One-Click Buy: December 2009 Silhouette Desire

by Susan Mallery

  Payback would be an absolute bitch. He would personally make certain of that.

  His hand hovered at the wood-panelled front door to knock, but before his knuckles could rap against the varnished surface the door swung open.

  Not a lot took Josh’s breath away these days, but the vision of elegant sophistication in front of him managed to succeed where many had failed.

  At first he thought her halter-neck gown was black, but in the overhead lighting he realised it was a rich dark chocolate brown—the same colour as her eyes. The fabric skimmed over her body, in much the same way his fingers now itched to do, caressing each curve in a subtle yet sensuous sweep.

  He let out a long low-pitched whistle.

  “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you. You did say formal. I hope this isn’t too much.”

  Too much? He stepped back to appreciate the rear view of the dress as she came through the doorway and methodically locked her front door. The creamy skin of her back was exposed until just below her shoulder blades, and for some reason he found what the gown hid even more enticing than what it revealed.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “For getting it right?” Callie looked up at him from sexy smoky-shadowed eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Believe me, I’ve been well trained.”

  There was a note to her voice he couldn’t put his finger on. Not quite strain, not quite cynicism, either.

  Josh felt his lips curve into a smile. “I can well imagine.”

  Callie stiffened at his side. “What do you mean by that?”

  “The Palmers expect a certain, shall we say, level of behaviour in their consorts.”

  “As do you,” she was quick to retort.

  “As do I,” he conceded with a small nod of his head. He placed his hand on the small of her back. “Come, let’s get going.”

  She didn’t move immediately and he wondered if she thought he was being too informal touching her as he did, but her lips firmed slightly, as if she’d come to some silent decision, and she allowed him to guide her back down her pathway toward his waiting car.

  Beneath his hand the silky fabric of her gown shifted with each step she took, the movement barely detectable but enough to set up a hum of electricity tingling across his palm. It would be no hardship to ease the sensation by stroking his hand across the gentle curve of her hip, but he knew he wouldn’t give in to the elemental urge. Not this time.

  At his car he swung open the passenger door and waited as she settled into the leather seat and scooped the skirt of her dress inside so it was clear of the doorframe.

  Her slender feet were wrapped in a web of delicate bronze leather straps, her toenails painted vermilion. The tingle of electricity that had started on his hand gathered momentum and sent a jolt of something stronger straight to his groin. Man, she had sexy feet. He’d never thought of himself as a foot kind of guy, but when it came to the parade of footwear Callie wore he’d been easily swung over.

  “Nice shoes,” he commented after he’d shut her door and settled into the driver’s seat beside her.

  “Thank you.” A wry smile played around her glossy lips, lips he imagined would feel as soft and tender as they looked. “Shoes are a bit of a weakness of mine,” she admitted.

  “I noticed,” Josh laughed, determined to put her at ease tonight.

  “Ah, well, I suppose we all have our vices. What’s yours?”

  Her question hung in the air between them. What would she do, he wondered, if he admitted his? Instead, he replied smoothly, “I have no vices.”

  Her snort of disbelief was barely audible.

  “What?” he asked. “You think I do?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to comment.”

  “But you’ve heard rumours,” he pressed.

  “Some, however I’m not in the habit of forming opinions based on rumour.”

  “An admirable quality,” Josh conceded.

  “One of my many,” she replied in that tone she’d used at the front door.

  He put that thought away to examine later. Callie Lee was proving to have intriguingly hidden depths he hadn’t anticipated. Much as he hadn’t anticipated the alluring draw of her sensuality. The fact that she was oblivious to it made her even more tempting, and she was a temptation he would succumb to—all in good time.

  Callie watched as people swirled about the gallery. Most were more interested in being noticed among the Who’s Who of Auckland’s glitterati than in the quality of the art on display. She’d done the rounds as Josh’s assistant, ensuring that the right sponsors rubbed shoulders with the right beneficiaries, that those who were only there for a free ride got what they wanted before being carefully shunted away from the main rooms.

  She’d finally taken a few minutes to peruse the works around the room herself, prior to the speeches she knew Josh would lead before the auction results were announced. She paused in front of a small oil painting. The subject in the picture was faceless but dejection was evident in the slant of the subject’s shoulders. It could have been a boy or a girl—it didn’t matter.

  Callie felt a wrench deep in her heart at the picture. She remembered that feeling. The desolation. The despair. An invisible fist closed around her throat and the burn of tears welled up in the back of her eyes. The artist had done more than view the subject. Given the kids this evening was designed to support, she had no doubt the artist was the subject.

  “Powerful, isn’t it?”

  Josh’s deep voice, close to her ear, made her start in surprise. Last she’d seen he’d been three deep in discussions with some of the biggest names in New Zealand industry. The Palmers were, of course, notably absent.

  She nodded, her throat still too choked to speak, but his next words startled her even more.

  “Are you going to bid on it?”

  She turned to face him. “Are you kidding? I can’t compete with the people here.” She smiled deprecatingly. “I’m not in their league.”

