12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  She clicked the top of an elegant silver pen and waited for him. He didn’t know what to say. He’d expected anger or hostility, but she just looked blank. As she leaned forward, writing something on the pad, he noticed the teardrop on her necklace, hanging pendulum-like above the promising cleft between her breasts.

  He swallowed. His silence must have been unnerving her, for she had started doodling on the paper. Then she looked up at him and asked again, “Will, can you tell me what you want with me, please?”

  There was a slight tremor in her voice. Now, she looked something beyond numb, something else that he didn’t want to recognize. She looked weary. A small voice nagged at him and wouldn’t be silenced, whispering that he had…oh God, he’d hurt her back there after the rappel. His pulling back had been that fraction too late for both of them.

  He told himself he was being ridiculous, that he was sure he’d done nothing wrong. And that if they had started a relationship then, if he had taken her back to the cottage or her flat and had sex with her, if it had lasted more than a night, even a week, the pain of letting her down, as he inevitably would have had to, would have been far more acute.

  “Will, I don’t want to be rude, but I really am very busy, so if we could just get down to business, I’d be grateful,” said Emma, her pen poised over the paper, waiting for him.

  He found his carefully prepared speech, his generous offer, to be delivered oh so casually, was somehow stuck in the back of his dry throat. He didn’t want to cough to clear it and give his nerves away.

  “Sorry?” she asked, completing a fascinating spiral on the notepad. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “How do you stand it in here? It’s so damn stuffy.”

  “It is rather warm. Shall I open the door to let a bit of fresh air in?”

  “No.” He knew he was making a right mess of this. “Look, I’ll get straight to the point.”

  “That would be good.”

  He resisted the urge to respond, to lean over the desk and wind his fingers in her hair, taste her lips, shimmering temptingly with a shiny gloss. He could have sworn he could smell cherries, ripe and inviting. As he swung his laptop case from beside his seat and onto the desk, Emma sat up straight and placed her pen beside the suede folder.

  The act of opening his laptop made him feel in control again, and he withdrew a spiral-bound sheaf of papers and placed them on the table. No beating about the bush, he thought. Give it to her straight, mate.

  “We’ve been giving the mountain rescue calendar careful consideration and I’d like—that is, my company, Outside Edge, has decided that we would be prepared to act as main sponsors for the project. With our backing, you’ll make far more money than on sales alone.” He pushed the presentation folder toward her. “I think you’ll find it’s a generous package. Here are our proposals, and if you need anything else, our marketing department is ready to give you all the help you need.”

  Emma paused before placing a hand on the folder and drawing it toward her. “That’s very generous of you—of Outside Edge, Will.”

  He grinned broadly, thinking how great this was. She was grateful and impressed—just what he’d hoped for.

  “But I have to say I’m a little confused. I thought you were totally against the idea.”

  “I’m only thinking of how we can benefit the rescue team. The calendar’s clearly going ahead, so we might as well make it a success.” Will hoped she wouldn’t suspect the real reason, that he would have more influence over the project as the sponsor. And though he didn’t like admitting it, not even to himself, more control over her. “Besides, what was it you told me at the photo meeting? Something about being more commercially aware and open-minded? I decided to follow your advice.”

  “Well, I assure you we’ll give your offer careful consideration.”

  Nice one, he congratulated himself.

  “However, I ought to tell you that we already have an excellent sponsorship deal in progress with a major manufacturer of walking equipment—”

  “Like who?” he cut in, far more abruptly than was polite.

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that at the moment.”

  Will stared hard at her, trying to see whether or not she was taking the piss out of him or even seeking revenge for the rappelling—not that he’d done anything wrong—but he detected nothing. In fact, she sounded almost mechanical, and the spark in her eyes, the one he found so sexy and fiery, wasn’t there. What the hell was the matter with her?

  “Right…well, I suppose I should have offered sooner. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you had already thought of getting a sponsor.”

  “It was part of the plan. I did mention it at the original meeting at the rescue base. You were late, if I recall rightly.”

  To his alarm, she had already started to shut her notebook and zip up the folder. Will started to panic a little, telling himself she surely couldn’t just dismiss his offer—dismiss him—like this. He had to provoke her into some sort of reaction.

  “There’s something else,” he said, getting desperate. “And I won’t beat around the bush.”

  Emma laid her folder back down on the table and stared at him. Will noted with satisfaction that the spark was there again. “That would be good,” she said.

  “You’ve seen all the press speculation that my company is involved in a new project at Lakeshore House. I’d like to do some joint PR on the project with the tourist office. In fact, I want you to help us draft some launch material.”

  “Can you give me some background? Like what you plan to do with the hotel, for instance?” said Emma. “You have secured the property, I take it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you that yet.”

  “Then I’m not at liberty to write anything. And anyway, we can’t help you publicize a commercial project, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  Will knew he’d shot himself in the foot. Asking her to help had been a last-ditch attempt to keep her in the same room as him, and it hadn’t worked.

