A Week to be Wild

by JC Harroway

  Yes. This was what she’d craved since last night. The knowledge that she wasn’t alone in her furious attraction to this man. He felt it too. Their searing connection. The all-consuming rush. The need to feed the fire with any available fuel.

  They pulled back, breath gusting.

  Alex gripped her face, his eyes darting between hers. ‘You sure?’

  She couldn’t speak. His concern, his consideration in the wake of that kiss was too much.

  She nodded. Another stomach flip—although she couldn’t tell if it was fear this time or the heady knowledge that there’d be more of those kisses if she wanted them. More of him.

  He slid his hands from her face, one capturing her hand. Warm, confident, his grip was firm and comforting. With a single resolute nod that filled her with belief in his piloting skills he turned them back towards the helicopter.

  But for all her bravado and bravery, the clack of her heels on the concrete roof echoed.

  A death march or the soundtrack to an adventure?

  Chapter Five

  ‘TOLD YOU IT was worth it.’

  Alex eyed her over the rim of his wine glass. The early-evening sun glinted off her dark hair, revealing glowing streaks of gold. The same gold streaks that flashed in her eyes when she challenged him, berated him or when she was turned on.

  How quickly he’d grown to crave those flashes—a sure sign that he’d got to her, whether to rile up her keen mind and razor-sharp wit or to witness the unapologetic hunger that mirrored his own. Despite the professional business attire and the way she tamed her hair, Olivia claimed her sexuality as she owned her forthright manner and articulate negotiation skills.

  She put her glass to her lips and his eyes were mesmerised by their plump curves and the tiny flash of pink tongue.

  She swallowed, shrugging one elegant shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I’ve had better. Californian wines are the best in the world.’

  At least her acidic sense of humour had returned, along with the colour in her cheeks. Fuck, what an idiot he’d been. He should have asked her, rather than assumed she’d be happy to fly. His bird was his favourite mode of transportation. And some primitive part of his brain had wanted to impress her with a flashy stunt. A dick move.

  But he’d made good on his promise. The flight to his Oxfordshire boutique winery and restaurant had lasted only thirty minutes. She’d even managed to open her eyes for long enough to enjoy the views, and a begrudging, tight smile had hovered on her beautiful mouth.

  As soon as they’d landed he’d ushered her to the Thames-side restaurant on his estate, where the glass of wine had been chilled and waiting for her on the best table in the house.

  She placed her glass back on the table, her eyes scanning the three-Michelin-starred restaurant. Two or three other parties occupied tables in the conservatory, which was decorated with a sea of twinkling fairy lights that bounced shards of light off the silver dinnerware and the crisp snow-white table linen.

  ‘So this is how you impress women?’

  He laughed. She slayed him. The twitch of her mouth and the haughty tilt of her chin let him know that she was far from affected by him or his lifestyle. Her poise, her cutting wit, her acerbic tongue, her uncompromising cut-to-the-chase attitude—all of it made him want to put on airs and graces just to rile her up and see that flash in her eyes and the dismissive shake of her head. Why was sparring with her such a turn-on?

  ‘I don’t usually have to work so hard. And now I’m curious as to why you’re so impervious.’

  What would it take to impress her? A prize certainly worth having.

  Her eyes hardened and he discreetly adjusted his ever-present erection.

  ‘Is that what this is about? You show me your chopper and I fall at your grape-crushing feet? You’ll have to pay better attention if you’re expecting me to gush over your clever piloting skills.’

  She opened the heavy embossed menu, lifting her nose and focussing her attention on the contents.

  The flutter of her pulse at the base of her elegant neck gave her away and he shifted in his seat. Fuck. She turned him to steel—a pretty constant state and a bloody uncomfortable way to walk around. But he wasn’t complaining. The throb reminded him of the deal they’d brokered, adding a fresh slug of adrenaline to course through his bloodstream.

  Two of his favourite things. The heady thrill of a business negotiation and the buzz of exhilaration just before you jumped from the cliff’s edge.

  And the prize? Not only had this feisty, independent brunette agreed to lend her experience to his fledgling charity, she’d also instigated a game of control tag. A game that, as he saw it, he couldn’t lose. A game that was still on, even though he’d disregarded her rules and gorged himself on her last night.

  Not that he regretted that for one second. The memory of her taste was still potent enough to fog his mind.

  His stomach growled. He was hungry for food, but even hungrier for her. That brief taste of her mouth on the roof of Lancaster Tower earlier had done little to quench his craving. He’d been hard since leaving her hotel room last night, his balls a heavy ache that he’d carried all day while she sat mere inches away, her scent tantalising, her luminous eyes seeing through him and her voice scraping over his nerve endings until he’d contemplated banging one out in his private bathroom like a randy teenager.

