Tempting the Enemy--A Sexy Billionaire Romance

by JC Harroway

But it should never have happened.

  ‘Stupid, Ava, really stupid...’ I jab at the delete key to erase the mistake I’ve just made. I should have told Sterling what I really wanted from the minute he introduced himself.

  I just wasn’t expecting our chemistry to flare up like a bonfire. I’d wanted him more than an appointment in that instant in the elevator. Crazy, because this business represents everything to me—all I have left of my family. All I have in the world...

  Has that always sounded so pathetic?

  I glance around my comforting but eclectic office—no sleek, modern sanctum here. Instead memories and ghosts lurk in every cluttered corner. The set of bookshelves are the ones my mother took to college. Nonna and Pops rescued the coffee machine from my parents’ restaurant before it had to be sold. I have pictures of Mum and Dad sitting on the battered sofa under the window the day they came to this very office to tell my grandparents they were engaged.

  I sigh and drop my head into my hands. Why did I sleep with Sterling, of all men? It’s only made things more awkward. Unprofessional. Now I’ll have to contact him and say Hey, remember me, the woman from the one-night stand on Friday? Well, guess what? We co-own a business I’d really like back.

  Exactly the kind of call I want to make on a Monday morning when nothing seems to be going right...

  Itching with self-accusation, I rise from behind my desk and pace to the window. My office sits in a warehouse complex on a lot of land my grandfather bought before my mom was born, near the Brooklyn Navy Yard. From the far right of my window I can just see a strip of the East River and half of the Manhattan Bridge beyond the redbrick industrial buildings. It’s a view I’ve stared at many times while trying to figure out my life.

  And I find myself here again.

  At fourteen, I stood here to grieve my parents, my face hot and swollen from all the tears I’d shed. I couldn’t contemplate school, but I couldn’t stand to be left alone for fear of my intrusive thoughts, which were determined to torture me with the horrific way my parents died. I spent hours in this very room, staring at that sliver of blue water through unseeing eyes, oblivious to my grandfather chatting to clients on the phone and numb to his painstaking two-finger typing on the computer. Yet I always felt his watchfulness. Sensed his and Nonna’s concern for the teenage girl they had no idea how to reach. I lost track of the number of times I curled up on the sofa under a blanket with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep so my grandparents wouldn’t worry as they tried to get on with their own lives and run their company. The only thing I knew with any certainty back then was that nothing could ever fill the void left behind by the accident.

  And I’d been right: nothing ever has.

  Nonna and Pops changed too after losing Mum, their only child. I owe them so much for taking me in in their twilight years. They raised me while they grieved for their daughter. They even gave me a career, a secure job—first as office gofer after school, then part-time warehouse manager during college, then, once I’d completed my MBA, more and more managerial responsibility. And now, when their beloved business, their life’s work, is in my hands—when I’ve saved every penny I have from the modest inheritance left to me by my parents in order to take full control and steer Hamilton’s back into the black—I’m here again, in this very same spot.

  So why did you blow your chance with Lombard?

  Because I wanted to feel like a woman. To embrace the unexpected and fierce connection and switch off my brain’s incessant worrying for a few minutes of relief. For a brief, indulgent moment, I wanted to banish my loneliness and feel like a success.

  A frustrated sigh gusts out of me. My parents’ death taught me that security and certainty were luxuries I could no longer take for granted. If I put in the hours, return Hamilton’s to its glory days, surely I’ll find exactly the peace of mind and sense of belonging I crave. And the first step is claiming back the equity sold to Sterling Lombard.

  So what are you waiting for?

  If I call his office and leave my name, he’ll probably take my call. He wanted my number, yet I sneaked out like a coward instead of facing him and confessing the real reason I attended his party.

  But I can explain all of that.

  I’m just about to turn away from the view when a flashy grey Porsche convertible pulls into the parking lot below. My stomach flips with familiar grief—the driver who hit my parents was driving something similar, speeding while intoxicated. The car looks so out of place amid the row of bicycles propped in the rack and the modest Hondas and Fords belonging to my staff that I assume the driver must be lost, but a sixth sense prevents me from returning to my desk.

