Harlequin Desire June 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Maureen Child

  I’m delaying gratification.

  But what if you don’t win this one in the end?

  “I’m not playing at anything, Keely. I’m holding you to the agreement we made. If you want sex, you’re going to have to date me.”

  “I don’t want to date you! Or anybody else,” Keely shouted, her eyes wild and furious.

  Dare tipped his head to one side. “Why not?”

  “Because it never works out!” Keely retorted. She pushed her hands into her hair, holding the heap of blond hair back. “Why can’t we keep this simple? What is wrong with you?”

  Dare lifted one shoulder, his eyes steady on her face. Keely was afraid…of what? He searched her eyes and saw the fear, the healthy dose of vulnerability.

  “What are you scared of, Keels? Getting involved? Commitment? Being loved?”

  Keely released a low growl. “This conversation is pointless. You don’t want a relationship with me, Dare, not really.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t want a relationship!”

  “And again, why not? Because you are scared? Of what? Getting hurt? That comes with the territory, Keels.”

  Keely released a small screech before bending down to pick up her coat. Without bothering to do up her open blouse, she jerked the garment on, muttering about stupid men, she was an idiot for coming here, she’d find what she needed somewhere else. Dare knew she wouldn’t; Keely would never leave him to go trawling.

  She didn’t want sex. She wanted sex with him. And despite her fury, he knew she was intrigued by the possibility of “more;” she was just too damn stubborn to take the step.

  But she would.

  Because he knew he could out-stubborn her. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was worth it.

  Dare was coming to believe she was worth pretty much everything and if he had to drag her to that realization, he would.

  Keely reached for her bag and jerked it over her shoulder, looking like a furious warrior woman. Risking a slap, or a kick to the shins, he approached her and slowly, because he was the only one who was going to see her amazing breasts in her sexy bra, began to thread buttons through the holes of her shirt.

  When he was done, he sent her a crooked grin. “Sure I can’t change your mind? I’m starving and am craving pizza.”

  He knew pizza from the Italian place a block over was her weakness. As he expected, Keely’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Is it working?”

  Keely responded by grinding the pointy heel of her boot into his big toe. It took all of Dare’s willpower not to grimace, not to react. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. When she released the pressure, he forced a smile. “Is that a no?”

  “It’s a screw you, no!” Keely hissed, turning around with a snap, every inch of her curvy body radiating fury. “You’re going to pay for this, Seymour.”

  “How?” Dare asked, intrigued. This should be good.

  When she spun around, hair and eyes wild, the moisture dried up in his mouth. “I don’t know, but you will.”

  He grinned, excitement coursing through him. “Can’t wait.” He reached for his jacket, trying to act sanguine despite his throbbing toe. “Sure you don’t want any pizza?”

  Keely threw up her hands, flipped him off and stormed out of his office.

  Yep, Keely was the woman his heart wanted. Dammit. Life was going to be hella interesting with her in it.

  And she would be in it. Guaranteed.

  * * *

  The eight-foot door to Mounton House swung open and Beah smiled when Keely wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed tight. Keely always gave the best hugs, but because she was clutching an expensive bottle of champagne—Moët, courtesy of her Kuwaiti princess—and Belgian chocolates, another gift from another client, Beah couldn’t hug her back.

  Keely eventually stepped aside and allowed Beah into the impressive hall. Beah was grateful because, while there were hints of spring back home in London, Boston was still damn cold.

  “It’s so nice to have you back in Boston!” Keely said, tugging her inside.

  Beah placed the champagne and chocolates on the hall table—eighteenth-century, French—and allowed her enormous tote bag to drop to the floor. “It’s just temporary, Keels. I’ll be back in London by the end of May. Thanks for letting me move in here.”

  Keely snorted. “Like I would let you move in anywhere else, and it’s not like I don’t have the room. Especially now that the film crew have vacated the place.”

  Beah remembered Keely and Joa had recently lent out the turn-of-the-century fifteen-bedroom house—complete with many reception rooms, two libraries, a ballroom, two dining rooms, a media room and servants’ quarters—to a director who was filming a horror movie. “Any problems with them?”

  Keely shook her head. “A couple of broken glasses, a broken vase, thankfully nothing valuable.”

  Keely picked up the champagne and the chocolates. “Let’s open these and have a drink.”

  “Good plan,” Beah agreed, following Keely through the huge mansion to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Once there, Keely reached for two flutes—crystal, of course—and gestured for Beah to open the champagne. Beah, not wanting to waste a drop of the exceptional vintage, eased the cork out with a discreet pop.

  After they’d toasted each other and taken a sip or two, Keely cocked her head, looking concerned.

  “How are you feeling about being back in Boston?”

  Beah knew what Keely was really asking—how did she feel about seeing Finn again, on a daily basis? She wanted to lie, to Keely and to herself, but couldn’t. “It’s not ideal but I have no choice. They want me here, so here is where I am.”

  “And what’s happening with your job offer from that Winters guy?”

  “Summers, Michael Summers,” Beah corrected her. “He wants an answer and is pushing me for one. I’m trying to delay making a decision until after your sale.”

