Naughty or Nice

by Rachael Stewart

  Nate’s golden halo failed to shift.

  I can’t deny I’m curious as to what truly went down. And I also can’t deny that his presence here tonight only serves to help my cause, my product. It’ll feed the frenzy already taking hold as companies vie for my business.

  Or it’ll send them running, because they’ll think there’s no chance in hell you’ll look anywhere else but him.

  Not him—his business, Eva!

  I give my head a small shake, the loose curls from my updo brushing against the prickled skin of my nape. It loosens up my thoughts, the tension.

  ‘Why don’t you make sure Mum doesn’t flip at his presence?’ I say, and with another sip of champagne I start to make my way towards him, praying he doesn’t spy me before I’m prepared.

  But already his head is turning, as if he senses my approach, and then his eyes are locked on mine and I can feel a startling rush through my system. It doesn’t matter that I’m used to the sight of him on the TV, in the tabloids—that same old zing is in my belly, that heat that only his physical presence has ever instilled creeping into my cheeks.

  I want to look away, but I won’t give him that. I am stronger now, wiser, and the better for it. And so I enjoy him, my eyes sweeping over every inch of him. His black hair, long on top. His prominent brow arching over heavy-lashed eyes that narrow on me, dark and intense. I ignore the hiccup to my pulse and cut lower, to his wide, angular jaw with its intentional stubble.

  I avoid his mouth entirely.

  I don’t need the memory of its brief contact all those years ago. I really don’t.

  I move my eyes lower, to the broad set of his shoulders—wider than I recall. Imposing. I don’t dwell on the muscle behind that. Instead I focus on the designer cut of his deep grey suit, the white shirt and his defiantly skinny black tie.

  My lips lift at the edges, I can’t help it. Always the rebel...

  I lift my eyes back to his and they flicker. There’s something there. I just don’t know what. Unease?

  Maybe.

  Like hell.

  He owns the room. His presence commands attention even when he’s not looking for it. Just like he’s commanding my own, against my will.

  A waiter passes between us and he reaches out for a glass, but not once does his gaze release me, and I can feel myself being drawn in like the besotted eighteen-year-old I once was.

  Careful, Eva.

  ‘Lucas...’

  I draw his name out, feel it fall softly from my lips, and I see his eyes flit to them. I know they’re red and glossy. The perfect match for my dress and the countrywide festivities, and I imagine him looking hungrily over them now.

  If only...

  ‘I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to see you.’

  I’m proud of the steadiness in my voice, its hard edge—it’s what he deserves for what he did to me ten years ago and for the last five, too, if my family are right... In this second I’m not sure which I want to hurt him more for.

  Yes, you do...liar.

  He watches me with that intense stare that I can’t even begin to read and raises his glass to his lips. Too late I’m looking, remembering, and my betraying tongue sweeps over my own lips...

  ‘It’s rude to stare.’

  My eyes leap and I curse his very presence, his very effect over me. But there’s a tightness to his voice, a flare to his eyes that he cannot hide, and I know he’s not immune to me—not any more. It gives me power and I feed on it.

  ‘It’s rude to attend a party without an invitation.’

  He smiles, the movement small and soft—and, dammit, my insides quiver.

  ‘I’m used to being welcomed with open arms. Invited or not.’

  I raise my brow, the idea of being close enough to embrace him not helping my focus.

  It’s a figure of speech, idiot.

  I cock my head, masking my unease. ‘Once upon a time that may have been true, but not here, not now, and not with me.’

  ‘Not with you, or not with your family, Evangeline?’

  If I could melt to the floor I would. No one calls me Evangeline—no one. Unless they’re my parents. I am Eva—strong, dependable, Eva. A woman who has proved her worth a hundred times over.

  But when he says it, the way he says it, it’s not like Mum and Dad do it. It doesn’t make me feel like a girl, weak and vulnerable. I feel empowered, worthy of so much, catapulted onto a pedestal and ready to be worshipped.

  By him. At my feet.

  Oh, yes.

  I swallow, the bolt through my body jolting me straight.

  It scares me. He scares me. And I know I need him gone—that no matter what I said to Dad I don’t dare to entertain him for longer than is necessary.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘No,’ I blurt.

  ‘So?’

  I can see a pulse working in his jaw, and his eyes are intense as they watch and wait for my response.

  ‘Is it you or your family telling me I’m not welcome, Evangeline?’

  ‘Both.’ I say it and immediately regret it. It’s too personal, too unprofessional, but I can’t think clearly. Not with him so close.

  ‘Is that your way of asking me to leave?’

  I sense nearby heads turning, ears tuning in.

  Careful, Eva...

  * * *

  I’m losing myself in the fierce glint of her blue gaze, almost daring her to throw me out. There’s something about the fight in her that I want to provoke.

  It’s so much easier than dealing with all the shit buried ten years deep.

  ‘No, Lucas, I’m not asking you to leave.’

  She wets her lips. Again. And the red shines ever deeper, the carnal colour driving a string of sinful thoughts—none of which have a place in this room, with this audience.