  I focus on the sole occupant as he kills the engine, seeing only the back of his sandy blond head and broad shoulders.

  I freeze. Dread floods my body with chills.

  Sterling Lombard climbs from the low-slung vehicle.

  Breath hisses out of me as he buttons his suit jacket with one hand and glances up at my fourth-floor window. I dive back from sight, panicking as the events of Friday night come crashing down around me.

  What is he doing here? How did he track me down? A man of his relentless resourcefulness would have no problem locating the woman who seduced him in the elevator and then fled from his bed while he slept without so much as a ‘goodbye and thanks for the orgasms’.

  I wince, struck with fresh guilt. I’d wanted to stay, but the minute his breathing turned shallow and regular, telling me he’d fallen asleep, remorse had pressed down on me until I feared I’d never move again. I debated shaking him awake to confess, but it made me feel like I’d somehow used him sexually, when I’d simply been carried away by his hotness and my body’s reaction.

  Looks like now I’ll have my chance to explain.

  With my heart in my throat, I race to my desk, uselessly shoving piles of papers around in an attempt to tidy up but achieving nothing. I open the door and call to my assistant, Judy, with instructions to delay him. Then, ridiculously, I duck into my tiny private bathroom and check my flushed face in the mirror.

  Hair caught up in a utilitarian ponytail, check.

  Cheeks pink in a way that makes me look guilty, check.

  Eyes bright with both excitement and dismay, check.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I say to my reflection as I smear on some fresh lip gloss and ignore the way heat sizzles through my veins at the idea of seeing him again. Even in the cold light of day he’s so gorgeous—confident and sophisticated. Sexy and charming. Hung and talented...

  Forget about him naked and plead your case for Hamilton’s.

  Right.

  Back at my desk I wonder if I have time to scoop all the clutter into a bin liner and then calmly and professionally instruct Judy to escort him in. Before I can move a muscle there’s a hurried knock at the door.

  Judy’s flustered face is puce with embarrassment. ‘There’s a Mr Lombard to—’

  ‘She knows who I am,’ says Sterling, stepping around Judy and instantly shrinking my office to half its size with his impressive physique and commanding aura.

  ‘Question is, who is she?’ His eyes shine like shards of sea glass as he pins me with an accusatory stare.

  That fizzle of awareness snakes across the room. He may be all buttoned up now, his angular face clean-shaven and his hair tamed, but all I can see is the man who kissed me like there was no tomorrow and made me cry out his name.

  Twice.

  I swallow, speechless, my eyes taking a once-over of his magnificent body. This suit is charcoal, tailored to within an inch of its life, and hugs his powerful frame in a way that tells me it’s bespoke. His white shirt is so crisp it wouldn’t dare wrinkle and the mauve tie makes the green of his eyes pop even more than they did when he was buried inside me husking out a feral growl.

  I want to hide. Instead I sit behind my desk and calmly cross m
y legs, as if being interrupted by irate investors I’ve screwed is an everyday occurrence with which I’m perfectly comfortable.

  ‘Thank you, Judy,’ I say, my voice tight with nerves as my assistant flees. I drag my longing glance from the door and reluctantly meet Sterling’s stare. ‘Well, this is a surprise.’

  The fact that he’s come to my office means he’s connected the dots and knows exactly who I am and how we share ownership of Hamilton’s.

  ‘Is it?’ His tone is short. That deeply seductive voice a distant memory.

  But my body remembers. Come for me, beautiful Ava. Have I ever felt so physically worshipped? So in tune with another person? So entranced?

  No wonder I can’t forget the sex.

  ‘You didn’t leave me your number.’ His nostrils flare. ‘I assume that meant you wanted no further contact with me.’

  I burn inside with shame that I had a great time in his bed but left without warning. My reasons now seem hazy and cowardly. I can’t fathom what I was thinking. I only know I’d gone into Manhattan Friday night for one thing and it wasn’t meeting a man who pressed all my sexual buttons and then some.

