She took a good mouthful of wine. Why the hell was she the only one who hadn’t seen him for the cheat he was? And why the hell hadn’t someone told her, seeing as they all said afterwards that it was so bloody obvious.
“I’d love to know what’s going on in your head at the moment.”
She started. She was sitting with Mr. Sex God and she was still letting randy bloody Andy butt in. “Sorry. It’s nothing. Just wondering where the cavalry was. Hopeless, aren’t they?”
He laughed a warm intimate laugh. Mmm, pure chocolate. Well almost. Better. No calories, in fact a calorie burner if she wanted. She couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner or her mouth, and his answering raised eyebrow sent a rush of heat to her face. Say something quick. “So are you married then?” Why, oh why, did her brain think it was a good idea to say that? It didn’t matter, she didn’t care. He wasn’t the next Andy, he was an article in the making.
“Would it matter?”
“That depends what you had planned après Chablis.”
Oh no, did she actually say that out loud? “Well, it’s just nice to know if your intentions are totally dishonorable.”
You’re not here for sex; you’re not here for sex. Maybe if she thought it enough times then her body would get the hint.
“Or just dodgy?”
“Yeah, or just dodgy. And you did ask me, so it’s fair.”
“Boring.” He grinned. “But fair. No I’m not the marrying type. So, tell me about what you do for a living, you don’t really look like a landscape gardener?”
Oh yes, she’d almost forgotten. She was supposed to be a landscape gardener. What the hell did they do? “Oh, and what does a landscape gardener look like on planet Ben?”
“Well she doesn’t have those curves, and she doesn’t have—” he took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and slowly ran his lips down her fingers “–such soft skin.”
Sam gasped as the warmth spread through her body. She wanted so much more than she should have. God, her lips felt dry and she was just longing to dampen them, but that could be one sign too many. It could be a point of no turning back. She swallowed.
“Well erm, you don’t look much like a builder, even with all those muscles.”
He leaned forward then, one hand on each side of her thighs, and a shiver ran through her when the warmth of his body met her skin. Subtle aftershave kick-started her senses, he might as well have put his hands on her waist…her breasts. His smile was dangerously wicked as he pulled her stool closer, until her legs nestled further in between his two muscular thighs. A jolt of awareness shot straight between her legs.
“I’m in construction. Posh builder, I push a pen more than I shift bricks these days. So if you plant roses by day, what do you do by night? Meet strange men in bars?”
“Oh knit, read romances, cuddle the cat. You know. The things good girls do.” She grinned, the alcohol and his closeness competing to fire her up inside.
“Good girls don’t just do those things you know.” His thumb was tracing circles on her thigh. Circles that were twisting her stomach with need. “Good girls do things like this as well.” Then his hand was entangled in her hair, his gaze fixed on her lips. The warmth of his thighs encased her as she drifted toward him, her lips parting in anticipation. She ran her hands up the iron muscles as he pulled her closer. Stopped short, not daring to move any higher as his sharp intake of breath echoed between them. There was a brief second of hesitation, time for her to make the decision, to close the small gap between them. Then his mouth met hers. Firm, sensual lips. His tongue probed her mouth, skating over her teeth, playing with her, teasing her, drawing her tongue into his own mouth. She gripped her thighs together, shocked at the rush of pleasure, shocked at the craving deep inside her. It didn’t matter that all men were bastards, it didn’t matter that she had an article to write. All she wanted was him, teasing her senses, fulfilling the fantasies he’d created online.
He pulled back, staring at her mouth, twisting her hair round his fingers. “I think we’re going to get thrown out if we’re not careful.” There was a husky edge to his voice. His forehead was against hers, his brown eyes almost black. He slid to his feet. “Drink up. I’ve got to go to the gents then I think we need to decide what we do next.”
Sam watched him stride across the bar and ran her tongue over her lips, tasting his kiss again. She wanted him like she couldn’t remember ever wanting a man. But it was wrong on so many levels. One night stands weren’t her thing, it wasn’t even a proper date, and anyway dates were completely off her to-do list. She didn’t want a man, didn’t need a man. Period. Hadn’t she promised herself that? The online fantasy bit was all that was needed to write her column, she didn’t need to let reality mess it up.
And she needed her wits about her for tomorrow. She didn’t need a night of drinking and mad passionate sex. Being bright-eyed and bushy tailed was her priority, the only thing that mattered. If she could persuade James Solway that she was the right person to write an in depth profile on him then she had it made. No more pretend dates, all the damage Andy had done to her reputation wiped out. In fact, Andy relegated to her past. Once and for all.
Oh Christ, she must be mad. Uncomplicated passion with a sex god was being handed to her on a platter and she was going to run away? Yup, spot on. This was work, and anything more than a kiss would make her expenses claim X-rated. Except…. Oh Christ, she fancied him so much.
Sam jumped when her cell bleeped and then reached for it automatically. She could ignore it, should ignore it, except that just wasn’t possible. Being nosy, very nosy, was just part of her nature.
Big mistake. Her heart dropped as the familiar face popped onto the screen, what on earth did Andy want now? And how had she ever thought she fancied that?
