Mr One-Night Stand

by Rachael Stewart

  And as for Marcus—what the hell did he think he was playing at? Entering into a deal with a man who clearly wasn’t of sound mind?

  Screw his charity work and his exemplary public profile—that son of a bitch had a lot to answer for.

  And she would see to it that he did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MARCUS PRESSED THE speed button, increasing the already punishing pace of the treadmill. Around him music blared, his breath was coming in hard grunts, sweat trickled down his body and still she was there, filling his mind, teasing his body.

  He tore his T-shirt over his head, swiping it over his face and across his torso before tossing it aside. He wasn’t stopping until he was free of her.

  He’d tried telling himself it was business that was getting him worked up, that they needed to be talking strategy ASAP and ensuring they were on the same page.

  But like hell was it business.

  He’d tried to work, to concentrate on anything other than her, and yet she persisted. Her appeal still resonated through him long after he’d left her standing there.

  It didn’t matter that she was mad at him, that he’d screwed up and jeopardised their business relationship. His body simply didn’t care.

  And that was unacceptable.

  He hammered the speed button once more, his frustration burning through him. He would exhaust her out of him if he had to. Whatever it took to get himself back under control.

  His mobile’s screen flashing in its rest caught his eye and he cursed. He didn’t want to be interrupted. He wasn’t ready to finish.

  He checked the ID and saw it was his doorman. He wouldn’t ring unless it was important...

  Easing off the speed, he muted the music and put the phone on speaker. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sir, I have Miss Hayes here to see you.’

  ‘Miss Hayes?’ He stopped the treadmill entirely.

  ‘Yes, sir, would you like me to send her up?’

  He felt his pulse kick rebelliously and thrust his fingers through his hair.

  So what if she’d changed her mind? So what if she couldn’t wait until tomorrow? So what if she’d tracked him down?

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes.’ He pulled sweat-slickened strands of hair off his forehead and met his own determined gaze in the mirror ahead. Business. It’s all about business. ‘Bring her up.’

  He grabbed the towel slung over the machine and cut the call, launching his contacts list next. He scrolled through them, drying off his face as he headed into the foyer, his mind made up. He would deal with Jennifer and then he would go out on a date. He had options. Even if a suitable companion wasn’t leaping out of his contacts just yet, he would find one.

  He came to a stop before the mirror-finish lift doors, his semi-naked body reflecting back at him. Should he chuck some clothes on? He was hardly dressed for a business discussion, not on any level, but to hell with it—what did she expect, coming to his home uninvited? If the sight made her suffer half as much as he had already, then it would be worth it.

  Grinning, he slipped his mobile into the back pocket of his shorts and took hold of each towel-end, casually leaning back against the wall as he waited.

  The lift slid into place, its doors opening and presenting him with the doorman, who stepped back to allow Jennifer to pass. She froze mid-step, her mouth parting in that appealing way he had become fascinated with.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘In the flesh,’ he said, spreading the towel-ends and straightening up, his eyes leaving hers to dismiss the doorman. ‘Thank you.’

  The guy nodded and pressed the button to close the doors behind her.

  She wore the same clothes she’d been in earlier that day, overlaid by a long beige trench coat—the kind she could wear with nothing beneath when the need arose.

  His cock twitched. Just get through this. Fun can come later. And not with her.

  ‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure?’

  She scanned him from top to toe, her cheeks heating, her eyes alive. And then she swallowed, a shutter falling over her expression as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

  ‘Can you do something for me?’ she asked softly, pausing an arm’s reach away.

  The word anything rushed to the tip of his tongue and he buried the crazy retort. ‘What is it?’

  She raised a hand to his chest, and the unexpected touch sucked air into his lungs, holding it there as her fingers trailed down, spread out over his naked torso.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ she purred, her eyes following her fingers and her delicate touch sending ripples of pleasure straight to his defiant groin.

  What the fuck?

  He fought to keep his head clear, to remember his plan of action—the sensible one. ‘Considering you couldn’t wait to be rid of me a few hours ago—’

  He broke off as her fingers met with the waistband of his shorts and he dropped his gaze, saw his cock swelling at her touch mere millimetres from where he desired it. His mouth dried up, and his well-exercised muscles turned rigid with anticipation.

  ‘No,’ he continued tightly.

  Business. It needs to be about business. But, God, the desire to push her, to see how far she was going to go...

  ‘You’re going to have to enlighten me.’

  She stepped closer, her eyes lifting to his mouth. ‘It’s you that needs to enlighten me,’ she said, raising her hands to twine them through the ends of his towel and pulling him down.

  He told himself to stop, to end it before things went too far, but his head still bowed. Her smell was invading his senses, her mouth beckoning.

  God, he wanted her.

  She was a hair’s breadth away when the mood suddenly shifted, her eyes snapping to his as she shoved at him. ‘You can start by telling me what the hell you’re playing at.’

