by Nicola Marsh
Yeah, some people never changed.
He needed a change. Needed to escape the expectations of a hundred workers who couldn’t afford to lose their jobs. Needed to forget how his father had landed his business in this predicament and focus on the future. Needed to sign that WAG to solve his problems.
And there were many. So many problems that the more he thought about it, the more his head pounded.
What he needed right now? A bar, a bourbon and a blonde.
Startled by his latter wish, he gazed at her again and his groin tightened in appreciation.
She might not be his type but for a wild, wistful second he wished she could be.
Eight years of setting up his own publishing business in London had sapped him, sucking every last ounce of energy as he’d worked his butt off. When he’d initially started he’d wanted a company to rival his father’s but had chosen to focus on the e-market rather than paper, trade and hardbacks. Considering how dire things were with Qu Publishing, his company now surpassed the one-time powerhouse of the book industry.
He rarely dated, socialised less. Building a booming digital publishing business had been his number-one priority. Ironic, he was now here to save the business he could’ve been in competition with if his dad had ever moved into the twenty-first century. And if he’d been entrusted with the truth.
Not that saving Qu mattered if Babs had her way.
The muscles in his neck spasmed with tension and he spun away, needing air before he did something he’d regret, like marching over to stepmommy dearest and strangling her.
He grabbed a whisky from a passing waiter and downed half of it, hoping to eradicate the bitterness clogging his throat. Needing a breather, he made his way to the terrace that wrapped across the front of the function room in wrought-iron splendour.
Melbourne might not have the historical architecture of London but the city’s beautiful hotels, like the Westin, could hold their own around the world.
He paced the marble pavers in a vain attempt to quell the urge to march back into that packed function room and blast Babs in front of everyone, media be damned.
Wouldn’t that go down a treat in tomorrow’s papers? publishing ceo bails up socialite stepmother, a real page-turner.
He wouldn’t do it, of course. Commit corporate suicide. Qu Publishing meant too much to him. Correction, his dad had meant everything to him, and Wade would do whatever it took, including spending however long in Melbourne to stop Babs selling his legacy.
Qu Publishing needed a saviour. He intended to walk on water to do it.
He cursed and downed the rest of his whisky, knowing he should head back inside and make nice with the publishing crowd.
‘Whatever’s biting your butt, that won’t help.’
Startled, he glanced to his right, where the bronze-clad blonde rested her forearms on the balcony, staring at him with amusement in her eyes.
Blue. With tiny flecks of green and gold highlighted by the shimmery dress. A slinky, provocative dress that accentuated her assets.
The whisky he’d sculled burned his gut. His excuse for the twisty tension tying it into knots.
Her voice surprised him as much as her guileless expression. Women who dressed like that usually wore calculating expressions to match their deliberately sexy garb and spoke with fake deference.
She sounded...amused. Concerned. Normal.
It threw him.
He prided himself on being a good judge of character. Hadn’t he picked Babs for a gold-digging tart the moment his dad had introduced her ten years ago?
His people radar had served him well in business too, but something about this woman made him feel off-kilter. A feeling he wouldn’t tolerate.
He needed to stay focused, remain in charge, to ensure he didn’t lose the one thing that meant anything to him these days.
And as long as she was staring at him with that beguiling mix of fascination and curiosity, he couldn’t concentrate on anything.
‘Can’t a guy have a drink in peace without being accused of drowning his sorrows?’
He sounded abrupt and uptight and rude. Good. She would raise her perfect pert nose in the air and stride inside on those impossibly high heels that glittered with enough sparkle to match her dress.
To his surprise she laughed; a soft, sexy sound that made his fingers curl around the glass as she held up her hands in a back-off gesture.
‘Hey, no accusations here. Merely an observation.’
A host of smartass retorts sprang to his lips and he planned on using them too. Until he glimpsed something that made him pause.
She was nervous.
He saw it in the way her fingertips drummed delicately on the stem of the champagne flute she clutched. Saw it in her quick look-away when he held her gaze a fraction too long.
And that contradiction—her siren vamp appearance contrasting with her uncertainty—was incredibly fascinating and he found himself nodding instead.
‘You’re right. I was trying to take my mind off stuff.’
The corners of her mouth curved upward, the groove in her right cheek hinting at an adorable dimple. ‘Stuff?’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’
‘I used to worry about stuff once.’
Intrigued by the weariness in her voice, he said, ‘Not anymore?’
‘Not after today,’ she said, hiding the rest of what she was about to say behind her raised glass as she took a sip.
‘What happened today?’
Her wistful sigh hit him where he least expected it. Somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
‘Today I secured a future for someone very important to me.’
