by Amber Page
Just then the car stopped. “We’ve arrived,” the chauffeur said.
Nick slid across the seat until his thigh pressed against hers. “There’s really only one thing you need to know.”
Jessie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “What’s that?”
“You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”
That was so far away from what she’d expected to hear she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
The heat in his sapphire gaze pinned her to the spot. He bent his head down toward hers and her pulse jumped in response. He hovered centimeters away, his eyes still locked on hers.
“I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time,” he said. “But if you get in my way I’ll still crush you like a bug.”
Dear Reader
I’ve had a girl crush on Jessie since I first met her while writing ALL’S FAIR IN LUST & WAR. She burst into my brain fully formed and already begging for her own story.
But that didn’t make this book easy to write. Jessie, you see, is very particular. She knows exactly what she will and won’t do. And when I wrote something she didn’t like she would stomp off to some remote corner of my brain, refusing to come out until I promised to fix it.
The resulting story is one I know you’ll love. Jessie is now the owner of her own boutique ad agency in New York City, and when we join her she’s on top of the world. She’s determined to rule the ad biz—and love is not in her plans.
But, as we all know, even the best-laid plans get blown to smithereens when the right man walks in. Nick is the perfect match for Jessie—smart, powerful, and devastatingly handsome (not to mention a fabulous kisser). In fact he has just one flaw—he wants to own her business.
Documenting the fireworks between them was great fun—but hopefully not nearly as much as reading about them will be!
I hope you love Jessie and Nick as much as I do by the time you’re done. And I hope you’ll join me online to chat about them! My internet home is www.amberpagebooks.com, but you can also find me on Facebook at facebook.com/amberpagebooks, and on Twitter at @amberpagewrites.
Thank you so much for joining me on this journey!
Amber
AMBER PAGE has been writing stories since—well, since she could write, and still counts the pinning of her Bubble People tale to the classroom bulletin board in the third grade as one of her happiest childhood memories.
She’s also an avid reader, and has been addicted to romances since she first discovered them on the dusty shelves of her favourite library as a young teen. The nerdy little bookworm she was is still pinching herself to make sure that this whole ‘getting published’ thing is real.
When not penning happily-ever-afters, Amber works as an advertising writer in the heart of Indiana, where she lives with the love of her life, their daughter, and a menagerie of furry animals. She also blogs, gardens, and sometimes even manages to sneak in a few hours of sleep.
Don’t ask her how she does it all. She’s too tired to remember.
DATING THE ENEMY
Amber Page
www.millsandboon.com.au
To my mom and dad, who taught me to believe in my dreams—and who never stopped chasing their own.
And to my daughter, who’d better not read this for at least another ten years. Hopefully someday you’ll understand that this is why Mommy’s always so tired (and that it’s totally worth it).
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
PROLOGUE
JESSIE HOVERED ON the edge of the dance floor, feeling strangely melancholy as she watched Becky swirl around the room in her new husband’s arms. Gone was the brittle-shelled worker bee of a year ago. In her place was a true beauty, sparkling with happiness.
It seemed her friend had found her white knight—even if he had needed a good scrubbing before his true colors showed.
Seeing her joy, Jessie found herself wishing for … something. Not a happily-ever-after, but something more substantial than the one-night affairs she usually satisfied herself with.
Unfortunately it was just her and her champagne glass this evening. Might as well drink up.
She lifted the cold glass to her lips and took a big gulp, letting the bubbles dance their way down her throat. It was good champagne. Slightly sweet, smooth as silk. A satisfied purr pushed its way out into the air before she could stop it.
A quiet, thoroughly masculine laugh sounded from beside her.
“Good champagne?” its owner asked.
Jessie looked up … and up … and up.
Towering above her was an escapee from a fashion magazine. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, with shoulders that seemed to stretch from one end of the room to the other. She smiled. Perhaps her night wouldn’t be quite so lonely after all.
“Well, it is turning out to be a more satisfying wedding date than I expected,” she said. “Good looks. Good taste. No bad dance moves.”
He laughed again, and the sound reverberated in her bones.
“And to think, I was just about to ask you to dance,” he said. “But something tells me I won’t measure up to your bubbly friend, there.”
For the first time Jessie let herself hear the music. It was slow and sexy, sung by a man who obviously knew how to get a lady out of her clothes.
She quickly downed the last of her champagne and smiled up at her companion. “Well, would you look at that? It seems he’s disappeared. Perhaps you could show me your moves before he comes back? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
“I’d be happy to,” the stranger said, and offered her his arm.
She took it and he swept her out on to the dance floor, smoothly turning her until they faced each other, with one hand nestled in the small of her back.
