by Nicola Marsh
Ruby clapped. ‘Way to go, Saph.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Dirty weekend away, huh?’
Sapphie’s first instinct was to say It’s not like that, but after withholding the promise she’d made to their mum on her deathbed and the resultant fallout she’d vowed never to keep the truth from her sister again.
Which meant full disclosure. Within reason.
‘I haven’t been out with anyone in a while, he seems keen, so it’s a bit of harmless fun.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Ruby nodded, her sly grin particularly worrying. ‘So it’s just a fling, right? Nothing serious?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then why are you so flustered?’
‘I’m not,’ Sapphie said, making a mockery of her declaration by edging backwards and tripping over a crate.
Ruby chuckled. ‘I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. It’s cute.’
‘Cute is puppies and newborns. Cute is not the relationship I have with Patrick.’
‘Oh? Then what would you call it?’
Raunchy. Decadent. Naughty.
Very, very naughty.
Images of what they’d done in her bathroom and the boardroom and via Skype in her bedroom earlier this week flashed across her memory and heat touched her cheeks.
Ruby held up her hands. ‘Never mind. Spare me the details. I can see how good it is written all over your face.’ She slugged her on the arm. ‘Proud of you.’
At least that made one of them. Sapphie wasn’t entirely proud of using Patrick—for that was exactly what she was doing. He wasn’t her type, and she had no intention of continuing this dalliance once their work together on Fashion Week ended, so using him didn’t sit well.
The fact he seemed more than happy to use her back was a moot point.
‘Stop thinking so hard. You’ll get frown lines.’ Ruby swiped a finger between her brows. ‘There’s nothing to overanalyse here, sis. Mutual gratification. Fling. Whatever you want to call it—just enjoy.’
She fully intended to. As for what happened after? She’d cross that mannequin when she came to it.
‘Where are you taking her?’ Serge propped himself on the end of Patrick’s desk, the epitome of male chic in one of Fourde’s five-grand-a-pop suits.
‘What’s it to you?’ Patrick practically snarled, and instantly regretted it. It wasn’t Serge’s fault a week’s worth of cold showers and iceberg documentaries hadn’t taken the edge off. Throw in the lack of sleep from working all hours to distract himself, and he was a grouch.
‘Come on, mate, we’ve always discussed our women in the past.’
He’d deliberately shut the door on his past. And Sapphire was no ordinary woman.
He didn’t want to discuss her with Serge, didn’t want to hear the usual ribald jokes and innuendo. Sapphire deserved better than that, and the last thing he needed as Fashion Week crept closer was to lose his right-hand man because he’d punched him in the mouth.
Which led to the question: why did he feel so strongly about this? About her? He had a job to do in Melbourne: make Australia and the world sit up and take notice of Fourde Fash-ion’s latest branch before he moved on to bigger and better things. That was his primary goal.
Sapphire was great as a temporary distraction but that was all she could ever be. Temporary.
For he had monumental dreams. Ones that involved taking on his folks head-on back in Europe.
Yeah, he’d do well to keep the endgame in sight. Despite the extremely attractive distraction.
Serge slid off his desk and stalked towards a side table, pointing at the basketball-size globe. ‘Let me see.’ He spun the globe with a finger, jabbing at it to stop it when the map of Australia came around. ‘Well, look-ee here.’
Patrick didn’t like where this was going. He’d played Serge’s stupid flag game in the past, when bedding women had gone in conjunction with partying. Not that he’d ever kept tally of the nationalities of the women he’d slept with, so he could stab a pin into a country as some kind of warped bedpost-notch equivalent, but he’d laughed when Serge had presented him with his round-the-world dalliances.
Later, he’d kept the globe as proof of the life he’d left be-hind—a life deliberately shunned because it had left him feeling shallow and worthless. Two feelings he’d had a gutful of after his major screw-up.
It served as a visual reminder of how far he’d come and a place he’d never return.
