Project: Runaway Heiress

by Heidi Betts

  And yet Lily would be willing to bet he looked better in it than any other man in the history of tuxedos. The word scrumptious came to mind. As well as delectable and—as Zoe might say—hunkalicious.

  The midnight-black jacket and slacks fit him like a glove. If they hadn’t been tailored specifically for him, it was the finest bit of off-the-rack sewing she’d ever seen.

  His sandy-brown hair was combed back, slightly wavy, but every strand in place.

  And the tie at his throat...well, there was something about that tight, classic bow and the gold cuff links at his wrists that made her want to drop her arm, let the gown drop to the floor, and stalk forward to start peeling him out of his own uptight party wear.

  The thought stopped her cold. Made her give herself a mental shake and stern reminder that lusting after the boss was a bad, bad idea.

  Of course, on the heels of that came the notion that she wouldn’t mind being a bad girl. Just for a little while. And only with Nigel.

  His mind may have been wandering down the same wicked path, because his eyes snapped with flecks of green fire the minute he saw her. His gaze raked her from head to toe, and she could have sworn a tiny muscle flexed along his jaw.

  She drew a deep breath, which caused the bodice of the not-yet-zipped dress to slide down a notch. Pinning it in place with her only remaining free hand, she cleared her throat and smiled weakly.

  “I need a little help,” she murmured.

  He raised a brow, his attention still glued to her lower-than-intended décolletage.

  By way of explanation, she turned, giving him her back and showing the long, open rear of the gown.

  She felt rather than saw him move behind her and grasp the small tab of the zipper near the base of her spine. In a slow, gentle glide, he pulled it up.

  When it was high enough, she dropped the arm that had been holding the two sides together and moved it instead to her nape, where she brushed aside her loose hair. The back of the dress only reached her shoulder blades, but better safe than sorry.

  As he reached the top of the zipper, his knuckles brushed her bare skin, sending shivers rippling across her body in every direction. She braced herself and tried not to let that shiver show, but she felt it all the way to her toes.

  Long seconds ticked by while she stood unmoving, not blinking, not even daring to breathe. And then Nigel stepped back, his hands falling away from her bare flesh.

  Relief washed through her...but so did regret.

  “There,” he said, the single word coming out somewhat gruff.

  Lily let go of her hair and turned again to face him. This time, his gaze seemed to be taking in the detail of the gown.

  “Lovely,” he told her with a nod of approval. “As I knew it would be.”

  Lifting his eyes to hers, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she answered honestly, smoothing a hand over the front of the dress and then fluffing it a bit to show the ethereal layering of the skirt. It flowed and fell like angels’ wings, almost as though it wasn’t there at all.

  “And how does it feel?” Nigel wanted to know. “Comfortable enough to wear for the evening?”

  “I think so,” she told him. It was rather nice of him to ask. Most employers—most men, for that matter—wouldn’t bother.

  “I’ll need to find some jewelry and shoes that go with the dress,” she added, “but it fits better than I would have expected.”

  “Ah,” he said, holding up his index finger and offering a crooked grin. “I believe I can help with that.”

  Leading her over to the sofa in the middle of the room, he began opening boxes that had been stacked across its narrow length and pulling out bits of tissue paper from around whatever the boxes held.

  “I had them send over some of the footwear for tomorrow’s show. All of the shoes for the line are similar in style, and we always make sure to have extras on hand, but I wasn’t sure of your size.”

  He stepped back, gesturing for her to take a look, pick out whatever she needed. Brushing past him in her bare feet, she peeked and found an array of gorgeous, very expensive footwear.

  They were, indeed, all very similar, making her even more curious to see the entire line. She wanted to know what designs Ashdown Abbey had created to go with all of these shoes...or vice versa, actually.

  Checking sizes, she chose a pair of strappy gold open-toed heels and balanced on the arm of the sofa to slip them on. Even before she stood up again and glanced down to see how they looked with the dress and her painted nails peeping out, she knew they would be perfect with the gown.

  Lifting her head, she found Nigel’s eyes on her. Intense. Blazing. The air caught in her lungs and refused to budge.

  Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Finally, he cleared his throat and reached for something else amidst the boxes and loose tissue paper.

  “This should complete the look nicely,” he said, flipping open the lid of a large, flat, velvet-lined box.

  Inside was a breathtaking necklace and earring set. Champagne diamonds in exquisite gold settings. And if they were real—which something told her they were—they had to be worth a small fortune.

  Plucking the earrings from their bed of black velvet, he dropped them into her palm. Then he removed the necklace and stepped around her to stand at her back.

  Lifting the sweep of loose, wavy curls she’d worked so hard on, she waited for him to finish with the fastener before dropping her hair and pressing her fingers to her throat to touch and straighten the main pendant and surrounding web of gems.

  “This is a lot of expensive fashion. Are you sure you trust me to wear it out of the suite?” she asked somewhat shakily, only half teasing.

  “You aren’t planning to run off with it all at the stroke of midnight, are you? Like Cinderella,” he teased in return.