  ‘And yet you tracked me down in your luxury European sports car.’

  His lip curls.

  Why am I judging and antagonising him when he clearly has an axe to grind? I should just apologise and explain. But where do I start?

  ‘And what do you drive?’ he asks. ‘A scooter? One of those bikes outside? Rollerblades?’ He eyes my outfit, a self-congratulatory smile stretching his mouth when his inspection reaches my feet.

  I have a penchant for heels, the higher the better, but there’s a pair of sneakers in my closet for the walk home.

  ‘I don’t drive at all.’ I regret the unguarded response instantly. I don’t want him to know any more about me than he’s already discovered from the internet.

  To prevent him asking why, I plough on, demanding the most pressing answer. ‘How did you find me?’ There’s accusation in my tone now, but I always fight fire with fire. It’s in my passionate Italian blood. He came here prepared for a showdown, when all I did was ghost him.

  He shrugs. ‘I had your number within an hour of waking up alone. You really should address your online discoverability—there are a lot of creeps out there. I can recommend a security company in which I own stock, if you’re interested.’

  ‘Thanks for the heads up.’ I bristle, horrified to acknowledge any vulnerability to this ruthless version of him, when only sixty hours ago I entrusted him with my body and my pleasure. When I wanted him with a ferocity that eclipsed my goal for seeking him out.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here, actually.’ I clear my dry throat. ‘I wanted to talk to you and you’ve saved me a trip into Manhattan. Won’t you have a seat?’

  I can salvage this. Sure, it’s a bit more awkward than I would have liked, but my gatecrashing stunt on Friday had the desired result—I have his attention captive. He’s in my office. Time to ignore how I still want to remove that suit with my teeth and present my business proposal.

  ‘I’ll stand,’ he says, his stare somehow mocking as if he already knows what I want. Turning his back on me, he wanders around, eyeing the old industry award certificates on the walls and the framed pictures of Pops breaking ground for the building we’re currently standing in. This office abuts our fifty thousand square foot climate-controlled warehouse facility next door.

  ‘Okay.’ I wet my lips and drag my eyes away from his rear. I can appeal to his sense of integrity and fairness. ‘Well, as you’ve discovered, I’m the owner and operator of Hamilton Logistics—’

  ‘Part-owner.’ His voice is eerily calm as he looks at me with suspicion over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes...part-owner.’ Surely he’s a reasonable man. All I did was leave after the sex was over. A woman must have done that to him before. ‘I only discovered your interest in Hamilton’s recently from the company lawyer. You see, I inherited the business from my grandparents, who founded it in the sixties.’

  He turns from peering out of my window and nods, urging me to continue while his expression remains unreadable. Considering the length of time I’ve had to perfect my pitch, this is going decidedly badly. If only I hadn’t slept with him, hadn’t blurred the line...

  You still want him, that’s why you’re tripping over your words.

  I clear my throat nervously. ‘Pops—that’s him on the wall—’ I point to the photo of a smiling, fair-haired man wearing a hard hat, from whom I inherited my blue eyes ‘—he started specialising in valuable and difficult-to-ship items, so he found a niche in the market at that time. It grew from there and now we service the entire East Coast...’ My voice peters out at his continued silence, which is more foreboding than the annoyance he displayed when he first arrived.

  ‘You knew who I was in the elevator, didn’t you?’ he utters in a quiet voice. ‘Before I introduced myself...’

  I bite my lip, guilt hot like sunburn. I should have come clean about my reasons for being there Friday. When I look up from my fidgety fingers, which are ineffectually straightening papers on my desk, his stare is full of ice as if I’ve committed the crime of the decade.

  ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I was desperate. I’ve been trying to arrange an appointment with you for months.’

  ‘So you lied your way into Bold’s office party, which was for loyal employees and select partners only.’ The English lilt to his accent is more pronounced when he’s angry. More haughty. He’s like an American Mr Darcy... I try not to find it sexy but fail miserably.

