Stripped

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘The PR campaign for the resort is clear-cut but I need clarification on your ideas for making the brand more marketable.’ He jabs a finger at my portfolio. ‘You mentioned a more elaborate presentation? Do you want to run through it before I work through my questions?’

  ‘Yes.’ I sound like an idiot, answering with a monosyllabic affirmative, so I busy myself flipping open my laptop and trying to ignore his impenetrable stare.

  He’s making me uncomfortable, staring at me like he can’t work me out. Join the club. How can he dismiss that kiss last night like it meant nothing?

  Technically, it did, a random brief hook-up between two adults on a moonlit beach that probably happens every night of the week on an island like this; an unfortunate blip in our upcoming working relationship, a moment of cocktail-driven madness. So what was his excuse?

  ‘You’re overthinking this.’

  My fingers stall on the keyboard as I’m bringing up my presentation. He’s undermined me with his casual observation.

  ‘Aren’t you the least bit uncomfortable?’

  I throw it out there, expecting him to shut me down. Then again, he’s the one who’s brought it up again and I’d rather confront the invisible tap-dancing elephant in the room than have to work in this tension-fraught environment for the foreseeable future.

  ‘Maybe.’ He shrugs, drawing his business shirt taut across his broad shoulders. ‘But it happened. We can’t change it. So what’s the point of overanalysing it? We’re adults. We acted on impulse. Why worry?’

  I’m not worried, other than by an insistent hankering to do more than kiss him, and I can’t help but look at his lips and remember how they felt moving against mine.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he says, his voice barely above a low growl.

  ‘Do what?’

  I muster my best innocent act when in fact I’m slightly peeved. He wants to dismiss the kiss, fine. But there’s something in his tone that makes me feel belittled when it was pretty damn fantastic.

  ‘Stare at me like you want a repeat.’

  He’s saying all the right things but I glimpse hunger in his eyes, a desire that matches my own. Crap, we’re in trouble. For despite our protestations there’s a powerful undercurrent between us. I can feel it, an insistent throb where I want him most.

  I wriggle in my seat. It doesn’t ease. Yep, trouble. So I settle for funny to ease the tension between us. I hold up my palm and mimic writing on it. ‘Got it. Memo to Daisy. No more kissing hot guys on the beach.’

  His eyes blaze with lust and I clench my thighs together, swamped with a ferocious heat like I’ve stepped too close to a smouldering volcano. After a long pause, he drawls, ‘Nice to know you think I’m hot.’

  That’s the problem with being a smart-ass. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain. I should’ve omitted the part about him being hot.

  ‘What I think is you need me to make you look good so let’s start.’

  ‘I need you to make this resort look good.’ He leans forward, rests his forearms on the desk, smug and insufferable. ‘I’m doing just fine without your help.’

  Heat creeps into my cheeks, scorching and utterly embarrassing. I should’ve turned tail and run the moment I entered this office. But I need to ensure this job is the best work I’ve ever done and if that means battling wits with this inscrutable man, I’ll do it.

  Maybe I’m playing this all wrong? If I acknowledge what happened in a fun way, perhaps we can move on to work?

  ‘Look, we really need to move past this. I acted on impulse last night, something I never do, and it was a kiss, nothing major.’ His eyes widen, as if he can’t believe I’m being so blunt. ‘As for the debate regarding your hotness, I’m not in the habit of kissing random guys I just meet. I ended my engagement a year ago and haven’t dated much, so considering the way we went at it last night I guess my libido classifies you as hot even if I don’t want to acknowledge it myself.’

  That’s another thing that happens when I’m floundering. Verbal diarrhoea. It’s too late to take it all back and he’s gaping at me in open-mouthed shock.

  I bite my bottom lip and start typing, bringing up my presentation. ‘Now we’ve got all that uncomfortableness out of the way, let’s get to work.’

  I could kiss him—again—when he nods. But he doesn’t stop staring during my entire spiel and I’ve never been more grateful for my obsession with preparation, because if I didn’t have slides I wouldn’t have been able to speak.

  I blather about social media campaigns and photo shoots and upgrading websites. I manage to sound halfway intelligent but the intensity of his stare is unnerving.

  When I give my final spiel about a newsletter blitz to tourism boards around the world, I’m ready to snap my laptop shut and bolt.

  ‘Your work is excellent.’ He steeples his fingers and rests them on the desk in front of him, channelling a guy double his age. ‘But you can forget about doing most of what you just said.’

  I struggle to hide my shock. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  With those four little words, I realise I’m in for the fight of my life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hart

  THE POCKET ROCKET is gaping at me in a most unladylike manner. Her hazel eyes glitter, the gold and green flecks glowing like cut glass when she’s angry. I saw it earlier, when I dismissed that kiss as nothing. A crock of shit considering the memory kept me up all night.

  When she walked into my office full of bright-eyed optimism I was stunned by the irrational urge to bend her over my desk. I don’t give in to impulse as a rule so the fact her boldness bamboozled me last night into making out on the beach had already put me on edge this morning. But I’d chalked it up to a brief encounter that meant little, until Daisy strutted in here and I remembered exactly how good she tasted...