  “Why?”

  Beah sipped her champagne. “It’s a chaotic time, Keels. The Murphys are under immense pressure. Your sale is highly anticipated. I don’t think you and Joa actually understand how important it is. PR is ramping up. We are in constant contact with our biggest clients and all the agents of clients we don’t represent directly. If the art world heard I am jumping ship, even that I am considering moving on, it would cause ripples and give rise to questions neither the Murphys, nor I, have the time to answer right now. Speculation and gossip would run rampant and it would dilute the massive PR campaign. I can’t let that happen.”

  “You’re that important?”

  Beah didn’t take offense at Keely’s skeptical question.

  But yeah, she was a powerful person in the organization, and her leaving would be discussed. And gossiped about. Stories would be swapped, embellished, made up. She didn’t want any of it touching the spring and summer sales, the busiest time in the world of high-end art. “I am.”

  Keely nodded, understanding. “Well, nobody will hear a word of your plans from me.”

  Beah knew that; she trusted Keely implicitly.

  “And you and Finn?” Keely asked.

  There was no her and Finn. They’d had sex; it wouldn’t happen again. She couldn’t afford for it to happen again. She had too much to do and couldn’t be distracted. Besides, she was more than a little annoyed with her ex.

  A week ago, she’d sent Finn a detailed list of what needed to be done about Ben and Piper’s wedding but when she asked for a progress report—yeah, she was checking up on him—she’d found out he’d accomplished next to nothing.

  High up on her to-do list was to light a fire under Murphy’s admittedly delectable ass.

  Keely grinned. “I bet you a hundred bucks you won’t be able to keep your hands off his—” she
grinned “—admittedly delectable ass.”

  Beah groaned. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “You did. We’ll get back to Finn and his ass but—” Keely reached across the island counter for her phone “—give me a second to cancel my plans for tonight.”

  Beah placed her hand on her wrist. “What plans? Do you have a date?”

  Keely frowned. “Yes. No… Sort of.”

  Keely threw half the contents of her glass down her throat and Beah lifted her eyebrows. “What’s going on, Keels?”

  Keely rubbed the tips of her fingers against her temple. “That damned lawyer Wilfred—Dare—Seymour.”

  Beah topped up her glass, intrigued by the frustration on Keely’s face. Her friend was incredibly confident, amazingly self-assured, and a lawyer had her in a froth? Interesting…

  “You’re going on a date with him?”

  “Not by choice,” Keely muttered. When Beah frowned, she waved her words away. “God, no, he’s not forcing me to date him, as if he could! He just challenged me to spend a couple of hours with him. And we’re not allowed to discuss anything to do with work. Or Isabel. Or art. Or this house.”

  Beah was now intrigued. “And why did he issue this…dare?”

  Keely glared at her for her deliberate choice of the word. “Because he says the only reason I keep snapping and snarling at him is that I’m scared that if I don’t, I might jump him.”

  Beah nearly snorted champagne out through her nose. When she felt she could talk, she schooled her features—damn, it was nearly impossible not to smile—and asked the obvious question. “And can you resist him?”

  Keely sent her a red-hot, I’ll-slay-you-where-you-stand look. It lasted only three seconds and then her shoulders slumped and her face crumbled. “No. Probably not.”

  Tread softly now, Beah. “And why would you want to resist him?”

  Keely looked at a point past Beah’s shoulder. When she returned her attention to Beah’s face, she looked rueful. “We’ve been sleeping together for a while. I keep telling him it’s just good sex. He keeps insisting it’s more and that I am too stubborn to admit he’s right. He’s put this ridiculous rule in place… Crap, I can’t believe I am telling you this.”

  Beah leaned forward. “If you stop now, I swear I’ll slap you. What rule?”

  Keely blushed. “If I want sex, I have to date him first. He’s not putting out until I’ve bought him dinner and spent some time emotionally engaging with him.”

  Beah slapped her hand against her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Oh, she really wanted to make a comment about tables and the turning thereof…

  “I didn’t think he was the kind of man to pass up an opporunity to have no-strings sex. What is he doing?” Keely demanded.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Beah lied, convinced Keely was A) not ready to hear Dare Seymour was obviously head-over-heels in love with her and B) not ready to face the life-changing realization she might be head-over-heels in love with him, too. They needed to work it out themselves; Beah didn’t want to spoil their fun.

  “The nerve of the man,” Beah stated, silently laughing.

  Keely tipped her glass at her, frowning. “Why do I think you are laughing at me?”

  Beah placed her hand on her chest and tried to look innocent. “Not me.”

  “Pffft.” Keely drained her glass. She looked at her watch and winced. “I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.”

  It appeared that changing her plans was no longer on the agenda. Okay then. Beah grinned, knowing Keely was going to have a long, lovely night ahead of her, especially if she bought Dare dinner. “Okay. I’m going to head over to Murphy’s. I need to talk to my bosses about your auction.”

  Keely pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I still feel like Isabel’s turning in her grave at us selling her beloved collection.”

  “The dead are dead, Keels. It’s up to the living to live.” Beah knew this; she lived it every day. “And the money you raise is going to Isabel’s foundation. That’s a very good thing.”

