by Liz Fielding
He’d meant it to be the merest whisper of a kiss. A “barely there” kiss to offer reassurance. To say Go for it and I’m here with you.
Between the thought and the delivery something went wrong. Or very right. Bypassing her cheek and going straight for her mouth the kiss was the culmination of that rush of desire that had all but overwhelmed him when she’d got into his car—that moment when he’d so nearly kissed her, controlling himself just in time. A consummation of the moment when her lips had brushed his after she’d told him it was time to stop thinking and start feeling.
This was feeling.
Gossamer-light, it was a kiss that asked questions he hadn’t been aware of framing. A kiss that offered more of himself than he could ever give. And a kiss that promised her she would be wonderful. It might have lasted a second, or a minute; he couldn’t have said. Only that it stopped too soon.
As he straightened he saw that her eyes were wide with surprise. Yes, well, she wasn’t the only one. An hour ago he’d been promising himself he’d have Romana Claibourne for breakfast. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, he knew, the promise had translated into breakfast in bed.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said reassuringly. And he knew it was true. She’d do this and no one but him would ever know that beneath the bright smile she was scared rigid.
But Romana wasn’t about to admit to nerves. ‘Fine?’ she snapped, pulling her hand free. For a startled moment he thought she was going to slap him with it. Maybe the assembled ranks of press photographers made her think twice before making a spectacle of them both. Or maybe he’d just imagined the flash of something hot and reckless that sparked behind those big blue eyes. ‘Of course I’ll be fine, Niall. We’ll all be fine. I don’t need a Farraday man to hold my hand and tell me that.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘NICE going.’ Molly grinned as she joined her on the podium. ‘Not many men can keep a kiss that light and still make it look like hot sex.’
‘Kiss?’ Romana repeated, her expression blank, her heart pounding like a kettledrum. ‘Oh, you mean, Niall? Just now? That wasn’t a kiss. It was just his way of saying good luck.’
‘It would work for me.’
‘Really. And how’s your lovely husband these days?’
‘Adorable. And in for a treat tonight. I feel inspired.’
‘Oh, please!’
While Molly went to claim her seat Romana took a sip of water, fanned her cheeks with her notes.
She’d lied. That kiss had been something else. It was everything that she’d seen in his eyes at the drive-thru when she’d thought, hoped, that he was going to kiss her. It was the fizz of electricity that had shot through her when she’d kissed him. Somehow he’d got under her skin, and even now her lips burned, throbbed, wanting more.
She took another sip of water to cool them. Then she picked up her notes and tapped them against the auctioneer’s desk, refusing to look across to where he was leaning, one shoulder against the wall, watching her, ignoring Molly’s attempts to catch his eye as she patted the seat she’d saved for him.
She didn’t want his reassurance. She refused to think about what she really wanted. It wasn’t going to happen because all he wanted was Claibourne’s. Her store. Her life.
The adrenalin shot of anger was just what she needed to sharpen her up and, picking up the gavel, she brought it down briskly on the desk. In an instant the room was hers.
Only Molly waved her catalogue, still attempting to catch Niall’s attention. Romana leaned on the high auctioneer’s desk and looked at him. The entire room followed her example. ‘Please do take your seat, Mr Macaulay,’ she invited, indicating the space her assistant had kept for him. ‘So that we can start.’
She’d told him to leave. He no doubt wished at that moment that he’d taken her advice. But it was too late for that. She knew it and so did he. He acknowledged her with the smallest nod and walked across to the front row.
He was halfway there when she asked, ‘Did you have trouble parking?’ Her tone was conversational, sympathetic even. He settled in the chair, his expression un-readable. She could read it like a book. It said, You’ll pay for this later. ‘You do know that there’s a hundred pound fine for latecomers?’ she continued, with reckless disregard for the warning.
‘Since when?’ he asked. Was he playing along? Or genuinely confused? She really didn’t care.
‘Since now,’ she replied. ‘I just made it a rule.’ The audience, wired for the occasion, was quick to laugh. She held up the gavel for silence. ‘And I’m fining you another fifty pounds for questioning the authority of the auctioneer.’
More laughter, but she had the room. They were all watching her now and it took only the lift of a hand to restore quiet.
‘Do you have a problem with that?’ she asked. Niall held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head, apparently not prepared to risk further penalties. ‘Pity,’ she said, and once more the audience erupted as she turned to the clerk. ‘Make a note, please. One hundred and fifty pounds, Mr Niall Farraday Macaulay.’ She looked back to the audience. ‘Don’t feel too sorry for him, ladies and gentlemen. Mr Macaulay is one of our shareholders, so he can afford to be generous.’ And everyone thought that was hilarious, too.
Niall, sitting on the end of the front row—and now the focus of the press photographers—smiled. It might have convinced the cameras, but it didn’t convince her.
She didn’t think he objected overmuch to being teased in public. If he did that was tough. But she’d just used a very public stage to remind the world that, under their management, Claibourne & Farraday was a very successful venture.
And that was something else.
With luck, the broadsheets would quote her. And if they printed a photograph of Niall, Jordan Farraday would be thoroughly irritated. It would make up for that cosy picture of the pair of them that had appeared in the papers this morning.
