by Paula Roe
Gray. Plain. Sensible. That’s what he saw, what everyone saw. And before that kiss, she’d accepted it. How could she not, when she’d actively cultivated the facade?
But now…
He’d obviously seen something to warrant his attention.
A small twist of pleasure caught her unawares, but then their flight was announced and the moment was broken.
Twenty minutes passed, an excruciatingly long time to be on the edge of her seat. They’d boarded in silence, Zac’s normal businesslike wall of confidence marred with underlying tension—tension that melted away as soon as the plane took off.
The sudden pressure drop and stomach-constricting momentum eventually eased. Yet Emily remained tense, completely aware of the man next to her, ostensibly reading the morning paper. Tension that had everything to do with last night’s kiss and the dilemma she was now in.
How could she focus on her job when all she wanted to do was have Zac naked?
He turned the page and she jumped, crushing a soft curse under her breath.
He was too close and he knew it. How could he not know it after what they’d done?
She shifted her leg, angling her body toward the aisle, away from him, with casual subtlety.
Business class and still not enough room. She sighed and refolded the complimentary gossip magazine, staring at the sensational headlines without seeing them, before shoving it in the seat pocket.
The flight attendant hovered past, offering coffee, which Zac took with a smile. When he withdrew with the cup, his arm passed way too close to her chest.
She held her breath as her heart began to thump, fingers stiff on the armrest. He placed the glass in the holder between them, his hand brushing hers.
She blinked and slid her gaze sideways.
A small smile stretched his mouth…and what a mouth it was. A mouth made for kissing, with soft lips and strong teeth and—One eyebrow went up and she nearly groaned aloud. Then he leaned in and gently covered her hand with his warm fingers, and she barely managed to muffle her surprise.
“Zac—”
“Emily.”
“You’re…” She glanced furtively back over her shoulder. “You’re holding my hand.”
“Yes, I am.”
His leg shifted, bumping into hers, and she nearly leaped from her seat. “Now you’re—”
“Touching your leg. I know. And you know what else?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, beckoning her with his finger. With a thickness in her throat she bent forward. His warm breath swooped over her cheek and her stomach fluttered. “I think I’ll have to kiss you.”
His firm disclosure shocked her immobile, her eyes transfixed on his lips as they inched closer to hers.
“You can’t—” she managed to choke out.
“I can.” His mouth curved, the frankly seductive look in his eyes forcing her breath out in excited little puffs. “I will.”
“But—”
Her protest gushed out on a sigh when his lips brushed over her cheek, searing her skin. He feathered his mouth across her cheekbone, the barest of touches, before coming to rest by her earlobe. That warm breath sent flaring heat down through her body, curling around her stomach, her thighs, before ending in her toes.
“Someone could see…” she whispered desperately.
“Yes.” His teeth nibbled on her lobe and she bit her lip to stifle the whimper of pleasure.
“We…” She swallowed. “We can’t do this here.”
His lips skimmed the tender point where her ear met her neck. “So name the time and place.”
Oh. Her breath hissed in as she struggled to vocalize what she’d been fantasizing about these last few months. Now, faced with the certainty of Zac’s interest, it made her list seem… Cold. Businesslike.
He must have taken her lack of response as hesitancy, because he gently added, “Tonight?”
Tonight? She squeezed her eyes shut as his mouth moved back across her cheek in a sensuous trail of warm breath and soft lips.
“You…have that thing with Josh Kerans tonight.”
He paused, an irritated frown marring his forehead as Emily opened her eyes. Yet his hand still captured hers, sending a trembling anticipation through her bones.
“Right. Client get-together at his beach house. You should be there, too.”
“Why?” She pulled back, the heat in her cheeks beginning to ebb.
“Because he’s a client and he invited me. And now I’ve invited you.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t…no.”
“This is work, Emily, not a social outing. Jason, Mitch and June will be there.” He smoothly reeled off some of Valhalla’s key staff. “And your involvement with Point One means people need to see you as more than just my assistant. And I go, you go.” To take the sting from the demand, he gave a small smile. “Networking is a necessity. But I promise—” his lips curved, turned slightly wicked “—I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”
His husky murmur, full of lustful promise, made her nerves groan. The air crackled dangerously between them, doing something hot and exciting to her insides. It forced Emily to swallow, but still she couldn’t look away from his eyes, those dark, sultry depths that said, “I’d like to do things to you and I know you’ll enjoy them.”
“This has to stay out of the office,” she finally blurted out. Clearly, from the look on his face, this was not what he’d expected her to say.
His mouth curved. “There goes my sex-on-the-desk fantasy.”
“I mean it, Zac.” At her stern look, his humor fled. “It’s not you they’ll talk about. You’re the boss—you won’t be the one labeled.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why does that sound—”
“It doesn’t matter what it sounds like. There can’t be any secret looks, any off-the-cuff comments, any touching. During the day we’re professionals.”
He remained silent for so long that Emily’s head began to spin from the breath she held.
Finally, he nodded and said, “I’ll pick you up at eight tonight.” And calmly reached for another newspaper, unfolded it and began to read.
