Rival's Challenge

by Abby Green

  Orla burned inside because she agreed with every word he said. Anyone would have known it, except a fool in love like her father. She’d long ago despaired of her mother’s ability to skew his judgement and it had taught her to steer well clear of something similar happening to her. Never would she be so blinded by emotion in business. So what happened the other night? a small voice jeered in her head. That had been lust, Orla told herself fiercely. Not emotion.

  Hating the way her throat suddenly felt tight, she said stiffly, ‘I don’t really see the benefit in discussing why we’re in this position. I’m more interested in discussing the future.’

  To her intense relief, Antonio shrugged one broad shoulder minutely and went back behind the desk to sit down. He pulled her sheaf of papers towards him and began to flick through them with long fingers.

  Orla sat down again too, and her heartbeat returned to some semblance of normality. Well, what was normal for her around this man which was still abnormally fast.

  He glanced up once he’d flicked through them all. He was almost bored. ‘There’s nothing new here.’

  Orla swallowed. This was her chance to try and claw back some control. ‘I know why it’s so important to you to gain control of the Kennedy Group.’

  Immediately Antonio looked dangerous, reminding her of what she’d sensed when she’d first met him.

  ‘You do.’ It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded. ‘You want us because we’re vulnerable but also because you’re trying to prove to your CEO that you don’t need outside help to restore confidence in your brand.’

  ‘And how—’ Antonio’s voice was lethally soft ‘—did you figure this out?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ORLA FELT HOT in her jacket. She longed to take it off but didn’t dare. ‘The tabloids follow your family all over the world. It’s been rumoured that your new CEO has been instructed to find roles for the family in various meaningful positions, in order to contain the negative public image.’

  Antonio was positively glacial now. ‘Do I strike you as the sort of person to bend to another’s will?’

  Orla quivered inwardly at the thought of him bending to her will … in the bedroom. She shook her head quickly as if that could dispel the incendiary thought. ‘No,’ she had to admit reluctantly. Her theory seemed to fit for everyone else, but he was right. Not Antonio. He was a self-made millionaire who ran one of the world’s most secretive and successful security companies.

  Orla lifted her chin. ‘Nevertheless, family loyalty, or something, has put you in this position. The truth is … Antonio …’ Orla hated how saying his name felt so intimate. ‘The truth is that we need each other.’

  The ice in Antonio’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by heat. Instantly Orla cursed her choice of words.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he drawled.

  Furious at herself for allowing that lazy opening, she said, ‘I don’t mean like that. What I mean is that you need me to agree to this takeover just as much as the survival of our name needs you, the Chatsfields.’

  Orla crossed her arms and refused to let him intimidate her with those hot and cold looks. ‘And I’m not saying yes to anything until you agree to come and see how we work and sign an addendum to the contract that puts my father on the board as a member so that he can ensure the protection of our reputation.’

  Now Antonio was furious. ‘There’s been no mention of your father being allowed to sit on the board.’

  Orla stood up, relishing doing something that might dent this man’s insufferable arrogance even for a moment. ‘Well, there is now.’

  Antonio stood up too, and advanced around the table, making Orla’s brief feeling of triumph dissolve in a pathetic rush of heat to her core.

  He stopped just inches away from her and she found it hard to breathe or think clearly. What had he just said? All she could see was that formidable body and the stark gorgeous lines of his face. His mouth. All she could feel was her body going on fire.

  ‘Seeing as how we seem to be negotiating all sorts of new items, perhaps you can tell me how we’re going to negotiate this?’

  This was Antonio coming closer and reaching for Orla with one big hand around her waist and the other at the back of her head, and before she had time to say a word or do anything, he’d pulled her against his hard body and his mouth was on hers in a bruising passionate kiss. She was welded so tightly against him that she could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her belly and just like that her brain went molten.

  The pent-up sexual frustration of the past week meant Orla had no defence for this sensual attack. She went up in flames. Her arms were around Antonio’s neck, hands clasping his head, fingers tunnelling through silky thick hair, before she could even stop herself.

