They lay still together for a moment until a flash of lightning began a new moment, a new movement. They shed their remaining clothes and embraced one another as the flashes of electric light captured them in the flow of the elements—the elements outside and those within. They were driven, fuelled by the energy of nature. They climbed over one another, searched deep, reached further. As the skies began to open and the rain started, she rode him, and their naked bodies slid together in frantic movements, sweat-drenched movements. They sought the prize. They offered it to one another.
He rose up and she locked her legs around his hips when she saw the look of intense need in his face. He sat up into her embrace and reached for her breasts, sliding his hands over their hot damp surface, reaching for her throat.
She looked down at him and peeled his damp hair from his face, her hips rocking back and forth. His gaze locked with hers and his hands twined around her neck as she moved against the full shaft of him inside her. The climax was coming close. A trickle of sweat gleamed on the bone of his temple and she reached down to take it with her tongue, arching her body over him. He sank his head into her neck, his arms enclosing her, locking them together. The sounds in his throat were pleasured, pained.
She felt her womb begin to contract and her arms locked over his back as her flesh tightened around his cock.
"Zac," she whispered, "come to me now." Her nails flew across the skin of his back, and he came right at the moment she wanted him to.
* * * *
They stood by the window, looking out at the wet ground. The air smelt fresh, damp.
"Shall I order you a taxi?" Zac asked, stroking her arm gently.
"Yes, thanks." She turned away from him to get dressed before she changed her mind about going home.
He walked to the wardrobe, but Abby went to the chair where she had spied his abandoned clothes earlier, and picked up the shirt he had worn that day. It was white with a tiny black line coiled in barely visible patterns on its surface. She held it up and inhaled his scent on it. She turned to him.
"Can I have this one?"
He nodded, came over, and slipped it around her, buttoning it gently. It was cool and crisp against her skin.
She smoothed it over her breasts. "Now I have you with me whenever I want, even though you will be in Paris."
He opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and kissed her instead, before reaching for the phone. After he'd booked a taxi, he folded a piece of paper into her hand. "This is where I'll be staying in Paris. I'll tell them to expect you at the reception." He looked serious. "I want you to join me, but I will understand if you can't." He seemed unwilling to qualify that.
"I'll be there." Her bruised lips reached for him again, pressing their wearied kisses to his. To be without was the only real pain.
He traced the outline of her body slowly with his hands, as if memorizing its shape. "I'll be looking forward to your arrival."
She reached to stroke his face. "Me too."
He dressed and walked her to the taxi. When she got in she wound down the window and he leant on the doorframe.
"Paris?"
She nodded, and touched his lips. "I'll get away as soon as I can...I think I can last until then."
"If you can't, let me know and I'll fly back."
She laughed and blew him a kiss as the car pulled away.
As the taxi drove into the night, she looked at the time. It was one o' clock. In eight and a half hours she would be bidding for her chosen property in the auction. Zac had deepened her desire to win Blayne Castle. Now she wondered if they would ever be there together in the future.
Chapter Nine
Fitzsimmons of Twickenham, one of London's finest property auctioneers, was a fine neoclassical building with double doors that sprang twenty feet high, flanked by twin Corinthian columns.
Zac stood outside, eyeing the building, doubting his own sanity. He knew he shouldn't be there. He just couldn't resist coming along to see if Abby managed to secure the castle. After their encounter last night, he wanted to see the dream realized, to be there with her.
Pushing his shades higher on his nose, he glanced up and down the street in case she was about to pass by. He was pretty sure she'd already be inside to get a good seat for the bidding. It was a one-room auction house with a clear exit. The place had been a chapel at one time. She'd be focused on the bidding, she wouldn't even see him if he stayed at the back of the crowd. He could just observe and leave as soon as he knew.
It was a crazy thing to do. If she spotted him she'd likely find out about the link between them and he wasn't quite ready for that yet, but he couldn't resist. Besides, he wanted to see her again. He shook his head. It was only thirty-six hours until he had her to himself in Paris, if everything went according to plan.
A few stragglers went inside. He glanced through the doorway and noticed they had to stand at the back. Full house. That was good. He knew the layout and he'd have cover. Ironically it was the same auction house where he'd bought the venue he converted into The Hub. He glanced at his watch. The auction would have begun.
Without allowing himself to analyze his state of mind further he darted up the steps, picked up a catalogue at the reception desk and stepped in at the back of the crowd.
The crowd was thick and heavy with anticipation. The auction was well under way and, aside from a quiet murmur here and there, the auctioneer had the crowd's full attention. Zac craned his neck, looking for Abby. After a moment, he caught sight of her in front row on the right-hand side, so he dipped left and skirted the edge of the standing attendees until he had a good view of her.
Fitzsimmons senior was taking the auction. Zac lowered his head. Fitzsimmons and his Mother went back years. Many of her adventures in property had been started here. Flicking open the catalogue, he saw they were only one property away from Blayne Castle.
