Tempting the Enemy--A Sexy Billionaire Romance

by JC Harroway

  ‘You should know by now that I’m a man who enjoys a front-row seat when it comes to getting my own back.’

  My heart gallops. Is he talking about the deal or what he’s just done to me?

  ‘I’ll take great pleasure in watching Brent’s benefit from Bold’s Midas touch.’ He slips on his suit jacket and adjusts the collar. ‘I know you would deny me that pleasure, Ava. But there’s no way out of this situation where we both get what we want, at least not professionally.’ He arches one brow, a wry smile tugging at his mouth as he takes in what is no doubt my post-orgasmic dishevelment.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ I say, my tone caustic, ‘a steamy fling will soften the blow of me losing my beloved company.’

  He deflects my sarcasm with a shrug. But he’s shown me a tiny chink in his armour and, just like him, I intend to use any weakness I can identify. ‘You still haven’t told me why.’

  His mouth tightens, his beautiful eyes darkening to stormy. ‘Because in the past, the man I bought Brent’s Express from, the same man who once tried to wrangle Hamilton’s from your grandparents at a bargain price, thought I’d amount to nothing.’

  So it is revenge motivating his plans for Hamilton’s. Just revenge over someone else, not me.

  His malicious grin gives me goosebumps. ‘I’d say he misjudged me, wouldn’t you?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ava

  A JOLT OF turbulence rocks Bold’s private jet, snatching me reluctantly away from potent memories of yesterday. Memories of the annihilating orgasm in Sterling’s office and my body’s bitter betrayal. I glance Sterling’s way, an involuntary scowl tugging down my mouth in answer to the knowing grin on his handsome, self-satisfied face.

  I spent the rest of the day working like a demon, hoping for some reprieve from the constant mental lure of his uncompromising masculinity and the weakness of my thoughts. But the remission was brief. I arrived at JFK this morning for the ninety-minute flight to Chicago, to find a fresh and energised-looking Sterling waiting inside the luxurious company jet. His roguish grin of welcome and a huskily murmured, ‘Nice to see you again,’ made my core pulse with renewed need.

  But today is about business. I won’t waste my opportunity to evaluate Brent’s Express, finding every flaw I can in order to disrupt Sterling’s plans for Hamilton’s.

  Looking away from the man who dominates my thoughts, both wakeful and dreamt, I glance to the rear of the plane. The aircraft is outfitted with white leather sofas and thick grey carpet underfoot. It also boasts a media room and master bedroom—I’m fantasising about using that bedroom to wrestle back some power. For every time he dismantles me, I can ensure I torture him in return. I may not be able to control his business plans, but I can certainly avenge every orgasm he metes out.

  Aside from using my desires against me, he’s using Hamilton’s to further his revenge over some man I’ve never heard of. It would be so much easier to walk away from him. To throw up my hands and concede to him over my business and regain my peace of mind, but there’s still hope in me that I can change his plans.

  It’s not over till it’s over. If I thought it would help, I’d show him exactly what the company means to me. But that would involve opening up and being vulnerable with him again, and that didn’t work out so well for me last time...

  I must make some sort of noise, perhaps a sigh at how I’m going to extricate myself from this pig-headed man’s lure, because he looks over sharply.

  ‘Are you thinking about me?’ His stare is intense in that way that tells me he, too, is thinking about the conclusion to yesterday’s meeting.

  ‘There’s nothing to think about. You’re just an acquaintance I’ll forget the minute I have Hamilton’s back.’

  ‘You tell yourself that if it helps you to keep your attraction for me in check.’ He grins at my attempt to fool myself. ‘But I think you’ll struggle—we have plenty in common.’

  ‘Such as mutual dislike?’ I snap, clinging to the edge of remembered ecstasy. He’ll get no concessions from me.

  He smiles a conniving smile. ‘And explosive chemistry.’

  ‘Professional distrust,’ I volley.

  He’s just as quick. ‘An insatiable inability to keep our hands off each other.’

