by Maisey Yates
“Because I’d like to get to know you a bit better,” he answered, and it was impossible to tell what he meant. Personally? Professionally? Chelsea had no idea, and she was pretty sure that was how Alex wanted it.
“Interesting,” she drawled, “but I’m not sure it’s mutual.”
Alex laughed softly, the sound strangely, stupidly intimate over the phone. “Are you sure about that, Chelsea?”
The sound of her name on his lips made her feel weirdly exposed, especially considering it wasn’t even her real name. “I never said I wanted to get to know you,” she answered flippantly. “Now, if you’re offering something else...” She dropped her voice suggestively, wondered what he’d do with her innuendo. What she would.
“And what would you like me to offer?” Alex asked after only a second’s pause, his voice still a sexy rumble.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve made up my mind.”
“Then let’s discuss it over dinner.”
She hesitated, her hand suddenly slippery on the phone. It was just dinner, she told herself. With a very sexy man. And something about Alex Diaz, about his cold sense of purpose...well, scared wasn’t quite the word. But close to it.
He was a man, she realized, who would take absolute control. And she was the one who needed to be in control, who insisted on it in all of her relationships, no matter if it was the man who fixed her dishwasher or the one she took to her bed. She called the shots. Always.
Somehow she didn’t think Alex Diaz would play by her rules, with her in charge.
And yet she wasn’t ever one to back down from a challenge. “All right,” she finally said. “I have a standing reservation at Le Bernardin—”
“Very nice, but we’ll do this my way. See you tomorrow.”
And then, to her immense irritation, he hung up on her. Chelsea stared at the telephone receiver for a full ten seconds before slamming it back in its cradle. She cursed aloud. He’d only hung up on her because he knew exactly what she was trying to do—and he wouldn’t let her do it.
Her irritation turned to amusement, even a grudging admiration. Maybe she’d finally met her match.
Twenty minutes later she received a text on her phone: Your place. 7 pm.
She wondered how he’d got her private mobile number, but then realized that Alex Diaz could probably get any information he wanted. He owned the most respected news network in the country. She suppressed the twinge of alarm that thought caused. She had far too many secrets to have a man like Alex Diaz curious about her.
It would, she acknowledged reluctantly, be safer to nip this one in the bud. Say no to dinner, no to any possible opportunity on his network, and definitely no to sex.
How would Alex Diaz be in bed? As arrogant and assured as he was in person? She pictured those strong, capable hands on her body, that mobile mouth on her skin. He would dominate in the bedroom, she thought, but he would do it so wonderfully that the woman in question wouldn’t care.
Desire coursed through her in a hot rush, doused quickly by the ensuing icy shock. Just what the hell was she thinking, getting excited by a man like Alex Diaz? He was arrogant, controlling, and he could potentially be her boss. Three strikes against him already. And yet she couldn’t deny that she wanted him, and she wanted him the way he was: in charge. Commanding. Dominating.
Good Lord.
Slowly Chelsea shook her head, disgusted with herself. Had she learned nothing in ten years? Hadn’t three years of humiliation and heartache, not to mention a significant stint in intensive care, been enough?
She might consider working for Alex Diaz, she decided, but she definitely wouldn’t think about sleeping with him.
Or perhaps vice versa.
Shaking her head, annoyed with her own flip-flopping thoughts, she opened her laptop and turned back to her work.
The next evening she stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom and inspected her reflection. She’d put her hair back in a tight, sleek bun, and wore discreet pearl studs in her ears. Her makeup was smoky but understated: nothing come hither about just a touch of mascara and lip gloss. And the dress was definitely on the modest side, while highlighting her assets. Made of cream cashmere, cinched at the waist with a gold link belt, it covered her up from neck to knee. It looked subtly sexy, but still professional. And that’s what she needed to be tonight...because she still wasn’t sure what Alex Diaz wanted with her, or what she wanted with him.
In the twenty-four hours since their phone call, she’d thought about canceling their dinner, just not going in that direction at all. As tempting as the possibility of working for Diaz News was, and possibly having a respected news show on his network, she also knew Alex wasn’t promising anything and it would be far safer, far saner to stay away from a man who already affected her too much. But walking away was weakness, and Chelsea never let herself be weak.
No, she’d go to dinner with Alex Diaz, find out if he really was considering her for something on his network, or if, like so many other men, he was just trying to talk her into bed.
And if he was?
Well, maybe she’d take him up on it. The thought made alarm and excitement churn inside her, an unsettling mix. Alex Diaz was so, so different from the men she normally took to bed.
But that made him exciting. A challenge. If she could control him, make him weak with wanting her...
Hell, if that wasn’t the most potent aphrodisiac in the world.
The phone connecting her apartment to the lobby rang, and answering it Chelsea told the doorman she’d meet Alex in the lobby. He wouldn’t come upstairs unless she invited him.
This evening, like everything else in her life, would be on her terms...no matter what Alex intended or thought.
Alex was inspecting a modern sculpture on display in the lobby when she came out of the elevator. Dressed in a charcoal business suit, cheeks flushed with cold and a faint five o’clock shadow drawing attention to the hard line of his jaw, he was too gorgeous for words, damn the man.