He wondered how Abby would play it. She looked immaculate, cool and sophisticated in a fitted jade colored dress, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a rope-like plait. She held a clipboard folder in her hand, the catalogue on it. Why did he feel so much pride as he watched, he wondered?
When Fitzsimmons opened the bidding for Blayne, she chose her moment well, waiting for the competition to make themselves known before moving. There were two other interested parties. The first was an agent who relayed everything via his phone to his clients, the second a father and son team who to look like they might be building contractors. The two parties took each other up in small increments.
Abby sat wordlessly, waiting, until the head of the building contractors shook his head and dropped out. The agent looked smug as he reported the news back to his client.
Abby lifted her numbered identification card and made a bid. She'd taken it up in a double step, causing a murmur to run round the hall, but Zac knew from the proposal that she was still within the agreed limit. She was signaling her intent to win. Her glance dipped from Fitzsimmons to her bidding opposition, her demeanor not giving anything away. She was good at this. He couldn't help smiling. He wanted her to get it so badly.
Realizing he'd moved out from the crowd to observe, he shifted position. As he did so, he saw a familiar face standing a few feet away in the crowd. The man was smartly dressed, probably in his fifties, and he was watching the unfolding event just as avidly as he himself was. Zac tried to place him.
At the front of the hall, Fitzsimmons began to push the agent for another bid. Zac glanced back. The agent looked annoyed as he spoke into his phone. He nodded, gave another bid. Fitzsimmons pointed his hammer at Abby for her reaction. The crowd was riveted, their heads moving as if they were at Wimbledon, the bidding being the ball knocked back between Abby and the agent.
Zac glanced back at the man watching from the crowd. He was staring at Abby, a smug, possessive smile on his face. That's when he remembered, he recalled him from the dossier photographs. This was Tom Robertson, Abby's boss. And something about the way he
was looking at Abby grated on Zac's nerves. He must have accompanied her. If that was the case, why wasn't he sitting with her?
He heard Fitzsimmons prompting the bid, glanced back. Abby moved, taking the bidding up to the limit that they had agreed. This was it. If the agent put in another bid, she'd lose the property. Fitzsimmons looked back at the agent, who held up his hands and shook his head. She'd won.
Zac gave himself one more second to absorb the pleasure he saw on her face before he turned away to make a hasty exit. As he did, he discovered that Tom Robertson was just ahead of him, making his own quick departure.
Zac's emotional response to the situation was both primal and territorial. He wanted to stop the guy, ask him what he was up to and warn him off, and yet he knew it was he himself who was acting dodgy as hell here. Her boss had a right to be there. He was shocked at his own raw, troubled reaction.
I'm in love with her, that's why. The truth hit him hard and fast. There was no denying it. And the cage of circumstance was closing tight around his heart.
* * * *
Fitzsimmons slammed down the hammer and pointed at her. Abby was delighted. She had won the castle for her client. She smiled to herself, thrilled to bits.
The guy who had been bidding against her glared across at her. She tucked her identification card under the clip on her clipboard to distract herself from his expression. Despite her pleasure at winning, something was niggling at her. She felt uneasy. He was sending daggers, that's what it was. She took another glance and when she did she saw him storming off, his phone slammed shut in his hand. Her clipboard fell off her lap and she had to bend to retrieve it. The person seated behind her rescued it and passed it through the chairs.
Turning to say thank you, she caught sight of her opponent moving fast through the crowd at the back of the hall—and there too, she thought she saw a glimpse of another much more familiar face. Zac?
She froze, blinked, and looked again. The flash of black hair disappeared into the crowd. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Paris. Her blood ran cold. Was he following her? She turned back into her seat, clutching her clipboard to her chest, her heart running an erratic race. It can't have been him. I'm mistaken. It was someone else.
It looked like him though. It didn't make any sense. He said he'd be in Paris today. He hadn't said what time, but what would he be doing here? How would he know? Unless...unless he's following me.
Her hands were shaking by the time she gathered herself enough to leave her seat and approach the auctioneer's assistant at the side of the hall, to go through the payment details for the property. She could barely think straight. Zac was a mystery man, yes, but she'd never felt as if there was a reason to be afraid of him, not until now.
When she left the building her mind was in chaos with questions. She recalled that feeling of being watched before, a sense of awareness that someone was taking an interest in what she was doing. She darted to the edge of the pavement and hailed a taxi.
By the time she got back into the office, she'd got herself well and truly spooked. Stay calm. She was adding things up wrong, had to be. She'd know if there was something dodgy about Zac, surely? She'd felt so close to him. She would know. It was just someone who looked like him. Yes, she'd felt odd recently, like she was being watched, but there had to be an explanation.
In the reception, Suzanne was talking to two clients seated in the waiting area. She nodded discreetly when she saw Abby waiting for her at the desk, winding up her chat.
"What can I do for you?"
"This is going to sound odd, but did that guy you're seeing mention the name of the courier company they work for?"
"Not that I remember, why?"
"Neither did Zac. I just..." She looked at Suzanne's face, her happy expression. She couldn't bring herself to cast a shadow on her happiness. That would just be cruel. She didn't even know for sure it had been Zac. She shook herself. "Oh, I just wondered."