  Beah stood up and drained the last of the champagne from her glass. “I’m going to freshen up. And you need to get ready for your date with your hot lawyer.”

  Keely hopped off her chair and pinched Beah’s side. “You are enjoying this a bit too much, Bee.”

  Beah grinned. “But remember, just because you buy a guy dinner, he’s not obligated to sleep with you.”

  “I hate you so much right now,” Keely said, picking up the box of chocolates and holding them to her chest. “I’m confiscating these because you’re being snarky.”

  Beah laughed, kissed her on the cheek and left. While she enjoyed watching Keely flail around in relationship confusion, she had no intention of doing it herself.

  Then why did the thought of seeing Finn again cause the butterflies in her stomach to take flight?

  * * *

  It was nearly six by the time Beah walked into the lobby of Murphy International. The receptionist, someone Beah didn’t recognize, was packing her bag to leave and when Beah showed her Murphy International identification badge, she was told Finn was in his basement office, a sprawling space he’d had remodeled shortly after he joined Murphy’s straight out of college.

  Beah placed her thumb on the panel to the lift that would take her to the secure areas of the company, including the storeroom where multimillions of dollars’ worth of art was housed. It still bemused Beah that the Murphys trusted her as they did and, yeah, she felt guilty about her plans to leave them.

  She made good money with them, very good money, but leaving Murphy’s to join Michael wasn’t about the money. She wanted the freedom to make her own decisions, to see whether she could cut it on her own in this hard, secretive world of trading art and priceless antiques.

  When she left Murphy’s, she would finally feel totally independent, answering to no one. Only then would she know if she would sink or swim. It was the ultimate test of her ability to stand on her own two feet.

  To show herself she didn’t need a father. Or a husband. A man. It was a way to keep busy, and hopefully, a new challenge would satisfy her restless spirit, the part of her that was always looking for something else, something more…

  Something to fill the holes in her life she didn’t like admitting she had.

  Her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d planned. She’d thought she would be a mom by now, happily married, settled. Still working, naturally, but easily switching among being a wife, a mom and a businesswoman. Yeah, her life was nothing like that. And now she couldn’t imagine being immersed in a family, purely because she now understood, on a fundamental level, that people left when one needed them the most. The three people she’d loved the most had all left her—at different times and in different ways—but no matter whether they’d wanted to or not, they’d still left.

  She’d never put herself in that position again. Ever.

  And no matter how sexy her ex-husband was, how much she desired him, she would never be fool enough to expect more from him than he could deliver. Besides, she didn’t need anything from him; her life was good. She felt fulfilled.

  Didn’t she?

  Feeling a little irritated with herself, Beah barged into Finn’s basement office, allowing the door to slap closed behind her.

  He stood by the bookshelves filling the back wall, black-rimmed glasses over his green eyes, holding a thick open book in his big hands.

  Sexy nerd. Brains and muscles were a killer combination.

  Annoyed with where her thoughts went, Beah reined them in and slapped her hands on her hips. “Have you contacted the florist? Confirmed the time for the ceremony at the chapel? Told the caterer how many people to expect?”

  Finn closed the book, replaced it and slowly, oh so slowly, walked past his desk, past his beat-up leather couch to
where she was standing. As he walked, Beah appreciated his long-legged stride, the way his black Henley skimmed over his chest and dipped into the curves of his muscled arms, fell over his flat stomach. His long legs, covered in faded denim, ate up the space between them, his flat leather boots not making any sound on the expensive hardwood floor.

  Okay, to amend her previous statement: she might not need him, but she wanted him.

  Instead of speaking, Finn placed his palms on either side of her face, tipped her head and took her mouth in a hot, hard kiss. Beah considered, just for a moment, objecting. Instead she let his tongue push past her lips, touch her tongue, and then she fell into his kiss.

  Holding his wrists, she arched her back, pushing her breasts into his chest, sliding her tongue over his, welcoming his taste and touch and smell. His hand moved down her cheek, her neck, and settled on her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple, supersensitive beneath the expensive lace of her bra.

  Beah wanted her clothes off, she wanted them to be naked, and she wanted it now. Taking a step backward, pulling Finn with her, she reached behind her and fumbled for the lock on his door, eventually turning it so they couldn’t be interrupted.

  Finn pulled his mouth off hers, his green eyes glittering in the low light of his freestanding lamps. “Here? Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Beah wound her arms around his neck, placed her mouth against his, eager to get back into the kiss. She nibbled his bottom lip and took a minute to realize Finn’s fingers were digging into her hips but he wasn’t responding to her kiss.

  Feeling like she’d jumped into an icy pond, she pulled back and allowed her hands to drop to her sides. “Problem?” she asked, trying to act casual.

  Finn’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Ronan scheduled a meeting in—” Finn glanced at his expensive high-tech watch “—ten minutes.”

  Right, that was why she was here at Murphy International. To meet with the Murphy owners and her bosses.

  Ack.

  Beah dropped her head, feeling heat seep up her neck and over her cheeks. One look at Finn and she’d lost all sense of propriety, all sense of place. And time.