She turned, looked at the glass in her hand, tempted to lift the thing and drain it—and then the rest of the bottle. But that would be telling and she wasn’t letting him know how much his appearance had thrown her. Nor was she ever letting him know how badly he’d hurt her—not when he was here chasing someone else. Not when he was looking so, so...fine.
She turned back and offered him the glass. ‘Champagne?’ she repeated, pleased her voice sounded almost normal.
He was still looking right at her and his smile deepened. ‘Thank you.’
The tips of his fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. She suppressed the shiver, turning to pour herself a glass with a slow, careful hand. She took a very small, very controlled sip. She drew a breath but her throat was totally dry—as if the liquid she’d just swallowed had evaporated. Actually it probably had, because she was unbearably hot.
So hot.
It would be rude not to look at him, right? Not to talk. Swallowing, she went back to staring.
Tall, dark—and, you got it, handsomer than any of those pretty guys who’d been strutting it down the catwalk all week—Liam Wilson exuded more masculinity than all of them put together. More rugged, more raw—nothing but muscle and determination, all but breathing fire. He was slightly thinner than when she’d last seen him and his hair might be longer, but his edges had hardened—leaving him leaner and, yeah, meaner. His smarts were still visible—splinter sharp in his gold-flecked brown eyes. More than intelligent, he’d been calculating. And, in the end, ruthless. Doubtless he still was.
Mr All or Nothing. The ‘all’ had been fierce intensity. The ‘nothing’ had meant absolute abandonment. He’d enticed her—claimed her completely. And then ditched her.
Well, that was okay. She’d moved on—higher, further than she’d ever imagined she would. So she had pride, right? Good defence. She’d argue the heat in her cheeks was because she’d been working hard.
‘Hold still,’ Gia snapped louder than the steel scissors she was using to free Alannah from the frock.
Neither Liam nor Vivi moved. But the amusement in his eyes deepened, as did the intensity of colour. Too gorgeous for any woman’s good.
‘Did you enjoy the show?’ she asked, trying to suck back some cool. Failing.
‘It was stunning.’
How had he come to Alannah’s attention? Vivi didn’t know what he did any more. Five years ago he’d been on the competitive sailing circuit. Teaching on the side, taking wealthy types like Oliver out, getting them some skills and himself money, status—building a reputation that led to demand. Alannah didn’t seem the type to want to learn to sail.
But Liam had other talents. And he was clearly good at whatever he did now, given the fabric and fit of his suit. Bespoke. Emphasising the bold, beautiful body beneath.
Hot enough to combust, Vivi wrenched her gaze from him, hideously aware that beneath her white shirt her breasts were unfettered and right this second straining towards him.
Stupid body.
But it remembered. Everything. She’d had the hottest sex of her life with this guy—incandescent passion fraught with guilt. Three weeks of burning up bedroom after bedroom, barely surfacing to breathe and travel on. Intense. Insane.
Unsustainable.
Because it ought to have been forbidden. She’d broken all the rules and she knew it. Doubt had wormed its way into her heart. In the end the old cliché was true: lust was not enough. It was no foundation for anything solid to be built on. Even though she’d given him everything. Given up everything for him.
But he hadn’t wanted it. All he’d wanted was—
‘Don’t move too fast—you’ll wreck it.’ Gia’s words rang in the scorching room. Vivi snapped back to the present.
‘Gia’s work is incredible.’ She produced a smile, determined to break the hot-ice moment and fill in the wait for the others to re-emerge.
‘Yes, she’s amazing.’
‘As are the models, of course.’ Vivi couldn’t help an acidic tinge filtering through.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed, his voice deepening.
Of course. Back then she should have known he was nothing but a flirt, but she’d been so young—she’d believed in the happy-ever-after fairy tale. Fool.
‘So, you’re Vivi now?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin. It had taken a long time and a lot of effort to become Vivi and she was proud of what she’d achieved.
He angled his head, watching her far too close for comfort. ‘You’ll always be Victoria to me.’
She froze at the friendly tease. ‘Naturally you’d be unable to do something that I’d prefer. You’ve only ever done what you wanted to.’ She covered the slight bite with a laugh and a superglued-on smile.