  He’d forced himself not to touch her—determined to fight his attraction to her in case she called off the deal. He’d half expected her to bail, simply not to show up for their meeting. When she’d asked him to kiss her he’d thought he’d hallucinated. The urge to drag her into the helicopter, splay her over the leather seats and taste her again had been so powerful he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek until he’d tasted blood.

  Watching her now, all elegant and poised, ignoring his attempts to wine and dine her and feigning absorption in the first-class menu, he wanted to scrap dinner and follow the commands from that dirty mouth of hers.

  ‘I can recommend the filet mignon.’ His lips twitched. ‘The chef is a genius.’

  He lounged back in his seat, enjoying the view of the slight flush at the base of her throat. What would that skin taste like? Better than any filet mignon—he’d bet his beloved helicopter on that.

  She sniffed, her eyes trained on the menu. ‘I’m a vegetarian.’

  Damn. It irked him that he knew so little about her, an inconvenience he planned to rectify as soon as possible.

  Why wait?

  ‘Tell me something about yourself. Something I couldn’t know from reading your business profile.’ He stretched his legs out under the table, searching for hers.

  She stared. ‘Why?’

  Her fingers clenched around the base of her wine glass. His probing had clearly raised her hackles.

  He sipped his wine, enjoying her rising colour. ‘Because we’re not animals, Olivia. Our sexual chemistry is intense, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk in between fucking. Your word, by the way.’

  She shrugged, the pulse at her neck fluttering again, her smile sweet. ‘I just did. I don’t eat meat.’

  Touché. Bewitching. He pressed his lips together.

  ‘Tell me something about you,’ she said. ‘Something none of the women you’ve impressed has ever asked you.’

  That, right there, was what intrigued him so much. She was so unexpected, unpredictable. She didn’t give a damn about impressing him in return. She wasn’t interested in learning his preferences so she could mould herself into what she thought would be his perfect woman.

  Fine. He could be blunt too.

  ‘No one’s ever asked me to watch them pleasure themselves before.’

  A hint of pink touched her cheekbones, but her stare remained bold, direct, captivating.

  ‘Poor you.’ She glanced back at menu, as if they’d discussed the weat
her.

  Alex bit back his delight as the waiter arrived to take their order.

  When they were alone again, she said, ‘Why am I here? I appreciate the world-class dining experience, but you asked me to do a job—not to drink wine and eat truffle-infused mushrooms.’

  He fought a smile. She cut straight to the chase, and her caustic turn of phrase... Did she know how much she turned him on?

  ‘I did. A job you accepted with one mutually satisfying condition.’

  The colour in her cheeks heightened. ‘A job I could do perfectly adequately from my hotel room or even from New York.’ Her eyes hardened.

  He ran his index and middle fingers along his lower lip, studying her until she shifted in her seat, revealing an alluring glimpse of pert breasts in the V of her blouse.

  Last night he’d seen dark nipples through the lace of her bra. He wanted her naked, to taste those nipples, to nibble, scrape and suck until she squirmed and writhed and perhaps even came. Would she be that responsive? Instinct told him yes.

  He hardened his own stare. ‘I thought we’d established the parameters of our working relationship?’

  A little reminder of their deal. After all, if she intended to torture him as she had last night he’d push her boundaries in return. Quid pro quo.

  At her silent scrutiny, he continued. ‘I want you to fully experience what I have in mind for Able-Active. As I said this morning, you can’t do that in an office.’

  She wasn’t buying it—was still looking at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

  ‘You need to experience the thrill. If the kids can do it, we can, right? You said yourself that the Able-Active headquarters is completely uninspiring.’

  And he wanted to get her out of those elegant suits in more ways than one.

  ‘What exactly will it involve?’

  Wary eyes, darker than midnight.

  He shrugged. ‘Mountain biking, boating, kayaking, abseiling. You name it.’

  Her brow pinched. ‘Why? I don’t need to hurl myself from a climbing wall to understand the concept.’

  He clenched his jaw, pinning her with his stare. ‘You agreed to stay a week. I agreed to your terms. Are you backing out of our deal?’

  Fuck, had he pushed too hard? Was this over before it had begun?

  She flushed, her eyes dipping to the crystal glassware. ‘No. But I won’t be blindsided either. If you expect me to participate I’ll need advance warning.’

  ‘Why? Spontaneity is more rewarding.’

  As last night had proved. He hadn’t intended to declare his hand. But the results...