  Josh appeared to consider her for a while before he tilted his head to one side. “No, you’re not, are you?”

  Even though she’d set herself up for his response she couldn’t help but bristle. Words formed on the tip of her tongue, but before she could give them voice he continued.

  “You have many more layers to you, don’t you, Callie? You should bid on the painting. You might be surprised to see what happens,” he finished enigmatically before acknowledging the hail of a well-dressed couple across the gallery floor. “Excuse me.”

  He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared at her side and Callie turned back to the picture, her teeth catching at her lower lip as she studied it again. That she wanted it was undeniable. The child on the canvas could have been her. She let her gaze roam over the colours and textures of the picture, away from the central focus and to the outer range.

  And there she noticed a golden glow, a faint ray of sunshine slanting across the sky; on the bare tree branches were the tiniest of green buds. Of growth and renewal. Of hope.

  For the first time in many years Callie suddenly felt completely inadequate. She’d have given her entire collection of shoes to be able to bid what this painting was worth to her on a personal level. Even then she’d barely scrape the surface. No, no matter how much she wanted it, there was no way she could reasonably bid on the picture. Anything less than five figures would be laughable in an atmosphere like tonight’s.

  With the discipline of years of practice, Callie resolutely turned her back on the picture and on all it portrayed.

  The balance of the evening continued smoothly, but her feet had begun to ache in their designer splendour by the time the silent auction winners were to be announced. Many guests had moved on to other, more social, activities, and the gallery no longer seethed with the press of those who wanted to be seen to be doing the right thing. Callie let a sigh of relief slide from her lungs. The evening would be over soon enough and she’d be home.

>   Josh was up on the podium, ready to complete his part in the formalities, and his commanding presence brought the room to a hush. From her vantage point near the back, Callie let her gaze roam over him. He was all too easy on the eye. He spoke for fifteen minutes, although it felt more like five as his deep, strong voice held the attention of the guests effortlessly and she found herself falling under his spell. He outlined the purpose of the gallery and pledged Tremont Corporation’s renewed financial support to the scholarship fund—all to great applause.

  After handing the proceedings over to the gallery director, he threaded through the crowd to where she stood.

  “Come on, let’s go,” he said, bending his head to speak quietly in her ear.

  “But the auction results,” Callie protested.

  “Does it matter? Did you bid on Hope?”

  “Hope?”

  “The oil you were studying earlier.”

  “No.”

  Josh gave her one of his rare smiles, the type that appeared to shine from deep in his blue eyes, as if he could see directly into her soul. “Why not?”

  Callie paused under the intensity of Josh’s gaze, unsure of what to say or what to do. Her pulse kicked up a beat and her lips and throat suddenly felt dry. The noise of the crowd around them faded away until the only person in the room with her was Josh. The entrancing scent of his cologne drifted around her, luring her into its sensual snare. Eventually, she managed to force her words past her lips.

  “To be honest, I didn’t think I could bid high enough to do the artist justice.”

  Josh stepped in closer, his arm sliding around her waist, his hand resting on her hip—burning a brand of possession she didn’t want to argue.

  “I know what you mean. Let’s head out, then, hmm?”

  He guided her out of the gallery. Once past the crowds, his arm dropped back away from her side, and suddenly she felt as if she’d been cast adrift. It had been all too easy to fall into step with him, to savour the brush of his hip and thigh against her own, as they walked from the gallery. But she’d been imagining there had been more between them. She was there to do a job—specifically, a job for his uncontested rival. A tremor of regret rippled through her.

  “Cold?” Josh asked as one of the parking valets brought his car purring around to the front of the building.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  But she was anything but fine. Tonight had proven that no matter how hard she’d fought against it in the office, she was painfully and irrevocably drawn to her boss—and that made what she was there to do, and the time in which she had left to do it, doubly more difficult.

  She was silent on the journey home. Oblivious to the streaking lights passing them by from other vehicles along the road. It wasn’t long before they pulled up outside her town house. Josh turned off the ignition, the growl of the Maserati’s motor lingering like a discordant echo in the still night air.

  “Thank you for this evening,” Callie said, opening the door herself and alighting from the car as quickly as she could.

  She didn’t want to wait for him to step around the vehicle and open her door or even have him touch her, because she didn’t want to question too deeply what she’d do if she did.

  She’d been working for him for a fortnight now. Two weeks where she’d done her best to complete her tasks to the highest standards. Fourteen days where—instead of looking for an avenue to lead to answers as to who the Palmer Enterprises leak was—she’d been battling her growing attraction to a man who was, without a doubt, the one person on this planet to whom she shouldn’t be drawn.

  Callie started up the path to her front door. She heard Josh’s car door open, then another sound. Her key was in her hand. Only another couple of metres more and she’d be inside.

  “Callie, hold up a minute. I have something for you.”

  Josh’s voice arrested her retreat and she took a breath to quell the sudden butterflies that rose in a maddening flock from the pit of her stomach. She turned to face him.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the “something” he’d mentioned. A flat rectangle, wrapped in brown paper.

  “I know I didn’t give you a whole lot of notice about tonight. I’d like you to have this, as a token of my appreciation.”

