Chatsfield's Ultimate Acquisition (The Chatsfield: New York Book 1)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘You’ve held functions here before, have you not?’

  She turned and speared him with a fulminating glare. ‘Yes, but none with topless dancing girls jumping out of cakes.’

  The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘My cousin Lucca doesn’t have those sorts of parties now he’s married to Lottie.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

  He rubbed his chin between his index finger and thumb in a musing fashion, the sound of his stubble catching on his skin making Isabelle’s insides coil tightly with desire. She remembered all too well how sexy his raspy skin felt against her smoother one. How it had left red marks on her face when he’d kissed her. Why, oh, why couldn’t she forget? If only she could wipe her memory of him, of all she had experienced in his arms, then maybe she could get through this with at least some fragment of her pride intact.

  ‘I was thinking something a little more classy,’ he said.

  She gave him a contemptuous look. ‘Somehow that’s not a word I readily associate with you.’

  The line of his mouth hardened a fraction but then his phone rang and he dismissed her with a look as he answered it. ‘I released a press statement this morning,’ he said to the person on the phone. ‘I already gave an interview half an hour ago. Yes, that’s right. Miss Harrington is delighted with the outcome and is as we speak organising a ball to celebrate the takeover.’

  Isabelle glared at him, mouthing, ‘What the...?’

  He held up his hand like a stop sign. ‘Yes, we have an excellent working relationship...Yes, you can quote me.’ He clicked off his phone and slipped it back in his trouser pocket. ‘Journalists. I swear I’ve had fifty calls and it’s not even lunchtime.’

  She flattened her mouth. ‘You told them I was happy about this? Are you out of your mind? Who’s going to believe it?’

  ‘Do you know nothing about marketing?’

  Isabelle aligned her shoulders, bristling with impotent rage. ‘You have no right to speak to the press on my behalf. I’ll give my own exclusive interview when I’m good and ready and tell them what a prize jerk you are.’

  A muscled tightened near his mouth and his blue eyes hardened to flint. ‘You want people to come to this hotel?’ he said. ‘Then you have to show them this is a place that’s buzzing. Not with gossip and innuendo but with a can-do vibe. Show a little professionalism, Isabelle. You’ve got a good product but you’re not showcasing it to its potential.’

  She glared at him all the more furiously, her heart pounding with a surge of adrenalin. ‘So you’re basically telling me I’m crap at my job? Is that what you’re saying?’

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling in a God-give-me-patience manner. ‘Look, let’s sit down and discuss this like two adults and...’

  She planted her hands on her hips. ‘So now you’re implying I’m childish.’

  He drew in a deep breath and released it. ‘You’re giving a very fine impression of a kid having a tantrum because things haven’t gone your way. Quit it with the teddy tossing so we can get on with the job of running this hotel.’

  Isabelle stepped right up to him, poking a finger to his sternum. ‘Take that back. Now.’

  He stood like a block of marble. Intractable. Immovable. His steely gaze holding hers in an unwavering lock that made the floor of her belly shiver like a breeze whispering across the surface of a lake. ‘I’m not apologising for stating a fact,’ he said. ‘Grow up or get out.’

  She drilled her finger further into the concrete-hard wall of his chest. ‘You want me to leave? Then you’ll have to carry me out because I’m not go—hey! What the hell are you doing? Put me down!’

  He scooped her up and carried her fireman-style to the door of his suite. Isabelle drummed his back and shoulders with her fists, kicking her legs up and down like a kid having a tantrum—the irony of which didn’t escape her—but she was beyond caring. How dare he treat her like this? What if one of her staff saw her carried out of his suite like a sack of potatoes? She would never live it down. Hatred surged like a flood inside her. It threatened to burst out of every pore of her skin. She dug her fingernails into his back, intent on inflicting as much physical hurt as the emotional hurt he was inflicting on her.

  He let out a vicious curse and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor in front of him. The only reason she landed on her feet and not on her head was because he had dragged her down the front of his body, every hard plane and contour coming into contact with hers. ‘Stop it, you crazy little wildcat,’ he growled.

  Isabelle was breathing hard. How she would love to wipe that imperious look off his too-handsome face, but his hands had shackled hers. She felt the steel bracelet of his fingers overlapping her wrists where her pulse was skyrocketing. His touch burned her, ignited her senses into a heated frenzy. She knew if she didn’t get away from him she would shamefully betray herself.

  She tried to bring her knee to his groin but he countered it by pushing her back against the office door, his arms pinning hers either side of her head in a cage of latent male strength. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  She gave him a gimlet glare, trying to ignore the warm minty scent of his breath as it mingled with hers. Trying to ignore the unbearable temptation of his grimly set mouth. Desperately trying to ignore the ridge of his swelling erection in response to her being flush against him. Her body recognised the primal call of the flesh, of the urge of raw earthy lust she had suppressed for most of her adult life. He triggered it like no one else could. It was a force that was as unstoppable as a rising king tide. She could feel it moving in her blood, the pulse of need so strong, so consuming, it overcame any mental obstacle she had put up to resist him. Her pelvis ached to get even closer as the heat and potency of his arousal hardened. The air was so thick with erotic tension it all but vibrated. ‘You never used to be so caveman-ish,’ she said. ‘Or have things got so desperate you have to club your partners into submission?’

