by Anna Cleary
Was it some ploy? Some devious opportunistic trick to get her back on Jean’s sofa?
Arousing though that image might be, she must not allow herself to forget. Essentially he was a cold, cold man.
Though hot.
Smoking hot.
The lean solidity of his hard-muscled person was hard to ignore. Up this close, and seemingly accessible, naturally he exerted a strong magnetic pull.
A treacherous flame licked through her insides and warmed her intimate parts. Well, she was only human. With his pleasantly clean, masculine scent taunting her senses, the crispness of his hair and eyebrows making her fingertips itch, Ms E. Vye was hovering over her shoulder.
She met his grey gaze. ‘Why did you do it?’
His brows lifted. ‘Do what?’
‘Make up that story? About me hiring you?’
He gave a lazy shrug. ‘I didn’t like that Roger’s face. People who smirk always worry me.’
The lift stopped at the ninth floor and the doors cranked open. It took a second for their arrival to register with her, so caught up was she in the moment.
Once she’d extracted herself from the confined space, she turned to him in the hall. ‘No, really. Why did you?’
He flickered a considering glance over her, then dropped his eyes. ‘Maybe I don’t like to see someone being bullied by a gang.’
Her heart clenched in acknowledgement. There was truth to his words. That was exactly how she had perceived the event herself. Violent. Uncivilised. People she’d liked and trusted leaping onto the bandwagon to attack. But could she bear sympathy from him?
‘But it wasn’t everyone,’ she said quickly. ‘Only a few.’
‘An influential few.’
She flushed as though the shame was hers, and Guy was reminded of how he’d felt after his public evisceration. There was nothing more humiliating than that look of pity in a would-be comforter’s eyes. Pity could feel so dangerously close to contempt.
‘Maybe.’ Amber lifted a shoulder. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting any of that. But I hope you weren’t thinking I was some kind of victim?’
‘Hell, no.’
Each of their apartment doors was close at hand. She hunted around in her bag for her keys, her skin prickling with awareness of him. At least the ice had been broken. She supposed they could be on normal speaking terms now.
Normal for neighbours, that was. Not for sleeping partners. Though sleeping, per se, had never happened between them. Only sex. And the sex could certainly never be repeated. Even if he had saved her life from a horde of butchers waving knives. Not unless he came up with a corker of a satisfactory explanation for his poor performance in the afterglow department.
In fact it would be best not to think about him in that way at all. Forget the sex and how it had felt skin to skin with him. Chest to chest. Eliminate all that. All thoughts of kissing.
She paused to level a firm glance at him. ‘We O’Neills can defend ourselves.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ He made a wry face. ‘Actually, I was impressed by the way you stood up to them. Reminded me of a warrior princess.’
‘Oh, right.’ She rolled her eyes. Might even have laughed except that right then, despite her warrior tendencies, she seemed to be seized with a fit of the shudders.
‘Are you all right?’ He moved a little closer to her.
He looked serious, concerned, even, as if he thought she might be about to keel over. His hands twitched towards her, then changed their minds and curled into fists.
‘Of course.’ She rubbed her arms to warm them, and his frown deepened.
‘You’re probably in shock. You should have a hot drink.’
‘Shock? No. I’m fine. Just a bit empty. Haven’t eaten much today.’ Oh, God, why tell him that? Why not just tell him outright that since he’d inflicted the wound on her soul she couldn’t eat, think or concentrate properly on anything but him? And on passion, pain, and what it meant about her that she was attracted to people like him? ‘I’m just getting over how vicious some people were.’
‘Mmm.’ He was still looking her over with concern. Well, it looked like concern. Unless she was reading too much into things again. ‘Greedy is the word that springs to mind.’
Again, his words struck a chord. That was exactly how she’d viewed it herself. ‘Really? Did you think so?’
‘Of course,’ he said warmly. ‘They were just trying to get their grubby hands on your location. How long since you’ve had the shop?’
‘Ten weeks.’
