by Dani Collins
He was going to show up with his halo shining so bright that even Papa would be blinded by it. Preferably with a gorgeous, accomplished woman on his arm to ward off Seema Auntie, at least. As if waiting for the slightest signal, his mind once again instantly conjured the image of the woman he had determinedly pushed aside from his thoughts for the last three weeks.
While their night together had resulted in one of those rare connections that even the cynic in him had noticed, his behavior the morning after had been less than impeccable.
All the toxic rubbish that had been written over the past three weeks about his company and him at the center of it—a billionaire playboy who treated women with less care than he did his luxury toys—stung sharply when he thought of how he’d behaved toward Clare Roberts.
Granted, his company’s name had just been plastered all over the media when he’d woken up that morning with her wrapped around him. He’d barely untangled her warm limbs before switching on his phone to find hundreds of messages from his PR team and board of directors. The female executive who’d not only been harassed but then hounded into leaving his company, had released an interview that had gone viral overnight.
A disaster of epic proportions had ensued.
Dev couldn’t forgive himself for not realizing what had been going on under his very nose. He’d immediately launched an investigation, firing the man responsible for the harassment within twenty-four hours and offering a rehiring package to the female executive. But it was nowhere near enough.
He’d messed up big time.
He’d been so busy with launching the next product, chasing the next billion-dollar deal that he’d been distracted from his responsibilities toward the people who worked for him. It was the one thing Mama had tried to instill in all her four children.
That with privilege and power came responsibilities.
Dev had completely failed in taking care of his employees. He also knew that the solutions he’d already implemented were not enough to save his company’s reputation. And that’s where Clare Roberts was supposed to come in.
Walking through his empty yacht, he wondered why she’d disappeared tonight without approaching him. Especially after she’d hounded his secretary for an appointment to see him this very evening. When the initial request had come forward that the CEO of the PR firm The London Connection wished to see him, he’d done his own research.
He hadn’t exchanged anything beyond first names with her that night. So, it had been a surprise to see that intelligent face stare back at him from her company’s website.
For a second, he’d wondered if she meant to prolong their...association. Hot and memorable as it had been, the last thing Dev needed was a passionate affair distracting him. But he had pushed the arrogant assumption away.
The London Connection was a small firm that had made great strides in the last two years. It had a reputation of being one of the foremost, woman-led companies that conducted PR for big brand names. Also well-known for their charitable efforts and female entrepreneur empowerment initiatives.
Dev had instantly known it was the kind of company he needed to reinvigorate Athleta’s reputation. Clearly, Clare had seen the potential in the opportunity too.
Then why disappear before he’d even had a chance to greet her?
Why make all the effort to fly to São Paulo from New York, travel out to the Port of Santos where his yacht was moored, and then leave without even speaking to him?
Dev finished his drink and walked into his closet. Thanks to the call with Diya and now this woman not turning up for their meeting, his skin hummed with restlessness. He needed a vigorous swim. Even as a young boy, swimming had helped him work off the frustration he couldn’t verbalize to his parents. He had felt free, as if he could communicate with his limbs instead of his words.
As an adolescent carted off to military school, his athleticism in the pool had been his saving grace.
He discarded his shirt. He was about to grab a towel from the neatly folded pile when he spotted a bright piece of emerald silk fluttering at the back.
He was very sure he didn’t own a piece of fabric in that striking color. He also remembered thinking how well the emerald silk highlighted Clare’s deliciously round bottom.
Was she here—still aboard his yacht, in his closet?
He walked past the rows and rows of suits and looked down.
Shock held him rooted for a few seconds, followed by a gamut of emotions he couldn’t check. Anger, disillusionment, even humor traveled through him, ending in pure disbelief.
What the hell was she doing here?
She was curled up neatly in the window seat, her white handbag clutched to her cheek and completely...asleep. Her hair made a shiny mess around her face. A curly lock blew away from her face every time she exhaled. Her wide, pink mouth—perhaps a little too wide for her small face—was slightly open.
Dev reached out and gently shook her shoulder.
The last thing he needed was a mishap with another woman—even though she was the one invading his privacy and hiding in his damned closet.
Especially a woman he’d slept with...and hadn’t been able to get out of his mind.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS A lovely dream.
Naughtily lovely and just what she needed to escape the nightmare reality of her life.
It featured a man’s taut buttocks—the kind that athletes had—round and hard. The kind that spawned internet memes. The kind that Clare wouldn’t mind sinking her teeth into. And thighs that would have no trouble holding her up against a wall making her sex damp with the raw muscular power in them. And, oh, Lord...that nicely defined V of muscles at his groin and the happy trail that lead to it...
Clare was desperate to hold on to the dream. She knew exactly who she was dreaming about.
Dev Kohli of the tight butt and the broad shoulders and the charming grin and the surprisingly kind eyes.
A loud curse and a hand on her shoulder ripped open the flimsy curtain between dream and reality. Clare sat up jerkily. Jarred into wakefulness, her limbs protested, after having been cramped tight into the window seat.