  I hid my reaction well. I’m a master of the poker face. No one can get a read on me. Only Pa has ever seen the real me—to a point.

  How he had the patience to coax my angry, recalcitrant sixteen-year-old self into a new life I’ll never know. After discovering my existence, a wiser man would’ve thrown money at the problem. But Pa insisted I live with him: sent me to the best school for the final two years of my studies, funded my university degree, gave me everything.

  But all that didn’t make much of an impression: it was his unswerving faith in me, despite not really knowing me, that made me eventually trust him. I wish I’d realised it sooner and that I’d had the guts to tell him.

  ‘What do you mean you won’t do it?’ She bristles like an indignant echidna, making her even cuter. Her honey-blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a loose topknot, to add extra height I assume. She’s five foot two max, with the kind of curves that beg for a man’s touch. I obliged for an all too brief time last night and now we’re working together I can’t touch her despite the urge to do just that.

  It makes me extra tetchy. ‘Unless you’re hard of hearing, I mean exactly that. I won’t do social media. It’s not my thing, posting nonsensical, egotistical garbage for all the world to see in the hope of making people “like my brand”.’

  I make those annoying inverted comma signs with my fingers that I hate. ‘And I’m not doing photo shoots to promote the resort. Focus on the scenery, the ocean, the island, the resort’s many drawcards, that’s it.’

  I jab a finger in her direction. ‘And no way in hell will you get me doing live podcasts or videoconferencing on the beach.’

  If she was bristling after my initial refusal she’s practically livid now. A vibrant pink stains her cheeks, making her eyes glow even more, and her hands are clenched so tightly I can see her knuckles pop where she’s resting them on the desk.

  When she forces a sickly-sweet smile, I know I’m not going to like what she says next. ‘That’s a pity, considering you
were more than willing to do other stuff on the beach last night.’

  Wham. She’s hit me in a weak spot: my foolish attraction to her. It’s wrong, fantasising about this woman, especially when she’s working under me.

  Fuck, bad analogy, and my dick hardens.

  I have to admit, she’s gutsy. A lesser woman would back down and defer to me because of my wealth and status. I’m the CEO of fifteen five-star hotels around the country and the media have been all over the story of Pa’s passing and my return home to fill his proverbial shoes. It’s why I hired this PR firm—because reports haven’t been favourable.

  The media dug into Pa’s health decline and the accompanying effect on the hotels, making wrongful assumptions and generally painting him as an incompetent old fool who wouldn’t move into the twenty-first century. Bookings at all the hotels plummeted as a result, as if morons think the hotels will close their doors unexpectedly at any minute. Gem Island has taken the worst hit and considering it was always Pa’s favourite, it jolted me into doing something proactive.

  Enter Daisy Adler, with her too-tight black power suit better suited to a city glass tower, her immaculate make-up, her towering stilettos and those expressive eyes that sucked me into a vortex I have no intention of going near again.

  She’s smart. Her ideas are original and clear-cut. I need her to make the Rochester brand look good. So I’ll have to say the C word, something I hate.

  ‘I’m willing to compromise.’

  The last word sticks in my throat. I don’t do well working alongside other people. With my foster-kid charities around the world I have full autonomy. I work better that way. Not many people know about my involvement in establishing outreach centres in high-risk cities and I prefer to keep it that way. The last thing I need is my face bandied around as part of the Rochester empire and scaring off kids who might see me as a rich prick flinging his cash around rather than a guy who was once like them willing to give them a break.

  I don’t need accolades or publicity for what I do for those kids. I don’t expect anything in return.

  I help them because it’s a way to pay my dues.

  ‘You’re willing to compromise? Lucky me.’ She claps her hands, her sarcasm making me want to laugh out loud.

  I’ve never met a woman like her. Isn’t she at all intimidated?

  ‘I could fire you. You know that, right?’

  She doesn’t blink. ‘You can but you won’t, because you need me to make you look good.’

  Her snooty gaze sweeps me from my head to my torso. ‘And it’s going to be a tough enough job without you vetoing everything.’

  I bark out a laugh. I can’t help it. She’s feisty and mouthy and bold, unlike any woman I’ve ever met.

  The girls I knew growing up in the foster system were defiant, but I always saw through to the underlying fear. It was like looking in a mirror. Later, when I began to move in Pa’s social circles, the women were deferent yet calculating, impressed by wealth more than anything else.

  Daisy is...unique. She’s not scared of me, she’s not embarrassed, and she’s not backing down.

  ‘I’m glad you find me amusing.’ Her anger has faded, replaced by something more alarming: daring.

  I see it in the brash way she meets my gaze, unflinching and questioning. And her mouth has relaxed, the corners curled up like she’s about to smile.

  ‘I find you many things, but amusing is low on the list.’

  Those beguiling flecks in her eyes glow again but with heat this time, not anger. ‘Do tell.’

  I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. But I’ve never backed down from anything in my life and I’m not about to start now, no matter that I should.

  ‘You’re confident. Overly so.’

  She remains silent, one eyebrow arched in provocation, and I continue.

  ‘I also find you surprisingly impertinent for someone who’s technically an employee of mine for the foreseeable future.’