Serge let out a low wolf-whistle. ‘Just as I suspected. No flag on Melbourne.’
He hated Serge’s sly smirk.
‘I’m guessing that’s about to change come Monday.’
‘I haven’t got time for childish games.’ Patrick lowered his voice with effort. ‘And neither do you. Showtime in two weeks and we’re nowhere near ready.’
‘Chillax. We’ll get there. We always do.’
Patrick wished he had half Serge’s confidence. He might be taking charge with Sapphire when it came to sex, but no amount of planning or executing could guarantee a faultless show.
So many variables could go wrong—from a broken stiletto to a thread unravelling, from a model’s hissy fit to a competitor sabotaging.
Patrick didn’t like the unknown. He intended on planning for every contingency and if that meant working night and day for the next fortnight so be it. After this weekend, that was.
This weekend was all his. And maybe, just maybe, sex with Sapphire would ease his stress levels and make concentrating on work easier.
‘If I can’t talk about your dirty weekend, can I ask if you’ve had any feedback from Hardy and Joyce on the Fashion Week presentation?’
Yeah, Patrick had heard from his folks. A vague, general go-ahead while they focussed on more important matters, like booking the Louvre for an innovative Fourde Fashion show or gearing up for Milan.
As if they’d deem the Aussie office worthy of more than a cursory glance.
Well, he had news for them. He’d make them sit up and take notice of Fourde in Melbourne. Then he’d confront them with his plans to take them on in Europe.
They’d probably ignore him again, as they had the first time he’d mentioned it. When they realised he was for real they wouldn’t like it. Worse, they’d probably laugh at him.
But he was sick of being patronised. It seemed nothing he did could make up for the mistakes of the past but this time he intended on making his mark. He’d make them—and the world—pay attention to Patrick Fourde for all the right reasons.
‘I don’t need their approval,’ he said, unclenching his fists beneath the desk.
‘Man, you better get laid this weekend because you’re wound tight.’ Serge shook his head. ‘I asked if you’d had feedback, not their approval.’
Sadly, Patrick had a feeling even sex with Sapphire wouldn’t alleviate his long-standing stress levels when it came to his folks.
‘They’re busy as usual. We’ll gain their attention soon enough.’
Serge nodded. ‘The old Hollywood glamour concept is brilliant. And the designs…’ He kissed his fingertips in a flamboyant European gesture. ‘Magnifique.’
Patrick had no doubt his idea would wow the fashion world. What he doubted was gaining the recognition from the two people who mattered the most.
‘So you’ll be ready for a preview showing first thing Mon-day morning?’
‘Yeah, we’ll be ready.’ Serge smirked and spun the globe with his finger, hovering over Melbourne again. ‘The question is, will you?’
‘I’ll be here.’ He stood, glanced at his watch, making a grand show of having somewhere else to be when in fact he needed to get rid of Serge so he could get on with his plans. ‘I’ve never mixed business with pleasure before and you know it.’
‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Serge said, giving the globe a final spin before lumbering towards the door. ‘And come Monday there’ll be a pin there to prove it.’
Patrick frowned, not liking Serge’s immature ribbing, and
liking the fact he was probably already mixing business with pleasure less.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘THERE ARE RULES for the weekend.’
Sapphie wriggled in the soft leather seat as Patrick slowed his Ferrari to enter the Southbank precinct. She didn’t care what his rules were, as long as they involved the two of them naked. ‘Such as?’
‘No work talk. No checking e-mails. No leaving the hotel room.’
‘But what if I get hungry?’
‘You’ll get plenty to eat.’ He stopped at a red traffic light and shot her a loaded glance packed with sizzle that implied food wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu.
Her body pinged in anticipation. ‘Any other hoops you want me to jump through?’
‘No, but there will be acrobatics involved.’
She laughed at his exaggerated wink as the lights changed and he concentrated on steering through the heavy Friday night traffic.