  She certainly felt like Cinderella. A young woman pretending to be someone other than who she really was, dressed to the nines to attend a grand ball with a man who definitely qualified as a Prince Charming.

  She only hoped her true identity didn’t become known as the clock struck midnight, as he said. That might possibly be worse than running off with thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of Ashdown Abbey property.

  Since she had no intention of doing the latter, she knew she was safe on that count. It was the former she needed to worry about. But with luck, it wouldn’t be an issue tonight or at any time on this trip.

  She hoped not once they returned to Los Angeles, either, but one thing at a time. First she needed to get through this evening. Then tomorrow’s fashion show...then the remainder of their short stay in Miami...then their return to Los Angeles... She would deal with the rest after that.

  “I’m no Cinderella,” she said by way of answer.

  “No,” Nigel responded.

  The single word came out short and clipped, drawing her attention to his face and the hard glint of his hazel eyes.

  “Cinderella could never look so lovely in this gown or these jewels,” he added more softly.

  Lily’s heart stuttered in her chest. Okay, that was definitely more than a simple compliment. That was...a come-on. A warning. A promise of things to come.

  She knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that Nigel felt at least a fraction of the attraction to her that she felt toward him. The lust she’d been feeling, the shocks of static electricity whenever they were in the same room together, were not one-sided.

  Which was good. It was nice to know she wasn’t going crazy or nursing an awkward schoolgirl crush on the captain of the football team whom she would never in a million years have a shot with.

  But it was bad, too. Because while she might be able to keep a lid on her own out-of-control emotions and baser instincts, she couldn’t be sure that lid wouldn’t come flying off in the face of his pent-up passions if he decided to point them in her direction and throw caution to the wind.

  Already her mouth was grow
ing dry, her hands damp. Her pulse had kicked up to a near-arrhythmia pace. And every other portion of her body was heating at an alarming rate, sending a flush of inappropriate longing across her face and her upper body.

  If Nigel noticed her state of distress, he didn’t comment. Instead, he held an arm out, offering his elbow.

  “Shall we?”

  Saved by the RSVP and waiting limousine, she thought, releasing a small, relieved breath.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied, wrapping her hand around his firm forearm.

  They glided to the door so smoothly their movements might have been choreographed. If they could keep up such astounding synchronicity, Lily thought they might, just might, be able to pull this off.

  Not only her pretense of being someone she wasn’t, but of hiding the sexual tension that—to her mind, at least—rolled off the pair of them in waves.

  But while the outside world was likely to see merely a very handsome, rich and successful businessman escorting his fair-to-middling female assistant to an industry function, she was almost painfully conscious of the heat from Nigel’s body burning through the fabric of his tuxedo jacket to all but scorch her fingertips. Of the rapid beat of her heart behind the bodice of her borrowed gown. Of every second that ticked by when she could think of nothing but being alone with Nigel in a very naked, nonprofessional capacity.

  Nine

  Hours later, the noise and crowd of the cocktail party behind them, Lily sat beside Nigel in the rear of the limo as it carried them back to the Royal Crown. Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the plush leather seat. To say she was tired would be a tremendous understatement.

  As though reading her mind, Nigel’s knuckles brushed her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  His touch was featherlight and possibly one-hundred-percent innocent, but still it had her sucking in a breath and fighting to maintain her equilibrium.

  Rolling her head to the side, she forced her eyes open, braced for the impact of meeting his gaze. It still hit her like a steamroller.

  Knowing she wouldn’t be able to form coherent words to respond to his query, she merely nodded.

  One corner of his mouth tipped up in an understanding smile. “You were incredible tonight,” he told her in a soft voice that washed over her like warm honey.

  “You look amazing,” he continued. “Better than any model we could have hired to showcase this design. And the way you are with people...you’re a natural. You had everyone at the party eating out of your hand. The men especially. Well, the straight ones, at any rate,” he added with a teasing wink.

  Despite her weariness, she couldn’t help but return his grin of amusement. “I’m glad you approve. I don’t mind telling you I was nervous about tonight. I didn’t want to embarrass you or do anything in this beautiful gown to put a damper on tomorrow’s show.”

  “Not possible,” he said with a sharp shake of his head. “You were...extraordinary. As I knew you would be.”

  His heartfelt compliment made her blush and filled her with unexpected pleasure. She shouldn’t be happy that he was so impressed with her performance tonight. She should be annoyed. Sorry that she’d helped to bolster his or Ashdown Abbey’s reputation in any way.

  But she was pleased. Both that she’d maintained her ruse as a personal assistant, and that she’d done well enough to earn Nigel’s praise.

  She was candid enough with herself to admit that the last didn’t have as much to do with his standing as her “boss” as with him as a man.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her throat surprisingly tight and slightly raw.

  “No,” he replied, once again brushing the back of his hand along her cheek. “Thank you.”

  And then, before she realized what he was about to do, he leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers.

  For a moment, she remained lax, too stunned to move or respond. But his lips were so soft and inviting, and she’d been imagining what it would be like to kiss him for so long...

  With a low mewl of longing, she shifted into his arms, bringing her own up to grasp his shoulders. She opened to him, letting her lips part, her body melt against his and everything in her turn liquid.

