by Lexi Greene
“It’s our problem. It was because of me your car was here overnight.”
“That was my choice, Radcliff.”
He could feel her pulling away, hardening, closing him out and he didn’t like it. He wanted her back in his arms, hot and sensuous. He felt it, too. Cold, sharp reality. “Scarlet.”
“See you upstairs.”
“Okay.” Of all the words they had to scratch into her car. There must be tens of dozens of cuss words they could have used, but no, they had to use the one word that was sure to hurt her the most. What had passed between them couldn’t have been further from a meaningless fling. He’d felt a connection with her. A connection he hadn’t felt with any other woman before. Maybe because his emotions were so raw after his father’s death. Maybe because of what his brother had put her through. Maybe because she fitted against him like she was made to be there. Snap out of it, Ant. The word made his skin crawl. She’s a colleague. A lawyer, with goals and aspirations that clash with your own.
May the best man—or woman—win. His own words echoed in his head. They could keep their work and personal lives separate, couldn’t they?
He wanted to see her outside of work. He wanted more. He wanted more than one incredible night. There was no doubt in his mind. One taste was not enough. Not nearly enough.
Scarlet stood by her car with tears in her eyes. The words scratched into the shiny black duco couldn’t have hurt her more if they’d been etched into her own skin. And somewhere deep inside, they were. The echo of Geoffrey’s accusation in the small, enclosed lift space rang in her ears. What was it about the Radcliff family? She’d behaved impeccably for a decade and after one day—one day—in Tony’s company, she’d ignored the rules that had kept her safe and allowed herself one night—one night—of freedom. She eyed the word on the bonnet of her car. It hadn’t felt that way. It had felt… special. They’d connected at a deeper level. She felt like she’d known him for years. He was fresh air to the stale her life had become. She was twenty-nine years old. Old enough to have a physical relationship with a man if it felt right. She wasn’t a gullible nineteen-year-old anymore. She’d made the decision to be with Tony. She’d decided to have sex. They’d had sex on her terms. No stolen kisses in dark corners. They’d kissed in the open air. On the beach. And more. So much more.
That’s rubbish. You know his type. You’re deluded if you think there’s more to this than sex. And what if someone had seen them? Not possible. Not likely.
Breathe. In. Breathe. Out.
She would deal with this. She googled her local panel beater and booked her car in for the next day, but to drive home with that on her door and her bonnet for all to see? She felt branded all over again. Like she needed to wash and wash, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the stain off her skin.
She eyed the small tattoo. She’d kept her promise to herself. She hadn’t been pissed and she hadn’t been stupid. She’d been powerful and strong. It’s okay. It’s fine. Let’s get to work.
Scarlet lowered her coffee cup to her desk and eyed the teetering stack of files. Why did it all suddenly seem insurmountable? Like no matter how hard she worked, there would always be more. Endlessly more. She booted the computer, typed her password and waited for the home screen to appear. With a sip of her coffee, she opened her electronic diary and ran her eyes over her crammed-full schedule for the day ahead.
“Hi there. Are you okay?”
Scarlet looked up and Tony was there, his eyes as blue as the summer sky. His charcoal suit fitted him to perfection and her body heated. He wore a crisp white shirt and her hands itched and thrummed with memories of the hard curve of his pecs, his broad shoulders, his chest, his ripped abs. His man-nipples tightened and strained against the smooth fabric of his shirt and her body heated and liquefied. She eyed his tie—scarlet with fine violet stripes—and yearned to pull him close with it, to press her lips against the heat of his. Her mouth dried. Her tongue felt thick and awkward. She fought to swallow against the sand in her throat. “Yes, fine. Thanks…” She lifted her gaze to his eyes and gulped. “…for asking.”
“Did the security cameras catch anything? Have you heard from Bob?”
His eyes spoke of something he couldn’t say in an office of law and her body reacted. She squirmed in her seat. “No. Not yet.”
“Can I see you later? We need to talk.”