  Or fit with the reason you’re here.

  It’s about business.

  Not her.

  Not...

  A pulse flutters in her throat and she raises her hand, her red-tipped fingers circling over the delicate ripple. Christ, I want to do that—be the person with his fingers over that creamy skin.

  I tighten my hold on the stem of the glass, slipping my other hand inside my pocket. Out of trouble.

  ‘Good.’ I tear my eyes away, looking towards the grand Christmas tree and the big screen that stands proud alongside it, streaming highlights of the product I’m here to secure. ‘Because I think we have a future together...in business.’

  I suck the inside of my cheek.

  In business? What the actual fuck? Do you want to make it any more obvious you want her in your bed too?

  I hear her laugh, and the sound is as surprising as its effect, rippling through my body like an aftershock. I’d forgotten how she can do that—be it with a laugh, a smile or a song when she thinks no one’s listening.

  ‘Of course, Lucas. Of course in business. What else could you possibly be suggesting?’

  She watches me over the rim of her glass, the depths of her eyes alive with suggestion, amusement, confidence. And it’s the confidence that’s my undoing. It’s new. To me, at least. Where there was once a questioning innocence there’s now the maturity of a woman who knows her own mind, her own desires.

  And where do those desires lie now?

  Ten years ago she made it obvious, but now...

  Hell, most women desire me—it’s par for the course. My money and power attract all sorts, even without the body I work hard to hone.

  But you don’t care about other women. You only care for her.

  Cared—not care. Because that would be damn stupid.

  Ten years ago she was forbidden. As the sister of my best friend, as the daughter of the closest thing I had to parents—real parents.

  But, let’s face it, here
I am now, her family’s worst nightmare, and all that loyalty no longer applies.

  Just think what you can do with that.

  I look her over, slowly, purposefully, and before I can hold back it’s out. ‘It wasn’t my intention—I came here tonight to secure a deal, to offer you a very lucrative contract... But now I find myself wanting a whole lot more.’

  Her eyes widen and the glass quivers beneath her chin, not quite lowering but not quite lifting either. She’s shocked and I seize the advantage.

  ‘What’s it been, Evangeline—seven years?’

  ‘Six.’

  She says it so certainly it makes me wonder. Has she counted it down to the exact day, the exact moment? Because I sure as hell have, despite my intentional miscalculation. And even then it had been a brief passing—a moment at the Beaumonts’ home before Nate and I flew out on business. But it’s ingrained in my memory. The sight of her with another man—her fiancé. Happy.

  ‘How is Peter?’

  I don’t know why I even ask it. I can see she isn’t married—her bare finger gives that away. And there’s no reason for me to think he’s still on the scene, so why I need the added reassurance is beyond me.

  ‘I have no idea. We broke up not long after that night.’

  My question hasn’t even jarred her, and that tells me enough. She remembers the occasion.

  I don’t want to feel the pleasure-filled rush that comes from this, but it’s there anyway—as is the burning need to taste those lips that keep goading me with their illicit colour, their inviting sheen.

  ‘And Nate?’ I manage to ask. ‘I can’t see him here.’

  Her lashes flutter at my change in focus. Moving from one unsettling topic to another. But the need to talk business, to get back to safer ground, is lost on me.

  ‘My brother had some work to tie up in Hong Kong. He’ll be back for Christmas.’

  I nod and ignore the weird ache her mention of Christmas kick-starts inside me. Christmas at the Beaumonts’ was my tradition for so long. I never dwell on how much I miss it, but in that second I feel it. The cold, dull ache of what once existed but is no more.

  And Nate still has it all, whereas I—

  For fuck’s sake, Lucas, get with it!

  ‘Good for him.’ I crush the ache, but the bitterness is there in the chill of my tone.

  Her eyes narrow and I look away, forcing my shoulders to relax as I sip at my drink, wanting to quash the past just as much as I want it brought to the fore and dealt with.

  But what would that accomplish? Nothing.

  ‘I see your parents made it.’ I gesture to where they’re standing together at the bar, their eyes drawn to us as inconspicuously as they can manage. But I know they are watching. I can feel their penetrative stare as much as I can feel the heat of her proximity.

  ‘They wouldn’t miss it. It’s in their interest to see me and my business do well.’

  ‘I understand they have a twenty-five per cent share?’

  ‘You’ve done your research.’

  ‘I always do my research.’

  I trust no one. Not any more. What little trust I ever gave was destroyed by her brother five years ago.

  ‘I make it my business to know all there is about the companies I wish to work with and the people who run them.’

  ‘And what does your research tell you about me?’

  ‘You or your business?’

  ‘Both.’

  If it had been any other woman I might have thought she was fishing, but looking into her eyes I see she is not. That fierceness is still there, that sense that she has proved herself over and over again, and knows I won’t have found her wanting. And it drives me to the brink.

  Would that confidence extend to the bedroom too?

  ‘Your product has an eager market, but its patent will only protect it for so long. Time is of the essence, and you need a ready production line and a route to market that is as speedy as we can make it.’

