‘Maybe it’s too much?’
His gaze flickered over her bare shoulders. ‘Any less and I don’t think I could be held responsible for my actions.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry about everyone else. They’re just curious. They don’t bite.’
‘You make them sound like goats,’ she muttered.
He laughed out loud. ‘Now you come to mention it, there is a certain resemblance.’
At the start of the evening Daisy had been anxious that she would feel out of place. Many of the guests were recognisable from television and the newspapers. But it was surprisingly easy to feel confident with Rollo’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist. What was harder was remembering that she was there as part of some elaborate deception.
Not that anyone else would have known that was what she was thinking. She smiled and nodded and made small talk. But she was barely aware of anything except the steady pressure of his hand, and of how her body was responding to it, to him, to his charm and the sound of his voice.
Her pulse jumped. Surely that was a good thing. After all, she was supposed to be acting as though she was hopelessly in love with him. So act, she told herself firmly. And, leaning in towards him, she let her arm brush against the hard muscles of his chest.
‘Shall we go and have a look around?’ she said softly.
Despite never really having understood art, she found the paintings both interesting and beautiful. One in particular was mesmerising: a rippling wave of green and red and black done in oils.
‘Striking, isn’t it?’
A slim, elderly woman was standing beside her, gazing critically at the canvas.
Daisy nodded. ‘They’re all incredible. This is the one I’d buy though.’
But only in her dreams. According to the catalogue, the painting cost more than she’d earned last year.
Next to her, the woman who’d spoken held out her hand. ‘Bobbie Bayard.’
Daisy blinked. ‘Daisy Maddox.’
‘Which Maddox? Farming or finance?’
Daisy gazed at her in confusion.
‘Neither.’
It was Rollo. Sliding his hand into Daisy’s, he leaned forward and kissed the silver-haired woman on both cheeks.
‘She’s not from one of the old families, Bobbie, so you can stop digging.’
‘Good.’ Bobbie beamed. ‘The old families are like me. Obsolete and withering away.’
Rollo shook his head. ‘Ignore her,’ he said to Daisy. ‘She’s not even close to withering. She was sitting in the front row at New York Fashion Week just three days ago. And she’s got a sixth sense when it comes to picking up-and-coming artists.’
‘I think I might have just met my match. Your girl’s got a good eye.’ Glancing approvingly at Daisy, Bobbie moved on to the next picture.
Your girl. Rollo’s girl.
An electric current snaked across Daisy’s skin. Looking up, she blinked. His eyes were fixed on her face, so dark and green and intent that she felt a cool, juddering shiver slip down her spine, like water dropping over rocks.
‘So why do you like it?’ he said finally.
Feeling her heart start to thump, she glanced back at the painting. ‘I don’t know. It makes me feel like I’m drowning. But not in a bad way. More like I don’t have to fight any more.’
It made her feel oddly vulnerable, revealing something to Rollo so spontaneously.
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘Fight it, I mean.’
She gazed up at him mutely. The chatter and laughter around them faded away and suddenly she had the same sensation she’d had at the spa—that it was just the two of them, alone.
Rollo stared at her steadily, watching her eyes widen and soften. ‘Maybe you should just give in...’
‘So tell me, Rollo, just exactly how did you two meet?’
It was Bobbie. Head spinning, he turned as she looped her arm through his.
‘That’s a good question.’
He stared at her dazedly, trying to remember, his brain grasping for the right answer—the answer he and Daisy had agreed on. But it wasn’t there, and he felt a blinding white-out of panic, his mind blank of everything except the moment he’d caught Daisy in his office. The one memory he couldn’t actually use.
‘I—I’m not sure,’ he said slowly. ‘Was it at work?’
Beside him he could feel eyes on his face. Only they weren’t just Daisy’s eyes any more. Around him he could feel the room shifting and shrinking, and he knew that soon the questions would get harder and everything would be so much worse.
‘Yes, it was.’ Daisy’s voice was quiet but firm.
Glancing up, he saw she was smiling calmly at Bobbie, and some of the pressure eased inside his head.
‘Rollo is trying to be discreet because he knows I don’t like telling people I’m a waitress. But that’s what I was doing the night we met. I’d done something stupid and he found a way to make it okay. But the weird thing was we’d already met.’
He stared at her. She was improvising her way back to their story, her eyes prompting him so that he heard himself say easily, ‘Yes. We had. At a play. You see, Daisy’s actually an actress.’
Rolling her eyes, Daisy shook her head. ‘I trained to be an actress. And, yes, I was in a play. An awful play that was so off-Broadway it might as well have been in Pennsylvania. But Rollo was in the audience.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he said quietly.
Looking up at him, Daisy felt her insides tighten. His eyes were fierce, almost protective, and her breath stuttered in her throat as she forced herself to remember that he hadn’t even been at that theatre. Had never seen her act.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to—’
‘I’m not.’
He held her gaze and she stared at him in silence, hypnotised, her heart thudding, fear colliding with fascination.
‘You were good. Better than good. You made people believe.’