She looked up to discover Dev Kohli staring down at her with murder in his eyes.
Well, not quite murder precisely, but something close to it.
Clare swallowed. Blast it, had she actually fallen asleep in the man’s closet? This was so not how she intended for him to find her. She’d meant to wait until the party was over and walk out and present her case to him like a rational woman.
He stepped back from her as if she was demented. And she couldn’t really blame him. In quick movements, he grabbed a shirt and slipped it on.
If one could burn of embarrassment, Clare was sure she should be a steaming pile of ash on his lush carpet.
“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing here?” Ice had nothing on his voice. “Or should I call security to handle you?”
Clare rubbed her palm over her temples. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kohli,” she muttered, straightening her skirt awkwardly. Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool and her belly ready to eat itself in hunger. Yet despite that, there was that prickle of awareness under her skin at his nearness.
“Why are you here, Ms. Roberts?” he asked, a wealth of meaning buried in how he said her last name. A little mocking. A lot annoyed.
Clare met his gaze without hesitation. “I promise, I don’t usually go about sneaking into men’s cabins. I had the most unbelievably horrid day and then I just... I can’t believe I fell asleep. I think it was the scent of you that did it,” she said, inanely pointing to rows and rows of Armani shirts.
“I have no idea what that means,” he said, the scowl not lessening in intensity.
“I was terrified for my life. And the scent of you in here... I think, it lulled me into thinking I was safe
. Because it’s familiar, you know. After that night...” She flushed and sighed. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”
“With every tall tale you’re spinning to justify this intrusion, yes. Much, much worse.”
“I’m not lying.”
“I really doubt that.”
It was the disdain in his voice that did it. That made her usually even-keel temper explode. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you? You think you’re such a studly stud that no woman can stop herself from throwing herself at you? That no woman can keep her clothes on or maintain her dignity around you? That we’re all falling over ourselves to get at that tightly packed muscular body of yours?”
Damn, girl, she could hear Amy’s admiring laughter in her head.
Her face heating, Clare readied herself to be thrown out of the very window where she’d been hiding. It was shock, she told herself. Shock was making her mouth off like this.
Into the stunned silence came his laughter. Deep, low laughter that enveloped Clare like a comfortingly warm blanket. His face had broken into attractive grooves and lines, the flash of his white teeth rendering him even more gorgeous. If that was possible.
She looked away, needing a respite from all his irresistible masculinity. The dark hollow of his throat made her belly somersault. She had a vivid memory of burying her face there when she’d climaxed. And he’d held her afterward, as if she was precious to him.
The taste of his skin—sweat and salt and so deliciously male—practically hovered on her tongue.
Slowly, praying that her thoughts weren’t betrayed on her face, Clare met his gaze. There was chagrin and impatience and more than a hint of humor lurking in the brown depths.
“That wasn’t what I’d intended to say.”
“Clearly. But that’s probably the most truthful you’ve been just now, huh?” he said, agreeing with a grace she wasn’t sure she deserved.
Clare couldn’t summon a smile. “Just give me a minute to gather my bearings, please. I’ll explain everything properly. And then—” she swallowed the fear “—if you still want to throw me out, you can just toss me into the ocean. It’s probably safer for me anyway.”
“Two minutes,” he said, moving away.
He returned with an opened bottle of sparkling water and Clare took it gratefully. His gaze didn’t move from her as she finished the bottle. It wasn’t...roguish or obvious but she had a feeling he’d done a thorough sweep of her, from her bare feet to her short dark brown hair, still in disarray.
She fiddled with the empty bottle for a few seconds and then cleared her throat. “I’m not usually this unprofessional. I’ve had a really bad day, Mr. Kohli and—”
“Dev,” he prompted.
“What?” she said, blinking.
His jaw tightened. “It’s silly to insist on calling me Mr. Kohli when you’ve snuck into my yacht, into my bedroom, no less. Ridiculous to pretend that we don’t know each other. On a level that strangers don’t.”
“That night has nothing to do with...today. Or now.” At least her tone was steady even if her heartbeat wasn’t.
He raised a perfect eyebrow. The man was more articulate with one gesture of his face than she was with all her words today, apparently. But then, it wasn’t every day that Clare found herself riding a roller coaster of emotions, swinging from fear to betrayal to sheer lust.
“I’m having a hard time believing that.”
Clare straightened, her hackles rising. “If you think I stowed away so that we could get...so that I can...” She could feel her face heating up again and cursed herself. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. Absolutely. That night was a...one-off. I didn’t hound your assistant for this meeting just so that I could wait for you in your bedroom. I’m not some sex-obsessed—”
“Then why are you here?” he hastily cut in.
“You need me,” Clare said firmly. “That’s why I’m here.”
He stilled. “Excuse me?”
If she weren’t stuck in a ridiculous predicament that threatened her very life, Clare would’ve found the outrage on his face hilarious. As if the world had turned upside down for him to need her.
