by JC Harroway
Libby focussed on the heat of Alex’s hand in the small of her back, which was burning through the simple black silk shift dress she’d packed for any social function that arose while she travelled. Not that it was flashy enough for these surroundings, but she was here to do a job—not parade the latest couture.
Alex had already told her she looked beautiful, despite the simplicity of her outfit. Once in the doorway of her hotel room, when he’d pressed her up against the wall and kissed the freshly applied lip-gloss from her mouth, and again when he’d dug his fingertips into her hip as they’d left his car, whispering to her how he looked forward to repaying his debt for their trip on the river earlier this morning.
Libby shivered. Nerves? But the assembled guests, hand-picked by Alex as possible investors and benefactors to Able-Active, presented a small and hopefully captive audience. Could her jitters have something to do with the way he kept his hand on her at all times? Circulating the room with her, introducing her to too many people to remember, his act of possession as unnerving as it was thrilling.
‘Thank you, James. You’re doing a great job.’ Alex addressed one of the waiters and took two glasses of champagne from the young man’s tray.
Libby accepted a glass, noticing that James made no eye contact and rushed away more quickly than perhaps he should have.
‘The waiting staff are all kids from the Able-Active programme,’ Alex murmured. ‘James has autism.’
Libby nodded and glanced around the room. These young, smartly dressed waiters and waitresses weren’t, she guessed, typical for the Ritz.
Molly arrived by their side. ‘They’re ready when you are, Mr Lancaster.’
Alex nodded and handed his PA his glass of champagne. Turning to Libby, he brushed her temple with his and whispered, ‘Wish me luck.’
Before she could reply, he made his way to the front of the crowd, where a small podium had been set up.
Libby watched, heat pooling in her belly, as he took his place behind the microphone and commanded the room to silence, his demeanour relaxed and engaging. He didn’t need luck. His determination and enthusiasm alone could win over the entire room. No wonder he was so successful. His passion and drive were infectious.
‘Ladies and gentlemen—friends.’ The dazzle of his confident smile traversed the crowd, landing here and there in recognition and greeting. ‘Thank you all for coming tonight to the launch party for Able-Active. Many of you—business associates, mates from uni, partners in crime—know me well.’
His genuine smile made an appearance. Not the reserved, polite one that lent him an air of authority, but the wider, unrestrained version that deepened the grooved dimple in his cheek and showed his playful side.
Libby felt her belly flutter, remembering that smile trained on her this morning in the jet boat.
‘You know what this charity means to me, but most of you don’t know why.’ He indicated a framed photo of a teenage girl on the dais beside him. ‘If Jenny, my sister, was alive, she’d be thirty-five years old now.’
The room fell deathly silent. Libby’s pulse thrummed in her throat.
Alex sobered, his chin dipping and his voice deepening to a reflective rumble. ‘I often wonder what kind of adult life she’d have had. Would she have fallen in love? What kind of job would she have enjoyed?’ A pause, his eyes scanning every member of the audience. ‘Did she dream of being a mother? Have aspirations to help others, or want to run the London Marathon?’
Alex glanced again at the photograph, his eyes dimming.
‘I was fifteen when eighteen-year-old Jenny died. I don’t recall her goals, her passions, her ambitions, aside from the fact that she wanted what the rest of us have. Opportunity, choice, equality.’
He touched the edge of the frame holding his sister’s image.
‘Jenny’s short life was good. She laughed a lot, she smiled all the time and she loved to dance.’
He gave a small smile—intimate, as if he were alone in the room.
‘But it could have been better. The only employment opportunity open to her when she left school was a few hours a week volunteer work. She required help and support to do many of the things other teenagers take for granted, and many things, due to lack of trained carers or simply lack of facilities, weren’t an option for her and others like her.’
His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing.
‘I could have been a better brother.’
A long silent pause filled the room with skin-crawling discomfort.
‘I want a better future for teens like Jenny, and with your help, your support, Able-Active will be a starting block towards a level playing field and opportunities for all. Thank you.’
Libby’s gaze, glued to Alex, travelled the room with him as he became swallowed up into the crowd, accepting handshakes and back-slaps. He’d mesmerised her—mesmerised everyone in the room, no doubt—with his heartfelt and humbling speech.
She wanted to find him. To kiss him just because her mouth missed his and she couldn’t think of a single reason not to. But Molly touched her arm, reminding her of her own presentation.
She dragged her eyes away from Alex, handsome in his dark suit, smiling and working the room with practised skill.
Molly spoke first. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Can we please have a round of applause for the waiting staff this evening, who are all participants on the Able-Active programme and have been trained by the staff here at The Ritz?’
Libby’s palms stung as she joined the applause, her cheeks aching with the depth of her smile.
‘And now I present Libby Noble, from the New York firm Noble and Pullman, to tell us a little more about Able-Active and Mr Lancaster’s vision for the future.’
Libby swallowed, flicking the remote to begin her presentation, which would be projected onto the screen behind her. Following Alex’s speech was going to be daunting, and she had no hope of matching the impact he’d had on the room. Her goal was to add to it, to complement the picture he’d painted with her own impressions, throwing in a sprinkling of marketing jargon and creating a buzz among the assembled potential supporters.