  “I can’t tell you the details yet,” he said defensively.

  Emma finished zipping up her folder without making a note and snatched up the proposals. “When you do feel able to reveal all, let us know. If it’s appropriate for us to get involved, then I’ll get one of the PR assistants to put some drafts together.”

  “I thought you would be doing it personally,” he said, disappointed.

  “Don’t worry. It will all be done efficiently. If it’s something we can get involved with, that is.”

  She got to her feet, so Will did too.

  “Emma, wait a moment.”

  She smiled apologetically. “If that’s all, I have to be getting back to the office. I’ve a date with a printer.”

  Will felt he couldn’t stand this…this cold politeness. It was so not Emma…

  “Look, I hope I haven’t upset you,” he blurted out. “I mean with the rappelling. I shouldn’t have asked you to do something you didn’t want to.”

  “You can stop feeling guilty. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. In fact, it was my decision entirely. And I’ve faced the consequences.”

  The consequences? What did she mean by that? he asked himself. This was excruciating. He couldn’t let it go at that, even though Emma obviously wanted to.

  “I really must get back to the office. Please.”

  She went to put her hand on the door, but he moved swiftly between it and her. She clutched the folders to her tightly, but his hand had flown to her arm before he knew it.

  “What do you mean, ‘the consequences’?” he asked.

  “Sore legs and hands. Bruises and aches in parts of me I didn’t know I had.”

  “Purely physical damage, then?”

  “Why? Should there be any other kind?”

 
“Trauma,” he cut in. “It was quite an experience to go through, your first rappel. Tricky too. Some people—in that situation, I mean—find it hits them later.”

  She gave him a cool smile. “Really? No, I can’t say anything hit me later. A cup of tea, a bit of medicinal chocolate, and I was fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. Now, are you going to let me out?”

  There was no way, decided Will, that he was going to let her escape before he found out what was the matter with her.

  “No, Emma, you can’t go just yet. We can’t carry on like this—not behaving civilly to each other. If you’re going to carry on doing business—if you’re going to carry on working for the rescue team, I can’t let that happen. It’s just not healthy—could be dangerous, even.”

  “Don’t be silly. There is nothing uncivil between us.”

  “Really? Convince me, then.”

  In a moment, Will had pulled the folder from her hands and placed it on the table. The lack of resistance was the first thing that surprised him. Then he cradled her face in his hands, and the madness took over. His lips touched hers, and he felt the gloss sliding against his open mouth, the ripe-cherry scent of her making him almost dizzy. For a moment, a long, awful moment, there was no response—nothing.

  So he pushed her harder, increasing the pressure on her mouth, and suddenly, she gave in to him. She opened her lips and let him slide his tongue deeper into her mouth, wondering how she tasted so much sweeter than cherries.

  He carried on with the kiss, bringing one hand to play with the buttons of her jacket and unfastening them roughly. He didn’t give a thought to her expensive, provocative suit; he only wanted to close a hand around her breast and feel its weight, its full beauty. Impatiently, he flicked open the last button, tugged the lapels apart, and looked down at her beautiful breasts, stretched taut under a silk camisole.

  Emma was breathless. He could see her chest heaving, hear her ragged breathing. She clung to his body as he pulled her against him.

  “See? See what you do to me, Emma?”

  He slid his hand under her top, rolled her nipple between his fingers, and felt her shiver as the nub hardened. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but nothing mattered now. All Will knew was that he wanted to explore every inch of her luscious body and be allowed to bury himself inside her.

  “I need you, Emma. Right here and now.”

  “No…no, we can’t—”

  Will was already bearing her back against the wall of the office. “Why not?” he murmured roughly. “Surely, you’re not afraid, Emma?”

  He dropped a hand to her thighs and pulled up her skirt. He splayed his hand across the silky nylon of her stockings to the warm flesh above, then higher still to her panties. His finger swept across the front of the lace to find it damp—beautifully moist. Easing a hand between her legs, he cupped her and felt the warm wet rush of desire against his palm.

  “Will, oh…” she murmured in indignant pleasure as he tugged her panties down her thighs and her bottom made contact with the cold wall. She squirmed as Will’s fingers slid between her legs. They were so warm inside her, and she was so wet, she could feel desire pooling between her legs. As his fingers slipped deeper, she could feel his breath, hot against her cleavage.

  Lust frayed his voice. “Sweetheart, that is so beautiful…”

  She hated it even while she whimpered in pleasure and arched her back to draw him in further. Hated him for pleasuring her and herself for loving his touch. He moved his hands to her backside, gripping her soft cheeks as he pulled her against him, making her feel how much he wanted her through the rough cloth of his suit. As he kissed her, the rough rasp of stubble against her mouth made her whole body tingle.