“What do you think this is supposed to be?” he asked and Chelsea tore her gaze away from him to glance at the twisted iron-and-copper monstrosity she’d never bothered to notice before.
“I don’t know. A tree?”
“Some tree.”
Her lips twitched in a sudden smile. “Not a fan of modern art?”
“Not this kind.” He swept his gaze over her, leaving warmth in its wake. “But I am an admirer of the art of understatement.” His gaze lingered on her figure in its close-fitting cashmere dress. “Definitely that.”
She tingled. Everywhere he looked, she felt her body treacherously, wonderfully respond. Melt and ache and want.
She smiled coolly, forced all those feelings away—and almost succeeded. “So where are we going, if not Le Bernardin?”
He placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the building. “Le Cirque.”
Chelsea slid into the limo idling at the curb, every nerve ending tingling from his light touch. Alex followed her inside, stretching his arm out along the back of the seat so his fingers just barely brushed her shoulder, as they had the last time she’d been in his limo. He looked completely relaxed and barely aware of what he was doing, but Chelsea knew right down to her bones that the little touch had been intentional. And it had had, she suspected, Alex’s intended effect. She felt edgy and aching, restless and uncertain.
Not the way she wanted to start the evening.
“Le Cirque?” she repeated. “Now, that’s a bit predictable.”
He glanced at her, his expression inscrutable in the dim interior of the car. “How disappointing for you. I suppose I’ll have to try harder next time.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to try hard at all,” Chelsea answered flippantly. “I’m sure you expect women to fall at your feet.”
He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “They’re not much use to me there.”
“Oh?” She let her gaze sweep ove
r him in lingering assessment, and felt a fierce stab of satisfaction at the sight of the heat flaring in his eyes. “Where are they of use to you, Alex?”
“Oh, in a variety of places. And positions.”
Chelsea arched an eyebrow. “How intriguing. Care to specify?”
His lips curved in a cool smile, his gaze locked on hers. “Not at the moment.”
“Perhaps later?”
“Perhaps.”
She smiled, even though inside she was seething. Whenever she tried to turn the tables on him, he turned them right back at her. Made her feel desperate, not just with desire but this need somehow to prove herself to him.
She wasn’t like that. Not anymore.
Except with this man, it seemed she was.
“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he said softly, and she realized she had been openly, hungrily looking at him. Damn it. She’d stopped talking, stopped thinking, because her brain had snagged on the sight of him: long, lean legs stretched out, his hard jaw glinting with that sexy five o’clock shadow, those ink-black lashes feathering his cheeks. Long lashes and lush lips on the most masculine man she’d ever encountered.
How was that even possible?
She slowly lifted her gaze to his. “Just checking out what’s on offer,” she answered, and his mouth kicked up at one corner.
“I never actually said what was on offer.”
“Care to clarify, then?”
He didn’t answer, just waited, his eyes glinting in the darkness as the awareness stretched and tautened between them. Chelsea had to remind herself to breathe.
“I guess not,” she said softly, and made a show of sorrowfully shaking her head. Alex just smiled. Nothing fazed him. Nothing shocked him. Nothing made his precious control slip, and it infuriated her because hers was skidding all over the place.
Alex Diaz had been in the driver’s seat of this relationship from the moment he’d waited outside her apartment in his limo, no matter how many times she kept trying to take the wheel.
“So let’s talk business,” she said, recrossing her legs and making her voice brisk. “Do you really want me for Diaz News?”
Alex’s gaze didn’t falter for a second as he answered. “No.”
Chelsea blinked. She kept her face neutral, but only with a lot of effort. After several fraught seconds where she scrambled for something to say, she finally pursed her lips and stated coolly, “So you are just dicking me around.”
“No. Interesting choice of words, though.”
“Very amusing.” She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms. She wanted to go on the attack, but she felt defensive. Raw. Exposed.
So he didn’t want her for his stupid network. It shouldn’t surprise her. It shouldn’t hurt.
“Why did you ask me out to dinner, Alex? Are you just trying to get laid?”
“If that were my sole purpose, there would be far simpler ways to accomplish it,” he answered calmly.
Annoyed and still smarting, she snapped, “I’m sure there would be. Just cruise down Forty-Second Street—”
“Don’t be childish, Chelsea.”
“Don’t patronize me—”
“I’m not. I’m just stating facts. I’m not interested in having you on my network, but I am interested in your prime-time interview.”
“Treffen.” She spat the word, and Alex remained calm, unruffled.
“Yes.”
She shook her head, feeling angry and vulnerable, needing to lash out but knowing it would just reveal her all the more. She took a breath, let it out slowly and forced herself to calm. “You don’t like him.”
“Not particularly.”
“Why not?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“All in good time?” she mocked. “I don’t like being used, Diaz. Or manipulated.”
“A few moments ago you called me Alex. And if anyone is planning to manipulate you, it’s Treffen.”
She thought of the meeting next week with Treffen and his lawyer. There might be some truth to what Alex was saying, but she still didn’t want to be his, or any man’s, pawn. “I won’t have my interview sabotaged.”