Banter was good. Banter kept her nerves at bay. And it detracted from the constant doubts whirring through her head as she overanalysed this situation from every angle.
She wanted him. There was no question. But the after-math? A thousand scenarios, none of them pleasant, plagued her.
Despite his reassurances to keep business and pleasure separate, what if sex screwed things up—literally?
They were both mature, consenting adults with a major attraction going on, but deep down she couldn’t quite subdue the tiny voice that kept chanting, This is Patrick you’re going to sleep with.
The same Patrick who’d tracked down her favourite cola flavoured lollipops when they’d crammed for an exam one week during the school holidays.
The same Patrick who’d collated her assignments and e-mailed the lot when she’d missed a few days with the flu.
The same Patrick who’d rescued her on the night of the grad dance and proved with one scintillating, unforgettable kiss that he wasn’t solely the annoying rebel she’d branded him.
And that was what scared her the most. That on some intrinsic level she still craved this guy like a wistful teenager. If those old yearnings were resurrected…
Nope. This was physical all the way. Come Monday they’d revert to work, with a side-serve of flirting.
‘We’re here.’
Sapphie had been so busy battling with her doubts she’d lost concentration and missed the moment when he steered his boy-toy through the driveway of the Langham Hotel and cut the engine.
‘Ready?’ His hand sneaked across the console and found hers, his gentle squeeze reassuring.
‘Hell, yeah,’ she said, earning a wicked grin that made her belly go into freefall.
The next five minutes passed in a blur of bags and valet parking and checking in as Patrick took charge. She liked that about him—how the laid-back guy he’d once been had developed into a go-getter who hadn’t lost his ability to have fun.
Decadent weekends away in posh hotels reeked of fun and something she’d never done. She’d stayed in luxurious hotels for work, but never checked in to one with the intention of wallowing in the room.
The new her approved. Spending the weekend holed away was on par with a few hours’ meditation or yoga or Pilates.
The old her? Too scared to put in an appearance for fear a stray incense stick would clobber her.
As Patrick handed over his credit card—he’d bristled when she’d insisted on paying half, so she’d let it go for the sake of his manly pride—she glanced around at the exquisite swirled cream marble floors, the sweeping staircase, the fountain cascading water to the ground floor, the stunning floral arrangements.
Combined with the hint of ginger and lemongrass in the air, the Langham exuded a quiet elegance that appealed to her battered soul.
Maybe if she’d taken time out to appreciate places like this over the years she wouldn’t have ended up almost losing Seaborns and driving a wedge between her and Ruby in the process?
She’d devoted her life to the company—so many hours she could never take back. At the time she hadn’t wanted to, had been content to bury herself in work, but her enforced absence had readjusted her priorities.
When Patrick headed back to Europe she’d make time to do stuff like this, even if it meant checking into a swank hotel for a weekend on her own.
A few spa treatments, a stack of chick-lit novels on her e-reader and Room Service would be the perfect antidote to her frenetic schedule.
And if she’d probably remember this time with one of the sexiest guys she’d ever met and maybe crave him a tad? She’d better make sure they created some pretty unforgettable memories this weekend to resurrect when needed.
‘Let’s go.’
His breath fanned her ear as he placed a hand in the small of her back. The simple touch sent a shiver of longing through her.
He must have felt the faintest tremor, for his fingers strummed her spine on the way to her neck, where he caressed the exposed skin. ‘The faster we hit room 2227, the faster we get to unpack those boxes.’
She almost corrected him and said suitcases—until she realised what he meant. While her body couldn’t wait to hit that room, her rationale couldn’t be ignored completely.
Her hands cupped his face, leaving him no option but to look into her eyes. ‘We’re really doing this? I mean, we still have to work together, and what if—?’
He kissed her—a soft, tender sweep across her lips that had her melting into him.
‘I picked a hotel because I wanted this to be special. Not a quickie in your apartment or on my desk.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Though that’s not entirely out of the question later.’