  It was as if someone had lit a match to a bone-dry piece of tumbleweed. Antonio boldly thrust his tongue into Orla’s mouth and she sucked it deeper, relishing the way his body jerked against hers. Here, at least, they were equal.

  Orla’s breasts felt swollen and sensitive, nipples stinging and chafing against the lace of her bra. Antonio was dislodging her hands and arms, pushing her jacket off her shoulders and down her arms. She felt a slight breeze glide over hot skin but even that wasn’t enough to douse this insanity.

  There was something desperate in their mutual combustion.

  Their mouths were welded together, Orla’s hands exploring the powerful width of Antonio’s shoulders, and down, over his rock-hard biceps, lingering, squeezing.

  When her dress suddenly felt looser around her chest Orla barely noticed; it was only when she felt a tug that she realised that he’d pulled the dress down her arm and half off. He finally broke away from the kiss.

  Orla felt dizzy. She opened her eyes reluctantly to see Antonio’s flushed face, his burning gaze on her lace-covered breast.

  His arousal was hard against her; he brought up a big hand and cupped that lace-covered mound of flesh and squeezed gently. She almost whimpered. When his fingers pulled down the delicate material and her breast popped free, and he pinched her tight nipple, she couldn’t keep the feral sound in.

  He swallowed that whimper of need with another kiss, grinding his hips into her, making her want to spread her legs. But she couldn’t in the confines of her dress. As if sensing her frustration, Antonio reached for and pulled up the bottom of her dress, over her thighs. Manoeuvring her with powerful ease, he sat her back on the edge of the desk and came between her legs, his erection now moving rhythmically against her swollen and moist mons covered only by the thinnest of cotton barriers.

  Antonio broke away and muttered thickly, ‘I need to be inside you.’

  Orla’s heart clamoured. She was ready to plead, beg, for him to do exactly that as fast as he could and then something interrupted their heavy breathing. A phone ringing. Her mobile.

  They both stilled, the piercing ring cutting through the fog of heat and lust, finally defusing it and bringing back sanity. Even so, Orla had to acknowledge how close she’d been to begging this man—whom she’d only met today for the third time in her life—to take her on the side of his desk, in his office. If she’d ever had a chance of regaining some tiny sliver of dignity after last week, it had just melted.

  Orla pushed at Antonio’s rock-hard abs and scrabbled to pull her bra and dress back up, hands shaking. With a guttural curse Antonio took a step back. Orla realised her hair was down around her shoulders. She felt acutely sensitised all over, skin tingling, a dull throbbing ache between her legs.

  ‘Orla,’ he began, and she looked up, glaring at him, trying to do her zip up with clumsy hands.

  ‘Don’t,’ she got out fiercely, ‘say one word.’

  ‘Let me help you at least,’ he said tightly.

  Cursing out loud because she knew she couldn’t reach her zip by herself, Orla turned around. Antonio lifted her hair out of the way, and that made a violent shiver run through her body. The backs of his knuckles skimmed her spine
as he drew the zip all the way up.

  As soon as he was done she bent down and retrieved her jacket and put it on. She would just have to leave her hair down. Antonio walked around to the other side of his desk. When Orla had her jacket on and was holding her bag she looked at him. His face was stark, unsmiling, and something suspiciously tender inside her tugged. She clamped down on it. She had no desire to see this man smile—where had that come from?

  ‘Don’t look at me like that.’ He growled softly, making Orla’s skin tighten all over again.

  ‘Like what?’ Her voice felt rusty.

  ‘Like what just happened wasn’t mutual.’

  Orla glanced down at the sheaf of papers. So much for keeping things businesslike. She looked back up. ‘I need to get back.’

  Antonio did smile now but it didn’t reach his eyes. Again that funny tug near her heart.

  ‘Running away, Orla?’

