by Lucy King
‘The jerk in the pond.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ After her last disastrous relationship, she was off men. For ever. Especially ones who crept up on her and nearly gave her a heart attack. However good-looking.
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No. Of course not.’ What was he talking about? She struggled to pull herself out of the steel circle of his arm, but it was no good. Alex didn’t seem inclined to let her go.
Instead he gripped her chin with his long brown fingers and turned her face so that the light fell on her cheek. ‘He took a swing at you with the bottle,’ he said harshly. ‘Where did he hit you?’
Phoebe’s skin sizzled beneath the pressure of his fingers. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ she said, baffled as much by the tingles shooting through her as the direction of the conversation. ‘Mark didn’t hit me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I think I might have noticed if I’d been thwacked by a bottle of champagne. Particularly vintage.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Not funny.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said sharply. There was absolutely nothing funny about the damage he could have done tonight, possibly the most important night of her and Jo’s lives. ‘Can I have my chin back?’
He let her chin go as if it were on fire and she swung her head round to glare up at him. For a moment they simply stared at each other and Phoebe became aware that, still locked in his vice-like embrace as she was, every inch of her body pressed up against every hard-muscled inch of his.
Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her heart thumped. Her mouth dried and she swallowed. She had to get a grip. And not of his biceps. ‘Right. So you barged in because you thought my boyfriend had hit me?’ A rogue bubble of delight bounced round inside her before she reminded herself that not only did chivalry not exist in her world, she neither needed nor looked for it.
His brows snapped together. ‘Where I come from men don’t hit women.’
Something warm started to unfurl deep inside her. ‘Where I come from no one hits anyone.’ The Jacksons employed far more subtle tactics.
‘He called you darling. You cried out and jerked back.’
Oh. She felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Well, yes, but only because I didn’t want to get splashed,’ she said. ‘And Mark calls everyone darling.’
His hands sprang off her as if she were a hot coal and he stepped back. ‘You didn’t want to get splashed,’ he echoed softly, his voice suddenly so cold and distant that it sent a chill hurtling down her spine and she automatically rubbed her upper arms.
In the thundering silence that hung between them, a seed of shame took root in her head and the blush on her cheeks deepened. His face was dark, tight and as hard as stone.
The combination of sheer disbelief and icy disdain that replaced the concern in his eyes made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. If she’d kept her mouth shut she’d still be in his arms, enveloped in his heat and strength, feeling all warm and deliciously quivery instead of feeling as shallow as the pond and utterly rotten.
Then she rallied. Hang on a moment. Why was she being made to feel the guilty party in this little melodrama? She hadn’t exactly begged him for help. And it was hardly her fault if he’d mistaken her dodging an arc of champagne for something more serious. While a spattering of water turned her sleek mane of hair into a frizzy mess, a carelessly flung spray of champagne would turn it into a frizzy sticky mess and she had enough to worry about right at this minute.
Phoebe nipped that seed of shame in the bud. ‘This,’ she said coolly, pointing at her hair, ‘takes hours to straighten and my dress is dry-clean only.’
For a split second Alex looked dumbstruck and then his expression shuttered and his eyes went blank. She cast a glance over his hair, thick, dark and unfairly shiny. Of course he would never understand the struggle she had with her hair, nor the burning need to keep it under control. But what was his problem?
‘Look, I didn’t ask you to interfere,’ she pointed out. ‘And I certainly didn’t need your help.’
‘So I’m beginning to gather.’
‘I had the situation totally under control.’
‘You were standing barefoot with a twig in your hair and your dress hitched up around your hips—’
‘Thighs,’ she snapped. ‘But wherever my dress was and whatever my hairstyle, you had no business interfering.’
Alex shoved his hands through his hair. ‘What did you expect me to do? Stand back and watch you get hurt? Did you really think that he was going to come out willingly?’
Phoebe blinked. ‘Well, yes.’ With a little persuasion and guidance.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mark is built like a tank and was totally out of control. Your lack of judgement astonishes me.’
Phoebe flinched. Ouch, that hurt. ‘I wasn’t in any danger,’ she said. ‘Mark was incapable of hitting anything. Anyway, what did you do with him?’
‘I threw him out.’
Of course. ‘Did anyone see you?’
He frowned. ‘Does it matter?’
Phoebe gaped. Did it matter? She briefly wondered if steam actually whooshed out of her ears. ‘Of course it matters.’
Alex let out a harsh incredulous laugh. ‘You’d seriously put what other people think before your own safety? Your priorities are unbelievable.’
‘My priorities are my own business. You,’ she said, glaring at him, ‘overreacted.’
Alex looked as if it was taking every ounce of his control not to wrap his hands round her throat and throttle her. ‘Do you have any idea how volatile someone in that state can be? They can switch from charming to violent in the blink of an eye.’ He leaned in so close that she could see her own image reflected in his eyes and snapped his fingers and she jumped. ‘Just like that.’