‘Hey sex bomb how did u manage to hook up with HIM?’
Him, in capitals. Andy had told her she couldn’t just leave him, but surely he wouldn’t spy on her, follow her? She glanced round wildly, half expecting him to be sitting behind her, but he wasn’t there. She hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t noticed anyone to be honest since the warmth of Ben’s hands hit her waist, her knees, her thighs. Shit, what if he came over and introduced himself?
Sam slid off the bar stool shoving her cell back in her purse. The flames of lust had just been well and truly put out. Heading for the door might be rude, but staying could make everything a hundred times worse. She paused, her hand raised to open the bar door and glanced nervously back over her shoulder, her stomach twisting into a nervous lump. Going was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but what choice did she have? There was no sign of Andy, but he must be there, watching her, still screwing up her life.
Fuck. The door closed with a heavy thud behind her and a sudden emptiness filled her body.
Sorry. Was the whispered word for Ben or her?
Why was she still letting Andy control her life? And what did he mean by him?
Chapter 2
Samantha looked across the reception area and tried to ignore the queasy sensation in her stomach. It was so damn shiny and bright, all polished chrome and sunlight. Her head was banging. And she blamed him. Well, maybe it wasn’t just him, she could blame herself a bit as well. Oh and the copious amounts of Chablis. And Andy Carlisle.
If he hadn’t been watching she might never have done a runner, and not have had to endure a restless night of unfulfilled lust. There had been no escaping from the Technicolor dreams of her online date from last night, images of his strong hands on her body, of him sucking her fingers, running his tongue up her inner thigh.
She shuddered. That was one experiment she wasn’t going to repeat in a hurry. And how on earth she was going to turn it into a clean but witty column was something her throbbing head wasn’t currently capable of even imagining. Let alone putting into words.
What on earth had gotten into her? She was sensible. One of the few things she definitely liked about herself, even if it drove certain
other people round the bend.
“Mr. Solway will see you now.” The cut glass tones of the receptionist sliced through her daydreams and she jumped to her feet. Work. Work was the important bit. Not Andy, not Ben. She looked at the large imposing door and her throat was desert dry.
“You can go in now.”
Shit, how long had she been standing staring at this door? Too long judging from the tone of the receptionist’s voice and the fact she’d had to repeat herself. Yup, she could go in. She got that bit. Open the door, go in.
But this was the most important meeting of her life, the kick-start to get her back on track. The answer to the disaster she used to call a career, to the bank balance that was more red than black. And she was scared. Shit scared that she would screw this up and Andy would win again.
After she left him he’d done his best to destroy her, and damn near succeeded in ruining her dream and her reputation. Just thinking about it made the knot of nerves in her stomach form into an ever harder ball. Andy had been the biggest mistake of her life, a mistake she was still paying for. She’d never realised how much influence he had until she tried to walk away from him and instantly lost her job, until the unsubstantiated rumors started circulating again about her dead step-brother Mike, until people started doubting her. Until she doubted herself, doubted the closest thing to a big brother she’d ever had.
Mike was older and wiser than her, and a whole lot more fun. He was the one who taught her how to climb trees, who made her want to write… who got himself killed when he decided that he didn’t like the morals of the people he worked for, of the industry he worked in. Andy said he’d turned into the type of person nobody could trust, a whistleblower. And a dishonest one, working for his own ends. And even though she couldn’t bring herself to believe him, plenty of other people were prepared to.
But she wasn’t going to let him destroy her, or Mike’s memory. She wasn’t. He was a bitter and twisted bully who thought he still had a hold over her, and was out to prove she couldn’t cope without him. But she could and she would. She was more than capable of resurrecting her life and she was damned well going to do it.
Stepping into the office of a man who hadn’t granted an interview in years, a man who guarded his privacy almost obsessively, was going to change her life. He’d agreed to see her. Her. She was one step away from never having to agree to anything as ridiculous as an online date ever again, one step away from never having to write about handbags and heels again.
The perfect secretary was giving her a peculiar look. Why did these women make her feel so inadequate with their perfect hair, perfect makeup, and perfect expressions? Perfect was something she had never been accused of. And any minute now, Miss Perfect was going to get her thrown out as a mad impostor if she didn’t do something.
Now or never. He was only human after all, even if he was a millionaire, or billionaire, or whatever all those zeros amounted to. Jane, her best mate, once told her a neat trick for dealing with intimidating people, and it had worked before with the bullies in editorial meetings. Imagine him naked. Stark bollocky naked. Well, maybe with underwear. After all he was getting on a bit and a wrinkly body might bring him down a peg or two, but with his meat and two veg on show? Erghhh. The way her head was pounding, her stomach just might not cope with something like that.
All she had to do was open the door. So she did. And forgot everything her mother had ever told her about staring being rude.
The last time she’d seen that back had been in her dreams a few hours earlier. It had been naked, the muscles in sharp relief from the light of a bedside lamp. He had been sprawled across a king size bed…her king-size bed, on her black satin sheets. For a second she thought her legs might give way. That was yesterday’s nightmare. Today’s was supposed to be different.