Emily stared blindly down the crowded isle as excitement zinged through her blood. How on earth was she going to survive Monday—let alone tonight—without thinking of the coming evening?
At least, Zac thought ruefully, her skirt was above the knee—the only concession she’d made to the evening. It was still black. It was still distorted with a boxy jacket. And she still had on a pair of horrible clunky heels.
He had said it was work. So he remained silent on the twenty-minute drive to Kerans’s Broadbeach Waters luxury apartment, the only background noise coming from his iPod plugged into the dash.
But when he pulled into the cul-de-sac, cut the engine and saw her studying the partygoers with a frown, he paused.
“Ready?”
She took too long to commit to that nod. Her hesitation told him what she wouldn’t—couldn’t?—voice.
“It’s a warm night. You might want to lose the jacket,” he said casually.
She gave him a look that told him she knew what he was up to, but still she unbuttoned her jacket, then slipped it off her shoulders.
Her silky short-sleeved purple shirt shimmered beneath the streetlights, revealing tanned arms as she pulled the door open and got out.
When he’d rounded the bonnet, she was nervously smoothing down her skirt, a skirt that now hugged her hips, emphasizing her generous curves and indented waist.
Behind the glasses, irritation brimmed in those blue eyes. But there was also a little fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being judged.
He knew what that was like, even if it’d been years since he’d allowed himself to feel that emotion.
He glanced around: they were alone with only the streetlights above as witnesses. Unable to resist, his hand went to her face, but paused when she quickly rocked back. Her brow creased.
“Emily.”
With g
reat reluctance she met his eyes, her expression shuttered.
Then a car door slammed and the moment was gone. She stepped back. “We should go in.”
He wanted to say more, but what? That for the first time in his life he wanted to ditch work and instead spend the evening kissing her all over? That would not go over well.
Slow it down, mate. You don’t want to scare her off.
He nodded, trying to ignore the growing desire warming his blood.
“Let’s go.”
The opulent dozen-bedroom, two-story apartment was a Valhalla triumph. Zac’s signature—huge windows with intricate personalized frames and sconces that showcased the view—presented the expansive Broadbeach Waters in all its glory. Beyond the buzz of conversation, the sharply dressed and expensive-smelling people, the subtle ceiling lights and the strains of a Mozart concerto, the stunning sunset streaking across the sky commanded Emily’s attention.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
She frowned at the childhood rhyme before glancing curiously at the assembled crowd.
Men and women greeted each other, drank champagne and chatted animatedly. Here were the über-rich in serious socializing mode. Yet how could they not notice the glorious blue-red-navy spectacle of a Surfers sunset?
She watched small waves lap up against Kerans’s luxury yacht tethered at the boat ramp, studying the cerulean water before she sensed someone approaching. Zac. Only he had the power to send her body tingling on high alert.
She turned to him. “This is amazing, Zac. Another great job.”
“Thank you. Champagne?” He offered the cold stemmed glass. She took it with a smile, then sipped to cover her nervousness at his direct scrutiny.
“It’s—”
“Zac! You’re here! Hur mår du?”
Delicious. The word died along with a tentative smile as a silky voice cut through the surrounding chatter. A tall, dark-haired woman stalked through the crowd, her black, sleeveless catsuit flaunting an extremely fit physique. Around her neck hung two silver chains, the handful of fashionable dangly charms chiming melodiously below a pair of impressive breasts, their curves revealed by a half-lowered zipper.
Haylee Kerans, the client’s daughter. And—Emily’s grip tightened imperceptibly on her glass—one of Zac’s many ex-girlfriends who didn’t accept the words break up lightly.
As Zac turned to greet Haylee, Emily stood there awkwardly, listening to them converse in melodious, singsong Swedish.
Then Haylee linked her arm through his and swung her gaze to Emily.
“Kan du talar Svenska?”
At Emily’s blank look, her smile seemed to take on a condescending smirk. “You can’t speak Swedish? Oh, you should. Such a musikal language—but then, Zac’s half Swede, so I’m biased.” Her striking face creased with deliberate thought. “I shall have to teach you…Emma, right?”
“Emily,” Zac interjected. Emily didn’t miss the way he’d firmly extricated himself from Haylee’s grip.
“Oh.” Haylee’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Zac’s gatekeeper. You field all his calls.”
Emily blinked in surprise. What, it was her fault Zac was an expert on moving on? Irritation bubbled up but she quickly got a handle on it.
“I’m Zac’s assistant,” she said calmly. “He directs, I do.”
One of Haylee’s eyebrows went up as her gaze swept Emily from head to toe, a silent, insulting inspection that had her flushing. But before she could formulate any kind of comeback, Zac intervened.
“Any idea where your father is?”
The younger woman’s expression quickly transformed as she looked back to Zac, a perfect smile that looked a tad too bright to Emily’s thinking.
“Where he normally is.” Haylee nodded into the crowd. “Over near the bar, surrounded by his mates and talking business. Zac.” Haylee ran a teasing hand up his arm. “You should call me. We could go for a drive in that smaskig car of yours.”
