What had he thought he was doing, anyway? To kiss her like that, take her in his arms, touch her… Well, he didn’t do close, and he didn’t do caring. He did casual, fleeting relationships. A drink, dinner, no-strings sex, and then end things before the slightest hint of anything emotional.
Then again… maybe he’d misread the signals, maybe that’s all she’d wanted too. Perhaps these days, he was getting paranoid and all Emma wanted was his body. He sure wanted hers, naked, spread-eagled across his great big bed.
As he squeezed the vehicle into a too-small space outside the base, bells were going off in his head, deafening alarms that told him she was dangerous. Beautiful, sexy, and the biggest threat he’d encountered for a very long time.
Hauling the rucksacks into the equipment room, he dumped them on an old table.
A threat? he repeated to himself. How could Emma be a threat. Come on, Will, don’t be such a wimp. She’s gorgeous, she’s available, and she’s got the hots for you. Since when did you let an opportunity like that pass you by?
Thrusting the ropes and harnesses roughly onto the shelves, he felt his stomach clench. He didn’t look too closely to see it was regret, desire or something else, but even he couldn’t deny it. Emma alone had brought on that kick and that fierce ache.
‘Will, mate. Everything all right?’
He turned to find Bob grinning at the door.
‘Fine.’ He forced a smile to his face. ‘Fancy a pint later?’
‘OK, why not?’ replied Bob. ‘I think the missus will let me out, if I’m very good. She wants me to put up a few shelves this afternoon.’
‘The joys of DIY,’ laughed Will, trying not to think of taking a naked and panting Emma over a flat-pack table.
‘See you in the Dog around eight-ish, then?’
Will turned back to the equipment, still feeling shaky with lust. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he grunted.
Bob had gone and Will found himself preoccupied with Emma again. He’d missed an opportunity back there, he told himself. If he got the chance again he wouldn’t pass up on it. He was a grown man, and he knew how to control his emotions. They’d been kept under lock and key for two years now and he definitely wasn’t going to let Emma change that.
***
Emma leaned against the kitchen worktop and waited for the reassuring whistle of the kettle. Shifting against the counter, she felt her aching back protest. Her thighs objected too and as she reached for a mug, she saw the grazes across her knuckles. She must had knocked them when she slipped against the rock at the top of the cliff.
She sloshed the boiling water on a tea bag in the bottom of the mug because she couldn’t be bothered to get the teapot out. Not for one person. She couldn’t face waiting for it to brew, either, so she squashed the tea bag against the mug with a spoon before tossing it at the swing-bin. It missed, spattering brown liquid against the cupboard.
Who cared about cleaning anyway? Who cared about anything? It had only been a kiss, so why were her eyes stinging as she felt his mouth on hers again and again?
Later, the mug of tea cradled in her hands almost cold, she tucked her legs underneath her on the sofa and gazed through the window of the flat. Once again she was back on the fell, with Will’s arms round her, molding her like putty; making her soft enough to agree to anything he might have offered. Back then, for the brief moment she’d felt his mouth hot against hers and the unmistakable hardness of him against her stomach, she’d felt that one night would have been enough. Even if he’d asked her to make love with him there and then on the hillside, she knew she’d have said yes.
But now she knew she wanted something more… something more extraordinary than that. More than just sex. Something Will Tennant didn’t have to give—or didn’t want to. She bit her lip and dumped the mug on the table in disgust.
What else could you expect from a serial commitment-phobe? A guy who had led a woman almost to the altar before beating a retreat and who now relished playing with her feelings as much as the challenge of getting her into bed.
From now on, she vowed, it was strictly business between her and Mr. December—and he was going to know about it.
***
‘You’ve got a visitor, Em.’
Emma glanced up from the computer screen in the tourist center to find Jan Edwards beaming down at her. Her post-kiss resolve to become a workaholic had lasted—well, considerably less time than it ought to have done. But how she’d longed for a bit of peace and quiet at first. And, she had to admit, life had been satisfyingly dull these past ten days or so.
