Defiant Mistress, Ruthless Millionaire

by Yvonne Lindsay

  The man was unscrupulous. Unscrupulous and highly intelligent, and with every business coup he successfully completed he threatened Palmer Enterprises just that much more. She would have to work hard to make him believe he would be using her as his latest steppingstone to usurping Palmers’ position rather than the other way around.

  He placed their order for drinks—to her surprise, ordering the same beverage for himself.

  “You don’t need to drink water just because I am,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t do anything just to make someone else comfortable,” he answered, pinning her with that gaze once more. “Unless absolutely necessary, of course.”

  The way his voice dropped an octave on the last few words sent a shiver across her skin and Callie had no trouble imagining what situation “absolutely necessary” encompassed. A visual image of bare skin against bare skin, of the warm touch of a gentle palm, of legs entwined, burned across her eyes.

  Heat gathered deep inside her, slowly unfurling through her lower extremities and making her want to shift in her seat. Instead, she reached for the mineral water that had thankfully been promptly delivered, and took a long cooling sip.

  “Thirsty?”

  There was an edge of humour to Tremont’s voice that slid under her skin to irritate.

  “Yes, actually,” she answered. “I had quite a walk to get here, and it’s warm outside.”

  “Oh? No parks left?”

  “No. Someone in an overpriced set of wheels took the last space.” A cold finger of caution traced a line down Callie’s spine but she already knew it was too late, darn it. Inwardly, she sighed. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Guilty as charged.” He put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “But if I’d have known I was putting you out I would have left it for you.”

  “No problem. I’m not afraid of a bit of exercise.”

  She hadn’t meant her words to be an invitation to him to check her out, but he did. His gaze gliding over her shoulders, her breasts and lower to where her long legs were crossed to one side of the table.

  “No,” he said softly. “I’m sure you’re not. But still, it would be a shame to damage those pretty sandals you’re wearing. Manolos, right? I’ll drop you back to your car after lunch. Think of it as atonement.”

  “Really, that won’t be necessary.”

  She was taken aback that he’d recognised the brand of her shoes. Shoes were her greatest weakness, and considering the years she’d gone either barefoot, or clad in ill-fitting shoes purloined from clothing recycle bins, it was a miracle her feet were even in any kind of condition to be showcased in such extravagant splendour.

  “We’ll see,” he answered enigmatically. “Now, I’m sure your time is precious. Why don’t you choose what you’d like for lunch and we’ll get down to business.”

  When she was ready, he summoned their waiter over. Callie requested a Caesar salad and he ordered steamed salmon with glazed asparagus tips.

  “Tell me, Callie, how long have you worked for the Palmers?”

  Tremont sat back in his seat, one arm slung across the wide back of the chair in a move clearly designed to be casual and to invite confidence. The look on his face, however, was anything but. Callie recognised the keen perusal he gave her as he assessed her body language and prepared to process her response. She finally allowed herself to smile as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands lightly together. Let him make from that what he wanted, she thought.

  “Since I finished my communications degree,” she answered, deliberately not being specific about when that had occurred.

  Tremont nodded before speaking again.

  “I understand you completed your master’s with honours—that’s no small feat.”

  She fought to conceal her surprise. Given his response he knew full well when she’d attended university. He was just playing her. It was really no more than she’d expected, she reminded herself, and she was prepared.

  “That’s right,” she said carefully. “But since you already know all that, why don’t you ask me something you don’t know?”

  A flare of blue flame lit in his eyes and he lifted a hand to stroke the edge of his jaw.

  “What would it take to win you over, Callie?”

  “Win me over? I think you need to be more specific.”

  “Now, I know you’re an intelligent woman, and I also know that you’re fully aware of the general exodus of staff from Palmer Enterprises to Tremont Corporation.”

  Callie nodded, barely trusting herself to speak for fear that she’d let her anger bubble over.

  “I wouldn’t call it a general exodus, exactly,” she managed through tight lips. “Some of us are still loyal.”

  “Ah,” he smiled. “Implying that you are unswerving in your devotion?”

  “You think there’s a problem with that?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, uncaring as to what he analysed by her body language now. “Seems you ought to be more concerned about the loyalty of people you can buy.”

  Twin creases formed between Tremont’s heavy black brows and his eyes grew distant. This was the real Josh Tremont, she reminded herself. This was the man who cold-bloodedly bought information about Palmer Enterprises and used it to his advantage to underbid or outsupply their clients—bit by bit, year by year, eating away at their success.

  “Good point,” he conceded. Before he could say any more, the waiter brought their plates. “Let’s leave this discussion until we’ve eaten, hmm? Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite.”

  Callie allowed herself a short laugh. “It’d take a lot more than conversation to spoil my appetite.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” he smiled in return. “I enjoy a woman with healthy appetites.”

  Callie froze; her fork halfway to her mouth. She had no doubt what appetites he was talking about. Again that image flashed before her eyes, this time though it was her body, her skin that he touched. And, as if he’d reached across the table and stroked his elegant hand across her shoulder and down, she felt her breasts grow full and heavy—her nipples beading into tight points, abrading the soft fabric of her bra.