His smile also flashed wider, but his eyes sparked. ‘Well, I’m still Liam. In case you’d forgotten my name.’
As if she could ever forget his name. As if she could ever forget his face, his mouth, his hands, his body and the way he used it...
She blinked and halted her thoughts. She’d been there, done that, burned the tee shirt. She had self-control now. Grown up, mature, she wasn’t the bowled-over idiot she’d been. And once bitten, she was now ninety-nine times shy of this guy. She should turn tail and run. She couldn’t lose herself again.
Except she was no longer a coward. She was a highly paid, valued and skilled assistant to one of the world’s most iconoclastic talents. And she wasn’t going to let him get to her or cause trouble at a time that was far too important. And that was the point. She was being paid to be here and do a freaking awesome job. So here she’d stay. But she sure wished she could get her bra back on.
‘It’s been a while.’ He offered another easy conversation starter with another too easy smile.
Okay, that was how they’d play it—like vaguely friendly, old acquaintances. ‘I suppose,’ she agreed, as if she’d not really noticed. As if she couldn’t tell him down to the last minute.
He looked amused. ‘You look different.’ His attention lifted to her hair. ‘And yet the same.’ His lids fluttered as he swiftly looked down her body and back to her face. There hadn’t been a blatant stare at her boobs, but she knew he noticed them—she felt it in their response.
‘Still beautiful,’ he added quietly.
Oh, hell. She wasn’t going to let him seduce her with his soft-spoken, smiling wickedness—especially when she knew all it ever had been was words. No matter how sincere he could sound, there was no genuine emotion behind them.
‘While you’re looking as wolfish as ever.’ She deliberately glanced at the screen Alannah was changing behind. ‘You still love a challenge and a chase?’
He laughed. ‘Possibly.’
There was no ‘possible’ about it.
‘So you work for Gia?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m very fortunate.’ Vivi maintained her composure. She hadn’t spent the last few years working around models not to pick up a few points—like the ability to smile on demand no matter how you were feeling inside.
At that moment, Gia materialised, the steel scissors still in her hands. ‘Tell me more about your plans,’ she said to Liam.
Vivi leapt at the opportunity to duck behind the screen. Alannah was just pulling on a stunning minidress that should by rights be a tee shirt. She had no bra on either.
‘It seems to be the look tonight.’ Alannah winked.
Yeah, well, it was all right for Alannah—she was the definition of pert’n’petite.
‘Where’s my bra?’ Vivi violently whispered.
‘That ugly thing was a bra?’ Alannah answered excruciatingly loudly. ‘No idea.’ She breezed out from the curtain to sing at the others. ‘Comfort stop, won’t be a sec.’
Vivi stayed hidden, hunting for her bra and acutely aware of the quiet—inaudible—murmuring between Gia and Liam. How had Liam met Gia? Victoria had control of the calendar; she knew everything Gia was up to, didn’t she?
He had to b
e here for Alannah. He must be the guy the model reckoned was the love of her life. Vivi grimly hoped that the usual pattern was followed and the ‘Unattainable’ would eat him up and spit him out.
Finally she found remnants of her bra on the floor. Unlike the dress, no time and care had been taken to preserve it from the sharp shears. There was nothing for it but to go back out there and face him—headlights on full. Straightening her shoulders in pure defiance, she stepped out from the small screen.
‘Vivi, hurry up.’ Gia frowned.
She had no intention of hurrying anywhere with them. She still had work to do—thank heavens. ‘Gia, I can’t come with you now. I need to supervise the—’
‘One of the others can do it.’
Oh, she had to be kidding. But Vivi recognised the hard light in Gia’s eyes. The woman might be a genius but she was notoriously difficult when consumed by her latest idea. It seemed inspiration might have struck in the last ten seconds. Vivi kept her tones calm and sensible. ‘All right, but I need to go by the hotel to—’
‘There’s no time for that,’ Gia snapped. ‘I need you with me now.’
