by Maya Blake
Gael stopped himself from growling his frustration. Never had he had to work this hard to get traction with a member of the opposite sex. Had he been in a better mood he would have been vastly amused. He shoved both hands into his pockets and thought fast.
‘I was supposed to attend a dinner party tonight, with thirty other guests, on the Upper East Side. I pulled out because of the prospect of a business meeting with you. We will go there. Is that enough reassurance for you?’
She stared back at him, her injured fist slowly curling. Gael knew the abrasion would be causing her discomfort by now.
‘Maybe...but how do I know the party is real and not some made-up fantasy?’
He compressed his lips before reaching for his phone. A few clicks and Pietro Vitale’s face filled his screen.
‘Gael, your presence has been missed. I’ve tried not to be insulted by a few of my female guests complaining that the party isn’t the same without you,’ his friend complained.
Gael’s gaze shifted from the screen to Goldie. Her mouth was set in a firm, mildly disapproving line. He angled the screen towards her and addressed Pietro. ‘I can remedy that, provided I can bring a guest?’
‘Of course, amico. More is merrier, sí? Also, the sooner, the better. Arrivederci!’
The Italian signed off.
‘Will that suffice or do I need to request a police escort as well?’ he drawled.
Goldie slowly shrugged. ‘This is fine.’
Gael exhaled, a curious tension leaving his body as he nodded. ‘Then come.’
Her eyes widened a fraction at his curt command, but she fell into step beside him. She summoned a tiny smile for his driver as he opened the back door for her. When she stooped to enter Gael forced his gaze from lingering on her rounded backside and shapely legs.
He entered after her and settled back in his seat. When she slid as far away from him as possible he experienced that mild irritation again. Considering what he’d witnessed in the auditorium this afternoon, her stand-offish behaviour was getting old.
‘We’ve established that I’m not about to force myself on you, Miss Beckett, so perhaps you could drop the terrified lamb routine?’
‘I’m not a lamb,’ she snapped. ‘And this isn’t a routine.’
‘Are you saying you’re always this suspicious of everyone?’
‘I’m suspicious of men who come out of nowhere and accost me in dark alleys—and, yes, men who are possibly wolves dressed in lambs’ clothing.’
‘And yet here you are,’ he said.
Her expressive eyes snapped at him. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Gael stared at her as the car slid into traffic. ‘I mean your options aren’t looking very good right now. So perhaps a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. I might decide you’re not worth the effort and leave you to your fate. Is that what you want?’ he asked, watching her closely.
‘I’ve just been attacked. I’m within my rights to be wary,’ she replied.
‘Yes, but I think you trust your instincts too—which is why you’re here, no?’
‘You think you know me?’ she enquired, narrow-eyed.
‘I think my assessment is right. Instinct first, then after that you let other...urges guide you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? What urges?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You tell me.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if this is the way our supposed business meeting is heading perhaps I’m better off cutting my losses right now.’
Gael sighed. ‘While you decide on that will you allow me to put your seat belt on for you? I wouldn’t want you to suffer another injury en route to what you imagine is your gruesome end.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re mocking me?’
He reached for the seat belt. ‘I’m trying to find a way to have a conversation without getting disagreed with at every turn.’
She inhaled long and hard, her gaze going from the buckle in his hand to his face. When he cocked an eyebrow she nodded and pressed herself back against the seat. Moving closer, Gael wondered whether his offer had been a good idea. Underneath the distinctive smell of her intimate acquaintance with alley concrete he caught the scent of apples and honeysuckle. And at close quarters he saw her pulse racing at her throat, her skin flushing when he drew the belt between her breasts.
The stirring in his groin wasn’t surprising—he was a red-blooded male, after all—but he cursed its presence all the same, especially when he cradled her hip for a precious few seconds before the lock slid home and his blood heated up to discomfort levels.
When he finished the task and sat back it wasn’t without a modicum of relief.
He was almost glad when she cleared her throat. ‘So, what do you want to talk to me about?’
He brought his mind firmly back to task. To business. ‘I have a proposition for you. If you’re agreeable we’ll get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk, sí?’
CHAPTER THREE
GOLDIE TRIED TO FOCUS as the sleek, luxurious car rolled down Columbus Avenue and turned on to Central Park West. She didn’t think she’d hit her head when that horrid brute had wrestled her purse away from her. And yet a hazy sensation, as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, swirled all around her, making her wonder if her faculties were intact. Making her wonder if she’d heard him right.
What had this unfathomably riveting stranger said? A proposition.
