by Ally Blake
Dylan grunted. She was right. He never did anything unless it served the family’s interests.
So why then had he gone and slept with the woman who was doing her everything to make them all seem like avaricious jerks? Why? Because he was a man not nearly as in control of his hormones as he’d always thought he was, that was for bloody sure.
He reached out and pinched Rylie’s cheek. ‘The fact that you don’t even think about trying to take advantage of us like that is the reason we let Meg keep you around.’
‘Nice. Oh, and did my producers tell you they found a super-fun way to mix things up a bit today?’ Rylie’s green gaze slid past his shoulder. Something in her smile put his muddied instincts back on high alert. He tensed and turned.
And as if he’d dreamt her up out of the most wretched, disobedient, self-flagellating depths inside him, Wynnie Devereaux stood in the wings shaking hands with the producers, hand to her heart, smiling, flirting, winning them over as easily as she won over every poor soul who stood in her path.
A young guy in jeans, T-shirt and headphones tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the soft, fat couches on which he and Rylie sat.
She squinted in their direction, saw him there and nodded. He offered a subtle bow in response. If he wanted to know how civilised things could truly be, this set-up would show him.
She touched each cohort on the arm as she took her leave, then lifted her high-heel-shod feet as she skipped over the thick electrical cords gaffer-taped to the floor.
Dressed in a blousy cream top, a cream skirt hugging her curves to just below her knees, a loose bronze belt skimming her hips, with her hair loose and soft, she looked like an angel, meaning in comparison in his dark grey suit, sharp white shirt and red tie he’d look like the poster boy for corporate greed.
And the closer Wynnie got, the clearer it all became. The outfit, the lack of surprise in her eyes—she had to have known she was coming here today. And all the night before, as they’d danced, as he’d come to her rescue, as she’d played nursemaid, as they’d come together naked, she had to have known he was going to be here, too.
And she’d never once mentioned a thing.
He uncrossed his legs and dug his fingers into his thighs. The marks they would leave would be nothing on the red weals across his back from where her fingernails had dug into him as she had climaxed in his arms.
He allowed himself, and her, a break. Maybe this had been a last-minute arrangement. Maybe she’d only found out about it that morning. Maybe in the heat of the moment it had simply been forgotten.
Or maybe she’d unscrupulously taken him for the great cuckold he seemed determined to prove he could be.
‘You all right, hon?’ Rylie asked from somewhere to his left. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Wynnie hit the patch of hot light beaming down upon the small stage, caught his eye and smiled. Cool, calm, confident, with not a lick of vulnerability to be seen.
‘No ghost,’ Dylan said. But certainly a tunnel of light.
Wynnie sashayed past Dylan and made herself known to the host of the show.
At least she hoped she’d sashayed.
From the moment she’d clapped eyes on him, lounging in the couch, cool as you please, right at home under the glaring down lights, nothing about him registering the wildly intimate night they’d shared the night before, her feet had felt like lead, her knees as if mini earthquakes were erupting beneath her kneecaps with every step, and her clothes felt as if she’d put them on backwards.
She’d known he’d be here. It was in the brief the producers had faxed to her that morning, which she’d read in the cab on the way to the row of TV stations atop Mt Coot-tha.
If she’d known he’d be there before she was halfway up the mountain? If she’d known the nerveless reaction she was going to get? For the first time in her career she probably would have feigned the mumps.
‘So glad you could come,’ Rylie Madigan said with a grin, and Wynnie was glad for the change of focus. ‘Nothing like fresh blood to shake up a comfortable old city like ours.’
‘Happy to oblige.’
‘I read a bit about you in the papers over the past few days. I’d love to take you to lunch sometime to pick your brain about a few things.’
Rylie glanced at Dylan. Wynnie felt as if she was missing something.
Dylan grabbed his glass of water, took his time sipping, then placed it on the coffee table and stood, stretching his arms over his head, and said, ‘Say yes, Ms Devereaux, she’s not hitting on you.’
