Two
Lost for words, Holly tried to school her features into their usual calm. Yet when her eyes met his, she couldn’t hold his gaze, and they flicked nervously instead to her fingers lying, starkly docile, against the black cloth of his tuxedo. He needed her? That was an entirely new and unexpected development. One she wasn’t sure how to handle.
Beneath her hand she sensed the play of muscles in his forearm. Suppressed tension shimmered off him in waves. Okay, so he was stinging after his meeting with Carla, and maybe he was using her for whatever reason tonight—she could accept that—but try as she might, it was difficult to subdue the answering call of her body to the leashed power of his. Heat flickered deep inside her, tiny flames taking hold and sending burning liquid through her veins.
Need? She knew all about need.
As short as the elevator ride was, to Holly it felt like forever. If they didn’t make the distance soon she was certain she’d melt, lose her inhibitions and press herself against his tensely held form.
The cooling air of the cafeteria was a breath of sanity as the doors opened. Staff and their partners had already begun to arrive and were drifting around the room in a hum of conversation.
Connor wondered how long it would be before he could shuck his duties and slink back to his flat. A couple of hours, tops. Holly needed to take it easy, too. She’d scared him tonight when he’d looked across the room and seen her face, as stark and white as the wall behind her, during the children’s party. Despite her denial, it was obvious something was wrong.
It didn’t stop you using her to make yourself feel better, a cynical voice from inside remarked with scathing honesty. The admission brought him down a notch. No, he hadn’t hesitated. Holly was the antithesis of the vicious blazing fury of Carla’s indignation—the constant epitome of calm in his storm. An influence, he freely admitted, he’d always taken for granted.
Until he’d seen her tonight, and been hurriedly and disturbingly reminded she was most definitely a woman. A sensuously beautiful woman.
He looked at the slender bow of her neck as she fussed with something in her evening bag and wondered how her skin would feel, would taste. Connor clamped a lid on the thought before it had time to flourish and grow into something more than a tingle of awareness. She was his PA. And she’d be horrified if she knew the rampant slant of his thoughts. No doubt she’d be a darn sight paler than she’d been earlier tonight.
There was a flush on her cheeks now, he noted with some relief, and her eyes, as they darted about the room checking everything, had a sparkle in their blue depths that had been missing before. He was glad he’d made the decision earlier to put Janet in charge of tonight. Holly deserved the break, and her assistant had been thrilled at the chance to show off her training. It was a win-win all round, and it would keep Holly at his side—all night.
Connor bent his head close to her ear. “Relax, Holly, you’re officially off duty as of now.” Her faint scent teased his nostrils with its hint of warm summer nights and fresh linen, and enticed him to linger before his own hands-off rule, lit in neon signs across the back of his eyes.
“But someone has to oversee—”
“I’ve instructed Janet to take over for you tonight, she’ll manage fine. You’ve organised the party to within a nanosecond of perfection, anyway. Let her take care of whatever crops up.”
“Really, I must—”
“Relax,” he urged her quietly.
With his dark head still bent to hers so intimately, he realised they were getting speculative glances from a few of the staff around the room. The office buzz needed little to fuel it, although most wouldn’t dare get caught out in gossip about one of the Knights. He needed to get things back on an even footing, although for some indeterminate reason he didn’t want to.
“You must let me do my job,” she protested again, taking a tiny step away.
Connor fought back a frustrated retort. He elegantly snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and pressed one into her fingers. “Your job is done, Holly. Here, celebrate. Another brilliant year, thank you.” He clinked his glass gently against hers in his own personal toast.
“You know I don’t drink at company functions.”
“Quit arguing and lighten up, hmm?” He scanned the room. “Try to look as though you’re having fun. I insist.” He lowered his voice and gave her a mock-stern glower. For a moment he thought she’d taken him seriously, until a welcome spark of rebellion flared in her eyes, darkening and deepening their intense blue.
Had he ever noticed the colour of her eyes before tonight? He must have, surely. The negative response, as he dredged his memory, reminded him of his position, and hers. Of course he hadn’t paid attention to her features. Then why, he wondered, did he want more detail tonight?
A perverse, devilish urge made him shift closer to her as the revellers swirled about them, and he placed his free hand against her exposed lower back. Under his fingers her spine straightened, ramrod stiff, as he stroked lightly across skin that felt astonishingly heated. The contrast between his cool fingers and her intense warmth reminded him yet again of their differences, their positions, urging him to desist while sensation burned an enticing brand across his fingertips. He sensed, rather than heard, Holly’s breath catch in her throat. This was getting out of control. He was getting out of control, and way overstepping the mark.
Reluctantly he withdrew his hand. Just in time it seemed, as Janet came over, gushing with pride. “You don’t need to worry, Holly, I have it all under control. I think Mr. Knight’s idea to let you enjoy yourself tonight was great, don’t you? For once you can be one of the guests and really have a good time.”
Holly’s lips peeled back from her teeth in what approximated a smile but inside she was on the verge of shattering.