Jessie’s breath hitched as they started to move. This man could dance. He took control, gracefully leading her where he wanted to go, his body hovering just centimeters from hers. Jessie gave herself up to his rhythm, barely managing to keep herself from melting into a puddle of goo in his arms.
“My name’s Nick, by the way,” he said, looking down at her through his lashes.
Jessie was so lost in the hypnotic sway of his body that it took a moment to sink in. When it did, she laughed softly. “I’m Jessie,” she said. “And I hope you’ll excuse my incoherence. I’m afraid I’m not used to dancing with partners of your caliber.”
He grinned. “My father will be glad that the many months of dance lessons he forced me to take have paid off.”
“Your dad made you take dance lessons?”
“Yeah. Well, just those of the ballroom kind. We’re forced to attend an exhausting number of balls and galas and that kind of thing. It’s either dance or die of boredom.”
Jessie blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a ball. Are you part of one of those super-rich hotel families or something?”
He grimaced. “Nothing that glamorous. Just your average wealthy New York business clan.”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “Oh. Right. Because those are a dime a dozen.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just glad I can give your champagne a run for its money.”
“Yep. You win.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he said as he sent her out into a dress-twirling spin. He brought her back in a low dip and, when his face was just inches above hers, whispered, “I have all sorts of mind-boggling moves.”
Jessie was still trying
to decide how to answer that when the first chords of the “Chicken Dance” began to play. The horrified look of confusion on his face made her laugh out loud.
“What? You don’t dance the ‘Chicken Dance’ at your fancy-pants balls?”
“No. Never.”
“Well, let me up and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Nick couldn’t help but laugh as the sexy redhead who’d seemed so classy a moment ago began flapping her arms and shimmying downward. When she clucked like a chicken, he gave in to a belly laugh that shook his whole body.
“Come on,” she said. “This is no time to be shy. Let your inner chicken loose!”
He considered refusing, but when he looked around the dance floor and realized that everyone was getting into the action he thought better of it.
Seconds later he was shaking his butt and flapping his arms. This was fun. Perhaps he should recommend they include it at the next charity gala. It would certainly be amusing to see his father attempting to bawk like a chicken.
Jessie deliberately bumped his butt with her own deliciously round derrière as she swooped down into another shimmy. He bumped her back, and before long their chicken dance had devolved into a butt-bumping contest.
He drove her further and further off the dance floor with every turn, until finally they bumped into a table. She collapsed into a convenient chair, laughing hysterically.
He sat down beside her, giving in to his own fit of laughter. Every time he thought he might be able to stop he looked at her and collapsed into another laughing spree.
Finally, they were both able to catch their breath. Jessie looked at him with sparkling eyes, her pale cheeks pink with laughter. Seeing the way the fiery tendrils that had escaped from her elegant chignon brought her face to life, he couldn’t resist the urge to send more tumbling down.
He quickly picked the bobby pins out of her hair, disintegrating the up-do.
“Hey,” she said, frowning up at him. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
“I know,” he said, trying to put an apology in his smile, “but I wanted to see the real you. I’ll bet you don’t wear your hair up very often.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to bring order to the wild mane. “I can be the quintessential businesswoman when I need to be.”
“And why would you need to do that? I had you pegged as a creative type.”
“I am. But I happen to own my own digital advertising agency. A certain amount of seriousness is required at times.”
He sat back, trying not to let her see how much she impressed him. She was certifiably hot. Incredibly funny. And an entrepreneur to boot. Man. She might just be his perfect woman.
“Hmm. I might be in need of a digital agency soon. Can I have your card?”
“I’m not in the mood to talk business tonight, but I would like to see more of you.” She raked her eyes up and down his body in an unmistakably sensuous manner. “How about I give you my room key instead?”
Every single cell in his body cried Hell, yes, but before he could answer the bride swooped down on them.
“Jessie!” she called. “Your services as maid of honor are needed!”
Jessie’s face collapsed in disappointment for a split second, but quickly rearranged itself into a smile.
“What? I held your bouquet. Wiped the ring-bearer’s spit-up from your gown. Gave a splendid toast. My job here is done!”
Becky pulled on her arm, forcing her up from the chair.
“Nuh-uh. I am about to throw my bouquet. And you, my friend, are going to be in the front row.”
“What? No way. I’m busy here.”
“Yes, way. I’m sure Nick won’t mind. You wouldn’t want her to shirk her duties … or miss her chance to catch the bouquet, would you?” she asked, giving him a pointed look.
“I don’t much care about the bouquet, but I’ll let you steal her if you promise to give me her number later,” he said.
“You got it. And I won’t even make you promise to marry her.”
“Good. I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Neither am I,” said Jessie.
Becky looked at them, a knowing expression on her face. “That’s what they all say.”
“Cut it out,” Jessie answered, swatting her playfully. “Just because you’re a blushing bride, it doesn’t mean we all want to be carried away by a knight in shining armor.”