Wynnie’s cheeks pinked in an instant, less from the sexy rumble of his voice, and much more from the unduly cool Ms Devereaux remark. ‘I didn’t…Of course I…’
Rylie laughed. ‘Ignore him. He’s a fiend. He takes his greatest pleasure from winding women up and watching them spin away as fast as possible. The lovely Lilliana’s fault right there. That’s what a succubus for an ex-fiancée will do to a guy.’
A succubus? And an ex-fiancée? Wynnie silently fumed as these new snippets sank in. Hannah needed a good talking to about timely revelation of important information. And her researchers were going to have a little meeting with her all on their own.
She couldn’t help herself; she looked to Dylan again. He seemed not to have heard a thing, but she saw his fingers curl into his palm. She knew that feeling—clenching was the only way you could keep the bad things locked up tight inside.
Her first instinct was to soothe his pain. Again. But there was nothing in his bearing to give her any indication that she now had that right. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even really a friend. She was barely a prospective business associate.
‘So, lunch?’ Rylie asked. ‘We’ll get Meg to come, too. She’s out there in the audience somewhere, playing her portable PlayStation thingie while she waits for me to finish. It’ll be a riot.’
‘Sure. That’d be lovely. Call my office and we’ll make a time.’
Rylie’s brow then furrowed, her lips turned down and Wynnie got the feeling she was doing her best impression of solemn. ‘Now, back to our regular programming. I know that your agenda is a serious one. Saving the planet and all that. Go you! But remember we’re a super-relaxed show. Our viewers aren’t tuning in for anything hard-hitting or ultra-political. So best thing is to keep it light.’
‘Can do,’ Wynnie said as brightly as she could while her stomach felt as if it were trying to digest a pound of lead.
Rylie grinned, and somehow didn’t wrinkle, then moved Wynnie to a soft couch on the other side of the stage from Dylan’s.
She sat, crossed her legs, and suddenly the floor manager was flapping a two-minute signal, and the eyes of the cameras grew large as they zoomed in close. Wynnie’s heart rate made itself known as adrenalin surged through her body.
Though the last thing she needed two minutes before a live TV interview was adrenaline on top of her adrenaline, she shifted her gaze a fraction until she found a pair of daring blue eyes.
The night before those eyes had roved over every inch of her naked skin, drinking her in as though he were quenching a lifetime of thirst. But now the level of indifference he was maintaining even as their eyes held for second after second made her body clench from top to toe.
She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t a friend. And the harsh truth that was finally dawning on her was that she wasn’t even really his lover.
She’d been warned, more than once, and she’d known it deep down inside all along. But she’d blithely ignored it until the truth slapped her hard across the face.
She’d said it herself. Dylan was a flirt. The art was his greatest weapon.
In their game the sell was not nearly as much about showcasing the high points of a product itself as much as it was about creating a blissful buying experience. It was their job to be memorable, delicious and addictive. To make sure that even while they were shaking their head ‘no’ a prospective client was thinking ahead to when they might co
me back for more.
Looking into his cool dark eyes, she wondered how she’d let herself go so long without remembering that.
‘Today we have something special for you,’ Rylie’s singsong voice rang out and Wynnie realised they were on.
She blinked, found a smile, found a camera and found her centre. She’d sort the other stuff out later, when there weren’t hundreds of thousands of people looking in.
Rylie continued, ‘Not only do we have our regular financial advisor, Dylan Kelly, head of Media Relations for the Kelly Investment Group, we also have Wynnie Devereaux, a representative for the Clean Footprint Coalition who has come along with some advice of her own. Welcome to the both of you.’
Dylan smiled for the people, and even Wynnie, who knew better, had flutters in her stomach at the flirtatious light in his eyes. When he turned that light her way, her heart tumbled, twisted, second-guessed itself and then went back to pumping blood and left confusion to take over her head instead.
She blinked, then somehow beamed at Rylie. ‘Thanks for having me, Rylie.’
