Dinner is at eight; we like to gather in the lounge at seven. But please, rest. Enjoy.’ She left them quietly, amidst their murmured thanks, and the door closed with a soft click.
‘Not bad.’ Cormac strode to the window, loosening his tie. Lizzie sank on to the bed. She felt exhausted, strung out. She trembled with tension.
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You just did.’
‘I’ll never be able to keep it up all weekend,’ she protested vainly, for Cormac simply raised his eyebrows.
‘You don’t really have any choice,’ he stated coolly, ‘do you?’
He’d loosened his tie and now he tossed it on to a chair. ‘Just enjoy yourself,’ he continued. ‘I plan to.’ His fingers went to his shirt, but Lizzie’s mind was buzzing too much to notice.
Had he meant that he would enjoy himself or enjoy her? Somehow she had the feeling he wanted her to wonder.
‘There must be a hundred women in Edinburgh who you could have asked to do this,’ she said. ‘They would have been glad to. Why me?’
He paused, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘I thought it would be simpler.’
‘Simpler!’ Lizzie gave a bark of laughter. Nothing about this weekend felt simple. ‘How?’
‘Because we haven’t slept together,’ Cormac explained with a little smile. ‘Yet.’
Lizzie was left staring, gaping at him, the breath robbed from her lungs, her brain…
‘Close your mouth, Chandler,’ Cormac said, laughter lacing his voice. ‘There are flies in the Caribbean. Big ones.’
‘We’re not…’
‘No,’ he agreed, the laughter replaced with a thoughtful smile, ‘we’re not.’
Yet. Did Cormac actually want to sleep with her? Have an affair…Flirting was one thing, but this…
This was dangerous. This was scary.
Lizzie knew she was innocent—more innocent than Cormac even realised. What she didn’t know was how to handle this situation. How to handle Cormac. She laughed tonelessly. Cormac wasn’t the kind of man to be handled.
If anyone was going to be handled, it was her. She was so out of her depth, she was drowning.
And Cormac was the only one who could save her.
He watched her now, smiling faintly, and Lizzie hated the way he seemed to know what she was thinking, as if her thoughts and fears—not to mention her desires—flashed across her face in neon lights.
Maybe they did.
She rose from the bed, unzipped her suitcase and began to hang up the clothes Cormac had bought her. She needed to be busy. She needed to stop thinking so much. Imagining so much. Cormac. Her and Cormac.
Stop.
‘You can always do that later,’ Cormac said mildly, and Lizzie shook her head.
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