He didn’t understand her grimness or defensive posture, but he could relate to her relief. When he secured the future of Qu Publishing in memory of all his dad’s hard work, he’d be pretty damn relieved too.
‘Good for you.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled again, sweet and genuine, and he couldn’t fathom the bizarre urge to linger, chat and get to know her.
She wasn’t in his plans for this evening. Then again, what did he have to look forward to? Putting on a front for a bunch of back-slapping phoneys and gritting his teeth to stop from calling his stepmother a few unsavoury names?
He knew what he’d rather be doing.
And he was looking straight at her.
‘Do you want to get out of here?’
Her eyes widened in surprise before a disapproving frown slashed between them. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me? I make polite small talk for two seconds and you’re propositioning me?’
She shook her head, her disgust palpable.
‘Let me rephrase that.’ He tried his best smile, the one he used to win friends and influence colleagues. Her frown deepened. ‘What I meant was that I’ve had a long day. Landed in Melbourne this morning, had to attend this shindig for work tonight and I’m tired of the schmoozing.’
He waved towards the balcony. ‘Considering you’re out here to get away from the crowd, I assume you’ve probably had a gutful too?’
Her wary nod encouraged him to continue when he should cut his losses and run.
‘The way I see it, we have two choices. Head back in there and bore ourselves silly for the next hour or we can head down to The Martini Bar in the lobby and unwind before we head home—I mean, before we go our separate ways.’
The corners of her mouth twitched at his correction.
‘What do you say? Take pity on a guy and put him out of his misery by saving him from another interminable stint in there?’
Damn, he’d made a fool of himself, blathering like an idiot. What was it about this cool, classy blonde that had him rattled?
He’d had her pegged wrong and he, better than anyone, should know never to judge the proverbial book by its cover.
‘So you weren’t propositioning me?’
Was that a hint of disappointment? Mentally chastising himself for wishful thinking, he mimicked her frown. ‘Sadly, no. I’m too jet-lagged to—’
He bit off the rest of what he was about to say when her eyebrow arched.
Yep, he was stuffing this up royally.
‘To what?’
At last, she smiled and it made him feel oddly excited, as if he wanted to see her do it again.
‘To muster up enough charm to ensure you couldn’t say no.’
She chuckled and he joined in.
‘I like a guy with confidence.’ She laid her champagne glass on the ledge. ‘Let’s go get that martini.’
He didn’t have to be asked twice. ‘You really made me work for that acceptance.’
As he gestured for her to take the stairs ahead of him she cast him a coy glance from beneath her lashes. ‘Didn’t you know? You need to work your butt off for anything worth having.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Absolutely.’ She nodded, strands of artfully curled golden silk falling around her face in gorgeous disarray. ‘Nothing better than nailing a challenge.’
He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent laughing out loud, finding her utterly beguiling. In contrast to her sex-kitten persona, she was forthright and rather innocent if she hadn’t picked up on that nailing remark.
Then he made the mistake of glancing at her and saw the moment her faux pas registered.
She winced and a faint pink stained her cheeks, making him want to ravish her on the spot.
‘That didn’t sound too good,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.
‘Now we’re even,’ he said, wondering what they’d come out with after a few drinks under their belts. ‘My mistaken proposition, your nailing suggestion.’
‘Guess we are.’ She eyed him speculatively, as if not sure what he’d say next.
That made two of them.
‘Maybe we should stick to coffee tonight?’
‘Why’s that?’
That dimple flashed adoringly again. ‘Because with our strike rate, who knows what’ll happen if we have a martini or two?’
He laughed. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’
‘Coffees it is.’ She nodded, expecting him to agree.
But there was a part of him that delighted in flustering this woman and he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d loosen up with a few drinks inside her.
He leaned in close, expecting her to retreat a little, his admiration increasing, along with his libido, when she didn’t.
‘Actually, I prefer to live on the edge tonight. Why don’t we have a martini or two and see what other verbal gaffes we can make?’
‘As long as we stop at the verbal stuff,’ she said so softly he barely heard her.
‘Any other mistakes we make? Not our fault.’
‘Oh?’ He loved how she did the imperious eyebrow quirk.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ He lowered his voice. ‘What happens in The Martini Bar stays in The Martini Bar?’
With a surprisingly wicked twinkle in her eye, she nodded. ‘That’s if we stay in the bar.’
With that, she took to the steps, leaving him trailing after her, more than a little captivated by this woman of contrasts.
A woman whose name he didn’t know.
Ah well, he’d have all night to discover it if he was lucky.
TWO
LIZA LITHGOW’S STYLE TIPS
FOR MAXIMUM WAG WOW IMPACT
The Lips
For the height of sophistication and glam wow, the perfect pout is where it’s at.
Having a palette of colours for various looks is essential.