“Of course. Okay.” A thousand needle pricks punctured her skin.
“Great.” He gave her a wink and closed the door.
Scarlet sat and stared at her schedule for a long moment. Her body thrummed with unwanted sensations and emotions and the words swam in front of her eyes until they crystallised and came into focus. She had a mention in how long? Fifteen minutes! She swiped a file from the top of the closest stack and opened it up. Her reading comprehension was exceptional—usually—but she found herself visualising a beach and moonlight and a naked man with a polished, statuesque body, only he wasn’t cold or made of stone and she was wrapped around him like seaweed.
Snap out of it, Scarlet. Get it together. Work. Focus.
She forced herself to read the words, to make her notes and then she realised she was late. She was never late. She rushed to the stairwell, then realised she didn’t have time to walk ten flights. She retraced her steps and stood in front of the lift. The doors opened and she schooled her breath. You can do this. She stepped forward and just as the doors were about to close, a man-hand and an arm pushed in. She yelped, her heart staccato-thrashing against her ribs.
“Almost missed it.” Tony. Tony’s voice.
The bang in her chest eased, flared again. A different kind of percussion. The doors closed and she stood there with her back against the wall. Alone. With a man. In a lift. Panic rose from somewhere deep in her belly and her vision blurred. “Please, don’t press the stop button.” Her words were a whisper. A frantic whisper. But his gaze said he knew how she felt. He knew what pounded inside her, and he took her in his arms.
“It’s okay, Scarlet. You’re safe with me. I would never hurt you. Ever. I wanted to tell you how much being with you last night meant to me. And that word scratched into your car? I would never think that of you. Ever. It wasn’t like that.”
“What… was it like?”
“Amazing. Special.”
“For me, too.” She must have smiled because he smiled back. He cupped her face in his hands and settled his lips on hers. She closed her eyes and that small, enclosed cavity opened and spread. The night sky shone above them. Vast and endless and spacious. And a part of her—that tightly wound, eyes-scrunched part of her—relaxed just a smidge. His tongue tasted and soothed and it relaxed her a bit more. He dragged her closer, file and all, and she eased into him, her body like heated syrup.
“You have courage, honey. More than anyone knows.”
“I do,” she said, her mouth a hair’s breadth from his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stepped back and winked as the lift doors opened and the cool air of the foyer rushed in. “See you when you get back.”
She smiled. The doors closed and took him back to level ten and she walked with light steps towards the County Court on William Street. She enjoyed the breath of the wind and the touch of the sun where it penetrated the densely packed buildings and shone on the footpath. She was still light-hearted when she returned an hour later. She went to enter the stairwell and changed her mind. She’d take the lift. Her butt wouldn’t thank her, but her tightly packed schedule would.
It was when she checked her emails several minutes later that an odd subject line caught her eye. The matter of S. L. v U. T. What was it? Her stomach clenched and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her hand shook as she manoeuvred the mouse and clicked on the item in her inbox.
Photos stared back at her. Photos of two people, wet and naked in the ocean. Two people in a very compromising position. A close-up of their bodies joined, ecstasy and pain on her face. Ecstasy and pai
n on Tony’s. Below the photos was a demand. Back off, slut. I want your resignation on Daniel Wigmore’s desk by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, or this email will be forwarded to each and every one of the equity partners and your career is history. Done. No firm will want you. You’re a liability. A slut. No man is safe around you.
Scarlet’s stomach heaved and she dry-retched. She backed away from her desk like a python had uncurled and slipped from the monitor. Who could have done this? How could anyone but Tony have known? Had he orchestrated the whole thing to get rid of her? Did he want the position that badly? But how could he have known they’d end up together, unless… was she that pathetic? Did she look that desperate? He’d promised nothing would happen. It had been her decision to take it further. Hadn’t it? Or had he used reverse psychology to get what he wanted? The events of the night before played out in her mind, over and over. None of it made sense. The photos were real enough.