  Orla grabbed her bag in front of her with both hands. ‘Not at all. I’ve said what I came to say. I’ll leave you to think about it, but we both know you don’t have much choice … if you want my agreement for this takeover to happen.’

  Antonio leant forward and put his hands on the table. Now he seemed positively devilish. ‘There’s one aspect of this takeover I’d be most happy to explore further right now.’

  His gaze dropped insolently to her breasts where they rose and fell with her jagged breath under her dress and Orla hissed, ‘You’re disgusting.’ But to her chagrin it came out without much conviction. More as a breathless entreaty.

  Antonio stood tall again and his gaze turned cool. ‘Run along back to your hotel, Orla. I’ll be in touch when I’m good and ready.’

  Antonio watched Orla’s exquisite face suffuse with colour at his blatantly patronising tone. But to give her credit, she controlled her temper and merely turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, that vibrant silken fall of hair like a splash of fire against the green.

  When she was gone, Antonio couldn’t relax. She filled his mind’s eye. She’d been undone just now, before she’d turned to go. Clothes creased, hair down, eyes huge and glittering. Mouth swollen. And it had been the hardest thing in the world to taunt her, but making her eyes flash venom at him had been the only thing stopping him from smashing the table aside between them, locking the door and putting her back on the desk to finish what they’d started.

  If her ringing phone hadn’t interrupted them, he’d been about to free his aching erection, slide aside her panties and thrust so deep into her he would have seen nirvana. And she’d been with him all the way, about to beg him for it. Despite her words last week that she wouldn’t even if he were the last man on the planet. It was cold comfort now.

  Antonio went to the window and looked out. For the past decade of his life he’d lived by a strict code. A code that had saved his life and the lives of many others over and over again. But as soon as that red-haired siren came within a mile radius of him, that code went out the window and he was reduced to some primeval being. Snarling, full of craven base desires. Inarticulate. Insulting. Less than a gentleman. Indeed, he deserved that accusation. The Legion had made him rough. It had broken him down and rebuilt him and along the way he’d lost the smooth veneer that a life of privilege had given him.

  However, he could still fake it when he needed to. But not with her.

  This made him nervous. Because the control he wielded in his life now was fragile on many levels. In many ways he was still recuperating from things that he would never breathe a word of to a living soul. They were things that he would take to his grave.

  After the horrors he’d witnessed while in the Legion, Antonio had resigned himself not so much to living, as surviving. And not one thing till now had caused him to believe that he could expect anything else. Not one thing … till Orla Kennedy had walked into that bar last week and breathed light and life into some dark part of him.

  Sighing heavily, Antonio went and sat back down and resisted the urge to call his therapist, who had brought him back from the brink of madness. His therapist might be able to help untangle the knots of his mind and psyche but only one person could help untangle the knots in his body.

  ‘Run along back to your hotel, Orla.’ Orla shook her head and fumed again at the way Antonio had all but patted her on the backside to help her run along. After kissing her so senseless that she’d been ready to have sex with him on his office table!

  She’d been fuming for three days now. Her staff had been keeping a wide berth when they saw her coming. Even Tom, their solicitor, had left her alone after Orla had told him succinctly, ‘He’ll give us what we want and that’s as far as I’m prepared to discuss it right now.’

  Antonio Chatsfield would give them what they wanted because she was right about their motives for wanting to buy out the Kennedy Group. He just hated that she’d figured it out.

  Orla’s phone beeped with a text message and she turned from where she’d been looking broodingly out of her office window to pick it up. It was an unidentified number and the message read: I’m in your hotel. A.

  Immediately her heart rate increased and her legs went wobbly. She cursed. And then castigated herself. This was one of the conditions, wasn’t it? She’d asked him here after all.

  Angry at the physical reaction he provoked so effortlessly, she punched back, Where?

  Two seconds later: Come find me.

  Fuming even more now that he was playing games, Orla clutched her phone in her hand and left her office, steam practically coming out of her ears.