‘There’s someone to see you in the boardroom,’ repeated Jan.
The boardroom? Someone to see her? Emma felt a small knot starting to form in her stomach before a jolt of common sense unraveled it. She told herself it was impossible. She smiled back at Jan, realizing it must be the calendar designer or the printer.
‘Is it Lakeland Graphics?’ she asked, refocusing on the keyboard.
‘No-oo.’
‘Westmorland Print, then?’
‘Wrong again, Em.’
She clicked on the Print icon so that she could send her cottage holiday article to the printer.
‘A strippogram?’
‘You’re getting very warm.’
Emma lifted her hand from the mouse and sat back, slowly, in her chair.
‘OK. Hit me with it.’
‘It’s Mr. December.’
‘Right.’
‘“Right?” Is that all you’re going to say, babe? Not “Oh my God” or “Where’s my mascara” or—’
‘Will Tennant is the last person I expect or want to see right now.’
She saw her friend open her mouth to protest, but she put up a hand. ‘And I’d ask you to leave it there. Please, Jan.’
Jan’s eyes widened and she nodded. ‘Enough said. That’s me told off. But he is waiting, and he did ask for you.’
‘Couldn’t you tell him I’m out of the office?’
‘Nice try, but no can do. He’s parked right next to your Mini.’
‘Say I’m in a meeting with the boss.’
‘Sorry again. It was James Marshall who told him you were here. I’m only the messenger.’
‘Oh dear.’
Emma knew Will had her backed into a corner again, but what on earth could he want this time? It had been almost OK while he was physically out of her sight, but having him here and now… that was different. At least he was on her territory, she reasoned; that made a lot of difference, surely.
She risked a glance at the ‘goldfish bowl’ glass office where her boss was talking on the phone. Just at that moment he caught her eye and raised his ‘Warning: New Daddy’ mug to her cheerfully.
‘That man would be dangerous if he had a brain,’ muttered Emma.
‘Who? Will?’ asked Jan.
‘No—oh, it doesn’t matter.’
She grabbed the mouse again and grinned. ‘Let him wait a bit longer.’
‘OK, but it’s your funeral.’ She heard Jan tutting as she walked back to her desk and carried on clicking at the mouse, totally oblivious to what was on the screen, panic rising. What was Will playing at, coming to the office like this? Maybe he’d come to apologize—but for what? He hadn’t acted like he’d done anything wrong. He’d just rejected her. Just pulled back a bit. And it had hurt. So it wouldn’t do him any harm to wait.
Sighing, Emma sank back in her chair, trying to think how she was going to deal with their meeting. He’d be expecting her to be annoyed with him, maybe even hostile, so she’d be cool, calm, and collected as if nothing had happened. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would give him the slightest hint that he’d upset her.
‘Emma.’
The New Daddy mug had appeared on the desk by her elbow. She turned to see her boss, smiling benignly as usual. She resisted the urge to tell him he had baby sick on his tie.
‘Yes, James?’
‘Sorry to hassle you, but you do know that that Tennant guy is waiti
ng in reception for you, don’t you?’
‘I was just finishing off this press—’
‘Only I wouldn’t like to think an influential local businessman had been kept waiting deliberately by one of my staff. Would I?’
Emma nearly exploded. Influential businessman, my backside! she wanted to cry. Instead she smiled, sweetly and in a non-threatening kind of a way. ‘No, James.’
Her boss might come across like a genial Labrador but inside lurked the soul of a Rottweiler.
James narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Be nice to him, Emma. You’re good at being nice to people. That’s why I gave you the PR officer’s job—remember.’
‘Yes, James.’
Ten minutes later, she found herself with a palm round the handle of the meeting-room door. Five minutes previously she had been in the ladies’, reapplying her favorite cherry lip gloss, washing her hands, and trying to breathe.
None of which had helped.
And now?