She glanced down at her notes, stomach churning. The careful, measured words she’d prepared were dancing on the page, as if mocking her with their caution and their detachment.
She cleared her throat. ‘Able-Active isn’t a unique charity.’
A photo of kids enjoying a kayaking trip that Libby had lifted from the website appeared on the screen.
‘Worthwhile? Yes. Rewarding? Yes. Essential? Yes. But what is exceptional is the vision, passion and motivation of Alex Lancaster as their CEO.’
The image changed to a photo Libby had taken of herself on the hot air balloon. Her smile shone from her eyes, against a backdrop of the rolling green of Oxfordshire and the distant views of the city spires.
‘This is more than outward bound. This is real life opportunity. The chance for meaningful training, employment and recreation for vulnerable members of society who often get overlooked, pigeonholed as having nothing to contribute.’
The picture changed again to a shot of their trip power boating on the Thames. Libby’s eyes were scrunched closed as a blast of water sprayed her and Alex in the face, and Alex’s delighted grin was firmly on her.
Lifting her eyes, she homed in on his watchful stare across the room. She folded her notes in half, her throat tight but her chest expanding with words that came from her heart, not her head.
‘I came to London to work, with recreation the furthest thing from my mind. It’s been many years since I participated in anything that carried an element of risk or provided that slam of adrenaline.’
Her insides quivered, her breath stolen by his continued intense focus. The same focus he offered in the bedroom.
‘But I haven’t felt more alive, or had so much fun since I myself was a t
eenager.’
She looked away from him, feeling the slow boil of desire now circulating where her blood should be.
‘I’m certain that we all know someone who would relish the current Able-Active recreation experiences as much as I have enjoyed sampling some of them this week. And I’m sure we all know someone who would love the chance to have a proper job—one they can take pride in. There are many families who need support—a break from caring for their loved ones with extra needs. Able-Active, with your support, hopes to meet all those challenges. Thank you.’
She moved from the podium to a round of applause, her legs shaky. Molly guided her towards Alex, whose stare still devoured her from across the room.
Halfway there, she found her progress interrupted by Jeremy Wells.
‘Great speech.’
He snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, his dismissive and slightly aggressive move surprising the girl so that her whole tray of drinks wobbled.
Libby hadn’t liked Jeremy the first time they’d met. She liked him even less now as he derailed the fledgling waitress’s carefully woven path through the partygoers.
Libby accepted a glass and thanked the girl. Reluctantly she turned her attention back to Alex’s financial director. His suit, whilst clearly expensive, erred on the too-small side, and his paunch obscured the waistband of his trousers and stretched the buttons on his shirt to bursting point.
Tingles—the bad kind—snaked up Libby’s spine.
‘I’m sure the funds will come rolling in now.’ His eyes gleamed, dipping to Libby’s chest.
Creep.
‘I hope so.’ The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention. She didn’t want to appear rude to one of Alex’s valued employees, but this guy made her skin crawl.
Her gaze sought Alex and escape. Sadly he too had been intercepted and was deep in conversation.
Libby stepped aside, making her intention to escape clear.
Jeremy touched her arm, his fingers quickly dropping away at her frosty glare. ‘So, I’d love to show you the sights before you leave London. Are you free tomorrow evening?’
He stepped closer, eyes flicking south again. Clearly he had the hide of an elephant—or was simply ignoring her subtle fuck off vibe.
Libby fought the urge to cover her cleavage with her hand. ‘I’d have loved to explore London—’ just not with you ‘—but every second of my week is committed to my work for Able-Active.’
She stretched her lips into an insincere smile.
‘Excuse me.’
She weaved through the bodies, coming to a halt at Alex’s side. With their backs to the opulent room’s ornate fireplace, he rested his hand at the base of Libby’s spine, fingers splayed. She breathed out a sigh.
‘Olivia, I’d like you to meet Jack Demont—my cousin, and brother of the bride at this weekend’s festivities.’
The handsome Frenchman dropped a kiss to the back of Libby’s hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Ms Noble.’
Like Alex, he was tall, his striking eyes partially obscured by a flop of dark blond hair.
‘Please, call me Libby. Your English is excellent.’
Unlike her French.
Jack laughed. ‘Thank you. My father is English and I spend a lot of time here. Plus, I had my accent bullied out of me at school by some notorious thugs.’
He flicked a glare at Alex, who laughed and shrugged, unapologetically.
‘You gave as good as you got.’ He grinned a lazy smile at Libby. ‘I wore braces for much of my schooling.’
So Mr Perfection had once had flaws? A computer geek with braces? She shivered, certain that her fifteen-year-old self—an insecure bookworm dressed from the thrift store—would have found him attractive.
Alex turned back to his cousin. ‘I’ve invited Libby to Henri and Isabel’s wedding.’
Jack bowed his head in acknowledgment. ‘Yes. You must come. Provence is stunning at this time of year.’
‘I’m sure...’ Olivia looked away.
‘I don’t think Olivia is big on romance,’ said Alex.
Libby shot him a look she hoped conveyed her contempt. Why would he assume that? He knew nothing about her because she liked it that way.