Rylie leant forward, draping her manicured hands over her knees. ‘Now, is it true that you first met our Dylan when you handcuffed yourself to a statue outside his building?’
Wynnie laughed to cover the fact that she was barely registering Rylie’s words. ‘I’m afraid it takes more than a polite phone call to get the attention of a representative of a big firm like KInG. And considering the changes I believe they could make in order to help reduce energy consumption in this city are beyond compare, this girl had to do what a girl had to do.’
The small studio audience cheered. She just knew any woman at home watching would be cheering, too. Putting themselves in her shoes, imagining the day they might find reason for a showdown with a man like Dylan.
She glanced at the man in question to find he certainly did not look in the mood to cheer. If the women at home knew the havoc a showdown with such a man wrought, they might change their minds.
Rylie’s sharp gaze swung to him and Wynnie drew in a deep breath. ‘Did you really refuse to return Wynnie’s phone calls? How could you? She’s adorable!’
Dylan’s returning smile was beautiful enough for the people at home, but Wynnie knew he was struggling not to throttle Rylie, their good host.
‘Yeah,’ Wynnie threw in, to all of their amazement. ‘How adorable does a businesswoman with a great idea have to be to get the great and wonderful Dylan Kelly to call her back?’
His gaze slid to hers—hot, dark, menacing. Warning her to back down. But she had to take out her frustration on somebody, and he was so perfectly positioned to bear the brunt.
He shuffled forward on his seat, seemingly not the least bit intimidated by the dual front. And then his eyes locked back onto hers.
‘Ms Devereaux,’ he said, his voice as smooth and hot as melting wax, ‘being that you are so new in town, perhaps you didn’t realise that we are a financial institution whose job it is to look out for the interests of our clients. If you had an investment query, I’d be happy to take a meeting with you. Any time.’
Wynnie licked her dry lips. She wondered if anyone else thought that by ‘meeting’ he meant hot, sweaty, naked, sex. Any time. By the twitters and sighs pouring from the studio audience she figured they probably did. She only wished she knew if his offer was good, or just for the cameras.
‘Mr Kelly,’ she said, her voice huskier than she would have liked, but now she’d gone down this road she couldn’t turn back. ‘Book me a room, and I’ll be there.’
It took a few moments of dead air, but then Dylan smiled. ‘I might just do that.’
It was the first real smile she’d had from him since she’d walked into the studio. It was beautiful, breathtaking, real, and all for her.
She smiled right on back. In fact, she had to bite her tongue to stop from laughing out loud. Somehow it eased her tension and ramped it up all at the same time. She only hoped the sudden heat in her cheeks was lost in the wash of hard white light.
‘My one good deed for the day,’ Rylie said, and then Wynnie remembered where she was.
‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ Dylan warned, plainly having never forgotten for a second that he was on show.
Rylie looked down the barrel of the camera as she said, ‘Now, my lovelies, let’s go through Wynnie’s list of ways we can each and every one of us reduce our energy consumption and save money at the same time, then Dylan can give us some advice on how to start saving now for Christmas.’
She glanced at Wynnie, then at Dylan, waggling her long fingers at the two of them. ‘Now who could have possibly guessed that your interests would converge so beautifully as all that?’
‘Not this little duck,’ Dylan said.
Wynnie somehow bit out a smile.
And Rylie’s eyes gleamed as bullet points of Wynnie’s list came up on the screen.
Fifteen minutes later, Wynnie sat in the green room, waiting for the producer to come by so she could press some flesh, and thank him for the spot.
The door bumped on its hinges, and her heart rate kicked up a notch, hoping instead it might be Dylan. The last thing she wanted was a ‘we have to talk’ talk, but some kind of clarity was only fair.
The door swung open and closed and a petite brunette, wearing the kind of cute chocolate-brown cocktail dress not usually seen on a person so early on a Sunday morning, slumped onto the couch next to her.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I’m Meg.’