She stepped closer to the monitor and sought the sender’s address. It was a generic one. Nothing specific. Nothing to give away the identity of the sender. Probably sent from a local library or internet café. Whoever had sent them was smart enough to cover their tracks. The bastard was no doubt responsible for the damage to her car as well.
She fumed and stormed and cussed from one end of her office to the other. What now? What should she do? There was no way she would allow herself to be blackmailed. No way she would give whoever it was that kind of power over her. She didn’t know if Tony was involved, but he was certainly the main beneficiary if she resigned and that spoke volumes.
If it wasn’t Tony, it had to be Geoffrey. The guy hated her. Blamed her for his own weakness and the destruction of his marriage. Never mind that he’d been a partner and she’d been a lowly receptionist, so fresh and new to the business she’d had no clue that lowlifes like him existed. Well, she’d learned, and she’d fought, and she’d won. There was no way she’d allow him to push her down now.
She pictured him the day before, his face twisted with hate. This wasn’t a coincidence. He blamed Scarlet for his own bad behaviour. The only question was whether Geoffrey had gone rogue, or if Tony had been in on the plot?
Geoffrey must have followed them, but why? Because he didn’t want Tony succeeding where he’d failed? Well, boo hoo Mr. Big Shot. Tony was a hundred times the man Geoffrey was. A thousand times. Unless he’d known. Unless they’d concocted the plot together. Kill two birds with one stone? Revenge and clear the path to the partnership position Tony wanted so badly. But his father had died. There was no need to impress him anymore. Or perhaps that hadn’t been true either. Perhaps that had been a sob-story to weaken her.
She didn’t know. The light at the periphery of her vision became watery and flashy and pain stabbed in her temple. Her stomach shifted and adrenaline raced. She hadn’t had a migraine since her early twenties, but she’d suffered badly from them when she was younger. She reached into her drawer for paracetamol, picked up her phone and called her legal assistant. “Trace, I’ve got the mother of all migraines brewing. Could you please come in and go through my diary? Postpone what you can.”
She eyed the photos on her screen and took out a USB drive. She saved a copy of the email and the photos before deleting them from her computer. She didn’t want anyone to find them. Dark spots floated like ghouls in her vision. It wasn’t safe to drive. She ordered an Uber, then threw her bag over her shoulder and headed for the lift, her vision swimming.
“Scarlet.”
Tony’s voice. From the distance. Near blinded, she pushed on. Thunderous waves thudded in her head. “Migraine,” she muttered. “Going home.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No need. I’ve ordered an Uber.” Every cell in her body seized. Friend or foe?
“I’ll come around later and check that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay. You look grey. Pale.” He accompanied her into the lift. “What happened? You were fine.”
“I was.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the mirrored wall. Her head felt like it had split down the middle. The right side of her face felt numb. Her arm, too. If he knew about the photos, he was a good actor. He played the chivalrous love-interest to perfection. He helped her out to the car and held the door while she settled into the back.
“Call me when you get home.” He slammed the door and she eased her head back, her eyes closed against the blinding light.
Chapter Seven
When Scarlet opened her eyes the next morning, she saw it was after seven. She was late. Two mornings in a row? She sat upright and the room spun. She waited for the awful sensation to steady and subside. She’d thrown up before she’d retreated into sleep—a deep, dark sleep—and she needed a shower. She padded to the bathroom and stood under the hot spray for a good while, shampooing her hair and washing away the faint scent of sickness. She smoothed conditioner over it and used an exfoliating mitt to soap herself while she waited the obligatory sixty seconds before washing the conditioner out.
Every wipe of the mitt brought a wave of memories. Of lathering up with Tony. Of touching and smoothing her hands over his incredible body. And it was then, when her mind turned to the ocean, that she remembered. Her hand stilled. Her blood ran cold. Her mind rushed to the time. Under three hours. She had under three hours to work out what to do. The equity partners couldn’t see the photos. Not if she wanted to keep her job and her credibility.
She should tell Tony. Confront him.