No mistaking that tone. While Vivi was used to Gia’s imperious orders, others were often shocked by her supersonic switch to demanding Diva-Of-Them-All. Vivi glanced at Liam and saw the slight tightening around his eyes. But he looked from Gia to her and his momentarily forbidding expression shattered as he turned on a smile.
Vivi turned away and drew breath. Great, so now she got to go to the glamorous after-party in the clothes she’d been wearing all day, without half her underwear, and in the presence of an ex-lover whom she’d never quite got out from under her skin. The one guy in front of whom, if she had to ever see him again, she’d want to look hotter than hot.
Well, doubtless she looked hot—her face felt as flamed as a tomato on a grill. Her frigidly efficient persona had melted and she was mortified. Given the field she worked in, maybe she should be less conservative sartorially, but her attire was part of her armour and at this moment she needed all the steel she could get her hands on. What she really needed was a chastity belt. She wasn’t getting sucked under by the tsunami of sensual power that was Liam. Not again.
A bunch of paps loitered by the limo. Vivi put on her best secretary face and acted as bodyguard for Alannah. She’d long since learned the best way to ensure the photographers didn’t bother taking a picture of her was to look as if she were on a mission and hold a clipboard or something. Tonight she clutched her bag to her chest.
Liam had also stepped ahead of the two stars and now held the car door for them—looking like a much more efficient bodyguard than she as she brought up the rear. Clearly amused, he looked right at her bag as if he knew exactly what it was she was really trying to hide. She got into the limo, painfully aware of him getting a face full of her butt as he waited to get in after her.
He took the seat opposite hers, the one next to Alannah. So she got to watch as he conquered the Unattainable? Okay, she didn’t need the chastity belt, but a paper bag to stick her head in would be really welcome right about now. Because he would succeed where all others had failed. Wasn’t that what Liam was all about? Winning what no one else could.
‘So, what’s so special about this boat you were telling me about?’ Gia picked up on the conversation she’d been having with Liam while Vivi had been bra-hunting behind the screen. ‘Sell it to me.’ She went into bottom-line businesswoman mode.
‘Everything. Sleek lines, luxurious fabric, simple design. You get comfort but elite performance. The speed over the water is unlike anything in its class. I think you’ll find it an exceptionally good fit.’ Liam didn’t do plain business-speak. The way he spoke evoked the sensuality of the design he was discussing. It was obviously still boats for him, then. Still that ‘freedom’ that was so important to him and that he could never find on land. Glancing at Gia, Vivi could see his effect in action. He always spoke with that smile in his voice, with the kind of confidence that had everyone leaning forward and listening.
‘Will you take me out on it?’ Alannah asked with one of her coquettish giggles.
‘I’d love nothing more.’
Goosebumps feathered over Vivi’s hot and cold skin. She was hyper-aware of him sitting so close, but she point blank refused to look at him. She studied the plain fabric of her skirt instead. Once she’d had the freedom to touch him when and how she liked. And she’d liked—too much. But it wasn’t just the possibility of touch making her squirmy; he managed to attack all her other senses too—most especially with that scent.
Vivi wasn’t wearing perfume, nor were Gia or Alannah. The models used nothing to stain the delicate fabrics used, nothing that would interfere with the understated scent in the catwalk salon—Gia’s shows were carefully designed multi-sensory experiences. So that subtle scent in the car wasn’t coming from anyone but Liam.
Musky, masculine, delectable.
Once he’d smelt of sea and sun, even in mid-winter. Now that was masked with a splash of something expensive—and every bit as devastating.
‘I think it could work,’ Gia said. ‘I want to see it. We can go from there.’
Vivi’s muscles screamed with tension. Liam and Gia were working some deal? It was Vivi’s job to have all potential business partners screened by Gia’s financial advisers. She could have had this nixed had she been aware of it. Because no way on this earth did she want to have to work with Liam on anything. She was getting through this car ride and then leaving him and Alannah to it. She just did not want to know.
‘We’re looking at using Liam’s new boat for a one-off fashion shoot.’ Gia coolly confirmed the worst. ‘You arrange it, Vivi.’