The sting of his jibe called her a liar. Didn’t some part of her relish that they were getting to know each other? Not that she’d consciously let him in. She never let anyone in. But with his confessions about his mother and sister, his open, raw vulnerability—he’d lured her dangerously close.
Jack slid wary eyes between her and Alex, seeming to sense the tension sparking in the air. ‘Well, excuse me. I’m leaving for Nice tonight.’ He kissed both of Libby’s cheeks. ‘It was delightful to meet you. I hope you’ll accept my cousin’s invitation to the wedding so we can get to know each other better. Au revoir.’
Jack departed, talking the room’s warmth with him.
Goosebumps raced along Libby’s bare arms. She turned to Alex, the take-down she’d planned dying on her lips at his proximity.
He pressed close, leaving the scantest space between his body and hers. ‘What did Jeremy say to upset you?’
His breath gusted over her neck, her shoulder, spreading tingles.
She met his hard stare, felt the flickers of heat melting her insides. Was that jealousy? Possession?
‘How do you know I’m upset?’
His perusal completed a tour of her face, lazily tracing each feature in turn. ‘I’ve seen you happy, relaxed, excited, replete...’ He mouthed each word, his lips and tongue caressing her, as when he’d drawn those emotions from her. ‘I’m observant where you’re concerned.’
His fingers found the sensitive skin inside her elbow, sliding. The intimacy, for once, was irritating.
She bit her cheek. She shouldn’t have let Jeremy get to her. She’d met enough Jeremys professionally to be able to handle them. And, unlike Alex, they were easily forgettable and easy to walk away from.
Libby shuddered, the imprint of Jeremy’s fingers still tainting her arm, and his greedy stare still burning her skin.
‘Did he come on to you?’ A flash turned his eyes molten, burning into hers.
Why lie? She owed Jeremy nothing. And this thing with Alex was temporary. No time for insecurities.
‘Yes.’
But didn’t she feel his possession in every touch? Crave the spark of it in every look he gave her? What was wrong with her?
His fingers stalled on her arm, the press of the tips a fraction firmer. ‘Are you interested?’
‘What?’
Eyes hard, he thinned his lips. ‘Well, we’re just fucking—your word.’
Libby glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. She had given this thing a crude label, one that clearly outlined the parameters of their contact. Why, then, did hearing her words turned back on her irk so much?
Alex continued, as if unconcerned, but his voice was low. ‘I’ve asked you on a date. A proper date. No games. You haven’t answered.’
So he did have an ego—better hidden than most, but there just the same.
‘I don’t sleep around.’ Why tell him that? It made no difference to them. They barely knew each other. Their fuck-fest had a short expiry date. ‘Before you, there’d been no one for three years.’
He didn’t register her confession. She wasn’t even sure why she’d told him herself.
‘So why me?’
She lifted her chin, backpedalling. ‘Fishing?’
He sighed, his gaze flicking away and then returning, more open. ‘Yes.’
At last there was a hint of insecurity in the way he rubbed the knuckles of one hand down his face.
Tempted to tease him, Libby pinched her lips together, hiding a smile. She grasped the chance to lighten the mood, steer them away from the wrong tu
rn this conversation had taken. After all, they weren’t a couple, so why bother with disagreements? Their time was limited.
‘Temporary lapse of common sense.’ She smiled. ‘I blame jet lag.’
After a couple of beats he grinned, his hand slipping to her waist and his expensive, heady scent filling her head as he dipped closer.
‘Want to be reckless with me tomorrow?’ His lips grazed her ear. ‘Jet skiing?’ He whispered the words as if he’d suggested an illicit sex game.
She shuddered. The thought was not unpleasant. ‘Another day freezing on the Thames?’
His mouth twisted, dimples flashing. ‘No, I was thinking the Med...’ His cocky disarming smile returned.
Irresistible.
‘Like to get your own way, don’t you?’ Her breath gusted, her pulse fluttering in her throat. Any game with Alex was surprisingly addictive.
‘Absolutely.’ A slow nod.
Clearly sensing victory, he moved closer, his hand sliding to her hip. Seductive.
‘And so do you.’
He quirked an eyebrow, fingers gripping tighter, the way they did just before he came, as if he couldn’t get close enough, deep enough.
Lust sizzled between her thighs.
This had to stop. She needed to start weaning herself off this exhilarating ride. She wasn’t his. Couldn’t be—no matter how right her hand felt against his slightly callused palm.
Time to rein back some control over herself. ‘And what do you want right now?’
Hooded eyes held hers. ‘I want you to go back to your hotel tonight.’ His voice dropped. ‘I want you to stay in London tomorrow while I fly to the South of France.’ His lips touched her ear, whisper-soft, starting a chain reaction of fine tremors. ‘I want you to keep your panties on under that dress so I can’t go down on you in the back of my car.’
Libby’s knees buckled and she wobbled on her heels.
Bastard. He knew the effect he had on her.
Pulling away, he twitched his decadent lips. ‘But, ladies first. What do you want, Olivia?’
He’d become so good at her game. Too good. But why did breaking the rules with him feel better than getting her own way? And wasn’t she still getting what she wanted?