Co-ordinate colour with outfits.
Go bold with fire engine red for an awards ceremony or pastel pink for the season opener.
Keep lips soft; that means no lip liner!
For a fabulous femme fatale pout, preparation is key.
Gently exfoliate lips with a soft-bristled toothbrush.
Moisturize with a specialized lip balm.
Use a lip-fix cream which prevents colour bleeding.
Apply lipstick once. Blot with tissue. Re-apply.
For a subtle look, pat lipstick on with a fingertip.
For bold lips, apply with a lip brush.
Blot.
Reapply.
If you want a plump pout without the injections, try lipsticks with inbuilt ‘plumpers’. These innovative ingredients are proven to increase lip volume by forty percent. Amazing! They also hydrate and restore collagen over time.
A dab of gloss in the middle of the lower lip is a subtle touch that adds real wow!
Liza couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out on a date.
One that hadn’t been orchestrated as some huge PR stunt, that was. She’d attended the Logies, Arias and Brownlow Medal galas on the arms of a TV personality, a rock star and an up-and-coming footballer respectively. And on each occasion had been bored witless within the first ten minutes.
So what was it about this guy that had her laughing and fluffing her words and interested in spending some one-on-one time with him?
She’d made her required appearance at the book launch; she should head home, get out of this designer dress she’d been begged to wear and curl up with her e-reader and the latest juicy romance.
Instead, she watched him place their martini orders, shocked she didn’t know his name, thrilled she didn’t particularly care.
She never had fun or did anything on a whim. Ever.
Her life for the last ten years since her mum had absconded when she was eighteen and left Cindy in her care had been about weighing decisions carefully to see how they would affect her younger sister.
Everything revolved around Cindy and while Liza never begrudged her sis anything, knowing tonight would be the last time she’d have to put on her fake face had lifted a weight from her shoulders.
She could be herself from now on and Mr Martini had been in the right place at the right time. More than that, he’d intrigued her, and she couldn’t say that about many men.
She’d watched him morph from uptight and judgemental to cool and a little goofy, with a hint of underlying sexiness that made her long-neglected hormones sit up and howl.
When was the last time she’d had sex? Probably not since she was with Jimmy, because while Henri had paid for her arm-candy status for a year, she wouldn’t go that far as part of their deal.
And if she couldn’t remember exactly, it meant it had probably been during the good period with Jimmy, which hadn’t been the last year of their relationship. The year he’d progressively withdrawn, establishing emotional distance before the final break.
Her mum had done the same over the years. In both cases, their abandonment hadn’t come as any great surprise but had hurt all the same. Hurt deeply.
But tonight wasn’t the time to dwell on her issues. Tonight was perfect for something else entirely.
She did a quick mental calculation.... Could it really have been four years since she’d been with a guy?
Maybe that explained her irrational urge to push the limits with Mr Martini
. He’d be ideal for a celebratory fling, a little fun on a night where she felt like dancing down Swanston Street with her arms in the air.
Not that she’d had a one-night stand before but the way she was feeling right now? Edgy. Dangerous. A little outrageous. It could very well be a first tonight.
He stalked towards her, his ebony suit highlighting lean legs, broad shoulders, impressive chest, and she squirmed a little.
What would it be like to explore beneath that suit? To feel the warmth of a man’s skin next to hers? The heat of passion? The yearning to lose herself in pleasure?
Cindy was her world and Liza never regretted assuming responsibility for full-time care, but it was at times like this she wished deep down for something she’d never have: a guy to come home to, a guy to warm her bed, a guy who wouldn’t abandon her when the going got tough.
‘You must really have a hankering for a martini,’ he said, taking a seat next to her, far too close as a few synapses zinged with the need to touch him.
‘Why?’
‘Because you have an odd look on your face, like you want it real bad.’
Uh-oh. He could see her desperation? Not good.
‘I’m thirsty,’ she blurted, wishing the waitress would hurry up and deliver their damn drinks so she wouldn’t have to stare into his knowing dark eyes.
‘And I’m curious.’
That made two of them. She was curious as to why she’d agreed to this and why the hell she wanted him to be part of her freedom celebration tonight.
‘How could two intelligent people like us, about to having a scintillating conversation, still be strangers?’
‘Not anymore.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Liza Lithgow.’
‘Wade Urquart. Pleased to meet you.’
As his palm touched hers and his fingers curled around her hand, Liza could’ve sworn every sane reason why she shouldn’t indulge in a night of incredible sex with this guy melted clean away.
‘Your name sounds familiar.’ He frowned, releasing her hand after lingering too long. She wasn’t complaining.
‘I’m hoping the next words out of your mouth aren’t, “Haven’t we met some place before?”’