  She was relieved when he skilfully turned the conversation to more general matters while they ate, and she was surprised to find herself enjoying his sharp wit and broad opinions as they ranged across a variety of topics.

  It was only after the waiter had cleared away their plates and delivered frothy cappuccinos that Callie began to relax. She picked up her teaspoon and scooped the chocolate off the froth of her coffee. She lifted it to her lips and her tongue darted out to savour the hint of wickedness—her favourite indulgence during the week. Tremont’s next words, however, brought things firmly back to business.

  “I want you, Callie, and I’ll pay whatever it takes to get you.”

  There it was. The offer she dreaded but knew she had to accept. She remembered her discussion with Irene earlier in the week. Play it cool, she reminded herself.

  Callie raised one eyebrow in response. “I already have a job. One I love. With people I respect.”

  To her surprise Josh Tremont laughed out loud, the sudden sound turning the heads of the diners around them.

  “Oh, you’re good, Callie. You’re very good. It’s not everyone who tries to put me in my place so politely. C’mon, name your price.”

  Callie took a sip of her coffee then carefully replaced her cup on its saucer and lifted her gaze to meet his. Instantly she felt the power of his will behind his stare. Were she a weaker woman, or even someone who owed the Palmers any less, she had no doubt she’d have capitulated. But she wasn’t that person and she owed them everything. Nothing he could do, or offer, would change that.

  “What if I don’t have one?” she finally replied.

  “Everybody has a price, Callie,” he coaxed.

  “Let me think about it. I’ll call you,” she smiled coolly as she rose and collected
her document case. “Thank you very much for lunch. I believe our meeting is over.”

  She tucked her case back under one arm before extending her hand to Tremont to say goodbye. He got up from his chair, a dangerous glitter reflected in his eyes. He took her hand, his thumb rubbing gently across her skin, sending a ripple of warmth to traverse up her arm.

  “I haven’t given up, you know. Didn’t your mother ever warn you about men like me? We enjoy a challenge.”

  Callie thought briefly of the woman who’d given birth to her. A woman who’d preferred to dish out abuse—physical or mental, she hadn’t been fussy—rather than advice of any kind.

  He leaned in a little closer. “I’ll let you go for now, but don’t keep me waiting too long,” he urged, releasing her hand.

  “I said I’ll think about it. I won’t promise more than that.”

  Tremont gave a short sharp nod. “I’ll take you back to your car.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I said I’d take you back to your car, and I will. I’m a man of my word.”

  “Are you?” she jibed.

  “Oh, yes. Don’t mistake me, Callie. I say what I mean and I always get what I want. Eventually.”

  Two

  J osh Tremont set his phone back down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, swivelling it around to view the glittering panorama of Auckland City’s inner harbour. For a moment he savoured the taste of success before his mind turned to analysing the call he’d just received.

  He allowed a small smile to pull at his lips. So Callie Rose Lee had her price after all. It was high, but he could afford it. Besides, she was worth so much more to him than she could possibly realise. She’d been groomed by the Palmer family for the past ten years and losing her would hopefully send a shock wave through them that would reverberate for some time. And into the bargain he got an exceptionally clever, and beautiful, assistant.

  Now the last pieces of his plan would fall into place just the way he wanted. This way, at least, he could get right down to business instead of wasting precious time wooing her away from Irene Palmer’s clawlike grip. The satisfaction that spread through him was a balm to his soul.

  Josh got up from his seat and crossed to the shelving unit against his office wall. He lifted a photo frame from the wooden shelf and stared at the faded black-and-white picture within. His mother looked so happy in this shot—so carefree—and, with her hand on his eight-year-old shoulder, they’d faced the world believing everything was good in their lives. But it had been a lie. Nothing about his upbringing had been what it seemed, nor what it should have been—now all that was about to change.

  Bruce Palmer had had his opportunity to make a difference and he’d chosen not to. Had chosen instead the unemotional frozen woman who ruled his empire at his side. Had chosen his legal-born son over his illegitimate bastard.

  Palmer’s curt dismissal of Josh’s notification when his mother had died—a single sheet of paper with “No contact” typed in bold black letters—had sealed his fate. Then eighteen, Josh had been shocked to finally discover who his father really was and the searing pain of emphatic rejection, hard on the heels of the death of the only parent he had ever known, had been the catalyst that continued to drive him.

  If Palmer had been half the man the country believed he was Josh’s mother wouldn’t have had to work up to three jobs at a time to make sure Josh never missed out.

  In return, he’d vowed that one day he’d make things right for her and give her the luxuries she deserved. Sadly, her illness had denied him the chance to ever spoil her. Josh still cursed himself that, wrapped up in his studies, he hadn’t noticed her slow deterioration or realised that her perpetual weariness was a far more ominous indicator than simply her body’s response to the physical demands of her work.

  The doctors had said it was too late to do anything for her by the time they’d detected the cancer. Too late to do anything but hope against hope that she wouldn’t slip away while he was at school during the day, or at the cleaning job he’d taken over from her late at night to help cover their living costs.