He curled his lip in disgust. ‘So they decided this was their chance? Before you had time to settle in?’
‘Seems that way. Though they probably thought they had right on their side. The shop could certainly do with a make-over. Somehow I’ll have to organise that now.’ She heaved a worried sigh. Now all she had to do was find a way to fulfil the contract she’d signed.
‘Can I have those?’
She was too surprised to react. He just casually slipped the keys from her grasp and unlocked her door.
‘Do you have any tea in here?’ He was already half inside, holding the door wide.
‘I do. But, look, don’t you worry. I’ll be …’
He didn’t appear to hear her protest. He urged her in, clearly intending to come along. Her trouble was her mother had instilled manners into her. Even if a rattlesnake had insisted on hustling her into her flat five minutes after it had seen off her enemies, she would probably have complied gracefully.
While in his case …
Well, it was impossible to be deliberately rude to a man who’d just saved her bacon—even him. Before she knew it she was politely pointing out the easiest route around and over the furniture in the hall. Lucky he couldn’t see her face. Her mouth and jaw were locked into a grimace of discomfort.
She absolutely prickled with the strange and disturbing sensation of seeing Guy Wilder opening her cupboard doors, wresting the kettle from her nerveless grip and taking charge of her kitchen.
Her very small kitchen. Smaller than it had ever been before.
She sat tensely at the table. While boiling water was poured, milk and sugar located, strange and disturbing notions of what he might be up to assailed her brain.
On the surface he was all cool efficiency. He gave no clue as to whether he was intending to throw her onto the nearest sofa or not. Just as well, because hers was in the hall, buried under a pile of stuff. He’d have to resort to her bed, unless he was considering this very table.
‘Do you have any sweet biscuits?’
‘On the third shelf. There, under the yoghurt.’
Was he trying to reclaim some credit with her? No way could she sit at a table and drink tea with him as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory. Perhaps he felt the same, because while he sat down too he only half shared the table, his chair partly turned away as if he might need a quick escape. He bypassed the tea and biscuits altogether.
She warmed her ice-cold fingers on her cup. ‘You don’t drink tea?’
‘Not just now. I’m not the one with the shakes.’ His glance drifted to her mouth and his brows edged together.
She frowned too, wishing her lips wouldn’t turn dry at the merest hint of—anything. ‘Oh, that. It was nothing. Just a low blood sugar thing.’
Though, really, the tea was very welcome. She only gave the biscuit a token couple of nibbles. It was hard to eat with an interested protagonist seated directly opposite her. What if chocolate adhered to her lips?
Even though his eyes were veiled, her body was alert to his powerful masculine pull. Seemed as if all her nerves were crackling in awareness and it affected everything. Her breasts, her insides, her general steadiness.
It was the age-old problem. Intense physical attraction seemed designed to be unbearable. Surely that was a flaw in the blueprint?
It even occurred to her, watching his body language, that he was feeling the discomfort as keenly as she was. Good. Great. Let him suffer.<
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‘That’s better,’ she said after a couple of gulps. ‘Thanks. Anyway … It was really—good of you to intervene at the chopping block. You’ve bought me some breathing space, at least. I appreciate it. Thanks very much.’
He shrugged. ‘My pleasure.’ The edges of his sexy mouth curled up a little, and she tried not to think of how those lips had tasted. So firm, so warmly arousing and addictive. If things had been different …
No. Exile the thought. There’d be no biting of lips—gently or otherwise. No sexy little lip-tugs between lovers. This guy didn’t do loving.
‘Right,’ he said authoritatively. Straightening his chair, he faced her directly, clasping his hands on the table before him. His dark brows edged together, his eyes taking on a serious focus. ‘We need to start at once. Those jackals haven’t given you much of a timeframe.’
‘Sorry?’
He gestured. ‘Planning. The campaign. Your ads for Fleur Elise.’
A dim understanding began to penetrate her fog. She widened her eyes in surprise. ‘You mean you were serious about that?’