Later, watching him talk to one of the artists, Daisy sifted through his words, twisting and rearranging them. Maybe he had meant what he said. But how could he when he had never seen her act? She glanced across the room. If anyone was good at acting, it was Rollo. Everybody believed in him, and more than anything they wanted him to believe in them.
But, of course, they did, she thought helplessly. Even surrounded by A-listers, he was movie star handsome, his charisma and poise matters of fact. Not just something to be switched on for an audience.
Suddenly he looked up and met her gaze head-on. Her pulse leapfrogged over itself as she watched him make his excuses and saunter across the room.
‘Seen enough?’
For one horrible moment she thought he was referring to himself. Then her brain clicked up a gear and she realised he was talking about the paintings.
She shrugged. ‘I think so. But I’m happy to stay if you want.’
Gently he reached out and tipped up her chin. ‘What I want is to be alone with you,’ he said softly.
And then he smiled—a smile that warmed her skin like sunlight—and pulling her closer, he kissed her.
Around them the murmur of conversation slowed and quietened, but Daisy barely noticed. Eyes closing, stomach flipping over in helpless response to his probing tongue, she was only aware of the heat of his mouth and the hard length of his body pressing against her quivering belly. Hands curling into his shirt, she dragged him closer, kissing him back as her stomach muscles tensed around the tight, aching heat that was balling inside her.
It’s just a job, she told herself dazedly. You’re a professional actress playing a role and this is all part of the performance.
But as her hands rose and splayed against his chest somewhere in the back of her brain she knew that whatever was happening it was no longer just for show. It felt real—dangerously real...
Only there was no time to process that thought. She felt him shift against her, breaking the kiss. And, opening her eyes, she saw herself reflected in his gaze
—small and still and stunned.
For a fraction of a second she thought she saw something flicker across his face. But she was too busy trying to hide her own reaction to really be sure, and then he was drawing her against him, guiding her towards the door.
* * *
Back at his apartment, the lights had been turned down, and in the living room there was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
Catching sight of her expression, Rollo raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t sure how tonight would go. Champagne seemed like a good idea either way. Here.’
Popping the cork, he filled two glasses and handed one to Daisy.
‘To us.’
‘To us,’ she echoed, her heart twitching as she remembered the kiss they’d shared in the gallery. ‘So you’re pleased with how it went?’ she said tentatively, dropping her bag onto the sofa.
‘Definitely. I think we aced it. Which reminds me...’
His eyes flickered past her and, turning, she saw a large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper.
‘I have something for you. A present.’
Stunned, speechless, she stared at the parcel in silence until finally, with a hint of impatience, Rollo said, ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’’
‘Y-yes. Of course,’ she stammered.
Putting down her glass, she tugged clumsily at the paper and gasped. It was the painting from the gallery.
She gazed at it speechlessly. ‘I don’t—’
He frowned. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘N-no, I do. I love it. But I can’t possibly accept it—’ Not when she knew how much it cost. Only it seemed ill-mannered to mention money.
He shrugged. ‘Why not? You like it and I want to give it to you.’
She swallowed. He made it sound so easy. So tempting. Looking up, she breathed out slowly, lost in the deep green of his gaze.
‘Then, thank you.’ Her heart felt suddenly light and gauzy, as though it might fly away at any moment. ‘That doesn’t seem like nearly enough. But I don’t know what else to say.’
Rollo stared at her in silence.
Since leaving Daisy at the spa he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Or, more precisely, about having sex with her. And now that they were finally alone, it felt like the best idea he’d ever had. Not only would it create an intimacy that might conceivably add credibility to their ‘relationship,’ but it would also solve the aching physical frustration that had plagued him since he’d kissed her in his office nearly two weeks ago.
It was true she shared many of his mother’s flaws, only there was one crucial difference. Alice Fleming’s power had lain in her emotional hold over him. She’d been his mother and he had loved her. But he didn’t love Daisy. So where was the risk?
The air seemed to swell around them.
Slowly he reached out and cupped her chin with his hand. ‘Then don’t say anything,’ he murmured.
Her whole body was trembling, bones melting, blood beating inside her like a warning drum. Only then his eyes focused hungrily on her mouth and suddenly nothing mattered except the gathering storm rising inside her.
Standing up on her toes, she ran her tongue slowly across his lips.
He tasted of champagne and ice.
And danger.
Delicious. Intoxicating. It was the perfect cocktail.
Her head was swimming and she took a soft, swift breath like a gasp, her hands fluttering against his shirt.
‘Kiss me,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Kiss me now.’
Rollo stared at her, his body in turmoil, the beat of his blood slowing to a pulsing adagio. Her eyes were shimmering; her face was soft and still and utterly irresistible.
He had no choice and, leaning forward, he kissed her fiercely. Instantly he was lost in the heat and softness of her lips, and as her fingers curled round his arms—gripping, tugging, tearing at his shirt—he felt his body harden with such speed and intensity that he almost blacked out.
‘Daisy, wait—’
Lifting his mouth from hers, trying to slow down the pace, he groaned against her lips, his face taut with concentration.
‘Slow down, sweetheart—’ He was fighting to get his words out. ‘Or I won’t be able to hold on until we get upstairs.’