  When she reached the grand marble lobby it was busy with people checking in and out. Normally this would have made her feel satisfied inside; now she didn’t even notice.

  Eventually she spotted him, sitting in one of the antique high-backed chairs around the focal featured fireplace, reading the distinctive pink Financial Times. She walked over and stopped in front of him, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. When he didn’t take the paper down to acknowledge her, she cleared her throat loudly.

  With a supreme nonchalance that grated along her nerves, he deigned to lower his paper and Orla had to keep her eyes up, resisting the urge to take in that glorious physique. She could see that he was in a three-piece suit, complete with tie. Oozing urbanity. When she knew just how crude he could be. Again that thought didn’t disgust her; it excited her. She was pathetic.

  He folded the paper and stood up, easily dwarfing Orla in spite of her three-inch heels. Remembering all too well his patronising send-off the other day, she said frigidly, ‘I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment, but I can arrange for one of our managers to show you around.’

  Just then one of the receptionists hurried over, wreathed in smiles, eyes sparkling. She had a key card in her hand. ‘I have your room key, Mr Chatsfield. Sorry to keep you waiting. Your bags have already been delivered to the suite. If you’d like to follow me I can show you to the room personally.’

  Orla’s mouth dropped open as she looked from Kelly, whom she now recognised as one of the trainee receptionists, to Antonio, who was smiling with all the megawattage and charisma of a movie star.

  Before she could get a word out, Antonio said with smooth charm, ‘Thank you so much, Kelly, but your lovely owner here, Miss Kennedy, has offered to do just that.’

  With almost palpable reluctance Kelly handed the room key over to Orla, who vowed to have a word with the young trainee about how to behave with their customers. No matter how gorgeous or alluring they might be. Her desire to chastise the girl had nothing to do with the way Antonio had smiled so sexily just now. Nothing at all.

  Orla stalked away from Antonio across the marble floor of the distinctive and classic foyer, her heels sounding like angry staccato bullets on the floor, not looking to see if he was following.

  She pressed for the lift and tensed minutely when she felt Antonio’s much larger presence close to her back. Her skin prickled and tightened. Her nipples peaked.

  The li
ft doors opened and she stepped in. Followed by Antonio. They were the only people to get in. The doors closed and Orla folded her arms and rounded on him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Antonio leant back against the mirrored lift wall and tried to curb the predictable and annoying surge of desire. Orla was wearing a dark blue silk shirt that made her eyes seem darker, and a black pencil skirt. Court shoes. Hair down and sleek. She looked like a million other women in this city—cool, efficient, successful. But she was also nothing like those other women. He realised now that she had an earthy sensuality hidden underneath those impeccable clothes. It had called to him the moment he’d laid eyes on her. She also had an endearing edge of vulnerability that she tried to disguise with that uber-efficient career-woman exterior.

  Antonio didn’t welcome these insights. This woman was an obstacle to making his sister happy. That was all.

  It didn’t help that the last time they’d shared a lift, she’d exposed herself to him on his command. A vision of that small but plump and pert pale breast filled his mind now and his gaze tracked automatically to her chest, but Orla’s arms were clamped furiously over any evidence of his effect on her.

  Angry with himself now for his own lack of control when for the past decade his life had been the byword in control, even under the worst of conditions, Antonio said, ‘Floor eight please. I’m in the penthouse.’

  He also cursed himself silently for having thought it would be a good idea to move into the Kennedy hotel.

  Orla’s mouth was a thin line of displeasure. Clearly she hated the idea too. ‘The buttons are on your side of the lift. I’m not a lift attendant.’

  Antonio disguised a grimace and pressed the appropriate button. What was it about this woman that reduced him so effortlessly to some kind of Cro-Magnon man?

  Orla was all but tapping a foot again as the lift ascended swiftly and silently. ‘Well?’

  Antonio made a supreme effort to be normal. He kept his eyes on hers. ‘You did ask me to come and see how things were run. That’s exactly what I’m doing.’