He blinked. ‘Well, sure I was. What did you think? You’ve signed their agreement now. You have to do something. And fast. And, from my own point of view, my professional reputation is at stake here. Just think. More than thirty people are now witness to the fact that you and I have struck a deal. Luckily I’ve a little leeway with my schedule this month. We can get things underway right now or …’ He appraised her with a glance, then looked at his watch. ‘It might be best done over dinner. You can outline your operation for me, and the goals you’ve set.’
‘Goals?’ She lifted her brows. Heck. Goals. It wasn’t that she was especially slow. Well, she probably was in a business sense. No, it was more that he was fast. Rushing her into things before she’d had time even to get used to the idea she was actually talking to him.
How the world had changed in a short time. Here he was, in her kitchen, when she’d resolved never even to think about him again.
‘What are you saying? Heavens, I can’t possibly accept charity. From y—anyone.’ She went hot just thinking about it.
His eyes glinted. ‘No. Course not. You are an O’Neill, after all.’ His tone was gently mocking. ‘But no need to panic the rugged old ancestors. I’m not offering charity. We’ll do it strictly low-budget, using resources we already have. Then, once you start to turn a decent profit, you can pay me for any small costs that accrue along the way. It’s my version of working pro bono.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Works for me. Okay?’
It sounded good. Maybe that was why her alarm bells were clanging. Good was too good to be true. What was in it for him? He had to have a motive. Everyone had a motive, it seemed. And his offer might not be one of charity, altogether, but whichever way she looked at it she’d owe him.
She couldn’t help noticing he was looking far more relaxed now he’d switched into his ad man mode. Crisp. Bristling with confidence and know-how. Well, naturally. He had all the answers.
Whereas she … Did she want to be under an obligation to him?
He was studying her, reading her wariness, a wry twist to his mouth. ‘You have two months, Amber. Two months. It isn’t very long to mount a campaign. Most of ours take double or triple that in the planning, what with the research and the artistic work. This one will have to be realised in a matter of days. I’ll have to snatch a few hours here, a few there—whatever I can fit in with my current schedule. If it’s to work you’ll have to open your mind to the possibilities and go with the flow.’ He added softly, ‘That’s if you’re serious about wanting to improve your shop’s performance.’
‘I am, of course. But …’ It was no use. A massive elephant was towering between them and she couldn’t continue to pretend it wasn’t there. ‘Are you using this situation? Does this have something to do with the other night?’
She met his eyes full-on. Though only for an instant. Because after that one charged instant he slid his away from her and screened them with his lashes.
His brow creased. A muscle shifted in his jaw then he said, so gruff his voice was a growl, ‘Look …’ He made a constrained gesture. ‘About that. I understand I hurt your feelings. I regret it intensely. I’m honestly sorry if I made you feel …’
He appeared to be gazing through the glass at her mother’s precious china teapot collection, but from the rigidity of his posture, the taut tendons in his bronzed neck, she doubted he was thinking about china.
‘I’m ashamed to have bruised your feelings. I’m hoping we can put it behind us and forget it ever happened.’
A savage pang sliced through her. What with the pricking at the back of her eyes it took her a second to bring out an answer. Without the liberating fuel of anger, openly referring to the distressful matter wasn’t easy. But at least there was some relief in recognising the ring of sincerity in his apology.
‘Yes, well …’ Her own voice was gruff. ‘I suppose we can all be wrong. All right. We’ll put it behind us.’
He glanced at her. ‘Accept it was a mistake. All of it.’
She nodded, eyes lowered.
His voice was smoother. A little warmer. ‘Maybe we both got carried away with excitement. Out of our comfort zones.’
She shrugged acquiescence. Of a sort. There had been some moments there when she’d been right within hers. Best not to revisit that. ‘Let’s just forget the whole thing.’
‘Fine.’ He frowned, serious and meditative, as sober as a bank manager. ‘We’ll write it off to experience, then. Deal?’ He held out his hand.
Despite the managerial sobriety she noticed his eyes shimmer.