  He stumbled back against the wall, surprise knocking him off-kilter. She was beyond angry—he could see that now. Her eyes were shooting daggers, her skin flaring like her hair.

  ‘Hell, Jennifer.’ He righted himself, fingers raking over his face, desire still burning through him, intensifying his confusion. ‘Seems I should be asking you the same question—coming here, throwing yourself at me and—’

  ‘No,’ she cut in. ‘That little scene was about making myself feel better for what you did to me. Make no mistake. I had no intention of following through.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He shook his head.

  So it was payback?

  It was about getting him back for the wrong she felt he’d done her. Hell, he could understand that, even respect her for it. But the rest...?

  ‘You came all the way here just to tease me?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty I wish to discuss with you.’

  Plenty to berate him for, if her whole demeanour was anything to go by. And, hell, he deserved it. He knew he did.

  ‘In that case, you’d best take a seat in the living room.’ There was no way he was having this conversation half-clothed, or without a cold shower first. ‘I’ll join you in ten.’

  ‘In ten?’ She frowned. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To take a shower,’ he said, adding, for his own devil-like amusement, ‘unless you want to join me?’

  Her cheeks flooded anew.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so.’ He spoke for her. ‘Look, I need a shower. You can either wait or you can leave and we’ll do this tomorrow? It’s up to you.’

  With that he turned and walked away. His intent was to show her that he didn’t care. In reality he needed to put distance between her and the erection still pressing painfully against his shorts. It was clearly slow at getting the message that he’d been played.

  * * *

  Jennifer stared after him, hands fisted at her sides, her head a mess as she
struggled to rise above her warring emotions.

  She’d been fuelled by anger. On the taxi ride over she’d plotted her attack, determined to tease him, catch him on the back foot, make herself feel better over his deceptive behaviour and then, when she was happy she had him, to pull him apart over his dealings with both her and Tony.

  It had been a great plan.

  She just hadn’t factored in a semi-naked Marcus, all pumped and slick, so ripped and mouthwatering she’d hardly believed her eyes. But the reality had been there, and the sight had been enough to send her best-laid plans departing with the lift and her knickers wet through.

  It was disgraceful. Add to that his ability to dismiss her so readily off the back of their little exchange and she was hopping mad.

  She’d had him right where she’d wanted him. It had been visibly evident. His hardness had been pleading for more. And she’d take heart in that, if it wasn’t for the fact that it had taken every ounce of her strength to thrust him away.

  In spite of her anger, and her hatred for what he’d done to her, to Tony, she still wanted him. It was unforgivable, intolerable and totally undeniable.

  She wanted to scream her frustration, but sense won out. There was no way in hell she would risk him hearing how much he got to her.

  Tearing her eyes off his distracting rear, she headed for the living area, her heels clicking against the rich wooden floor.

  She didn’t dwell on the last time she’d been there. Then, she’d navigated it in the dark, her hands feeling their way, hot from their recent exploration of his body. A body she’d felt completely within her rights to explore, to enjoy, to devour.

  What a fool!

  She scrunched up her face, forcing out the memory. It hadn’t been her fault—she had nothing to be ashamed of. And, striding forward, she entered the vast living space that ran off the foyer.

  It was impressive, to say the least, its glass walls making the London skyline and its setting sun the perfect backdrop. A large cream L-shaped sofa dominated the room, its clean lines made inviting by various oversized cushions. Plush rugs adorned the floor, softening the hard wood throughout.

  And in the corner, halting her appraisal of all else, stood an exquisite grand piano, gleaming in the accented lighting. It called to her, and she felt a bittersweet warmth pulling her back to another time and place.

  She headed for it automatically, slipping her coat from her shoulders and dropping it over the sofa as she went. She reached out, her fingertips gliding over the sleek black top, following its curve with pleasing familiarity and pausing when she reached the key lid.

  She itched to lift it. Could she still play? Would she remember anything her father had taught her?

  She nibbled at her lower lip and raised the lid, her fingers dropping to toy with the keys. The notes resonated through the air and she glanced anxiously in the direction of the foyer.

  Ah, hell, what did she care?

  She needed something to do while she waited—anything to keep busy...

  Slipping onto the bench, she tested out a melody, surprising herself with what she could remember, and a soothing calm seemed to be taking over as her fingers ran away with it.

  She missed this. Maybe it was time she got a piano for her apartment. Inwardly, she laughed. It would never fit. She’d have to move. And even then it wouldn’t be as beautiful as this one. Or the one that sat untouched in her Yorkshire home. She’d never transport that down here either. It wouldn’t feel right. Even though it would never be played—not while her mum was still with them—it belonged there.

  Her tune changed with her mood, and melancholy consumed her as she let it flow through her fingers.

  She played and played, relaxing into the rhythm, losing sight of where she was—until the air became tight and an awareness rippled through her. Her fingers froze, her eyes shooting to the foyer.