  She’d lingered for two years and her end, when it came, had been without him by her side. He’d been at the graduation ceremony for school, where he’d been awarded top honours in his year group and a scholarship to attend Victoria University in Wellington, only a short journey from their home.

  He’d felt the emptiness the instant he’d set foot inside the door, both in the house and in his heart. An emptiness that remained, locked deep inside.

  His fingers tightened around the frame, knuckles whitening as the helpless rage that had filled him as an angry and confused teen came rushing back. He forced himself to relax and carefully replaced the photo on the shelf, then closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the happier image to imprint over the one that always lingered in the back of his mind.

  The instant he had his fury under control again his eyes snapped open and his gaze drifted to the Palmer Enterprises building, only a couple of blocks away, framed by his window. Yes, Bruce Palmer would pay for his callous choice, and he’d pay dearly. By the time Josh was finished with him the older man would know the pain of regret and Josh’s thirst for payback would finally be quenched.

  Josh moved back to his desk and opened the computer file he had on Callie, his eyes roaming the head-and-shoulders shot of her that filled his screen.

  His insides clenched as he observed the tilt of her head, the tint of red in her long hair hinting at the fiery potential in her temper. The picture, however, hadn’t captured the essence of her as a woman. She’d controlled herself so well at lunch the other week, but the hint of anger in her chocolate-brown eyes had barely veiled what he believed was the true level of passion in her nature. Callie Rose Lee in the flesh was an entirely more enticing package than the computer screen promised.

  “So that’s the tour of the office complex all done!”

  The fresh-faced staffer who’d shown Callie around Tremont’s high rise turned with a smile that almost made Callie feel like she was waiting for applause or a pat on the head for a job well done.

  “Thank you, Sabrina. It certainly was comprehensive.”

  So comprehensive, in fact, Callie wondered when she’d ever actually get to start some work. The tour had taken the entire morning and she’d yet to meet up with Josh Tremont again or see where she’d be working herself.

  “Ah, here’s Mr Tremont now. Right on time.”

  Callie stiffened, every nerve in her body going onto full alert. By the look on Sabrina’s face, she had a serious case of hero worship. Callie stifled a groan and cursorily reminded herself why she was really here.

  “Callie, good to see you. I had a meeting this morning but I’m sure Sabrina has taken good care of you.”

  Josh Tremont extended his hand and after the briefest hesitation Callie took it. Instantly his fingers curled warmly around her hand, enveloping her with his strength. She was glad he wasn’t one of those men who insisted on either squeezing the bejeezus out of your fingers or dominating the handshake with his hand on top.

  No, men like Josh Tremont didn’t need those tactics to show who was in charge. It was clear in the look he gave her as he welcomed her into his domain—powerful, omnipotent. A chill rippled a shiver of warning down her spine and she forced back a shudder. She was truly in the lion’s den now.

  He was dressed today in a black blazer teamed with sharply pressed grey trousers and a crisp white shirt. His blue tie, hand-dyed silk if her eye wasn’t mistaken, sat in a perfect Windsor knot, and reflected the colour of his eyes. He could have stepped straight off the pages of GQ magazine.

  Callie slowly became aware that he still held her hand. The warmth of his grasp permeated her skin and sent a tiny flare of something hotter spiraling deep inside her. She pulled away with as much decorum as she could muster but not soon enough to stop the tingle that registered just beneath her palm. She stroked her hand down over her hip, over t
he hem of her sensible cream-coloured business jacket and the slim fit of her matching trousers, but it did nothing to assuage the sensation that his hand still clasped hers.

  “Are you ready to see where you’ll be working while we’re based in the office?”

  “I certainly am,” Callie answered, determined to at least appear to be keen on her new role even if her insides were clattering away like a flock of nervous parrots.

  “Follow me,” Josh gestured toward an elevator bank and pulled a swipe key from his belt as they entered the waiting lift.

  “Thanks again for showing me around,” Callie said to Sabrina.

  The other girl gave her a smile and a wave and started to walk away as the lift doors closed. As lifts went, the car was bigger than many she’d been in, but for some reason the walls seemed closer than they should be. Josh Tremont seemed closer. Was it her imagination or had he moved in to be nearer to her as the car travelled up to what was tagged as the executive floor?

  His cologne tantalised her, a hint of black pepper and sandalwood mixed with something else. Whatever it was, it played havoc with her equilibrium. Thankfully, the journey upward was swift and, as the lift doors slid silently open, Callie let go the breath she’d unconsciously held.

  “Our senior executives are all housed on this floor, together with our legal department. You’ll be issued your own security clearance and swipe key. Every key access is logged and counterchecked by security on a regular basis to provide a complete record of our staff movements.”

  “That way no one is where they shouldn’t be?” Callie asked. Maybe this was going to be a whole lot tougher than she anticipated.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware from your previous work, in these competitive times security and confidentiality are paramount.”

  Oh, yes, she knew it all right. And while Josh Tremont was clearly a stickler for guarding his own turf, he wasn’t above stealing or buying information about others.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have everyone fitted with a personal tracking device,” she said with a light laugh.