She wanted to snort under her breath. Nothing good could come out of a proposition from a man like that. A man with the face of a fallen angel, hell-bent on practising his sorcery on unsuspecting women. A man with a voice so hypnotic she wondered if he’d practised that precise cadence and for how long before he’d attained that perfect sizzling-you-to-your-toes note that accompanied each faintly accented word.
He was the kind of man who was everything her mother had always yearned for and never achieved. The exact type of man Goldie had sworn off after witnessing time and again the way they used their God-given attributes mercilessly.
Goldie didn’t hate all men. But she drew a particular line at playboys with enigmatic eyes and captivating faces that defied adequate description and bodies to match. Throw in the type of wealth and raw power this man next to her exuded and her warning bells clanged loud enough to be heard on the Long Island Sound.
So what was she doing in his car?
Goldie frowned, then answered her own question. Circumstances had forced her into it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in control. Of her mental faculties and of her body. That zing she’d felt when he’d secured her seat belt had been a temporary aberration. The whole last hour had been a surreal sequence of events she intended to put behind her as soon as possible.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. When she was certain his phone had absorbed his attention, she turned and stared at his profile.
Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.
Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.
It had been a fruitless wish, of course.
Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.
A version who turned his head and stared straight at
her in the next moment, blasting her with long-lashed light hazel eyes. Goldie attempted to look away, but for some stupid reason she couldn’t drag her gaze from him.
‘This proposition of yours...what’s it got to do with your occupation?’
The scrape in her palm was filthy and stinging badly. Enough that it made unclenching her hand difficult. She dropped her other hand from her ripped sweater long enough to pull the business card from her pocket. It read ‘CEO, Atlas Group’. She’d made it her business to research every TV and movie production company in New York, Hollywood and Canada, just so she wouldn’t miss any opportunities that might whisper past the hallowed halls of Othello. She’d never heard of Gael Aguilar’s company.
‘It’s a new arm of my company.’
‘So you were trolling the halls looking for guinea pigs?’ she asked.
For some reason that amused him. Both sides of his sensual mouth lifted. Even that small action lightened his face in a way that made her breath catch. Made her wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of a full, genuine smile.
‘We really need to get off the subject of animal references. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s refer to ourselves as such, sí?’ he drawled with a raised brow.
Something in his gaze made her self-conscious. She cursed silently when heat rushed up to redden her face. Because of her chosen career she’d needed to train herself not to blush at the drop of a hat, and yet she was doing just that, simply at the droll, slightly mocking look in his eyes.
‘My question still stands,’ she sniped, to cover her uneasiness.
‘And it will be answered in the fullness of time. I need your undivided attention for that discussion.’
‘What makes you think you don’t have that now?’
‘You mean in between trying to hang on to your modesty and the swelling of your hand?’ he enquired, his tone almost gentle.
For some reason that made something tighten in her midriff. Before she could form a disagreeable response he was leaning forward. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar at his side of the car. Snapping the plastic top free, he wet a handful of tissues and turned to her.
‘May I?’ he requested, again in that gentle voice she didn’t want to associate with him. Men like him weren’t gentle. Men like him were predators, only intent on taking, taking, taking and leaving behind callously discarded husks.
Goldie wanted to refuse on principle, in solidarity with her poor mother and with the bitterness that sometimes spilled into her just from being close to it. She didn’t doubt that her mother’s bitterness had stained her in some way, made her wary of certain types of men. Men like the casting director from today’s audition, for instance.
She silently shook her head, veering away from the subject even while admitting she was old enough to know some of the blame for her mother’s current circumstances came from Gloria Beckett herself. It took two to tango, after all.
Tango.
Okay, she wasn’t going to allow an image of her tangoing with this man to cloud her already dizzying thoughts. Determinedly she clenched her gut against any more fanciful thoughts and held out her right hand.
Gael Aguilar cupped her hand in his. Goldie forced herself to ignore the alarming tingling where they touched and watch clinically as he cleaned her wound as best as the meagre supplies allowed. He worked quickly and efficiently, his manner gentle but firm. When he was finished, he disposed of the tissues and eyed her with a steady look.
‘Better?’
She tested the flexibility in her hand and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You see, we’re not above civility after all, Miss Beckett.’
Despite the amusement in his voice there was a thin veil of something else in there...something she couldn’t pinpoint. Or perhaps she wasn’t willing to pinpoint it?
She’d puzzled over this man for far longer than common sense dictated was wise. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked instead, then cringed at the juvenile question.
His amusement increased.
Certain he was about to make another joke at her expense she hurried to add, ‘I don’t have all night.’ She glanced at her watch, her heart lurching when she realised the time. ‘In fact, I don’t think I can do this thing tonight after all. I need to be somewhere else.’