  His eyes dipped to her mouth, his hands around her wrists loosening a fraction. ‘I really want to kiss you right now but something tells me that would be dangerous.’

  She gave him an arch look. ‘Because I’ll scratch your eyes out?’

  He gave a low chuckle of laughter. ‘That’s not the only risk.’ He tipped up her chin, his thumb pressing down on her lower lip, on and off like he was pressing a switch. ‘Kissing can lead to other things.’

  ‘Face slaps?’

  His smile was ruefully lopsided. ‘I probably deserved it given the circumstances.’

  Isabelle frowned. ‘What circumstances? You wanted my hotel and you brazenly came after it. What other circumstances can there be other than your bull-headed arrogance?’

  He dropped his hold and stepped back from her. ‘Your brother gave me the impression you were okay with the takeover.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘What? And you believed him given our history?’

  He rubbed a hand over the top of his head. ‘Yeah, I know. Dumb of me, but I didn’t know he knew about our history. Hardly anyone did, remember?’

  Isabelle remembered all too well, and when their fling had ended she was immensely grateful for it. For some reason Spencer had kept her out of the eye of the press, unusual for him at the time. Also unusual was the fact their relationship hadn’t been a one-, two-or three-night stand. It had actually been a relationship...or so she had thought. He had seen her for close to a month, every night, even during the day when his work schedule and her study timetable allowed. That was why her expectations had been so ridiculously high, foolishly naively high. He had never shown any other girl the attention he had shown her. He had made her feel as if she was someone special. He had bought her gorgeous jewellery and bunch after bunch of flowers, expensive chocolates, champagne suppers, taken her dancing till the wee hours in exclusive intimate clubs where the press didn’t harass them. She
had allowed herself to think he was falling in love with her. She had even thought he was going to propose to her, that he was only biding his time so as not to rush her. How could she have not seen it for what it was? No wonder he’d kept her away from the press. He hadn’t wanted his reputation as a playboy tainted by such seemingly smitten behaviour.

  All her girlhood dreams of being swept off her feet by a handsome man who saw her as his soul mate were destroyed when she’d heard about the wager. The hurt had been devastating. Crushing. Cutting her hopes to shreds. Leaving her bitter and angry and feeling exploited in a way she had never felt before. She had given him everything of herself and yet she had been little more to him than a game.

  But then to add salt to an already festering wound, a couple of weeks after their breakup she’d found out she was pregnant. The shock had been paralysing. She did a total of twenty tests, one after the other, day after day, week after week, desperately hoping it was a mistake, that she’d somehow misread the results. But each and every time the two lines would appear.

  Her mind couldn’t accept it even as her body started to show the signs—the nausea, the breast tenderness, the relentless tiredness. How could she possibly be pregnant? The question had been on a constant loop in her brain. They had used protection every time. It couldn’t possibly be true. She went even further into a state of denial, burying herself deep in it in the desperate hope that things would magically return to normal.

  Week after week went past and still she kept the knowledge to herself, unable to think of how to handle a baby and her career, not to mention telling Spencer he was to become a father.

  Her confusion over the prospect of becoming a mother and thus being tied to Spencer for ever through the bond of their child had added another layer of anguish. She didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of a termination but neither did she want to be in contact with Spencer. Ever.

  But just as she was starting to get her head and heart around the idea of being a mother she’d lost the baby just before the four-month mark. She told no one but Sophie. The only thing she had left of her tiny baby was an ultrasound image. It had been a little girl.

  ‘In hindsight I should’ve realised you wouldn’t let the hotel go without a fight,’ Spencer said into the bruised silence. ‘But he was pretty convincing, said you were on board with it. That you thought it was a good move forward for The Harrington.’

  Isabelle rolled her eyes and moved away from the door, pointedly rubbing at her wrists where his hands had imprisoned her. ‘Did you think of calling me first to see what I thought about it?’

  He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Would you have taken my call?’

  She let out a long whoosh of a breath. ‘You may have a point.’

  Another little silence passed.

  ‘I know you’re angry about the way things have been handled,’ he said. ‘I would be too, if the roles were reversed. But I want this to work, Isabelle. I want to make The Harrington a success. But I can’t do that if you’re working against me. We have to do this as a team or not at all.’

  Isabelle pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. ‘What if we don’t share the same vision for the hotel? You’re a Chatsfield. You have that brand hardwired in your DNA.’

  ‘It’s not as hardwired as you think.’

  She looked at the suddenly grim set to his mouth, the hardened line of his jaw, as if he regretted his statement. ‘What do you mean?’

  A distant look came into his eyes as if he had cordoned off a section of his personality: No Entry. Even the way he folded his arms across his broad chest warned her about going any further. ‘Tell me what your vision for the hotel is. Give it to me in three words.’

  Isabelle smoothed her hands down the side of her pencil-slim skirt. ‘Private. Exclusive. Luxurious.’

  He gave a slow nod. ‘How is that different from any of your closest competitors?’