Suzanne gave her a concerned look. "Are you okay?"
"Well, kind of." She really needed a friend, but maybe Suzanne wasn't the right person, not if she was getting involved with this courier guy. She'd give Marcy a call.
"Excuse me, Abigail?"
Hearing her name, Abby turned to see Tom's PA sauntering toward her.
"Tom says can you drop in to his office as soon as possible."
Abby nodded. "Will do."
"Ew, that doesn't sound good," Suz commented when the PA had gone.
Abby shrugged. "No." Usually he visited the staff on their own territory, unless it was something important or confidential. This was the last thing she needed right now. "He's been a bit...protective, since I've taken over Ed's work," she explained, with a decidedly charitable view of Tom's interest in her. "I suppose I better get it over with."
Suzanne gave a concerned frown and squeezed her arm affectionately. "Good luck."
Dropping her paperwork on her desk as she passed by her office, she went straight on to his door.
"Abigail, thank you for stopping by so promptly." Tom stood up from behind his desk and gestured at the low easy chairs that were set to one side of the large room, around a coffee table.
She glanced at the view as she took her place. Tom's office occupied the cornerstone of the floor, a suitable spot for their leader. With floor to ceiling glass and dual aspect, the view extended over the city to the left and to the right-hand side toward the river and beyond. On a clear day, it was said that he could see practically all of London, right out along the Thames.
She sank down into the soft Italian leather easy chair, smoothing her dress down over her thighs as she did so. She was aware of Tom watching as she took her place. She hoped he wasn't going to try to get cozy on her again. Adopting what she considered a tidy pose—knees together, ankles crossed just above the straps on her sandals—she rested her hands loosely over the arms of the chair.
"I thought we should have a chat about your work." He walked over to the drinks cabinet. "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you."
He poured himself out a large measure of whisky and strolled over to sit next to her.
It struck her as odd that he was drinking spirits at this time of day, but part of her thought she could probably do with a swig herself, to steady her nerves.
His immaculate shirt and tie gleamed in the bright sunshine. He was so well groomed that he looked rather artificial.
"I've been watching you closely over the past few days." He wasn't actually looking at her as he spoke. He was focused on the heavy crystal tumbler that he turned in small circles, making invisible patterns on the marble-topped coffee table in front of him.
Watching me? She felt a chill come over her, above and beyond that of the air-conditioning. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "What do you mean?" She tried to keep any defensiveness out of her voice, but in her current state of mind it was difficult.
"I'm taking a special interest in you. You must know that by now." He polished his comment with a smile. "I saw that you were attending the auction house when I was checking your targets on the network. I had to come down, just to see how you did."
A mixture of anger and sheer relief hit her. It wasn't Zac she had to be worried about, it was her bloody boss! She stared at Tom, weighing him up. Keep calm. She prided herself on remaining professional, no matter what the circumstances. "You were there?" How could he observe her without announcing his intention to do so?
Tom nodded and gave a quiet chuckle, still avoiding eye contact. "It was a great performance." He shifted in his seat.
Her fingers tightened over the arms of the chair. He'd been watching her. He'd been the one making her feel uneasy. Not Zac. Her heart beat out a triumphant tattoo.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be there?"
"No need."
In that case, why are you telling me now, you creep?
"The important thing is that I am around and available. You've had a lot
of extra responsibility and I wouldn't dream of letting you cope alone." He glanced at her, clearly trying to gauge her reaction. "Last week, I told you I was there for you, but so far you haven't called on me." The last comment had a chastising tone to it.
"Things have been proceeding well."
He ignored that. "You do know I care about you, Abby, don't you?"
She fought against gritted teeth to speak. "I'm sure you care about all your staff," she responded coolly, her skin crawling. She tapped her fingers on the chair arm. The leather, mercifully silent, did not betray her annoyance. Her mind raced with the dismal immediate options that faced her. She could hardly confront him and tell him his so called 'care' and interest was akin to being stalked, but at the same time, she wanted this over with. He was clearly abusing his authority to mask another purpose.
He looked at her over the edge of his glass as he took another swig.
She waited to see what he would say next.
His smile held unwelcome fondness. "I think we both know how well you've been doing, but I felt we needed to discuss it in more casual circumstances." His pause was deliberate. "I was disappointed you didn't take me up on my lunch invitation after your good work on the stock exchange."
She felt herself flushing with annoyance and bit the inside of her lip in an effort to keep calm. She gave what she hoped was a cool nod in acknowledgement of his remark.
"In fact, I have been wondering if you wouldn't have been a better choice for the Pascal account. I feel quite sure you would have had it well in hand by now." He cradled his drink.
She gripped the arms of the chair. How the hell was she going to deal with the situation? It was difficult, the options were few and the pitfalls many.
"But then you would have been in Geneva for much the time...and I wouldn't have wanted that."
His intimate look made her stomach ball. Even though she had never given him any encouragement, or shown any signs of interest in a relationship with him, he had made certain assumptions about her.
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