He felt her body tense against him, and a flicker of apprehension, bright and jagged like lightning, cut through the dark clouds of passion fogging his brain.
‘Why do we need to go upstairs?’
He breathed out unsteadily. ‘I just thought it would be more private.’
The word, with its whispered hints of closed doors and darkened bedrooms, scraped over his skin and suddenly he didn’t care where they were. Staring down into her face, he only cared about the warmth and the sweetness of her body against his.
‘But we can do whatever you want,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Wherever you want...’
CHAPTER SIX
‘WHATEVER YOU WANT...wherever you want...’
Daisy felt her body still, her mind snagging on an image of Rollo pulling off his shirt, his green eyes softening as he drew her closer to the hard contours of his chest—
The floor tilted and it was as though she was free-falling. The rush of desire and longing was so intense that she could hardly stand.
She wanted him.
But even as she acknowledged the truth of that statement she felt the sharp tug of the parachute pulling her back.
But what would happen if she gave in to that craving?
‘No.’ Stumbling backwards, she shook her head, her heart beating faster. ‘We can’t. We shouldn’t. It’s not right.’
Rollo stared at her in silence, the sudden distance in her voice jarring his senses. What was she talking about? Can’t. Shouldn’t. Not right.
His confusion hardened into irritation. ‘I fail to see why,’ he said slowly. ‘We’re both adults who want to have sex.’
Daisy flinched, but held his gaze. He was right. On both counts. But evidently two rights made a wrong, for—whatever her body might be telling her to the contrary—she knew it would be a disaster if they ended up in bed together. And Rollo knew it as well as she did. He just didn’t like being told so.
She pushed against his chest. ‘That may be reason enough for you. But there’s a little more to it for me than just lust and being over the age of consent.’
‘Like what? Love and romance?’
The sudden chill in his eyes as much as the harshness in his voice made her breath stutter in her throat.
‘I’m a businessman—not a fourteen-year-old girl. We are getting married though. Won’t that do?’
She jerked her hands away, the pulse at the base of her neck beating wildly. She could feel his hostility, see it in the set of his shoulders, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except wiping that sneer off his irritatingly handsome face.
‘It might have done if I wanted to have sex with you. But I don’t.’
He shook his head, his lip curling into a sneer. ‘So you’re still a liar. Only now you’re a tease, as well!’
Her fingernails cut into the palms of her hands. ‘And you’re back to calling me names.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll stop calling you names when you stop deserving them. I think that’s fair, don’t you?’
She felt anger—dark and fast—swirl and rush over her like floodwater. It was true, she had wanted him in the heat of the moment—she still did, judging by the pulsing ache in her pelvis. But his conceited assumption that she would fall at his feet, or rather into his bed, rankled with her.
‘I don’t care what you think.’ She glowered at him. ‘It was only a kiss. And just because I kiss a man it doesn’t mean I automatically want to have sex with him.’ Her hands curled into small, tight fists. ‘Especially when the only reason I’m kissing him is for my job.’
He didn’t reply at once—just stared at her in silence, his face cold and set like a bronze mask.
‘Your job!’ His derisive smile stung her ski
n. ‘So that was a spot of overtime, was it?’
‘No. That was a mistake!’
Her whole body trembled with fury. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She was too busy hating him and his snide remarks.
‘I thought you understood it was fake—just like we’re faking the rest of this relationship.’ She glared at him. ‘But, of course, I completely forgot about your overinflated ego.’
Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she turned and walked swiftly towards the kitchen.
Rollo stared after her in silence, anger rolling beneath his skin like molten lava.
She was lying to his face. He didn’t care how much she claimed otherwise. He’d felt her respond. He knew that kiss had been real.
More than real.
It had been hot and raw and urgent.
Only now she was trying to twist the facts—pretending he’d misinterpreted her behaviour and that he was the unreasonable one.
His mouth thinned. Daisy was more like his mother than he could ever have imagined. Honesty hadn’t come naturally to Alice Fleming either. Instead she too had leapfrogged from story to story, lashing out with accusations when cornered.
Heart pounding, he stalked angrily across the living room into the kitchen.
Glancing over to where she stood, he felt his chest grow hot and tight. Above the disdainful curve of that temptingly soft pink mouth, her dark brown eyes shimmered beneath the lights. Another man might have lost his way in the perfection of that face. But, growing up with his restless, manipulative mother, he’d learnt early that beauty was only skin-deep.
‘You need to worry less about the size of my ego and more about the gaps in your memory,’ he snarled.
Daisy turned to face him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘We had an agreement—have an agreement—about honesty.’
Honesty! Looking into his eyes, she saw the simmering fury, the thwarted authority, and felt her body start to shake. This wasn’t about honesty. It was about pride. His stupid male pride.
Squaring her shoulders, she leaned against the worktop and scowled. ‘You’re the one with a faulty memory, Rollo. I told you our relationship wouldn’t include sex.’
His eyes blazed. ‘And yet you asked me to kiss you.’ His voice rose. ‘You asked me to kiss you!’
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