  ‘We?’ Her brows rise. ‘That’s quite presumptuous of you.’

  ‘You know my company can give you both.’

  She hums low in her throat and it resonates through me. My eyes fall to her lips, to their provocatively tight line. How I want to probe it with my tongue...make her yield...

  ‘And what of me, Lucas? What does your research tell you about me?’

  I want to tell her that I’d value her business, but more than that, I’d value her. I want to tell her that I’d trust her. That everything I knew of her all those years ago hasn’t really changed...that all I’ve learned in the intervening years only reinforces that view. That there is nothing in her to spark my doubt.

  Except my experience with her brother—an experience which has made me an outcast of her family...

  You’re getting personal. This is business. You only have to trust her as far as the contract you draw up dictates.

  Yet already I can feel myself wanting more. Wanting to see how far I can push the perfect, composed businesswoman before me and make her crack. Make her desire me like her eighteen-year-old self did.

  If only I could go back, take what she offered so willingly instead of—

  ‘Are you ready, Eva? The floor awaits you.’

  It’s her father. He appears by her side from out of nowhere. Fuck her red lips. If not for those I would have sensed his approach. Been ready for it. Instead I’m forced to look straight from them to him, and I can see displeasure in every hard-cut line to his face.

  It’s as if he can see inside my soul to the ingrained need I have for his daughter and is telling me where to shove it.

  ‘Mr Beaumont.’ I say it smoothly and raise my glass, giving him the half-smile I reserve for business.

  His eyes flash. I can see he wants to ignore me, and Eva positively thrums with tension as her gaze flits between us.

  ‘Yes, of course—thank you, Dad.’

  She lifts a hand to her father’s chest, clearly telling him to stand down, and it riles my blood. I’m not a man to tell tales, and I’m not about to start now, but the truth of what happened five years ago is burning to get out.

  I wash it back with champagne and turn to Eva, my hand falling to the curve of her back as I move to speak and feel the words evaporate on the heat of her skin beneath the silk.

  She turns to look at me, her mouth parting in what I think is surprise—until I see the flush to her cheeks, the flare to her eyes, and I know, in that moment, that she feels it too. The desire. And if I were a betting man I’d put money on it being stronger than ever before.

  ‘Let’s talk later.’

  I don’t wait for a response. I turn and walk away. Seeking out the shadows where I can regain my prized composure in peace.

  I’m not used to losing my cool. I depend on it to face the many challenges that come my way. But something tells me that working with Evangeline would be a challenge like no other—because, regardless of my intentions when I set out tonight, I want her.

  Her and her business.

  Trouble is, I know which one I want more...

  I watch as she takes to the podium, her entire body glinting under the fairy lights of the tree, and my body stiffens with a need so fierce I know it should have me running in the opposite direction and yet I’m rooted.

  I owe the Beaumonts nothing.

  But I owe her a ten-year-old debt. And suddenly I can’t wait to pay up in full.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I DELIVER MY speech to the room and my words flow. I’ve rehearsed them a zillion times over and could do it in my sleep. Which is a good job, considering my attention is off the product and on the dark corner of the room where I know he waits. Listening...

  I can feel his intense stare, his hunger. It was there in his touch, in his eyes that burned into my back all the way to the podium, and it’
s still there, fuelling my own.

  The audience is enraptured. I’ve been reeling them in for the last twenty minutes. But still my mouth dries with anticipation. For him.

  I pause to sip some champagne, my smile sweeping the entire audience before coming back to him. I need this to be sated. Before it consumes my every thought, drives my every action.

  I raise my glass and offer a toast to the future. It’s an excuse to loosen my vocal cords further, before I leave the stage and do what’s expected of me—circulate the room.

  Most people I’ve spoken to already. But now it’s about verbally agreeing to meetings and having my PA follow them up. Sealing their interest.

  I know he will be on that list of interested parties. I owe it to my product.

  It won’t sit well with my family, but I’ll deal with that as I do any business dealing—with professionalism. My parents can’t fault me for that, and whatever deal I sign will buy them out. It’s money back in their pocket and the business wholly my own. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for so long. And if that money comes from a deal with Lucas, so be it.

  Yeah, and what about Nate?

  I bury the instinctive snort. I’m sick of him getting a free ride. I love him. I do. But I’m almost certain that whatever happened five years ago had more to do with him than the tale I’ve been given: that Lucas simply ran when the going got tough, leaving Nate and my father to clean up the mess.

  But what about what he did to you? What about your heart?

  Now my tummy turns over. My heart has no place in this. Not any more. I will consider his business offer, but as for the unvoiced part of his proposition...

  I find him in the room. He leans against a pillar, one leg crossed over the other, his body relaxed. But his eyes as they lock with mine are anything but.

  I moisten my lips. For that my body is already willing—my eighteen-year-old self still craving satisfaction, longing to experience what he cruelly refused all those years ago. Only this time it’ll be on my terms. I’ll show him what he’s been missing, get this carnal need sated, and then it can all be about business.