It might make Niall Macaulay think twice before patronising her again, too. And as for kissing her… Well, next time, with any luck, he’d choose his time and place with a bit more care. So that she could take him up on the promise his lips had made.
She jammed the brakes on that line of thought and concentrated on the job in hand. ‘Right, then. We all know why we’re here today, so if you’re quite ready, Mr Macaulay, I won’t waste any more time…’
The auction went at a furious pace, lasting just over the hour. Romana flirted with the celebrities who had turned up to add a little lustre to the ephemera they’d donated. An entire team of footballers, a TV weatherman and a couple of actors all got the big smile and a kiss for their contribution—without having to pay a hundred and fifty pounds for the privilege—and the press photographers had a field day.
Niall didn’t get more than the briefest glance, and that only when he paid a ridiculous amount of money for a signed football shirt for a soccer-mad godson with a birthday on the horizon. The original of a political cartoon for his father and tickets for a gala at the Royal Ballet for his mother didn’t even rate a nod.
But when he went to collect his purchases and pay for them, he discovered that Romana had crossed through the ‘fines’ and initialled the line. ‘It was just a joke,’ the clerk assured him. ‘You don’t have to pay.’
‘I know,’ he said, in turn crossing through the bold ‘RC’, writing stet in the margin and amending the total before handing over his credit card. ‘Now the joke’s on Miss Claibourne.’
Romana didn’t hang around after the auction. She needed some air, some quiet. More than anything, she needed to be on her own.
She kicked off her shoes and began peeling off her suit before her office door clicked shut behind her. She’d got a few minutes while Niall paid for the things he’d bought at the auction and she intended to make good use of them. She was going for a walk and her shadow wasn’t invited.
Her secretary looked up from her PC. ‘How did it go?’ she called through the open door between their offices.<
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‘It was totally crazy. I can’t believe the money people were spending.’ Even Niall. No. She didn’t want to think about Niall. She sensed trouble coming from that direction. Grabbing a top from the neat stack in her closet, she pulled it over her head. ‘Any problems here?’
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle.’
‘Thank heavens for that.’ She stepped into a pair of softly pleated grey linen trousers, buttoned the waist and pushed her feet into her loafers. ‘I’m going to walk home through the park and put my feet up for ten minutes before this evening. But if anyone asks—’ and by ‘anyone’ she meant Niall Macaulay ‘—I’ve gone to the dentist.’ Even he wouldn’t follow her there, she told herself as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
She hadn’t had a moment to herself since seven-thirty that morning and she just had to get away for half an hour. She needed to forget about the store. Forget about everything.
She opened her door. Niall was leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. Almost as if he’d anticipated her escape bid.
How on earth had he managed to get through the auction scrum so quickly? Stupid question. She’d told the world he was a shareholder. One imperious look and the clerk would have fallen over herself to be helpful.
No. She’d got that wrong. He’d have smiled at the woman. And one smile would have been all it took.
Not that he was smiling now.
She was beginning to suspect he reserved that cool, unnerving look especially for her.
‘Going somewhere without your shadow?’ he asked.
About to trot out her pre-planned excuse, she thought better of it. This looked too much like a getaway for him to believe such a cliché. And if she protested, he’d insist on coming along to hold her hand. Which would have actually been rather comforting if she really had been going to the dentist.
But, since she wasn’t, it would be wiser to stick to the truth.
‘I need some fresh air,’ she said, but elicited no response. ‘And to walk off those French fries.’ All that mayo… ‘I’m going to walk home through the park. Put my feet up before tonight…’ Her voice was rising and she sounded increasingly desperate with each additional elaboration. She stopped before she made a total idiot of herself. Doing it for effect was one thing. Doing it for real held no appeal. ‘Thank you for supporting the auction so generously.’
‘It’s an expensive way to shop.’
‘If you’re looking for bargains you should try Petticoat Lane.’ He still hadn’t moved. ‘Do you want something, Niall?’
‘I came to collect one of the items I paid for.’
She glanced uncertainly at the glossy carrier bag at his feet. ‘You’re in the wrong place—’
‘Oh, no.’ The grace with which he moved disguised the speed, and Romana jumped as his hands hit the wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. ‘I kissed you and you made me pay for it, Miss Claibourne. Well, I’m here to make a complaint under the Sale of Goods Act, because there’s no way I got what I paid for.’
She shook her head, laughed a little. ‘Don’t be silly, Niall. I crossed it out—told the clerk it was just—’
‘A joke. I know. She told me. I paid anyway.’
A quiver of anticipation shivered through her abdomen. A flush of heat and… And this wasn’t her. No way. She snapped her eyes shut before he saw the desire hungrily reflected in them. It was the public nature of his kiss that had got her into this situation in the first place. She didn’t want to think about what would happen in private. ‘I’ll see that you get a refund—’ she began, making a move to go.
He wasn’t finished. ‘And deny those underprivileged children the benefit of my money? You were quick to tell the world that I can afford it. So come on, Romana, you’re the one who keeps telling me it’s all for a good cause. Prove to me that this isn’t all just PR hype. Show those little children how much you really care.’