Phoebe stamped down the stab of curiosity that suddenly demanded to know whether his reaction was based on personal experience of something similar and channelled her indignation instead. ‘Look,’ she said icily, ‘this isn’t the first time I’ve come across someone who can’t handle his drink. Before you,’ she said, stepping forwards, uncurling her fist and jabbing him in the chest with her index finger, ‘barged in and started throwing Mark around like some sort of caveman everything was fine. I was dealing with it perfectly well. On my own.’
Phoebe broke off, breathing heavily, suddenly aware that Alex wasn’t listening to her. His jaw was rigid. Colour slashed along his cheekbones. He was staring at her mouth, his big frame almost vibrating with an odd sort of electric tension.
She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. She could feel the scorching heat of his body burning through his shirt to singe her palm. She could feel his nipple, hot and tight, pressing against her hand.
Appal thundered through her. His heart? His heat? His nipple? Beneath her hand?
Her gaze shot down to the finger that had been poking his chest. Only now the jabbing had stopped. Now her hand lay flat against his chest and any minute now her fingers would be clutching at his shirt and yanking him towards her.
Time seemed to judder to a halt. Music drifted towards them, the sultry beat winding through her and whipping up unfamiliar sensations that stretched out and took over her ability to think about anything other than having his mouth hot and demanding on hers.
Phoebe could barely comprehend what was happening to her. No man had ever had this effect on her before. She’d felt attraction, tremors of lust even. Quite often. But never this slow drugging desire humming deep inside her, making her whole body itch with the need to reacquaint itself with his.
She wouldn’t even have that far to tug. One centimetre. Maybe two. And they’d be locked together, tumbling down onto the pile of huge cushions that lined the pergola and pulling at each other’s clothing.
In the middle of a party that she was supposed to be running.
With a sharp gasp of horror she snatched her hand awa
y and took a hasty step back. Alex’s eyes shot back up to hers. Dark, lit with something that made her mouth dry and her pulse hammer. ‘No one saw me,’ he said, the trace of huskiness in his voice telling her that an identical thought had been running through his head.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she managed, although her throat felt like sandpaper. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and swallowed hard. ‘Now I’d like an apology.’
‘I’d like a thank you.’
Phoebe stuck her chin up and gave him a cool smile. ‘Then I guess we’re both destined to be disappointed.’
Alex reached out to slide his hand round to the small of her back and pulled her against him. ‘Not necessarily.’
CHAPTER TWO
AS HIS MOUTH slammed down on hers Phoebe instantly lost track of everything except for the flood of heat that rushed straight to the centre of her. He took advantage of her gasp of shock instantly. When their tongues met it was as if someone had lit a firework deep inside her and Phoebe couldn’t do anything other than melt against him. Her arms shot up around his neck and his tightened and whether he pulled or she pushed, all she knew was that she was plastered against him and her body thought it had died and gone to heaven.
She ought to pull away. This was utter madness. She was supposed to be working. She’d planned every minute of this party, and at no stage did her plans involve six feet plus of devastating masculinity swooping to her unneeded rescue, kissing her and messing up her mind.
But tingles rippled along her nerve endings and the scent of him wound up her nose, seeped into her brain and fried it. All rational thought vanished.
As the kiss deepened and spiralled into something wildly out of control Phoebe felt the evidence of his arousal press against her and she wanted to writhe against it. Barely aware of what she was doing, she raised herself onto the tips of her toes to feel his hard length better against her, but her dress was too tight, too constricting.
Her breasts felt heavy and swollen and she wanted him to push the bodice down, get rid of her bra and soothe her aching nipples with his hand and mouth. When his hand moved round to cup her breast, lights exploded behind her eyelids and lust thundered through her.
Oh, God, she thought, beginning to tremble uncontrollably. She’d never been kissed like this. Had never kissed anyone like this. And she’d never been swept away by this intensity of…feeling.
‘Phoebe?’
They both froze at the sound of Jo’s voice. Phoebe let out a tiny moan of protest and Alex jerked back, cursing softly. She hung limply in his embrace and stared up at him in stunned silence. His hair was rumpled from where her fingers had tangled through it and a muscle pounded in his jaw. He seemed to be as shaken as she was. But a moment later he’d let her go and had backed into the shadows.
She blinked and swayed for a second while Jo called her name again, her voice louder and closer, and then reality swooped in and hit her round the head with the force of a fully laden tote bag.
What had she been thinking? She was at work. What if Jo hadn’t called her name? She’d have come across the two of them practically devouring each other, which was most certainly not the sort of professionalism she prided herself on.
Desperately trying to regulate her breathing, Phoebe smoothed her dress and pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. As she suspected. Burning. She touched her still tingling mouth, which felt ravaged and bruised, and wondered exactly how bad the damage was.
‘Hey, Phoebs, here you are.’ Jo came to a halt at the entrance to the pergola and beamed. ‘What are you doing out here all on your own?’
Phoebe resisted the urge to glance around to see where Alex had vanished to and cleared her throat. ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, smiling weakly while searching her imagination for something more sensible to say than an awes-truck ‘wow, did I just imagine that?’. ‘Getting some air.’
Pathetic. She made her living out of manipulating words and spinning situations. Surely she could come up with something better than that?