Vivi glanced at him, stiffening as she encountered his watchful eyes. He had an annoyingly amused look on his face, as if he suspected how much she didn’t want to arrange it. As if he knew she wanted to tell him to go jump off one of his precious boats. But she didn’t tell him. Instead she pulled on her tough-nut, impervious-to-stress persona.
‘Of course.’ She smiled. What Gia wanted, Vivi did. She was professional and she had no problem working with someone equally professional. She’d calmly navigate these waters with Liam’s own secretary. ‘No doubt you have an assistant I can liaise with, Liam?’
‘Not here,’ he answered with a roguish drawl and a deliberately unapologetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to liaise directly with me.’
TWO
The extravagant hotel in Milan had more bouncers roaming the rooms than the fashion magazines had models. There were roped-off areas within roped-off areas—screens protecting the most rich and famous from the merely rich and famous. And, in the central, most holy, V.V.V.V.I.P part of the place stood Liam Wilson.
He didn’t let it go to his head. He was only here because of mystery, reputation and mutual benefit. Because the world’s most sought-after designer was happy to work with him and her pet, the world’s latest ‘It’ model, was happy to use him. He wasn’t afraid of using contacts to get ahead either—not in the professional sense. But this wasn’t just about business. This was personal too.
He’d wanted to catch up with Victoria Rutherford—the woman now named Vivi Grace. He’d known she’d be somewhere behind the scenes at the show tonight but, even so, finally seeing her again had taken him by complete surprise. It was that gloriously sexy, uptight outfit. He’d had to freeze as if it were a game of musical statues to stop from hitting on her as he had five years ago. In less than a second the urge had bitten all over again. Red hot, rampaging lust.
Rot. He gritted his teeth. He did not still find her attractive. It was merely her braless state. Finding real curves in this particular environment was heady stuff. Plus, he’d been single—i.e. sex-starved—these last few months. He’d been working vicious hours. His juices were flowing because he smelt business success in the air... Oh, he could come up with a hundred excuses for the instant rock-hard reaction he’d felt.
B
ut he couldn’t help looking at her. Drinking her in. She had the same beautiful curves—swollen breasts, slim waist, sweet hips. Her white shirt and black skirt were clearly intended to give off the uber-efficient, frigid school-mistress stereotype, but they totally failed. The knee-length skirt simply emphasised the legs on show beneath and made a man itch to slide the hem higher to see the thighs Liam already knew were supple, strong and yet soft. The fabric curved tight over her hips, giving her a slim roundedness that was so much more attractive to him than the bony frame of the supposed supermodel.
On her feet were the instruments of torture that were uniform in this industry—the highest of heels. He’d no idea how she could walk in them but he liked how they brought her face nearer to his. Not quite eye to eye but tantalisingly not far from mouth to mouth. They were a superficial sign of change—so different from the slip-on things she’d worn that winter. Her hair was different too. Gone were the long waves of blonde. In their place was a sharp-edged cut just to her chin. Very French. He’d seen the style a lot. On Victoria it looked good, but so different from the style she’d had those years ago. A veneer of sophistication had replaced sweet innocence. She’d topped off this change with her new name. Vivi.
But none of those changes wiped the image he had of her in his head—with her naked and able only to breathe through the moments beyond climax. The most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
And he’d known plenty in the last five years.
Yet none had left the same impression. None had left this residual irritation—like a barb beneath his skin. None had led to another moment of madness—the one that had brought him here. Liam tried to rein in the energy building in him—the very, very red blood pulsing round his body. Victoria Rutherford.
Too hot to handle. Too hot to last.
For a moment his mind was so fogged with tumultuous memories he couldn’t speak. It could have been an hour ago when she’d been soft, warm, willing and he’d lost himself in her. He’d not meant to get that physical that quick once they’d walked out on everything. But she’d stunned him with her sweetness and he’d been unable to resist. Taking what she’d offered. Stupidly, he’d become more jealous of Oliver than he’d been before. She’d drilled him open until he’d never felt so unsure in his life. He’d asked her stupid, insecure questions, needing to know that what was between them was better. But whatever had brought them together eroded—again more quickly than he’d imagined it could.
The Right Mr. Wrong Page 2