Okay, so he wanted a ‘later’? Before she could ponder or question what that meant, he continued.
‘We’ve known each other a long time so there’s no pretences, no awkwardness later. We indulge ourselves, have a memorable weekend without regrets.’ His arms slid around her waist, anchoring her. ‘You with me?’
With her heart still questioning the validity of what she was about to do, she nodded. ‘All the way.’
All the way echoed through her head as the elevator whisked them to the twenty-second floor and their exclusive Club suite.
It continued to plague her as he deftly swiped the key card and held open the door for her.
Then she stepped into the room and her fears faded.
Sapphie had a keen eye for beauty. It came with the territory of being groomed by a society mother who’d prided herself on appearance and showing the world grace and elegance at all costs. Growing up surrounded by exquisite jewels, being the spokesperson for Seaborns, had developed that keen eye. So stepping into the gorgeous Club room should have sent her observatory radar onto high alert.
Instead, the floral embossed carpet, the deep green drapes, the luxurious Old Worlde furnishings and the amazing view of Melbourne’s Flinders St Station, Federation Square and surrounds faded into oblivion the moment Patrick closed the door and backed her up against the nearest wall.
‘I’ve been going frigging nuts with wanting you,’ he said, kissing her before she could respond.
That tender kiss in the lobby had been nothing like this. Desperation. Hunger. Insanity. All combined to make her press against him as if she’d never get enough.
Sex in the past had been okay. Probably more her fault than the guys she’d dated, because her mind would always wander to business and she’d be mentally making lists instead of making whoopee.
But Patrick’s passionate kiss and the way his hands were tearing at her clothes…Her mind delightfully blanked.
She ripped at his shirt. Buttons flew.
He tugged at her skirt. The zip stuck.
They swore in unison, laughed, and their fingers became more dextrous as pants, tops and underwear were stripped in haste and protection donned.
‘Finally,’ he said, his gaze hot and potent as he started at her chest and swept downwards. ‘You’re as beautiful as I imagined.’
Sapphie’
s first instinct was to squirm, but she forced herself to stand still beneath his scrutiny. People had stared at her over the years when she’d been modelling Seaborns’ jewels but that was different.
No one had ever made her feel so thoroughly exposed as Patrick did at that moment.
‘You have no idea how long I’ve been fantasising about this.’ He reached out, tracing a nipple with his fingertip. ‘And it’s way better in reality.’
‘Good to hear,’ she breathed on a sigh as he stepped closer, his erection brushing her abdomen. ‘Because I haven’t been thinking about you at all.’
He laughed and pressed harder against her. ‘Well, then, I’ll have to change all that.’
His hands cupped her butt, hoisted her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. ‘What I plan on doing to you this weekend will be unforgettable.’
Sapphie didn’t doubt it. That was the plan anyway: store up amazing memories for the long nights ahead when she mulled over how to make Seaborns bigger and better.
The Fashion Week campaign might keep the company in the black for years to come but she’d never stop striving. It had been her mum’s dream, was too ingrained, and while she intended on taking more time out in the future it didn’t mean she’d ever stop taking Seaborns to the top.
‘You’re that confident?’
‘Want me to prove it to you?’
He nuzzled her neck and she moaned. ‘Please do.’
He eased back a tad and tried to slide a hand between their bodies but she stopped him.
‘You’ve pleasured me enough. This time’s all about you.’
His eyes darkened to slate as he remembered the times in the bathroom, the boardroom.
‘I want you inside me. Now.’
‘I like it when you’re bossy,’ he said, sliding into her with one long thrust. ‘A woman who knows what she wants is such a turn-on.’
He eased out and she could have sworn she whimpered—a needy sound so out of character her she froze in surprise.
‘In that case, I want you to…’ She whispered exactly how hard and fast she wanted him in his ear, her cheeks burning the entire time.