She’d known he wasn’t a man to sit back and take a public teasing without exacting some kind of reprisal. That was why she’d been in such a hurry to get out of the store. She’d wanted to give him time to calm down before they met at the fashion show.
But caged by his arms, held ransom to his pride, it suddenly occurred to Romana that if he kissed her—really kissed her—she’d be the winner. She’d have broken down that cool, touch-me-not exterior and won their personal battle. Because this was nothing to do with the store. This was something that had started the moment she’d dropped her coffee-carton and he’d looked at her as if she was a stupid blonde bimbo without two brain cells to rub together.
If he kissed her she would prove that he was no better than any other man; he was just as easily dazzled by a short skirt, the twirl of a finger through a curl, a close-fitting dress that gift-wrapped her figure…
How she would enjoy that. In fact, it occurred to her that having Niall Macaulay at her feet would make her very, very happy indeed.
The trick would be to make sure she wasn’t dazzled in return. No problem there. She’d grown up with her father as an example of male fidelity. She was immune to the love bug.
Yet with his mouth just inches from hers, his eyes dark with a desire he steadfastly refused to admit, and yet seemingly could not resist, she felt her lips softening, her eyelids drooping as a sweet languor seeped through her limbs.
She felt warm and boneless. As aroused as if his hands were on her body. As if his lips were on hers. She heard the tiny sound that escaped her, a soft whimper that demanded his lips at her throat.
Was this the way men and women were entrapped, became love’s fools? The body overriding the brain? Not her. She knew that the sensation was as fleeting as the giddy rush of champagne. Brief and meaningless. But still she closed her eyes and waited.
And waited.
When she opened them again, she discovered that Niall hadn’t moved a muscle. She said nothing, was afraid even to swallow, certain that to draw any kind of attention to herself was to invite disaster. But then, as if dragging himself from some deep pit of concentration, he finally straightened, letting his hands drop to his sides.
‘Thank you, Romana,’ he said.
For what? She mouthed the words, but the sound remained stuck somewhere, deep in her throat. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘For what?’
‘For establishing a point of principle. For admitting that I have a case.’ And with that he stepped back, picked up his carrier bag and walked in the direction of the lift.
‘That’s it?’ she demanded of his retreating back. ‘You were simply establishing a point of principle? You don’t want—’ About to say, your pound of flesh, she thought better of it. ‘Settlement in full?’
‘The kiss will wait,’ he replied, turning to face her but continuing to walk backwards, as if he found it necessary to put the maximum distance between them. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll tell you when.’ And then he disappeared from her sight as he took the turning to the lift.
Don’t worry? Romana remained where she was, pinned to the spot as she re-ran the encounter in her head. He’d tell her when? What the heck did that mean? That he’d snap his fingers and say ‘when’ at some moment of his choice and she’d have to jump? No…he wouldn’t snap his fingers. He was a man who’d never had to snap his fingers in his life. One look was all it took.
‘Oh, sugar,’ she said.
The words were little more than a whisper, a croak.
Niall returned to his office. He should have returned the minute he got that phone call. He’d told himself that Farraday pride was more important. But it wasn’t Farraday pride that had kept him at the store that afternoon. It was Romana Claibourne.
And he was just as determined to be at the fashion show tonight. He’d just royally turned the tables on her and he wanted to see her sweat.
From now on, every moment they were in public together she would be on tenterhooks, waiting for him to choose his moment to collect his one-hundred-and-
fifty-pound kiss. And regretting every giggle she’d extracted from her audience at his expense.
Not that he cared about that. What had made him angry was that he’d been genuinely concerned that she was pushing herself, over and over, to do things that scared her out of her wits. And that she’d spurned his care as if she thought he was trying to trick her in some way.
He’d thought they’d moved beyond that. He’d hoped they had.
He’d very nearly blown it, though. After her reaction to that earlier kiss he’d expected considerably more resistance, and when she’d looked up at him, her eyes dark, her mouth softly parted over her pretty little teeth, his own reaction had been swift and urgent. He’d gone after her seeking a little payback. What he’d got in return had been very nearly a knockout blow.
He’d come close to being blown away. To taking everything she was offering and then some.
Because no one had come close to kick-starting his heart after the loss of Louise, he’d begun to believe that no one ever could, that he could play mind games with Romana Claibourne and not get hurt. He’d been wrong about that.
Which was why he knew he must never claim his kiss. Because one kiss would never be enough. Because even one kiss would be a total betrayal of a woman who’d died because he’d teased her into doing something she’d feared.
But for now that decision would remain a secret between him and his conscience.
Romana, for once, played down her clothes. Since there was no way she could compete with the models for sheer physical presence and beauty, she decided on total contrast and wore a pair of well-cut black trousers, a black silk shirt and a simple pair of silver ear-studs. She’d be backstage, co-ordinating the running plan, and black would make her easy to find amongst the jewel-bright wedding and honeymoon clothes.
Too easy.
Niall spotted her straight away. His dinner jacket was equally stark against the vivid fabrics as he made his way through the crush towards her, apparently oblivious to the half-naked models who were totally unselfconscious about their bodies. His eyes were only for her.