  The other eyebrow arches. ‘There’s a difference between being impertinent and articulate. I’m the latter, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘There you go, being insolent again.’

  She rolls her eyes and I stifle another chuckle.

  ‘And at the risk of going over old ground when we said we wouldn’t, you’re also incredibly attractive.’

  ‘Hey.’ She waggles her finger at me. ‘You chastised me for looking at your mouth earlier so you can’t say stuff like that.’

  ‘You asked me to give you a list. I’m doing that.’ I shrug. ‘What’s the big deal?’

  She doesn’t buy my guileless smile. Smart girl.

  ‘I’ll email you what I’ve just presented.’ She closes her laptop, slips it into her portfolio and stands. ‘I recommend you take another look and we reconvene this afternoon.’

  I should let her get away with her abrupt reversion to professionalism but where’s the fun in that? Not much amuses me these days and I haven’t laughed in forever. Daisy Adler, with her swiftly changing faces—audacious to prim, teasing to business-like—has managed to get me doing both over the last thirty minutes.

  ‘Maybe we should make it dusk and take another walk along the beach?’

  Those sensational glossed lips compress into a thin line. ‘I’ll see you back here at two.’

  With that, she tucks her portfolio under her arm and stalks towards the door, back ramrod straight. Her ass is divine and I remember palming it last night. How it filled my hands. Soft yet firm. Pliable.

  As if sensing my thoughts she stops at the door to glance over her shoulder, shooting me a disapproving glare.

  I can’t help but grin as she slams the door on her way out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Daisy

  I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.

  Hart caved.

  Well, technically he’s only agreed to doing a few shots around the resort but it’s a start. I’ll have him agreeing to the rest before he can say ‘I’m a contradictory jerk’. Because he is. The way he stared down his nose at me one minute, then flirted with me the next... I could’ve slapped him.

  Instead, I had to play nice. Especially when he said he had the power to fire me. That gave me a fright. But I took a risk. Rather than back down as he would have expected, I goaded him further and it worked. I’d pitched to guys like him in the past: they respected courage so I showed no fear.

  Unfortunately, it semi-backfired when he found my boldness a bit of a turn-on, if the way he looked at me was any indication. He switched from moody to intrigued, like he couldn’t figure me out.

  Confronting the guy I kissed was bad enough. My quick mental argument between my logical side and my inner vixen when I entered his office went something like this:

  Why the hell does Hart Rochester have to be the hottie you kissed? What’s so special about him that he makes you want to shuck your panties? What the hell were you thinking?

  Well, I wasn’t. He’s a seriously good kisser and he’s hot and I’m in a man drought so I couldn’t help myself despite having to work with him. Damn, he looks fine. Better than I remembered in the semi-darkness last night. I wonder how unprofessional it would be to lie on his desk and ask him to take me now?

  Thankfully I managed to appear calm and coherent during my presentation. But I was ultra aware of him throughout, staring at me with those enigmatic eyes that shield his every thought. Only when he lightened up did I see a glimpse of how he could be if he let go: funny, interested, alive.

  The latter had me spooked because when I’d first entered his office and we’d got past the awkwardness of our kiss, I’d seen a man sitting behind a desk who appeared like a robot. Like he was going through the motions. Like he didn’t want to be here.

  I’m good at my job but no amount of positive PR will make an ounce of difference if he looks like that in the rebranding
material I have planned. Which is why I’m here to ensure he lightens the hell up.

  ‘How about this for a few casual shots?’ I hand him one of the outfits I asked him to bring down to the cabanas circling the pool.

  He stares at the red polo and navy shorts like I’ve given him a chicken suit to wear. I expect him to baulk. Instead, he shrugs and glances around. ‘Where should I change?’

  I refrain from rolling my eyes, just. He’s deliberately making this as hard as humanly possible and my patience is wearing thin, considering we’ve been at this for an hour.

  I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think. ‘I don’t know, Einstein, maybe in one of the cabanas?’

  ‘But the material is flimsy, you’ll see everything.’ He ducks his head to murmur in my ear. ‘Or is that your intention, perv?’

  I bite back a laugh. ‘Trust me, Sweet-Cheeks, if I wanted to see everything it wouldn’t be out here.’

  ‘Then where would it be?’

  He hasn’t moved, deliberately staying close enough to taunt me, so I respond in kind. ‘Somewhere private, because I don’t like an audience for what I have in mind.’

  He makes an odd strangling sound and backs away. Go me.

  I deliberately avert my gaze when he enters the nearest cabana. But I’m only human, and insanely attracted to this smart-mouthed guy, so I risk a peek.

  Bad move. While I can’t see anything per se, I see enough. The angling of the sun ensures light pours through the cabana’s canvas, casting his shadow against the opposite wall. He has his back to me and I see him slip off his shirt and pants, leaving him silhouetted like a goddamn Adonis. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long, lean legs.

  My mouth goes dry as he half turns and I see the rest: an obvious bulge in his jocks. Nice to know I’m not the only one turned on. I continue staring as he steps into the shorts, hikes them up and pulls the polo over his head. I’m hot, flushed from head to foot. Damn island heat. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.