  Somewhere, next door, upstairs, who knew where, a telephone rang out, and the sound of laughter drifted through a wall. Dimly, she heard the chatter of a photocopier, the noises of a busy office in the middle of the day, and the realization hit her. Here she was, half-naked, backed against a wall, by a man she barely knew. Worse, she wanted him. Wanted to have wild, dirty sex with him against the wall and over the desk and on the cold tile floor of that overheated, airless, steamy room. Even as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, she knew that it was cheap and tawdry, that the tenderness, the warmth, she craved from him was missing.

  She forced herself to remember: Will cared nothing for her.

  He just wanted to make her another notch on his bedpost. He’d had the chance for tenderness back there on the mountain, and when she’d dared to reach out to him, he had rejected her and left her alone in a world that wasn’t hers. She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes. She had opened herself to him then, in that heady moment when she thought he really felt something for her, and he had shut her out.

  The buzz of the phones called her back to reality. This was her hard-fought, hard-won new job here, the new life she was battling for. Free of arrogant men who picked her up, used her, wrote their own story on her, then crumpled her up and discarded her.

  Gripping his biceps, she squeezed through his suit jacket, harder and harder. “Stop it.” Her voice was quavery, not like it usually was. “Stop, please.”

  Will felt her fingers grasping his arms but carried on kissing her.

  She dug her nails in.

  He opened his eyes and snatched his head back, still tasting cherries on his lips. He saw the smudge of lipstick around her mouth and felt the smoothness of her bare flesh in his hands.

  “Will, stop this right now,” she said firmly.

  “Emma—I thought…”

  “This is not what I want. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Embarrassment for both of us. I have work to get back to.” Her voice was tight and prim. “I have a life to get back to. Leave me alone—please.”

  She tugged her skirt back down her thighs, and he dragged himself off her and watched as she refastened her jacket with shaky fingers. Lead settled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt he’d made one huge error of judgment.

  “I’m—I’m sorry. That was…” Stupid, mad, humiliating? Having come to his senses, he couldn’t give what he’d just done a name. “It was totally unprofessional of me. I misunderstood, misread the signals.”

  Emma couldn’t look at him. “I have to go. I need to go.”

  “Not yet. Not like this.”

  “What did you think we were going to do, Will?” she snapped. “Rip our clothes off in the middle of the office? Have a quickie up against the wall? Take me over the desk? This is my workplace!”

  “Emma, I’m not an animal. I—I misunderstood. You seemed to be enjoying it too. For God’s sake, I’d never make you do anything. I’m not that—”

  “Kind of guy? Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this. It was crazy of me to let it go that far, and frankly, I feel sorry for you.”

  Will let her move to the door. When she turned back to him, he saw a new Emma: buttoned up again, the bolts firmly locked against him. Her voice sounded as icy as any mountain ridge in winter, and one never likely to thaw again.

  “I’ll pass your offer about the calendar on to James,” she was saying primly. “But I have to tell you, the sponsorship package is being finalized now, and I doubt if we can change it. You were just that bit too late.”

  Then she was gone, leaving three words burning into him.

  Sorry for him? Those words branded him with the pain of loss and humiliation. What on earth had Emma got to feel sorry for him for? Unless… No, he told himself, it was impossible. Whatever Emma might have heard about him on the village grapevine—almost certainly had heard—she couldn’t know everything.

  That he’d jilted Kate, that he was a bastard, a lady-killer—all these she probably knew and he probably deserved. But not that. He shook his head and looked around, suddenly aware of voices outside the door, of just
where he was and what he’d tried to do there.

  He was back to square one with Emma—no, make that square minus one.

  Chapter 6

  The towel dispenser nearly came off the wall as Emma stood in the ladies’.

  “Why won’t you work?” she cried in frustration as dozens of paper sheets flew out onto the tiles. Rescuing one, she wiped the smudged lip gloss she’d been trying to apply from her face, dreading one of her colleagues coming in. She thrust the gloss into her jacket pocket and gripped the edge of the washbasin. She thought she’d been so clever, so cool and calm back there—the mirror showed otherwise.

  Why did he have to be on top all the time? she asked herself. Mr. Lord of the bloody manor, Mr. High-and-Mighty Will. She hated him and hated herself more, because when he’d tried to kiss her again, blast it if her legs hadn’t wobbled. She’d wobbled all over, in fact, and when he touched her…there. When she’d felt his hands on her breasts and his finger skimming between her legs, she’d been desperate to have him inside her there and then, against the wall. And part of her was whispering that he must like her. He certainly wanted her, so it must go deeper than that, surely…

  She tried again to redo her lips, telling herself that. Will Tennant just wanted to have control. He obviously expected every woman to be at his whim. To swoon in his arms and be there—or not—as he pleased. How dare he behave in that arrogant, macho way? It was ridiculous, not to mention wholly inappropriate. In fact, if he’d been her boss, she could have had him prosecuted for sexual harassment. It was worse than that, however. He was, effectively, a client.

  She groaned aloud. So why did he have to look so gorgeous? Wearing that expensive suit and silk tie. Looking so serious and businesslike—it was unfair. Why couldn’t she have stayed calm and unruffled and professional? Why did she have to respond?