  She found it hard to hold his penetrating gaze. Could he see how out of her depth she felt with him grilling her like an underling who hadn’t made the grade? ‘We at The Harrington offer boutique luxury unrivalled by our competitors.’

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked, still nailing her with his gaze. ‘Have you stayed at a competitor’s recently?’

  Isabelle pushed her lips out on a breath. Talking to him always felt like a fencing match. He would always try and catch her off guard. ‘Not...recently.’

  ‘When did you last stay in a hotel other than your own?’

  She gave him a churlish look. ‘Unlike some people who do little else but gallivant about the globe having exotic holidays I have a job that takes up a lot of my time.’

  ‘Part of succeeding in this business—in any business—is knowing what you do better than anyone else and cashing in on it.’

  Isabelle lifted her eyelids in a scathing manner. ‘I bet you never fail to cash in on your talents.’

  The corner of his mouth tilted. ‘Even after all this time you know me so well.’

  She tightened her mouth. ‘What exactly is the point of this conversation?’

  ‘Clear your diary for the weekend after next.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We’re going on a mission.’

  She curled her top lip. ‘We?’

  His eyes were locked on hers. ‘We’ll spend the two nights checking out the competition. Make notes. Comparisons. See what we can work on to lift our game.’

  Isabelle looked at him in alarm. ‘You’re asking me to spend the weekend...with you?’

  His expression was poker-faced. ‘The idea doesn’t appeal?’

  She glowered at him. ‘You have a nerve.’

  ‘We don’t have to share a room, although it will keep costs down if we did.’

  She gave him a pointed look. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? I have a boyfriend. He’s not going to take too kindly to me going off for a weekend with my...my...’ She snapped her mouth closed and sent him a glacial look.

  His eyes danced with amusement. ‘You can’t say it, can you? The word is boss. B.O.S.S. Say it, Isabelle. It won’t kill you.’

  Isabelle pinched her lips together and glared at him. She hadn’t thought it possible to hate someone so much. Was there no end to this man’s ruthlessness? He was after her pride but she would rather die than relinquish it to him. Rage pounded in her bloodstream. She could feel it roaring in her ears. Her hands curled into tightly balled fists and the urge to hit out at him was so frighteningly tempting she could feel every muscle in her body tensing as taut as steel cords. She was physically shaking with the effort of keeping control. No other man could do this to her. It horrified her that he could so easily dismantle the professional and cool civility she prided herself on maintaining. He had the potential to turn her into a wild woman, a wanton lustful tigress who would do anything to ease the primal ache of her loins. The ache he activated with just a look or a touch.

  He stepped closer and lifted her rigid chin between his finger and thumb. ‘Say it.’

  Isabelle held his gaze even as it scorched her to the core of her being. ‘You can’t make me do anything.’

  His eyes glinted with dangerous magnetism. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  His eyes warred with hers for endless seconds before they lowered to her mouth. Isabelle held her breath, her own mouth parting involuntarily as his breath mingled with hers. He brought his mouth to within a millimetre of hers, the dance of his breath teasing the surface of her lips until she ached and throbbed to press them to the firm possession of his. But she knew his holding pattern was a test. A game. He was waiting for her to be the first one to break. To give in to the attraction that had always arced and fizzed like a current between them.

  With a will she had no idea she possessed she stepped back from him and gave him a
look as cold as a blast of air off the North Pole. ‘I hope you find your room comfortable. If there is anything else you require, please let the duty manager know.’

  There was no sign of the physical let-down she was feeling on Spencer’s face. His was as unreadable as a mask, all but for a tiny gleam in his eyes that suggested he knew just how close she had been to succumbing to the temptation he’d dangled before her. ‘So far the service has been impeccable,’ he said. ‘I anticipate all my needs will be satisfied by the time my stay has ended.’

  She pursed her mouth and swung for the door, her movement stiff and jerky as if her limbs had turned to jointed timber like those of a wooden puppet.

  ‘I want a plan on my desk for the ball by five this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Is that doable?’

  Isabelle threw him a flinty look. ‘Will that be all?’

  He reached over and picked up a packet of condoms and inspected them for a moment. ‘These are two small.’ He held up a packet as if to toss them to her. ‘Maybe your boyfriend would like them?’

  Isabelle gave him a blistering look and left without another word...well, apart from two shockingly rude ones.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SPENCER SMILED AS he looked at the room Isabelle had prepared for him. The feistiness of her character stimulated him. Made him want to push her buttons to see how long it would take for her to give in to the need he saw every time their gazes locked. He hadn’t considered having a fling with anyone while he was here but the notion was more and more appealing, especially with her giving off her haughty ‘hands off I hate you’ airs that totally contradicted the way she responded to him.

  His body remembered everything about her. The way she gave herself to him in a no-holds-barred way. Their lovemaking had been thrilling, electrifying and amazingly addictive. It had made him relax his ‘three dates...four at the most’ rule. It wasn’t that he was a diehard playboy like some of his cousins; it just worked better for him to be free to move around without the ties and responsibilities of a committed relationship. But something about the coolly sophisticated Isabelle Harrington had made him relax those rules.