  ‘No... Kind of.’ It was a last ditch attempt to speak to him, and then once we’d slept together, I felt overwhelmed. ‘I wanted to get your attention, that’s all. To meet you and request a face-to-face conference during office hours.’

  If only he’d agreed, none of this would have happened. His implacable stance is beginning to grind my gears. As if I’m guilty of committing some sort of industrial espionage or single-handedly eating the supply of Bold caviar from the buffet.

  ‘I know you’re a busy man, but the little people deserve to be heard, too. Without companies like mine, you’d have nothing in which to invest.’

  His stare turns flinty. Somehow I’m making this worse, not clearing up the misunderstanding. ‘And without me, Hamilton Logistics would have sunk into bankruptcy years ago.’

  ‘Oh, well, aren’t you noble?’ I wince, hating that he knows my company as well as he seemed to know my body, playing me to near exhaustion with his wicked mouth and sexual finesse. ‘Look, I don’t dispute that my grandparents must have needed help—at the time they came to you I was away at grad school. Although, I don’t understand why someone like you would bail out a small troubled company.’ I silence the reminder on my phone telling me I need to be in the warehouse in five minutes. ‘But to get back to my point—’

  ‘So you slept with me to get an appointment? I have to say, that’s pretty cold—not the impression I had of the sensual woman I met on Friday.’ His eyes glitter, a glacial smile on his lips as if he expected the appalling behaviour he’s accusing me of.

  ‘I did no such thing. We seduced each other.’ Heat rushes up my neck at the memories of the way I behaved. One look at his hotness is the only excuse I can muster. ‘I’ve been fobbed off with your associates for months. I wanted to go straight to the top. I planned to approach you at the party—’

  He paces closer, an air of danger pulsing around him. I should heed it. He’s dangerous to my good sense, to my instincts, to my self-preservation—even now I want him still. ‘So you stalked me and seduced me? This keeps getting better and better...’

  ‘No. Yes... I mean, I didn’t stalk you. I was leaving because I thought you wouldn’t show up.’ I grip my hands together in turmoil.

  How can he affect me so much? It was just sex.

  Amazing, unforgettable sex.
Admit it, he’s the hottest man you’ve ever met. For a moment in his arms, with his kiss on your lips, you didn’t feel so...alone.

  He tilts his head, his stare moving over my face leaving me even more flustered. I recall that look. He used it on Friday night when I was naked and panting and watching him go down on me.

  Only now, with his bad attitude, it’s tainted. He’s like a different person today, not the charming, considerate lover of Friday.

  ‘So,’ he shrugs, ‘make it right. I’m here. This is the shot you say you’ve been waiting for.’ He crosses his arms over his chest and grips his biceps.

  I should be relieved—this is my chance to appeal to him professionally. Instead, warning buzzes over my skin like static electricity. It feels like he’s toying with me. Like I’m a mouse and he’s sharpening his lethal claws.

  ‘Okay.’ I hold his challenging eye contact. Hamilton’s is important enough for me to swallow a slice of humble pie. ‘I want you to sell me your Hamilton’s equity.’

  He has the temerity to laugh.

  Shards of contempt pierce me in that moment. I at least expected integrity, manners and professionalism from him.

  Yet you weren’t professional on Friday...

  That was ill-judged lust.

  ‘Fine.’ He paces closer. ‘I’ll take the bait and ask—why would I do that?’ His stare narrows but to my consternation it’s still there, the connection we shared in the elevator. Like fingers of temptation licking at my skin. No matter how much we both wish our one-night stand had never happened, it seems we can’t avoid the thing that brought us together.

  ‘Well, as you know, the company has been struggling for a while.’ I lift my chin, hating to admit any weakness. ‘I’m sure you have many other investments that outperform us. What’s one little third-party logistics company to you—the great Sterling Lombard?’

  ‘If that’s the case, if Hamilton’s is floundering, surely you need more of my investment and expertise, not less. You’re not even in a position to buy back the stock.’

  My stomach pinches. I didn’t want to go into this much detail. I hoped he’d be relieved to offload a company that must be a pretty low priority for a big hitter like Bold.