‘Hmm. It is a bit stuffy inside.’ Jo frowned. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’
Oops, she’d forgotten all about that. Her hands shot to her head and she carefully pulled out her makeshift hairpin. She combed her fingers through her hair and thanked God that it appeared to have come through recent events unscathed.
Jo glanced down. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘A twig.’
‘What was it doing in your hair?’
Phoebe tossed it into a flowerbed and waved a vague hand. ‘Oh, I was simply experimenting with an idea.’
‘Thinking of branching out?’
‘Ha ha,’ she muttered, and then clamped her lips together to stop a sudden bubble of hysterical laughter escaping.
Jo peered at her closer. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit flushed. And flustered.’ She paused and tilted her head. ‘I’ve never seen you flustered.’
That was because she took great care never to appear flustered, even when inside she was a mess. Regardless of the situation, triumph or disaster, she was always the epitome of cool, unflappable collectedness. She never let anything get in the way of her commitment to her job. And she never ever lost control.
Well, except for just now…
But that was totally understandable, she assured herself. After all, she’d been flung around like a sack of potatoes and then kissed senseless without any say in the matter whatsoever. Who wouldn’t feel a tiny bit on the flustered side?
Phoebe took a deep breath and channelled her inner calm. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said.
Jo shot her a knowing smile. ‘If you weren’t out here alone, and if I didn’t know that you never mix business with pleasure, I’d have sworn I’d interrupted you in the middle of a clinch.’
Phoebe felt colour hit her cheeks and edged away from the light. It was high time to deflect this line of conversation. ‘Hmm. So. You were looking for me?’
‘Yes. I came to tell you…’ But what Jo had come to tell her never made it out of her mouth.
Phoebe didn’t need to look round to know that Alex was standing behind her. The hairs at the nape of her neck had leapt up like an early-warning system and her whole body quivered with awareness.
As Jo’s gaze slid over Phoebe’s shoulder her smile disappeared, the blood drained from her face and her eyes widened in horror.
‘Hello, Jo.’ Alex’s voice was as cold as ice and Jo seemed to deflate right in front of Phoebe’s eyes.
‘Oh, no,’ Jo said with a deep sigh. ‘What are you doing here?’
Well, that was a relief, thought Alex darkly, thrusting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes fixed on his sister. Jo’s reaction to his presence at the party was the only thing so far this evening that had turned out as he’d expected.
Ever since he’d learned that she’d gone behind his back and hired her own PR representative without his approval, he’d planned to pitch up, demand to know what she thought she was up to and replace whoever she’d hired with his own team.
He’d intended to swoop in and be done within a matter of minutes, and if things had gone according to plan, he’d now be passed out in his penthouse, battling jet lag.
Instead, over the course of the last half an hour he’d fought a drunken idiot in a pond, been thwacked by a deluge of painful memories he’d really rather forget and been forced to face the uncomfortable realisation that for the first time in years he’d been wrong. As if all that weren’t enough, it appeared he’d also caught a severe case of lust.
Alex flicked a quick glance at Phoebe, standing there with her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and looking like a fallen angel, and felt desire whip through him all over again.
Kissing the life out of one of the guests had definitely not been part of the plan. But the moment he’d held her against him he’d been able to think about little else. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his chest while she’d been ranting about dealing with
cavemen or something, her eyes flashing sparks of green and gold at him. When his resistance had finally crumbled she’d fitted against him so perfectly, responded to him so passionately that he hadn’t been able to stop. Who knew what might have happened if Jo hadn’t interrupted them?
Alex ground his teeth against the urge to drag Phoebe back into the shadows. There’d be plenty of time for that later. Once he’d achieved what he’d come here to do, he’d take her out to dinner. See where a few more of those kisses might end up and maybe find a new way to get over jet lag.
In the meantime, he told himself, blanking Phoebe from his head and training his full attention on Jo, he had work to do.
‘Surprised to see me?’ he said coolly.
‘Somewhat,’ Jo muttered. ‘But thrilled too, of course,’ she added hastily.
She didn’t look in the slightest bit thrilled. She looked wary, as if she’d been caught red-handed. Which she should, because she had. If he’d vaguely entertained the idea of giving her the benefit of the doubt over the absence of his invitation, it vanished.
‘Of course,’ he replied dryly.
‘How did you find out?’
‘Did you really imagine I wouldn’t?’
‘I had hoped.’
Alex frowned. Since when had she started keeping secrets from him? That rankled almost as much as the fact that she’d deliberately kept him out of the loop.
‘Er, excuse me for interrupting, but would someone mind telling me what’s going on?’ said Phoebe, edging towards Jo in an oddly protective fashion. ‘Because I’m guessing you don’t have an invitation, and, if Jo wants, I can have the bouncers here faster than you can say “gatecrasher.”’
Alex’s gaze swivelled back to his sister. ‘Well?’ he said in a deadly soft voice.
‘There’s no need to call the bouncers.’ Jo pulled her shoulders back and shot him a defiant look. ‘Alex, I’d like you to meet Phoebe Jackson, managing director of Jackson Communications, and my PR.’