“I need you?” he repeated, pushing his fingers through his hair.
Clare forged on, determined to keep his attention now that she had it. “What my company can do for you, I mean. This was supposed to be a business meeting tonight.”
He shrugged. It caused all those delicious muscles in his chest to move in perfect harmony. The man shouldn’t be allowed to wear his shirt open like that without a warning sign. “That’s what I thought too,” he said in a dry voice. Wary distrust was written all over his face. “Look, Clare. The last thing I need is to muddy the line between business and pleasure after what’s happened to my company recently. I should’ve shut this meeting down the minute I realized we’d slept together.”
She flinched.
“This—” he moved his hand between them, all masculine grace “—over.”
And with that, he simply turned and walked away.
For a few seconds, Clare just stood there. She’d never been dismissed with such finality before. At least, not since she’d built The London Connection and made a name for herself in the world of PR.
After the cold indifference with which her aunt had welcomed her when her dad had dumped a five-year-old Clare on her unwilling doorstep like unwanted baggage, she’d made herself tougher. Grown a thick skin out of necessity. Day in, day out, she’d poured all that hurt and loneliness into getting good A-levels and then a business qualification. Into getting away from her aunt’s long-suffering attitude.
And yet this stung.
Maybe because he was the one man Clare had ever let her guard down with.
Maybe because she wanted to see admiration and respect in those beautiful brown eyes of his, rather than contempt.
The last thing she wanted after her father had abandoned her was to run after another man who didn’t care about her. Who thought she amounted to nothing.
The self-disgust turned to much-needed anger. That fresh burst of emotion propelled her forward before she realized what she was doing. Her hand landed on a warm, hard shoulder.
Clare pulled away abruptly, feeling as if she’d been electrocuted.
He turned, his frown morphing into a full-blown scowl.
Clare raised her palms and backed down. But not before the scent of warm, male skin invaded her nostrils and filled her with that strange longing once more. “Look, Dev,” she said, ignoring his expression, “I know this looks bad, okay? But I had a reason for invading your privacy and hiding here. Stepping off the yacht tonight was literally the most dangerous thing I could have done. If you can give me just a few minutes, I’ll explain everything.”
“I’m not sure—”
“I took a chance on you. I went with my gut instinct instead of listening to what the rest of the world’s saying about you right now. At the very least, you can afford me that same chance.”
His jaw tight, he rubbed one long finger against his brow. As if he was at the end of his tether. “Explain yourself. About taking a chance on me,” he said, as if it was the most outrageous thing he’d heard so far out of her mouth.
“I pitched for a meeting with you even though the entire world’s gleefully painting you as a no-conscience, sexist monster who created a toxic work environment for women. Because I thought you should be given a chance to present your side too.”
Despite the tension in his face, his mouth twitched at the corners. “So this is an altruistic effort on your part to save my backside?”
Clare shrugged. Trying very hard to not think of the backside in question. The very same one she’d so recently been dreaming of. “Not altruistic, no. I want my company to take over Athleta’s PR on this side of
the pond. I want a long, nicely padded contract that will put The London Connection on the map in North America. It will be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
A mutually pleasurable arrangement...that was what she’d said when she’d propositioned him that night.
The moment the words left her mouth, Clare knew she should literally have put it any other way. From the flare of awareness that lit up his eyes, he remembered it too.
After months of lusting over him from afar, she’d finally made her move at the charity gala for Women Entrepreneurs. They’d crossed paths a few times at parties and conventions before that, but he’d always been with a different woman on his arm. Despite that, she’d heard about his reputation as a fair and kind man through the grapevine. On that night, Clare had won an award and had been feeling on top of the world. When she’d gone to get a drink, he’d been there. Offering congratulations with warm eyes and that mobile, laughing mouth. Taking her in.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she’d asked laughingly. “Or what I’ve won the award for.”
He’d dipped his head in acknowledgment. “No, sorry. They were giving out those awards faster than glasses of pink champagne.”
She’d swatted his shoulder with her clutch. “Hey, mine was a shiny gold plaque, you know. The others were only silver.”
“Well of course, that puts you a cut above the rest.” The devilish charmer that he was, he’d batted those eyes at her. He had ridiculously long lashes and pretty eyes for a...well, for a man. Hand pressed to his chest, he’d mock bowed. “Not that the award isn’t deserved. I’ve just had a long week and the details are a little fuzzy right now.”
“Ahh...as long as you aren’t seeing multiples of me,” she’d quipped, shaking her head as the uniformed staff walked by with a tray of champagne. She’d already had bubbles in her belly and a pounding heart thanks to the man bending down to her from his impressive height.
Her belly had swooped even though his shoulder barely touched hers. He was so broad that he’d filled her entire view. His gaze held hers, front teeth digging into the way too lush lower lip of his. “Why do I have a feeling that it would be even more delightful to have multiples of you?”