  I look away for composure, trying to dismiss the urge to undo my seatbelt and his fly and render him speechless. ‘If you must know, I was thinking about this company you own—Brent’s Express...’ I lie, changing the subject and dousing the flames between us.

  ‘Ah, yes...’ He accepts the shift in conversation. ‘The man you’re meeting is named Vic Matheson. He’s been the manager there for years. The previous owner ran the business remotely from New York, so Vic will show you around the facility. You have the authority to observe anything you want. Full access to any information. You can also interview any member of staff. Understand?’

  I nod, confusion tugging my mouth into a frown. ‘Won’t you be there?’ I assumed his Bold business included accompanying me to Brent’s.

  Regret and something else—hesitation or vulnerability—cause his eyes to flick away from mine. ‘No—I have other work to do.’ He looks out of the small window beside him as the pilot announces the start of our descent into Midway Airport.

  ‘Okay...’ I conceal my puzzling disappointment. Since when do I need his presence every minute of the day?

  Since he became a full-blown addiction, that’s when.

  ‘You’re giving me an awful lot of power for an arch enemy...’ I wonder what it is about this company that prods at his defences. In contrast to the supremely assured, confident and guarded Sterling, his flashes of humanity are messing with my head. ‘I thought you didn’t trust anyone,’ I say. A pretty cynical standpoint I’d also like to get to the bottom of.

  My temples throb with tension—I’m in way too deep. He’s selling my company out from under my nose. He’s even got me helping him to do it. Yet I’m intrigued and want to know more about what has shaped him and what makes him tick.

  He smiles. ‘I trust your opinion in the logistics field, that’s all.’

  His admission leaves me restless, even though I don’t trust him in return. I may crave him but he remains enemy number one.

  Sterling continues, ‘Brent’s has been left to stagnate in recent years. The former owner—’

  ‘A man you detest,’ I interject.

  His smile is brittle. ‘He pitted himself as a savvy businessman, but he cared only for profits.’ His caginess has returned, his eyes turning hard. ‘I’m certain you’ll find plenty of room for improvement, although Vic has done his best as manager.’

  My hairs stand to attention. What isn’t he telling me? His interest in a company left to stagnate makes no sense. From those Secrets of My Success articles, in which he regularly features, I know him to be an astute and driven investor.

  ‘How long have you owned Brent’s?’ I ask. I don’t want Hamilton’s dragged down by association with a neglected business. My grandparents were well-respected in New York and I’ve done everything in my power to maintain Hamilton’s good standing.

  ‘Six months.’ A muscle ticks in his jaw. He doesn’t want to talk about this acquisition, which doesn’t sound like one of Bold’s usual winners—poised on the cusp of global success. But what if his golden touch fails? What if all he achieves with his revenge over Brent’s past owner is to ruin Hamilton’s too? I won’t watch everything my grandparents loved, everything I’ve worked my entire adult life for, disintegrate.

  This is my livelihood.

  ‘I don’t understand. You’re shrewd and have an uncanny knack for spotting a company on the way up. It doesn’t sound like the usual high-return investment you’re renowned for.’

  He watches me, something admiring shifting through his expression. ‘With the rebrand, with my name above the door, I’ll clear all of the rot allowed by
my predecessor.’ Those devastating lips of his flatten into a telling line. I feel his animosity for this man and it makes our spat feel like a misunderstanding, which is exactly how it began.

  ‘Why buy the company at all if it’s in such bad shape?’ Why would a composed businessman of his calibre allow feelings to influence this deal?

  His smile turns cold. I’m reminded of the day he stormed into my office with accusation and revenge on his mind. It’s the same ruthless determination he applied to pleasuring me against the door yesterday.

  ‘It was more of a personal conquest than a professional investment. I’ve told you that the original owner underestimated me. I saw an opportunity to snatch up his company when he was desperate to sell and I took it. I knew the day would come when I could improve on the way he’d left it, tenfold.’