Her mother needed only the smallest excuse to regress into depression and fall off the wagon. Goldie had assured her she’d be home by ten. Any later and her mother would fret. Fretting would inevitably lead to her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. Goldie could only pray that her mother had fallen asleep watching TV tonight.
‘You need to be somewhere else? And you didn’t think to mention that before you got into my car?’ His amusement had vanished. Light hazel eyes narrowed incisively on her. ‘Is this some sort of game?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you wasting my time, Miss Beckett?’
Irritation rushed up her spine. ‘With respect, you insisted on this meeting. Granted, I’m curious to find out just what this proposition is, but I hadn’t realised how late it was—’
‘And suddenly you need to be somewhere else? You have someone waiting for you, perhaps? Boyfriend?’ His gaze dropped to the hand curled into her lap. ‘Husband?’
The word held a sneer that stiffened her back, and again she caught that look in his eyes. As if he held her far below his normal regard.
Puzzlement and that growing irritation made her frown. ‘That really isn’t your business, is it, Mr Aguilar? Are you in the habit of interrogating your potential business colleagues like this? It is business you intend to discuss with me, isn’t it? If not, then I suggest you let me out right now—because I wouldn’t want to waste more of your time!’
His jaw flexed for a second before his expression turned neutral. Eyes that had been mocking and mildly amused became opaque. ‘It is a business proposition. If you need to be elsewhere, then so be it. But will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out whether this is an opportunity you want to miss or not?’
There was a taunt in those words. There was also a look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no.
‘Does that line usually work for you?’
A sculpted eyebrow went up. ‘What line?’
‘The “do things my way or you’ll kick yourself for ever” scam?’
He gave a half-sigh, half an irritated huff. ‘I grow tired of this vacillating. You have one minute to say yes or no. Starting right now.’
He had the temerity to stare pointedly at his watch.
Dear God, she really had fallen down a rabbit hole! She thought she’d hit bottom with the sleazy proposition from that casting director this afternoon. It still made her skin crawl. But had she merely fallen into another dimension? One where the person making a proposition wasn’t even certain whether he wanted his offer accepted or not, but went ahead and dared her to consider it anyway?
About to shake her head to clear it, she saw his eyes sharpen.
‘Make up your mind, Miss Beckett. We’re here.’
Goldie looked out of her window. Sure enough, they’d pulled up in front of one of those flashy-looking high-rises that dotted the Manhattan skyline. This one came complete with liveried doorman, shiny awning, and a uniformed concierge behind an imposing reception desk.
She redirected her attention to the man whose posture held more than a whiff of impatience and arrogance. ‘Twenty minutes. That’s all I have.’
His mouth thinned. ‘We shall see.’
About to ask him what he meant, she found her words choked off when he opened his door and alighted, then turned to hold out his hand.
She didn’t want to touch him. Not after the way it had felt the last time. And because she didn’t want to let go
of the tear in her top that showed half her boob. She shifted along the seat, and was debating how to exit with as much dignity as she could muster when he reached in and scooped her out as if she weighed nothing.
‘What are you— Put me down!’ she spluttered, outrage filling her as he marched her through the double doors being held open by the doorman and into a waiting lift.
He set her down and immediately the doors slid shut. The whole thing had happened in less than two minutes, and yet Goldie felt as if she’d just experienced the headiest, longest rollercoaster ride of her life. Impressions of heat, masculine scent, tensile strength, strong capable arms and...absurdly...above all, safety, buffeted her as she stared at him in astonishment from her side of the lift space.
Once he’d pressed the button for the penthouse he stepped back with a cool look. ‘You said twenty minutes. I wasn’t about to have the time eaten away while you decided which leg to use to exit the car.’
‘My God, you’re insane!’ Or maybe she was. She hadn’t been given the chance to dissect things properly yet.
His jaw flexed and his hands were rammed into his pockets. ‘Far from it, querida. Someone has to remain rational in what is fast turning into a farce. Tell me—do you always make a huge production out of every small decision?’
‘You don’t know me well enough to label me a drama queen, Mr Aguilar.’
Suddenly the air in the lift thickened. The glance he levelled at her held the heavy weight of judgement. ‘I’ve seen enough to reach a conclusion, I think.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she countered.
One hand emerged from his pocket long enough to wave her away. ‘We will not waste time discussing inconsequential subjects.’
‘Do you go out of your way to ride roughshod over everyone you meet, or am I the lucky recipient of your special attention?’
He shrugged, sent her a sardonic whisper of a smile and exited the lift, once again leaving Goldie looking at him askance.
She followed him out, then drew to a halt when the double doors before them were flung open to reveal a stocky Italian with twinkling brown eyes, shoulder-length hair and a wide grin.