“That’s not my intent.”
Looking into those dark, fathomless eyes, she didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe for a moment that he wouldn’t sabotage her interview or even her whole career to get what he wanted.
And yet, even now, especially now, she felt her body ache and pulse for him. No matter how hard or ruthless Alex Diaz was, she still wanted him. Maybe because he was so hard and ruthless. Maybe because the thought of him wanting her, needing her, made her blood surge and her heart sing. She wanted this man to bend for her. To break.
No matter how many petty shots Alex called now, that would really show who was in control.
“We’re here,” Alex said and let his hand drop from the back of the seat onto her shoulder, his palm warm through her coat and cashmere dress, his fingers almost brushing her breast.
His golden-brown gaze locked with hers and she felt as if she were trapped in a vise. Barely able to breathe. She slipped from the limo and away from his hand, wondering how on earth she was going to get through this evening.
* * *
Alex watched Chelsea, her back straight, her hips swaying slightly as she preceded him into the restaurant. Every exchange they’d had was loaded with innuendo, heavy with intent. But he had her. He could tell he had her; she was curious as well as ambitious and hungry. She would do what he said, and sex would be a sweet way to seal the deal. To celebrate it. He’d seen the desire in her eyes, the hunger, even though she would never admit it.
He’d make her admit it. He’d bring her to her knees, sobbing out his name, begging for his touch. The thought made him smile.
It also made him hard.
Shifting to ease his discomfort, he followed Chelsea into the restaurant.
“So tell me about yourself,” he said once they were seated, menus open before them and linen napkins placed in their laps. “I don’t know anything about you except the bullet points of your résumé.”
Her eyes narrowed like a cat’s, and he could see her debating the merit of a snappy comeback. Finally she shrugged and took a sip of water. “There’s not much more to know beyond that. I’ve pretty much lived for my career.”
“As have I, but that doesn’t mean you could compress my personality into a single sheet of paper. What do you like to do in your spare time?”
She looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked her such a thing before. “Hobbies?” she said, leaning back in her seat. “I work out. A lot.”
“I could have guessed that.”
“Oh?”
“You’re a control freak.”
She cocked her head. “Takes one to know one.”
“Absolutely.”
He felt the clash of their wills as if a metallic clang had reverberated through the room. It was going to be so good to take her to bed, he thought. And then leave her there.
“I foresee a problem,” she said, glancing down at her menu so her long, chocolate-coloured lashes feathered her cheeks.
Alex leaned back in his seat. “Which is?”
“We can’t both be in control.”
“Definitely not.” He felt heat unfurl in his belly as he saw her eyes flare. Knew what they were both thinking of. Knew then, with an absolutely solid certainty, how this evening was going to end.
The air between them seemed to snap and crackle with electric tension. Alex could almost hear the sizzle.
Time to bring it down a notch. He wanted to make it through dinner, at least. “In any case, I don’t believe you. Everyone’s got a hobby.”
“All right then, what’s yours?”
“Scuba diving.”
“That’s not something you can do everyday.”
“No. Holidays only.”
“So what do you do to relax on a daily basis?”
“Besides the obvious?”
Her mouth
curved. “I’m not talking about basic needs.”
“I also swim,” he said, and her mouth curved wider, drawing Alex’s attention to it. It was delicious, full and lush. He wanted to feel it against his own.
“Doesn’t that count as working out?”
“So does fulfilling my, ah, basic needs.”
She laughed softly, the sound no more than a breath. “So you must be very fit.”
“You’ll have to judge for yourself.”
“Is that a promise?”
“More just a statement of fact.”
Her smile widened, revealing a dimple in one cheek. “Does it relax you?” she asked and for a second he thought she was talking about sex. Then he remembered what they’d been at least pretending to talk about. Swimming.
“I’ve learned to let it relax me.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I didn’t learn to swim until I was in high school.” Alex paused; suddenly he could almost smell the chlorine and sweat of Walkerton Prep’s pool. Could feel the hard shove on his back.
“Alex.” He glanced up, blinking, and saw Chelsea giving him a teasing smile. “Whatever you’re thinking about, it feels like a bit of a buzz kill.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe, but it motivated me to learn how to swim.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting, and he continued. “I got a scholarship to Walkerton Prep. You know it?”
“The boarding school in Connecticut? Who doesn’t? It seems like everyone with money is trying to get their kid in there.”
“Exactly. I fulfilled their diversity quotient, I guess. Half-Dominican kid from the Bronx.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, and her voice had turned thoughtful, her head tilted to one side as she gazed at him.
“Which part? Dominican or the Bronx?”
Her mouth curved again in a small smile; she really did have the most amazing lips. “Both, I guess. But you were telling me how you learned to swim.”
“We had to take swimming at Walkerton. The first day one of the kids in my class pushed me into the deep end of the pool, when the coach was in his office.” Alex swallowed; he could still remember the feel of the water closing over his head, filling his mouth and nose as he choked and flailed and a dozen preppy boys watched him dispassionately.