  “That’s not necessary. You pay me well for my job. I—”

  “Callie,” he interrupted. “Take the damn parcel, okay?”

  Callie’s eyes locked with his and beneath the blue depths she saw something more than what had been there earlier. Gone was the lazy humour. Instead, it was replaced by a blazing blue flame. His eyes dropped to her mouth and the flame burned brighter, before meeting her gaze again. As if under his control she accepted the parcel, her fingers brushing his briefly as she did.

  Josh gave her a short nod. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  Then, in a roar, he was gone. Callie stood and watched his retreating taillights, then turned to let herself inside and locked her door carefully behind her. She rested her head against the door. He’d wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it. Kiss her and more. She was no naive ingénue. She knew desire when she saw it.

  So why hadn’t he acted on it? Why hadn’t he breached the distance between them and taken her mouth with his? Her lips had burned under the touch of his stare, burned for the reality and not the dream.

  Callie straightened up from the door and forced herself to pull her thoughts, and her hormones, under control. She stepped through into her sitting room off the small hallway and dropped her evening bag on the coffee table. Then, carefully, she laid the package on the sofa. Her fingers were uncharacteristically clumsy as she plucked at the tape securing the package until, finally, she pulled away the paper.

  Callie pushed her fisted hand to her mouth to stem the cry of recognition as the painting was finally revealed.

  “Hope.”

  He’d given her Hope.

  Four

  Saturday morning dawned with a hint of rain on the horizon. Already the air outside was warming and the weather promised to be hot and sticky with the coming showers. What she wouldn’t give for a lead-up to Christmas in a cooler climate for a change. Callie padded down the stairs and walked through to her kitchen, automatically switching on the jug for the mandatory cup of Earl Grey tea that drove the sluggishness of sleep from her body each morning.

  Well, it would, had she been able to sleep. When she hadn’t been tangled in her sheets, tossing and turning, her dreams had been fractured by overtones of the night before. Of the sensation of Josh Tremont’s hand on her back, of the scent of his subtle cologne in the confines of his car. Of the heat of his gaze before he’d left her at the front door and of her own body’s insistent response.

  Every workday for the past two weeks she’d managed to keep a lid on her reaction to him. And then he had to go and mess that all up by insisting she accompany him to the gallery.

  Unexpected anger rose swiftly from the pit of her stomach. He’d gone too far giving her the painting last night. No matter how much she’d wanted it, a person just didn’t do things like that—at least not in her world. In her world every gain had its price. Some you could afford, some you couldn’t, and this was very definitely one she couldn’t afford on any level.

  As she waited for the pot of tea to draw she stomped through to her sitting room and stopped to stare at the painting she’d left propped up on the seat of her cream leather two-seater. Her chest constricted as her eyes locked on the figure.

  It was impossible. No, Josh Tremont was impossible. There was no way she could accept this gift from him. She’d return it to him today. Monday would be too late. If she held on to it a moment longer than necessary she might just give in and keep it and there was no way her pride would allow her to do that. She was already in over her head repaying a debt she’d never asked for. She certainly didn’t want to owe Josh as well.

  She flung a glare at the mantel clock that ticked quietly in the background. Was seven-thirty too early to call y
our boss on a Saturday morning? With a huff of air through pursed lips, she conceded that any time before Monday was probably too early.

  Nine. She’d phone him at nine on the dot and sort out some time to drop it back to him.

  Decision made, her head finally felt clearer. She could almost enjoy her low-fat cereal and milk, sweetened with a scattering of dried apricots. Almost. By the time the clock had ticked slowly to nine she had already showered, dressed, stripped her bed and remade it, and her first load of laundry was nearly ready to be hung on the line.

  The machine beeped discreetly from the annexe in her garage, letting her know the cycle was finished just as she picked up her phone and punched in Josh’s home number.

  The repetitive burr-burr of the ringtone was almost hypnotic. Clearly he wasn’t home, but didn’t he have staff, or even an answering machine? She was on the verge of hanging up when the phone was picked up.

  “Tremont.”

  The two syllables hammered down the phone with no-nonsense decisiveness.

  “It’s Callie.”

  Suddenly the tone in his voice changed to the warm texture of liquid honey. “Ah, Callie. Give me a minute, I’ve just got out the pool and I’m dripping everywhere.”

  She heard the receiver clatter to a hard surface and a rustle of fabric. While she waited, her mind went into overdrive, imagining how Josh would look sleek and wet and straight from the pool. His dark hair would be slicked back, exposing the broad strong plane of his forehead and rivulets of water would track down the corded strength of his neck and over his powerful shoulders. She threw the brakes on her thoughts before her imagination went any further.

  There was a faint scraping sound through the earpiece and then his voice filled her ear again.

  “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine. Look, I should get right to the point. I really appreciate what you did with the painting last night but I can’t accept it.”

  “Why is that, Callie?” Her name rippled through the handset of her phone in his rich, deep voice, sending a stroke of something forbidden down the back of her neck. “I thought you liked the picture.”