“Thank you, Janet. I … I appreciate you stepping into the breach like that. But don’t hesitate to—”
“You’re doing a marvellous job, Janet. Thank you.” Connor’s fingers stroked another delicious line across the small of her back, sending a cascade of goose bumps rippling beneath the seam of her gown and shocking the words she was about to utter into silence.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She stepped forward and turned so he could no longer reach her bare skin. ‘Mr. Knight—”
“Connor. And let it go for one night, okay. Orders from the boss.” He stared down the final protest that hovered on her lips, a taunting slant to his smile. “Speaking of the boss, let’s work our way over and see mine.” He nodded to where his father, Tony Knight, the founder and president of Knight Enterprises stood, like the patriarch he was, his erect posture exuding strength and pride as he gazed about the room.
The steady gentle pressure of Connor’s hand returned against the base of her spine, a pressure that sent wild spirals of warmth unfurling through her body. She barely acknowledged the greetings and festive wishes from the staff as they cut a swathe through the crowd, the minglers parting like the Red Sea as they moved across the room.
As they neared the gathering of senior executives, she struggled to regain her composure, to ignore the imprint of Connor’s proprietary hand against the small of her back and to settle the butterflies that fluttered every time she had to deal with the senior Mr. Knight. She worked with men of his position and power on a regular basis, but there was something about Antony Knight that commanded respect. A respect that, for Holly, bordered on something closer to awe. She certainly didn’t want to dissolve like an idiot at his feet because his youngest son was sending her senses into meltdown.
A first generation Kiwi, born to Italian immigrant parents who’d anglicised their name to better fit into their adopted country, Tony Knight had built Knight Enterprises from the ground up. Holly had no doubt he could still swing a hammer with the best of them, but that wasn’t what made her admire him the most.
No, she acknowledged as she fought to bank the fire burning in her veins, it was his unstinting devotion t
o his family. His abiding love for his long-dead wife. He’d raised three sons while building an empire, and yet, even though she had no doubt that the past had been rocky, he’d maintained that solid thread of familial connection between them. Despite his setbacks he hadn’t given them up to strangers to raise, like her mother had when she’d discarded Holly, as if she’d been unwanted baggage.
Holly would give just about anything to be a part of a background like that. A background she could call her own. The sobering thought did its work with chilling accuracy and she stepped clear of Connor’s reach to greet his father.
Her face ached with the effort of keeping a smile pasted on.
Connor had stayed close to her all evening, shepherding her as she mingled and chatted sociably with their colleagues, ensuring she constantly had a glass of champagne in her fingers and that she stayed well clear of administrative responsibilities for the evening. For once she knew what it felt like to be the one being looked after—the sensation was totally foreign to her and strangely unsettling at the same time.
She lifted her drink to her lips and took a tiny sip of the wine. Darn, warm again. She’d barely drunk a full glass all evening. Mind you, that was probably a good thing. Her stomach had been so knotted with tension she hadn’t eaten, either. While the food on the buffet and circulating on trays looked wonderful, and as usual she’d ensured there was plenty of it, she simply couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.
She flicked a glance to the wall clock by the door, and her shoulders sagged gently in relief. Things would draw to a close soon. Mr. Knight, Sr. would make his usual end-of-year speech, thanking the skeleton crew who would keep the business ticking over in its usual efficient fashion during the three weeks while most staff took their holiday break, and wishing everyone a happy Christmas.
Happy Christmas indeed, for those who had family and friends to share it with. Holly felt a tiny frown pull at her forehead, and the beginnings of a headache prodded behind her eyes.
Would Andrea even be aware it was Christmas Day tomorrow? The staff at the nursing home had recommended that Holly not come in, and that her foster sister wouldn’t worry if for once she spent a holiday with her other friends. Except Holly had no one else she wanted to spend the day with. Andrea was all she had—her one positive link to her past.
Maybe she’d call into the home, anyway, and take Andrea the filmy new nightgown she’d bought her—a soft mossy green, to match her eyes.
“Hey, smile. It’s Christmas, remember? No need to look so sad.” Connor’s warm breath caressed the side of her neck, his voice lowered to a sensuous hum that stroked along her nerve endings like fingertips over plush velvet. A rush of awareness prickled all the way up into her scalp.
“Was I?” She turned to face him. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she responded in her usual brisk tone.
“Good to see you’re feeling better.” Connor grinned back at her. “You’ve got your ‘office voice’ back again. Come on, let your hair down. Enjoy yourself.”
“I am.” Oh, Lord, she sounded so darn prim and defensive.
To offset the prudishly proper tone of her voice she lifted her wine again to take another sip, but was halted when a warm hand grasped her wrist. A shock of electricity raced up to her hand, causing a wild tremble as Connor took the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers.
“Here, I’ll get you another. That one must be warm by now. You are supposed to drink it, you know.”
She shook her head slightly, but he ignored her and signalled to a passing waiter for a fresh glass. She grasped the slender stem, sloshing a bit of the wine over the edge.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Holly?” Connor stepped closer, his arm slipping supportively behind her back. “You still look a bit shaky, there.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. If you don’t mind, perhaps I could slip away early.”