She wished she’d put on a longer skirt that morning. A baggy sweater and maybe a Victorian high-necked blouse. Maybe even a chastity belt. How could she face him after what had happened? Realization dawned on her. He hadn’t pulled back—she’d practically forced herself on him. Oh, the humiliation of letting him kiss her like that—of her responding so… so physically. God, she’d actually pushed her tongue into his mouth. Worse, she’d looked… well, far too needy, judging by the way he’d rejected her.
How could she have had so little self-respect—after what had happened with Jeremy too. Over and over again, for the past ten days, she’d told herself that Will had done nothing. He hadn’t slept with her, promised her the earth, dumped her for her boss and stood by while she’d been sacked.
He had done nothing.
Then why had it hurt so much?
She didn’t want to answer that, especially right now when she had to face him again. Well, there was nothing for it. This was business and she was going to show him just how businesslike she could be.
***
Twenty minutes! Will repeated to himself. Over a quarter of an hour she’d kept him waiting in this damned boardroom. There wasn’t even a window and it was time, he reminded himself, he could ill afford to spare in the middle of the working day. Hey, he’d even canceled a meeting with his chief buyer to come here. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered…
He took a slow, deep breath, the way he did before he tackled the last, difficult section of a particularly tricky climb. It would be worth it, he told himself, when she saw how professionally he could behave, how magnanimous his proposal was, and that there were no hard feelings over the calendar. For whatever else he was, Will told himself, he was a consummate professional in every sense of the word. OK. Maybe strike out the ‘consummate’ bit. That probably wasn’t a good word to use in reference to Emma, but ‘professional’ he liked. In his business, in his role as rescue team leader, in everything as far as work was concerned, he would show her he could be dispassionate and objective and fair.
If only she would bloody well deign to come down and speak to him.
He knew she was here. James Marshall had told him as soon as he’d entered the foyer. Besides, her trendy little car was outside—the one with the nodding dog in the back window. He supposed it was meant to be ironic. The kind of thing that was considered trendily tacky in London but which folk up here just thought was daft.
He smiled to himself, then noticed the clock on the wall… this was getting ridiculous. How much longer was she going to make him suffer? Right, he decided, she had five more minutes before he had her paged by reception. Five more minutes before he had her cute derrière hauled down here.
***
Emma sucked in a last breath, straightened her back, turned the handle on the door… and felt her legs melting.
Will was standing at the head of the table. Six feet three of clean-shaven, suited, and booted danger. Every inch the successful managing director, he looked just as at home in a boardroom as he did on a mountain in combats and shades. As she walked towards him, her hand outstretched, she felt a momentary wobble. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to take any prisoners and neither was she. Her nose twitched. What was that fabulous smell? She almost had to stop herself from sniffing the air. She even recognized the brand of aftershave he was wearing—had almost bought a bottle from Harvey Nicks for Jeremy until she’d seen the price.
Where had he got it from up here? Damn the man!
His eyes narrowed as she approached. Backbone, Emma told herself, like her old hockey mistress at school. Not that she’d ever been any good at hockey.
‘Mr. Tennant. So sorry to have kept you waiting. I had a call from the national press to deal with. Unavoidable, I’m afraid. You know how it is with journalists.’
Will knew things weren’t going well when he felt his dick jump to attention as soon as the door opened. It seemed as though Emma only had to step into a room now, and he was losing it. No bloody wonder, though… she had that suit on for a start. The black one she’d worn at the mountain rescue base the first time he’d met her. The fitted jacket was buttoned up and stretched tight across her breasts and he could just see a scrap of lace peeping out from the ‘V’ at the top. Around her throat she was wearing a necklace with a simple drop design that pointed the way tantalizingly to her cleavage.