But he might pretend he knew nothing about it or worse, come to her rescue and she’d believe he was on her side… when maybe he wasn’t. She cringed as she fought the shame. She wasn’t a gullible nineteen-year-old anymore. Where could a relationship with Tony go anyway? He wanted the position she wanted. And imagine Christmas lunch. Family events. She’d have to face Geoffrey over the dinner table and pretend she was fine with it when she wasn’t fine with it. She wasn’t fine with the hatred in his eyes or the suggestion that she’d seduced him, when in truth, he’d preyed upon her. She wasn’t fine with the shame. She could hardly have ignored Geoffrey and told him to piss off. It was her first job. She was good at it. Why should she have given it up because her boss was a jerk? As it turned out, she’d given it up anyway.
“Are you planning to stay in there all day?”
Her heart near bounced off the ceiling. “Jesus, Radcliff. Is that you?”
“You let me in. Last night. I didn’t want you to be alone. How are you feeling? Last time I saw you, you looked like death. You slept like the dead, too.”
“Oh, I didn’t remember. Thank you, I’m a lot better this morning.” Her cheeks burned.
“I’ve made you some eggs on toast and a green smoothie.”
His voice washed over her like warm caramel and her tears mingled with the droplets of water from the shower. “And coffee?”
“Yes, coffee was top of the list.” She heard a smile in his tone.
“Would you mind passing me a towel?”
“I’ve seen you naked before, honey.”
“Not today you haven’t, Radcliff.” He placed the towel in her outstretched hand, and she pulled it behind the rippled glass screen. He’d brought fire and brimstone into her life. Or maybe he’d just stirred the embers.
“See you when you’re ready.”
“Give me five minutes.”
“There you are.” Tony glanced up from his cooking and assessed her. “You look pale. Are you okay?”
He slid a poached egg onto toast slathered with avocado and looked very much at home in her French provincial-style kitchen. “I will be.”
He pushed a freshly brewed coffee towards her, and it was hard to hate him. She closed her hands around the porcelain cup, taking a deep breath of the rich, full scent. He was a victim here, too. He just didn’t know it…or maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe she had more to lose than he did. She settled herself onto one of the stools at the marble island
bench and took a sip.
“Are you well enough to go into work?” Tony took a swig of his coffee. “I’m meeting with Geoffrey to get dad’s funeral sorted today so I won’t be in.”
“What time’s your meeting?” The word brought a wave of nausea to her stomach and the fight drained out of her. The equity partners couldn’t see the photos. She didn’t want her reputation ruined… again. She didn’t want to feel ashamed… again. She couldn’t face it. She didn’t want to. She didn’t have to. She could resign.
“Eleven.”
“I will go in.” She toyed with her food and watched him devour his share. She could get a job elsewhere. If Geoffrey didn’t sabotage that, too. It would set her timeframe back. Who knew when she’d make partner? Unlike Tony, her name wouldn’t be enough to entice head-hunters or mess with the pecking order. She’d have to earn her stripes all over again. Long hours. No weekends off. She’d seen a light at the end of the tunnel and now it was gone.
“Here. Try the smoothie. Your body needs hydration. Protein, too.”
She felt exhausted. “Why do you care? Why are you here?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
The revolt of her thoughts collided with the warmth in his eyes. “There’s no need. It was one night. I’m a big girl, Radcliff. You’re off the hook.”
“There is no hook. I’m here because I want to be. We made love, O’Connor. We’re not done yet.” He lowered his cup to the bench.
Sexy man-shadow peppered his jaw and there was the trap of those dimples. She gave them a wide berth. “We’re more than done.”
He stepped around the bench and turned her stool until she fitted between his thighs. He took her face in his hands and her heart along with it, his blue, blue gaze blazing. He closed the distance between them, and his mouth settled on hers, hot and hungry. She fought the magic even as she sank into his kiss. Even as she felt those waves buffeting her body. Even as his arms wrapped around her and her heart sighed along with his.
When his mouth lifted from hers, his gaze was steady. “We’re not done.”