  Nigel groaned, pulling her to him with even more force, his wide palm cupping the base of her spine while his tongue traced the line of her mouth, then delved inside at her clear invitation.

  The world fell away while they ate at each other, devoured each other, groped each other like a couple of randy teenagers.

  A million reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this clamored through her head. But those doubts and fears were little more than a low-level hum behind the loud roar of desire, yearning, need.

  Despite the regrets she might suffer later, right now she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember ever being kissed this way, ever wanting a man as much as she wanted Nigel Statham.

  He was danger and sex and exotic intrigue on two legs, with a bone-tingling British accent to boot. How women didn’t adhere themselves to him like dryer lint throughout the day she didn’t know.

  How amazing was it, then, that he seemed to be attracted to her? Seemed to want her?

  Maybe he put the moves on all of his personal assistants. Maybe one of his goals while he was in the United States was to shag, as he might say, as many American girls as possible.

  If that was the case, she expected to be really annoyed later on. At the moment, however, she was more than willing to be just another notch on this handsome Brit’s bedpost.

  While one hand kneaded the small of her back, his other swept up to the bodice of the couture gown, cupping her breast, stroking through the material. Despite the thick ruching and bra beneath, her nipples beaded, drawing a moan of desire from deep in her throat.

  Nigel answered with a groan of his own, increasing the pressure of his mouth against her lips. There was barely a breath of air between them, but even that was too much. And as he thrust his tongue around hers over and over, she met him with equal ferocity, sucking, licking, drinking him in.

  He smelled of the most wonderful cologne. Something fresh and clean, with a hint of spice. Whatever the brand, she was sure it was expensive. And worth every penny, since it made her want to lick him from clavicle to calf, inhale him in one shuddering gulp, absorb him into her own skin like sunshine on a warm summer day.

  But if he smelled good, he tasted even better. Warm and rich, like the wine he’d been sipping all evening at the party, with a hint of the whiskey he’d downed toward the end. She didn’t even particularly care for whiskey, but if it meant drinking it from his lips and the tip of his tongue, she could easily drown in the stuff on a regular basis.

  Nigel’s hand was trailing down her side, sweeping the curve of her breast, her waist, her hip and slowly inching the long skirt of the dress upward when the limousine came to a smooth but noticeable halt. A second later, the driver’s side door opened and Nigel pulled back with a fiercely muttered, “Bollocks.”

  Quickly, before the fog of passion had even begun to clear from her brain, he straightened her gown and the lines of his own tuxedo, taking a moment to swipe lipstick from both her mouth and his just as the lock on the rear door of the limo clicked.

  By the time the door swung all the way open to reveal the driver standing there waiting for them, everything looked completely normal. Professional, even. Nigel and Lily were sitting at least a foot apart, canted away from each other on the wide bench seat, as though they hadn’t even been speaking, let alone groping one another like horny octopi.

  Without a word, Nigel exited the car, then helped her out.

  Nigel thanked the driver, passed him a generous tip and escorted Lily into the main entrance of the hotel. They passed through the lobby, her heels clicking on the marble floor until they reached the elevators. Inside, they were silent, facing the doors and standing inches apart, even though they were alone in the confined space.

  When they reac
hed their floor, Nigel gestured for her to step out ahead of him, then took her elbow as they moved quietly down the carpeted hallway. The perfect gentleman. The perfectly polite employer with no lascivious thoughts whatsoever about the assistant who was staying in his suite with him.

  With some distance now from that amazing kiss in the limousine, Lily wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel.

  Did she want to pick up where they’d left off as soon as they got into the suite? A shiver assaulted her at the very thought.

  Or did she want to put the kiss behind her? Chalk it up to the heat of the moment and go their separate ways once they got inside? That thought made her a little sad, which surprised her.

  Reaching the door, she waited for Nigel to slide the key card through the lock and decided to play it by ear.

  If he began to ravish her the minute the door closed behind them, she would go limp and let it happen. No doubt enjoying every step of the way.

  If he returned to his usual quiet and respectfully reserved self, not coming anywhere near her again...she would do the same. It might even be for the best, regardless of how much she would mourn the loss of his lips, the taste of him on the tip of her tongue.

  As she entered the suite ahead of him, her heartbeat picked up, the tempo echoing in her ears as her anticipation grew. But he didn’t grab her the second the door closed behind them, didn’t push her against the wall and begin the ravishment she’d been fantasizing about. They stepped into the sitting room. Perfectly polite. Perfectly civilized.

  The sound of Nigel clearing his throat made her jump. She turned slowly to face him, disappointed when she didn’t find him stalking toward her, desire burning in his hazel-green eyes.

  “I feel as though I should apologize for what happened in the car,” he murmured in a low, slow tone of voice.

  Her heart plummeted. Well, she supposed that answered the question of what he thought about the kiss, didn’t it? She tried not to be offended—hadn’t she already admitted to herself that fooling around with her boss-slash-possible enemy was a bad idea?—but couldn’t help being slightly hurt. After all, to her, the kiss had been one step away from spontaneous combustion.