* * * *
Ben stared out of the window, unseeing. The instant the metallic click of the door catch echoed round the room, he knew it was her. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in response. And even with his back to her, he knew from her sharp intake of breathe that she had recognized him. And then the silence. He paused for a second, not sure if it was for her benefit or his own, before slowly turning away from the window and allowing a body he hadn’t been able to forget drift into view.
Last night she’d been sexy. Way out there sexy with her curly hair, high heels and tight dress. Dark made up eyes and red lipstick giving him a hard on he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Today she was dressed for business. And she looked even better. The auburn hair was a sleek, silky bob. A smart suit wrapped around her perfect hourglass figure–no overblown Jessica Rabbit–but nicely understated. This was a sophisticated chic he hadn’t expected. This was a woman who knew her assets and knew how to use them. And right now his blood was pumping downhill at a rapid rate of knots. He sat down behind the large desk suddenly wishing he still had his jacket on. But even that wouldn’t have hidden his reaction completely.
Ben had wanted to catch her off guard, had needed to have the upper hand. But he hadn’t expected the mass of conflicting feelings spilling across her expressive face. Yes, he’d expected a reaction, but not one quite this extreme. The brief shaft of guilt shooting through him caught him by surprise; she was wide-eyed, her whole body taut, poised for flight once the frozen shock left it. The color drained from her face leaving it alabaster pale, contrasting sharply with the soft flame of her auburn hair and eyes. For a brief moment he thought she swayed, and he fought the impulse to get up, but then she tightened herself right from the pretty bow mouth down to her toes. Her slim hand reached for the back of the chair; half-steadying, half-showing she was in control. He watched the internal fight and had to admire the way she did it.
Maybe he’d been stupid to arrange to meet her for a drink, a date. He’d made a promise to look after her, a promise to a man who had seen his own destiny and knew she would need someone. And he intended to keep his promise. But he’d already found out everything he needed to know about her and had worked out that the best way to keep the promise was to agree to this interview. And then employ her. Which was all very sensible and straightforward.
But then he had chatted to her some more. And something about her had been irresistible. She’d turned him on, hooked him, given him a buzz he couldn’t remember feeling since he’d been a kid. It had been a dangerous game with the normal social boundaries blurred over, with impulses and openness bubbling out. Maybe it was just the clandestine nature of the meeting, the not knowing, and the element of surprise. But he’d wanted to see that side of her before she found out who he was. Before the shutters came down and it was all business.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Take a seat. Or are you going to do a runner again?” He allowed a humorless smile to lift the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t about to forgive her for running out on him last night. She’d wound him up until the blood pounded in every part of his body, until his thoughts were filled with the need to taste her, explore her. Hear her beg for more. The kiss they had shared had been pure lust; she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.
She’d turned him on then, and she was doing it again now. And it was bloody frustrating.
“You’re not James Solway.” She held her ground behind the chair, glaring at him with those eyes that seemed to change color with her mood.
“True.”
“So who the hell are you? This is James Solway’s office.”
“Was.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“It was James Solway’s office. I’m his son. I conduct his interviews these days.” He pointed at the chair again. “You do look like you need to sit down.”
“Is there any point?”
A pulse throbbed below her jaw and she looked like she’d flee any second now.
Again.
He picked up a pen, flicking it over in his hands. Trying to slow the pace. “So, our landscape gardener turns out to be just another jobbing
journalist.” He wondered what had made her invent that as her cover story.
“So,” she mimicked his tone, “our construction worker turns out to be just a media magnate.” He swore her eyes were going greener and she was looking more like an angry cat by the minute.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“And I do so love the image of a man in a hard hat.”
He laughed then. He couldn’t help himself. She was dressed in a sophisticated manner, meaning business, but the naughty undercurrent was there. As it had been last night. That streak of fun that had been in her messages online. Or was that just all in his mind?
“And I so love the image of a woman covered in mud.”
Sam glared at him. Molten heat stirred deep in her stomach in response to his lazy drawl, the way his gaze was roving over her. Spears of heat darted right down between her thighs. She was angry. Angry that he had lied to her, angry that he had wrong-footed and outwitted her, and very angry that she couldn’t control the way her body was responding to him.
She should walk out, tell him exactly where to stick his interview. Except just walking wasn’t an option. Getting him to agree to her writing an in-depth profile of him was a necessity. But it was more than that, she wanted the job. Well she had done, when it was someone else she was supposed to be writing about. Oh, why couldn’t this hunk of loveliness morph into his seventy-year old father?
“You absolute–” She clamped her mouth shut. Bastard she was about to say, and he was, except it wasn’t professional. Or ladylike. “You knew who I was online.” He must have known, he just must have, or he would have been shocked when she’d walked in. Not cool. And smug, looking like he’d been expecting her.
She’d been a complete idiot, pulled in by the whole fantasy, telling him all kinds of things she’d never told anyone. She’d honestly thought, for a few short days, that she had hit the million to one jackpot and disproved the skeptics. It was possible to meet someone online you actually clicked with. Not just sex. Not just fun. Even if real dates were strictly out of bounds.
Text Me, Tweet Me, Need Me Page 2