  ‘So you bought his company for no other reason than to exact your revenge and prove him wrong?’ And now Hamilton’s is caught up in the crossfire.

  ‘You may not understand my motivations, but I assure you I have very good grounds—the man not only neglected his company and his staff but was also a bully. An emotional manipulator who used other people’s weaknesses to serve his own interests and feel good about himself. He deserved everything he got.’

  My brows pinch together as I stare at this vengeful stranger I’m struggling to equate with the passionate and considerate lover I’ve experienced—even as I acknowledge distress that my grandparents might have fallen foul of the calculating man he’s describing.

  ‘I see...’ About as clearly as peering through molasses. But I’m more desperate than ever to extricate Hamilton’s from his grasp. His motivation for this merger is deeply personal. It’s hard to be rational and objective when that degree of emotion is involved. I know—it’s how I feel about Hamilton’s, as if I can’t exist if my company is no more.

  As the plane continues its decent, Sterling takes a business call, terminating the unsettling conversation that leaves me with more questions than answers, but also filled with new resolve. I can’t let my family down.

  Sudden crushing loneliness descends on me, squeezing the air from my lungs as if the cabin has become depressurised.

  I lost so much when I lost my parents, including my sense of direction. I was angry and withdrawn for most of my teens. I spent my free time locked away in my room. I refused to talk about my feelings to the two people who loved me and had taken me in. I even started skipping school until my grades suffered and I woke up to the fact that I could repay them by working at Hamilton’s. I owe my grandparents everything, especially the fight to save their company.

  Inside the car that collects us from the airport, I follow Sterling’s lead and sink into silent reflection. We’re complex beings, caught somewhere between lovers and enemies. I want to resent him and punish him and dismiss him, but the longer I know him and witness his struggle with his own demons, the farther away that possibility seems to slip.

  While I tour the facilities at Brent’s, Sterling is constantly on my mind. And it seems I’m on his, if his texts are any indication:

  I’m sorry I’m not there with you—I hope you’ve been made welcome.

  And then later:

  I appreciate your help with this, despite everything.

  I suspect that’s as close to an apology as I’ll get from him over his wild accusations and over Hamilton’s. Not that I’ve given up the battle. In comparison to Brent’s, Hamilton’s is positively prosperous. Staff morale here is low, the warehousing needs a total overhaul and Vic, who’s knowledgeable and motivated, tells me that they’ve lost three major clients this month alone. Brent’s software is outdated, and they’re losing money at an alarming rate, according to the firm accountant I talk to over lunch. That’s the reason, I discover, that Sterling has been personally bankrolling staff salaries and operations since he bought the company six months ago.

  By the time I make it back to the hotel I’m exhausted and full of questions that not even a long hot shower can expel.

  With my hair freshly blow-dried and my body encased in a hotel robe, I pour a glass of wine, plagued by doubts. Seeing what bad shape Brent’s Express is in has made me fearful for the future of my company. What if I can’t turn Hamilton’s around alone? With poor management and no one to help make a success of it, I could just as easily lose the loyalty of my staff and lose clients.

  The desolate loneliness of earlier returns as I toy with the stem of my wineglass. As if to taunt me, memories of happy times with my parents rush in. They always feature cooking, which was a huge part of our lives before the accident. The three of us together in the kitchen. Laughter. Favourite recipes that felt like home. Working together to make their dream, their restaurant, a success.

  In the years following my parents’ death, without their guiding influence, I was convinced that nothing would ever be the same again. I abandoned my childhood dreams of one day working in the restaurant full time and merely existed, putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and breathing out, going through the motions of studying and college and work in order to steer my mind away from actually having to think about my happiness, and my personal goals.

  What if Sterling doesn’t have a change of heart over Hamilton’s? You’d be free to pursue a different dream.

  While that seems more attractive than the colossal battle to save Hamilton’s, I can’t think about that possibility right now. The ramifications of losing my company feel too enormous.