Meg Kelly. She hadn’t even needed to drop her surname. Her blue eyes were the same as her brother’s—bright, mischievous, and, if you looked harder, guarded. But unlike him she was also obviously as sweet as pie.
‘I’m waiting to take Rylie out to brunch,’ Meg said, ‘but I had to pop back here to tell you how much fun that interview was. I’ve never seen anyone get to my brother like that.’
‘Is he around somewhere do you know?’ Wynnie slipped in.
‘God, no. He snuck out a back exit before the floor manager had barely yelled “clear”.’
Wynnie slumped back into her chair.
Meg continued unabated, ‘I thought he was about to pop a vein when you said only eight KInG employees out of eight hundred actually car pool to work. You are my new favourite person in the whole world.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been commended for causing vein popping in anyone before. Maybe a new line for my résumé?’
Meg laughed and held up a fist. ‘Rock the establishment!’
Of course Wynnie liked her, and so instantly she almost allowed herself to ask about the succubus ex-fiancée. To find out if he still had feelings for the woman and that was why he was so reticent. To ask if she perhaps knew of a magic pill she could take that would make her forget all about the Kellys forever.
Meg lay a hand on her knee. ‘Now, the other reason I’m here is that my parents are having a little get-together at the house this afternoon, just family and a couple of friends, and I’d really love it if you could come.’
It took Wynnie a moment to compute what Meg had just said. ‘Oh, no, no, no. If you were really paying attention to that interview you’d know that there is no love lost between your brother and me.’
Her choice of words rang a bell deep inside her, which she thought it best to ignore.
She continued, ‘If I set foot on your family’s property he would have me shot for trespassing.’
‘Rubbish. He’s a Labrador. All bark. So you’ll come as my guest. Would it help if you knew my reasons were purely selfish? Having the family not entirely focused on why I am not the vice president of some fabulous company like the rest of them are would be nice.’
Meg certainly had the same charisma as her brother; Wynnie could feel it tugging her to do things she oughtn’t to want to do. But she shook her head. ‘It’s very sweet of you to ask, but I just can’t.’
Meg sat back, adorably vanquished. She lifted her feet off the floor and seemed to find her bright purp
le toenails fascinating for several long moments before she said, ‘He was talking about you, you know?’
Wynnie slid her butterfly clip from her top, needing something to occupy her while she reeled from having the second female close to Dylan pick up on vibes between them.
‘I’m sure my name has been used in vain in the hallowed halls of KInG many a time over the past week.’
Meg dropped her feet, then looked Wynnie square in the eye. ‘Maybe so, but I don’t hang out at the family biz so I wouldn’t know about any of that. This was at a family dinner. He kept bringing the conversation right back to you.’
Wynnie blew warm air on her butterfly and polished it on her skirt.
She said, ‘That’s what a woman in handcuffs will do to a conversation, I’m afraid.’
But her heart raced. Her mind whirled. And her imagination ran away with itself. Maybe she’d been thinking about this all wrong. Maybe what had happened between them had already been going on longer than one hot spring night.
‘I know this might not seem like it’s my business,’ Meg said, ‘but Dylan is my business, and he’s been different this week. He’s been spry, and twitchy and far less of a pain in the butt than he has been in years. I have the feeling I have you to thank for it.’
Wynnie’s hands shook as she put the butterfly in her purse. ‘Perhaps he’s so chipper as he’s planning on new and wonderful ways of telling me “no”. In a professional capacity,’ she added as a dismal addendum.
Meg held up a hand, and, being that she was of the same Kelly stock, Wynnie found her words drying up in her mouth.
‘Then look at it this way; he’s not the be-all and end-all when it comes to making decisions about KInG. My father is the CEO, and our older brother Brendan is all set to take over…’ Meg’s hand dropped into her lap. ‘One day a long, long time from now. So if you’re game, I’d love you to come with me as my guest. Give yourself one last chance to make your case.’