“Whatever you say,” Becky said. Then, turning to Nick, she continued. “Just call Mark when you’re ready for Jessie’s number. He’s got it on speed dial.”
Nick watched as Becky dragged Jessie away toward a large wooden staircase and forced her to stand in the middle of the small group of women gathered there to catch the prized bunch of soon-to-be dead flowers.
The bouquet sailed through the air, heading straight for Jessie. She tried to duck, but at the last second put out her arms so it didn’t hit her in the face.
She was the chosen one.
The other women formed a tight knot around her as the groom called out, “All right, guys, it’s garter-catching time!”
Time to make his exit, Nick thought. He had no intention of getting anywhere near that garter … even if winning it meant he got to put it on Jessie’s thigh.
He headed for the door, casting one last look in Jessie’s direction. She was laughing up at Becky, the twinkling fairy lights that lit the room making her smile sparkle even brighter.
Too bad. He sure would have liked to spend the evening getting to know her better.
But they could hook up once they were both back in New York.
He knew where to get her number.
CHAPTER ONE
JESSIE GROWLED WHEN she heard the phone ring. She couldn’t possibly reach it from where she sat, huddled under her desk. Not for the first time she cursed the ancient wiring in her office. It shorted out the power strip that kept her laptop juiced at least three times a day, necessitating these little sojourns.
Someday she’d get that fixed. Hopefully someday soon—especially if they kept landing new business.
“Gloria? Can you get that for me?” she shouted, hoping her sister would hear her.
“Got it!” Gloria yelled as she skidded across the slippery wooden floor and dived for the phone.
“Good afternoon, this is Jessie Owens’s phone … Yes, she’s here. She just needs a minute to get to the phone. Can I tell her who’s calling?”
Gloria peered down at Jessie. “A man named Nick is on the phone. He says you two met at Becky’s wedding.”
Nick? That was a surprise. Given how fast he’d run after she threw herself at him, she hadn’t thought she’d ever hear from him again.
Stupid champagne. She knew better than to drink that stuff. All her internal filters disappeared after a couple of glasses.
Finally untangling herself from the mess of cords, she held a hand up to Gloria. “Help me up, would you?”
Gloria pulled, hard and the two women overbalanced, ending up in a pile on the floor.
They looked at each other and burst into giggles.
“Smooth move, ace.”
“Right back at ya, grace.”
Jessie was still laughing when she spoke into the phone. “Hello, this is Jessie.”
“Jessie. It’s good to know your laugh sounds just as intoxicating when I’m not hopped up on wedding pheromones,” a gravelly voice said.
“I’m surprised you remember how my voice sounded. You sure hightailed it out of there as quickly as you could after we chatted!”
“It wasn’t you,” he said, his voice low with what she assumed was mock regret. “It was the garter. I didn’t want to get anywhere near it.”
Jessie laughed again. She could certainly understand that. After she’d caught the bouquet she’d been forced to coo over the flowers with a gaggle of over-hopeful women, then dance with the aging, paunchy bachelor who’d caught the garter.
“I don
’t blame you. It was a weird scene,” she said, leaning back against her desk.
“Weddings usually are. If we’d actually gone back to your room, your friends would have had us married off by morning.”
“Nah, they know better. As far as I’m concerned, marriage is a waste of time.”
Nick laughed. “I hope you didn’t tell Becky that?”
“Of course not. I was my usual supportive self,” she answered, picking up the framed picture of the two of them that sat on her desk. “It has been a long time, though. What? Three months? You’ve been busy, I suppose?”
“Well, you know … I just had to fit a transatlantic move into my schedule, start a new job, and figure out how to save my family’s business. Little stuff.”
Jessie laughed. “You could have stopped at transatlantic move. That would have been enough for me.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” he said.
An awkward silence fell and she glanced down at her watch. “Crap,” she said before she could choke the word back. “I’m late.”
“Late?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with a new client and their agency. It’s guaranteed to be a hundred kinds of awkward.”
“That stinks. As it happens, I’m on my way to an equally awkward meeting even as we speak. I’ve got to talk my client out of doing something spectacularly stupid—in front of the idiots who are advocating the stupidity.”
“That sucks,” Jessie said, pulling a navy suit jacket from the hook in her office and dashing out of the brownstone that housed her agency.
“Tell me about it.”
“So. What can I do for you?” she said as she clattered down the pavement. “I hate to rush you, but in about three minutes I’ll be heading down to the subway—and you know what that does to cell signals.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to attend a charity ball with me tomorrow night. I know it’s last-minute, but my father just informed me I have to go and, as I recall, you said you’d love to attend one.”
“Will you be picking me up in a pumpkin-shaped carriage?”