  The walls of my hotel room start to close in. An oppressive ache rumbles behind my sternum. I reach for my phone, my paramount thought of the man I can’t seem to forget even as an adversary.

  The visit went well. The staff were very accommodating. I hope you’ve had a productive day.

  I send Sterling the decoy text, my fingers trembling with the force of how badly I want to see him. How can that be? How can I become lost in his sea-green eyes when I’ve no idea what he’s thinking or planning, but I’m certain I wouldn’t like it? How can I want to spend time with him, even though I’m equally consumed by ways to professionally outmanoeuvre him?

  I swallow a sip of wine in disgust, hating that I want him physically as much as I did the first time we met, or perhaps more... As much as I wish my grandparents and I had never met him, I know this lost feeling will dissolve the minute he touches me. Despite myself and my body’s betrayal, I’ll forget I’m treading water. My mind will clear for a few blissful seconds of pleasure before reality comes crashing back down on me.

  How can I be so conflicted? How can I be so disloyal to my family? Why can’t I just walk away from him?

  Because the fight for Hamilton’s is all caught up in your physical relationship.

  Yes, I’m letting him get close, but it’s necessary for the fight. And I’ll keep fighting. I’ll make him pay for his secrecy and his agenda and for seducing me.

  A knock at the door shunts my already excited pulse to a gallop. I use the peephole. Finding Sterling on the other side of the door, I press my forehead to the cool wood and exhale a long breath of preparation. I can try to resist him. Demand answers to my questions. But I already know my weakness for him will win. Temporarily.

  I swing open the door, trying to conceal my excitement. He’s dressed down in denims and a T-shirt, his dishevelled hair damp from a shower. My fingers twitch to grab him and haul him inside.

  When we lock eyes, his stormy green stare is haunted.

  Something lurches inside me. Compassion? Understanding? Need? All I know is that nothing is as it seems on the surface. For either of us.

  ‘Invite me in?’ He frames it as a question but there’s enough command in his voice that I know he too is battling demons tonight. Is it the man he hates? I shouldn’t care. Losing my parents has made me wary of my interactions with others, never getting too close. But Sterling and I are linked in this inescapable fight t
o the end, and, as he said, only one of us can win.

  I open the door wider, inviting him in. Wave after wave of physical longing buffets my system—my lips buzz for his kiss, my nipples tingle for his touch and I ache between my legs.

  But I want to dismantle him more.

  ‘It’s been a long day.’ I raise my glass of wine in explanation. ‘Want one?’ I hope he can’t hear the tremble in my voice betraying my need.

  He prowls inside, all caged energy. The intense chemistry that is our norm swirls around us like tendrils of smoke.

  ‘Please.’ He nods, his face taut and his eyes unreadable.

  I pour him a drink. Our fingers brush as he takes the offering. My tiny gasp ricochets around the silent room. My game plan dissipates in the face of my desire for him.

  ‘You look...agitated. Bad day?’ I ask. If I don’t say something I’m going to tear at his clothes and selfishly demand he make me forget my own worries.

  He takes a swallow of wine, his eyes fixed on mine over the rim of the glass. But it’s not hostility or distrust I see there. It’s turmoil. It shifts something inside me, something new and fragile.

  ‘Are we becoming friends now, Ava?’ His deceptively calm voice—deep and with a steely edge—makes my blood rush and my skin heat the way it did when he ran his hands over my naked body our first time.

  I shrug, feeling desperate and uncertain all at once. ‘I don’t know what we are—’ I confess the truth ‘—but something’s bothering you.’

  And things are bothering me, too. Like the fact that I’m more intent on getting naked with him than I am on having it out with him over Brent’s, and what my inattention where my business is concerned means. Am I just distracted by the way Sterling makes me feel? Or am I mentally preparing myself, shutting down some of the threads of emotional entanglement with the business I inherited in light of my visit to Brent’s. It’s hard not to draw comparisons between the two companies and even harder to shake the weight of responsibility for Hamilton’s when I could leave that to him.