“Great idea.” Connor scanned the room. “I think we’ve done our dash tonight. Let’s go.”
Together?
“No, truly,” she protested, “you stay. I’m sure your father—”
“Will excuse me this time. He owes me for that Santa episode. He knows how I feel about kids.” Even though he was smiling, there was a hard glitter in his eyes. The urbane mask he’d worn all evening slipped, and bleakness hardened his face to marble.
“You don’t like children?” Holly couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. He’d been so natural with the little ones, so patient.
“On the contrary.” His voice was clipped. “He knows exactly how much children mean to me. Let’s make our goodbyes.” He slipped her hand in the crook of his arm, and they moved to where his father was holding court with a bunch of his cronies. She felt every eye in the room surreptitiously staring at them as they cut through the crowd.
What on earth was he talking about? If he liked children, why the big deal about being Santa? Unless, a thought occurred to her with sharpening clarity, it had served as a painful reminder of what he didn’t have. That might explain his reluctance earlier tonight, not to mention his irritation with his dad.
Another gulf of difference between them. He wanted kids; she didn’t. So don’t go getting any ideas about his behaviour tonight, she warned herself firmly.
“I see the two of you are off, then.” Tony Knight sent a sharp look at Connor, which Holly read quite clearly as admonishment. She watched the silent interplay between father and son, neither backing down, yet an undercurrent so strong flowing between them no one would dare get caught in their crossfire. Holly knew Tony Knight frowned on relationships between staff, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Connor was giving his father the impression they were leaving together.
“Yes, Papa. We are.”
Connor’s subtle emphasis on the word we made the older man’s lips thin somewhat in response, and his eyes flicked assessingly between her and his youngest son. A frisson of disquiet trickled down Holly’s spine. He thought they were a couple? She had to dissuade him from that idea straight away.
Before she could interject, he bent down and bussed Holly’s cheeks in his extravagant Italian fashion. Her shock at his action burst through her cool reserve, painting a warm stain of colour on her face. For all that his family had done their best to adopt the “Kiwi way”, he was, and would always remain, Italian to the soles of his handmade shoes.
“You did a marvellous job again tonight, Holly.” He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They remained sharply tuned to her face—watching as intently as a hawk, and making her feel about as vulnerable as a field mouse exposed on an overgrazed paddock.
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” she eventually managed, her own smile frozen on her face.
He gave a sharp nod in acknowledgement, then fired his gaze back at Connor. “I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow morning, then? Remember my cousin Isabella and her daughter will also be attending.”
“Of course.” She felt Connor’s arm tighten beneath the fine cloth of his suit as if he was holding himself in check.
“Good.” His father turned slightly, dismissing them both.
“I thought I’d invite Holly to join us. You don’t mind, do you?” Connor’s challenge hung in the air, and he faced down the shocked expression on his father’s face. He turned to Holly. “You don’t have any plans for the morning do you?”
“But I—” she began to protest.
“I’m sure Holly—” Tony Knight spoke simultaneously.
Connor raised an eyebrow at Holly. “Well?”
“I can’t intrude.”
“So you have no plans, then, for tomorrow?”
“No.” Her response was barely a breath on the air. She hated having to admit it. Hated it, and the unwanted sympathy it always engendered, with a vengeance.
“Fine. We’ll be there at ten-thirty, Papa.”
Holly felt as though she’d been hijacked. At wh
at point had Connor decided to use her in some game he was playing against his father? And why? The older man’s eyes were spitting chips of ice although he reined in his anger well. If she hadn’t already been so finely attuned to the atmosphere between the two men, she might not even have noticed.
“Don’t be late.” Tony Knight bit off the command, acceding he’d been outmanoeuvred.
“We won’t be.”
Before she could further analyse their veiled animosity, Connor was guiding her towards the door.
In the elevator Connor released a deep sigh and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly. He was sick of playing his father’s games. Tony Knight had tried to control each of his three boys at some time or another. Connor had always counted his blessings that he’d been last in the queue. But tonight, especially tonight, he’d resolved not to play his father’s game any longer. There was no way he’d be put on parade for yet another matchmaking attempt with yet another distant cousin. The pressure his old man had been exerting, initially subtle and then later not so, for Connor to get over Carla and find a new woman to make a home—a family—with, had been the last straw. Especially today.
He shouldn’t have used Holly like that, though. It was shameful. He’d seen the questions flinging around in his father’s mind as if they were graffiti, starkly spray painted on the boardroom wall. What was he, Connor, thinking? Christmas had always traditionally been for family. Only family. The last woman he’d brought had been Carla, as his wife. He knew he’d be in for a grilling tomorrow. What the hell? It’d be worth it. Maybe he’d even get around to telling his father about the grandchild he’d never get to know or love.
He glanced at Holly. The slender line of her throat arched slightly as she held her head tilted, staring at the numbers as they lit consecutively on the overhead console. A man could dream about making love to a neck like that. Feathering gentle kisses along the pale-blue pulse that beat beneath her ear. Stroking his tongue down the feminine cord of her neck, lower and lower until he bit softly at the curve of her shoulder.
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