She leaned forward, proffering her cheek. As politeness dictated, Zac went in for the kiss, but at the last minute she turned and his mouth landed firmly on hers.
“For later,” she purred, pulling back, then shooting Emily a triumphant glance.
When Zac steered Emily away, her back was rigid beneath his hand.
“She’ll ‘teach me’?” she muttered.
“Ignore her,” he commanded as they steadily made their way across the room.
“Oh, I intend to. I’d rather take swimming lessons from a shark.”
He grinned, then looked fleetingly over his shoulder. The now-unsmiling Haylee still stood where they’d left her, one elegant finger tapping rhythmically against her champagne flute.
He’d never understand women. Haylee had been fun for a month or two—impulsive and unconcerned with looking perfect, unlike many of his other exes. And growing up with wealth meant she’d been unfazed by his billion-dollar reputation. But gradually, her attentiveness had begun to chafe. Where was he? Who was he with? When would he be back? She’d gone from fun to serious, hinting about “a more permanent living arrangement” and casually wondering aloud when she’d get to meet his family.
His cue to backpedal like an Olympic champion.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“For what?”
“For putting you in the middle of that.”
She shrugged, keeping pace with him as they wound their way through the crowd. “I’ve handled worse.”
“Really?”
She paused, forcing him to stop dead too. “I answer your phone, Zac. I field a handful of ex-girlfriends’ calls every week. I’ve been screamed at, cajoled, threatened. Some even beg and cry.”
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
The truth was reflected in her expression, prompting a frown. But when he opened his mouth, someone clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Zac. How was Sydney?”
When he turned to Joe Watts, Valhalla’s chief engineer, his expression was neutral.
Emily stood calmly by as they chatted, fully aware of his arm, his shoulder close to hers, fully aware he could touch her at a moment’s notice—but she knew without a doubt he wouldn’t. This was work, and she had drawn the line. Plus…
She glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on a familiar catsuited woman, the center of attention in a group of men. Haylee’s little display only underscored her need for the line. The billionaire’s daughter didn’t seem the type who liked competition. She was also someone who could make life uncomfortable with one calculated conversation with her father.
Yes, Emily realized as she watched Haylee’s gaze devour an unsuspecting Zac more than once as the minutes ticked by, Daddy’s little girl would come first, despite Zac and Josh’s professional business relationship.
She quickly excused herself and made her way to the bathroom.
Eight
They drove home the same way they’d come, with the soft strains of music alleviating the distinctly uncomfortable silence.
Zac had sensed a change ever since their first kiss. It was as if he made her nervous somehow. Unsure. So unlike the Emily he knew.
It was oddly gratifying, knowing he could ruffle those perfect feathers, that he had this kind of effect.
He stole a glance as she stared out the window. She’d unbuttoned her shirt to reveal an elegant collarbone and smooth skin, demure yet extremely tempting. And she’d done something with her hair, loosened it up so that small strands floated around her jawline, bringing emphasis to that lush Cupid’s-bow mouth.
“A lot of people are interested in Point One,” she said suddenly.
The compliment he’d been reworking lay preempted in his mouth. She was still in work mode. And right now, he was her boss.
Damn. He nodded. “How are the plans coming along?”
“I’ve already talked with Michelle from Publicity.” She crossed her legs and kept her focus ahead, out into the dark night. “If those ground-floor
businesses are in by the end of November, we can utilize them for the December launch. We’ve already presold half the apartments. Which means we have ten left, plus five spare offices,” she said as they turned off Pacific Highway and left onto Duringan Street. “I expect those to be filled in the next few weeks.”
“And the launch?”
“Final estimate by tomorrow.”
He flicked her a smile. “Great.”
“And…” She paused as the car smoothly took the corner, passing Currumbin Surf Club on the right.
“I’m waiting on a call from Queensland Uni, to see if I can start my course in second term. April.”
“They let you do that?”
“Depends on the circumstances. And I worked out a plan to pay you back.”
“There’s no hurry.” He glanced over at her but couldn’t read her expression.
“I don’t like owing people money.”
They finally turned into Emily’s street and he pulled the car to a smooth stop at the curb. When he cut the engine, the Porsche’s throaty purr died out, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Dark clouds hid the moon, distorting her face, making it difficult to read her expression. And he really, really wanted to know what she was thinking.
He snicked open his door and the interior light came on. Then he slowly turned, giving her no choice but to look at him.
Her face was half in shadow, half in light. An apt description for someone who guarded her secrets so very carefully.
She was the complete opposite of every woman he’d dated, someone who hadn’t been born into wealth and didn’t run in the same privileged circles. Yet she could handle any situation he’d thrown at her, from boardrooms to client parties to fending off clingy exes. So why did he feel the sudden urge to protect her?
“Emily.”
Ignoring her startled murmur, he curled a strand of her hair around his fingers, savoring the silkiness before gently smoothing it behind her ear.
“Yes?”
He hesitated, oddly tongue-tied.