Manners warred with her instinct for self-preservation, and as usual self-preservation was the big-time loser.
‘Deal, then.’ She let him clasp her hand in his warm, firm grip.
Oh, Amber. Mistake. Fireworks sizzled up her arm and for a second or two her giddy brain couldn’t quite remember what the deal was. Or the day. Or her name.
Though his mouth remained firm and cool, there was no concealing the silvery gleam in his irises. ‘Great,’ he said, straightening his shoulders, a new buoyancy in his tone. ‘Right. We need to start planning ASAP. I’m thinking dinner—somewhere local to save time. I’ll leave that with you, since you have the local knowledge. It’ll be on me. Half an hour enough time?’
She hadn’t been thinking about dinner—not with him at any rate. But, carried along on the flow of this sudden burst of crisp, authoritative energy, she nodded. Well, a girl had to eat. Whether or not she’d be able to swallow in his presence would be another story.
She supposed she could telescope her need to bathe, dress, work on her face and reflect deeply into half an hour.
He sprang to his feet and headed out with a brisk step, pausing to glance around at her as he fought his way through the obstacle path in the hall. ‘Have you only just moved in here?’
‘No, no. This stuff is only temporarily here. I needed to clear some space.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded, peering into the shadows of the sitting room. There wasn’t enough moon yet for the skylight to make much difference. ‘Space for what?’
‘Well, it helps me to sleep sometimes if I dance.’
He turned to gaze at her, his brows elevated. ‘Dance?’
‘That’s correct.’ She ignored the way his eyes lit up, as if she’d confessed to being a closet trapeze artist. She dampened her tone to keep it as flat and uninteresting as possible. ‘I used to be a dancer. The exercise helps to relax me. Before I sleep.’
‘Right. I see.’ He moved to the door. Stood there with his back to her. ‘That explains so much. Every time I’ve seen you I’ve thought … Er …’ He cleared his throat and turned to her. In the short silence one of those moments of intense suspense gathered.
She waited—expectant, hardly breathing—then he lifted his eyes to hers. They were glittering, quite intense and sincere.
‘About the other night. Well, I hope y
ou know that at no time did I think you were anything but beautiful, gorgeous and exciting.’
The words swirled meaningless around in her head. All she knew was that her heart was bumping like crazy.
But she gave him a cool, repressive glance. ‘Half an hour, then?’
She closed the door firmly after him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I CAN’T believe I didn’t guess.’ Guy adapted his stride to fit Amber’s. ‘That first night we met. Remember? The pizza guy? You were wearing your ballet slippers then. You must have been dancing that night.’
She was leading him on a winding, undulating trek through residential streets down towards the harbour. Summery fragrances wafting from behind garden walls mingled with hers. She had on a violet dress in some soft fabric. Narrow straps pressed into the smooth, satin flesh of her shoulders.
He was careful not to brush her bare arm. Each time they passed under a streetlamp a different angle of her face was illuminated. His eye kept being magnetically drawn to look again. Her mouth. Her neck. Her mouth.
It felt good to be out with a woman. Chatting, even if it was a little strained. Seeing the world through feminine eyes. Not that this was anything like a date. Hell, no.
Banter was strictly off the menu. No flirting allowed. Looking was the most he could aspire to now. Unless there was a way to reassure her she could trust him to … what? Be more the sort of guy she could cuddle up to? Could he even trust himself?
‘It wasn’t the pizza guy who disturbed me.’ She threw him a smiling look.
Aha, a smile. His blood quickened with pleasure and relief. A smile was the beginning of many a fantastic evening. He could do great things on the inspiration of a smile.
Sex, of course, was a no-go zone. He would have to stay well clear of the topic. Which was hard, what with sex and the art of the dance being so closely related. Interwined. Like lovers, one might say.
In response to her gentle gibe he covered his heart with mock humility. ‘In my defence, Your Honour, I didn’t think anyone was home.’ He glanced at her, invigorated to a bit of over-recklessness on the strength of that smile. ‘Do you always do it in the dark?’