And the skirt—it was, as ever, just long enough to be businesslike, but easily short enough to inspire disreputable thoughts. But worse than all this were her shoes: black high heels and, if he wasn’t mistaken, sheer black thigh highs. They had to be. There was no way, he thought, that Emma Tremayne would wear tights, not in a building this overheated…
He forced himself to concentrate on her face, giving what he hoped was a confident and conciliatory smile, but she looked unimpressed.
‘Do take a seat, Mr. Tennant,’ she said coolly.
‘No need to be formal,’ he snapped, instantly regretting rising to the bait. To his surprise, she backed down and smiled back at him.
‘I’m sorry. Do take a seat, Will, and tell me how the tourist board can help you.’
Why was she acting like this—so calmly, so reasonably, so—plain bloody weird? And why wasn’t she being sarcastic? It was scary.
In fact, he didn’t quite know how to handle her in this mood. He’d breezed in here, totally in control, ready to take charge and make an offer that he knew would floor her and she’d find impossible to refuse. But somehow, without a single word, she’d put herself in the driving seat the moment she’d opened the door. He watched, fascinated, as she perched on the chair the other side of the desk and placed her suede folder on the wooden surface. Unzipping it with slender fingers, she opened the writing pad inside at a virgin sheet of paper.
She clicked the top of an elegant silver pen and waited for him. He didn’t know what to say. He’d expected anger or hostility, but she just looked blank. As she leaned forward, writing something on the pad, he noticed the teardrop on her necklace, hanging pendulum-like above the promising cleft between her breasts.
He swallowed. His silence must be unnerving her, for she had started doodling on the paper. Then she looked up at him and asked again, ‘Will, can you tell me what you want with me, please?’
There was a slight tremor in her voice. Now, she looked something beyond numb, something else that he didn’t want to recognize. She looked weary. A small voice nagged at him and wouldn’t be silenced, whispering that he had… oh God, he’d hurt her back there after the rappel. His pulling back had been that fraction too late for both of them.
He told himself he was being ridiculous, that he was sure he’d done nothing wrong. And that if they had started a relationship then, if he had taken her back to the cottage or her flat and had had sex with her, if it had lasted more than a night, even a week, the pain of letting her down, as he inevitably would have had to, would have been far more acute.
‘Will—I don’t want to be rude, but I really am very busy, so if we cou
ld just get down to business, I’d be grateful,’ said Emma, her pen poised over the paper, waiting for him.
He found his carefully prepared speech, his generous offer, to be delivered oh-so-casually, was somehow stuck in the back of his dry throat. He didn’t want to cough to clear it and give his nerves away.
‘Sorry?’ she asked, completing a fascinating spiral on the notepad. ‘I didn’t catch that…’
‘How do you stand it in here? It’s so damn stuffy.’
‘It is rather warm. Shall I open the door to let a bit of fresh air in?’
‘No.’
He knew he was making a right mess of this. ‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point.’
‘That would be good.’
He resisted the urge to respond, to lean over the desk and wind his fingers in her hair, taste her lips, shimmering temptingly with a shiny gloss. He could have sworn he could smell cherries, ripe and inviting. As he swung his laptop case from beside his seat and on to the desk, Emma sat up straight and placed her pen beside the suede folder.
The act of opening his laptop made him feel in control again and he withdrew a spiral bound sheaf of papers and placed them on the table. No beating about the bush, he thought. Give it to her straight, mate.
‘We’ve been giving the mountain rescue calendar careful consideration and I’d like—that is, my company, Outside Edge, have decided that we would be prepared to act as main sponsors for the project. With our backing, you’ll make far more money than on sales alone.’ He pushed the presentation folder towards her. ‘I think you’ll find it’s a generous package. Here are our proposals, and if you need anything else, our marketing department are ready to give you all the help you need.’
Emma paused before placing a hand on the folder and drawing it towards her. ‘That’s very generous of you—of Outside Edge, Will.’
He grinned broadly, thinking how great this was. She was grateful and impressed—just what he’d hoped for.
‘But, I have to say I’m a little confused. I thought you were totally against the idea.’
Dating Mr. December Page 8