  How long he’d been there she had no idea, but there he was. Freshly showered, his damp hair curling around his face, he wore a grey sweatshirt that clung indecently to his upper body, and faded jeans. His bare feet were super-casual. All very laid-back and chilled, save for the man himself.

  She swallowed.

  His face was hard, set like stone, but his eyes—they blazed, and an emotion she couldn’t read seared her across the room. Heat consumed her, swirling through her core as guilt swelled.

  She slipped her fingers from the keys, folding them onto her lap. ‘I’m sorry.’

  There was a flicker of something—anger, pain, she didn’t know—and then it was gone, his face turned away as he crossed the room, heading for a drinks cabinet that looked fit for an exclusive bar.

  ‘Don’t be—you play well,’ he remarked.

  There was no edge to his voice, no emotion. As if she’d imagined the whole thing. Except she hadn’t.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I really am sorry.’

  Christ, why was she still apologising? He’d said it was fine. Only she didn’t believe him...

  ‘It’s been a while, and when I saw the piano I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He extracted a bottle and glanced over his shoulder. ‘I was just surprised. I don’t know many people who play.’

  She rose and stepped out from behind the piano, her mind scrambling to get back to her purpose, to the reason she’d come. But her brain felt clouded with the memories, the pleasure of playing, and then him in all his appealing and confusing glory.

  He turned and walked towards her, two glasses of red wine in his hands. He offered one out. It was presumptuous, but it was what she needed, and she took it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He watched her lift it to her lips, then lowered his eyes briefly before returning them to lock with hers. It was fleeting, but she felt the trail of his eyes over her skin like the warmth of the alcohol gliding down her throat and her pulse skittered.

  She looked away, needing to protect herself, to hide his effect on her, and she sensed him smile—did he know what he was doing to her?

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’

  She bit back the ridiculous retort I’d rather stand. This wasn’t going to be quick and easy—sitting made more sense. Even if it did appear too comfortable, too relaxed.

  Feeling his eyes on her, she walked to the sofa with deliberate grace and perched at its edge, her glass cradled between her hands.

  He followed, his fresh, clean scent washing over her as he passed by, dropping onto the sofa alongside her. He was far enough away that they didn’t touch, but not so far that his scent didn’t continue to tease her, its heady quality drying her mouth with a multitude of wants and desires.

  None of which tallied with the reason she was here.

  She took another sip, using the wine’s soothing influence to urge her back on course.

  Think of Tony.

  Think of Marcus’s deceit.

  Think of all that is bad, for Christ’s sake.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?’ he said. ‘Or am I going to have to tease it out of you?’

  That did it, and his implication sparked an indignant fire that had her eyes spearing his. ‘I’m surprised you can’t guess.’

  ‘I’d like to think you couldn’t stay away from me,’ he said, and she ignored the flutter in her tummy. ‘But after that display it’s clearly not the case.’

  ‘At least you’re not deluded.’

  He cocked a brow, his smile soul-corrupting. ‘Touché.’

  She considered him, all laid-back charm and charisma, and her internal warning sign flared. He was dangerous to her on so many levels. Either he was an utter bastard, or he was a man she could like...really like—

  Like? Was she crazy? He’d near enough lied to her.

  ‘How could you do it?’

  He tensed,
all trace of humour evaporating. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Sleep with me when you knew we’d have to work together? Let me do all manner of...’ Her voice trailed away. Memories now tainted in shame burned her through and she looked away, taking another drink before she could speak again. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I really am sorry.’

  ‘Sorry isn’t enough,’ she blurted, looking back to him with rising anger. It didn’t matter that his apology sounded sincere—she needed more than a simple sorry. ‘Did you not think about how it would make me feel? How mortifying it is to know you kept it from me? That you let me do all that, knowing we would have to sit in a fucking boardroom together and deliver a professional front?’

  The knuckles of the hand holding his glass flared white—he was going to snap the stem if he wasn’t careful. She almost wished he would. Red wine all over his pale furnishings was the least he deserved.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking,’ he said quietly. ‘The truth is, there’s no excuse I can give for my behaviour.’

  ‘So, you’re not even going to try?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll help.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  He studied her, long and hard, his eyes wavering. ‘Okay, I’ll give you my excuse,’ he said eventually. ‘So long as you assure me it won’t affect us going forward.’

  ‘Affect us?’ She gave a small snort. ‘It’s a bit late to worry about that.’

  Silently, he studied her, his inner battle written in his face, and then he hunched forward, his eyes flicking away, to return dark and brooding. ‘The truth is, the moment you walked into that bar I was hooked.’

  Her eyelids fluttered, along with her heart, but she kept herself steady, refusing to look away.

  ‘When you returned my interest I would have moved heaven and earth to have you.’

  She swallowed, and the warmth spreading through her belly now was nothing like shame as her defences took a direct hit.

  ‘And, as I’ve already told you,’ he continued, ‘when I found out your identity I tried to stop things. But you can be very...persuasive...when you want to be.’