  A head-shake. Decisive and unyielding. ‘Maybe for you.’ Her chin lifted as she glared him down. ‘I like to plan.’

  ‘Control?’ His cock stirred again, remembering the last time she’d taken the lead.

  A staring contest ensued, and the space between them sparked with tension. He was half tempted to cancel the food they’d ordered, clear the restaurant and hope her next demand would be that he fuck her on this very table, with the one-thousand-thread-count tablecloth clutched in her elegant hands as she came around him.

  As if she knew his filthy thoughts she traced said tablecloth with her index finger. ‘Let’s say I do don a cycle helmet or a lifejacket. Couldn’t we do all that in London? Why here?’

  He sobered, his lips turning in while he chose his next words. ‘I live here.’ He flicked his head in the direction of the main house he’d pointed out from the helicopter. ‘When I’m not in the city.’

  He glanced down to where he rubbed the edge of his thick linen napkin between his thumb and forefinger, the hair rising at his nape as it always did when he was this close to his biggest vulnerability. Well, she’d wanted to know something about him no one else did.

  ‘I wanted you to see this place.’ When he looked up, he had her full attention. ‘I have bigger plans for the charity. Bigger than I outlined to you today.’

  A small nod, encouraging him to continue.

  ‘Eventually I’d like Able-Active to have an employment arm. The statistics on unemployment in the disabled population are depressing.’

  He shifted in his chair, forcing his voice to remain even, although this topic of conversation usually led to gut-wrenching impotence.

  ‘I’d like the winery here, the hotel, perhaps even Lancaster IT, to broaden its sphere. Improve on its equal opportunities policies, perhaps even become a world leader in reducing those unemployment statistics.’

  It would be a start, at least.

  Serious, with a small frown scrunching her forehead and her eyes thoughtful, she said, ‘Why?’

  Her neck flushed, as if her own candour had shocked her.

  ‘Why what?’

  She took another sip of wine, gave a small shrug. ‘I get it. You want your company to have a social conscience.’

  His jaw tensed. ‘My company does have a social conscience.’

  ‘Sorry. That sounded...flippant of me. What I mean is, why does it matter to you so much? I would have thought you’re busy enough running Lancaster IT and the charity. What is it that motivates you?’

  Wasn’t that the question? And he understood her curiosity. He longed to peel back her layers, to expose her secret yearnings, her belief systems, her philosophies on life. Her reaction to flying had completely thrown him. What had made her so cautious?

  ‘It should be important to all of us.’

  At his non-answer, Libby nodded.

  Then he completely stunned himself by adding, ‘My sister had an intellectual disability.’

  His gut twisted, stealing his appetite.

  ‘I wish more people had cared about her potential, her future.’ Himself especially.

  What a time to open this particular can of worms. Why had he brought up his sister? He never spoke of Jenny. To anyone. Let alone someone he’d just met. What had prompted him to tell this intriguing virtual stranger his motivations? Especially when he barely picked over them himself for fear of what he’d expose.

  But, even though their acquaintance was in its infancy, didn’t some small part of him already feel closer to her than the hours they’d known each other warranted? She was easy to talk to. She cut through the bullshit. He didn’t have to second-guess her every thought and unspoken subtext. And she wasn’t constantly flattering him.

  Perhaps it was just his dick doing all the thinking. Even so, the most serious of his ex-girlfriends knew nothing about Jenny. Well, nothing he’d spoken about. Gossip notwithstanding.

  She gave a small nod, her eyes watchful. ‘Had?’

  It was common knowledge—his professional success and the prominence of his family name had exposed his entire life to public scrutiny. Of course the media had sensationalised the tragedy—the intellectually disabled teenaged daughter of a wealthy family dying from an epileptic seizure had been big news for all of thirty seconds. But they hadn’t covered the devastating impact it had had on his parents’ marriage, his mother’s subsequent nervous breakdown or her intermittent dependence on alcohol.

  ‘She died.’

  He swallowed hard, his failure a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

  ‘I want to offer respite facilities for parents, so they can take a break, recharge, focus on themselves and their relationship. I’m building a purpose-built rural hotel here in the Oxfordshire countryside. Somewhere families can come, where the children can be occupied with the Able-Active programme while the parents get some well-deserved down-time. It’s important. Something that gets overlooked.’

  Something that could have helped his family, perhaps.

  She was quiet for so long he was half tempted to fly her back to London, pay her for her time and release her from their deal before she pulled out.

  She sipped water, her shrewd eyes flaying him alive.

  �
�So what’s on the adrenaline menu tomorrow?’

  Thank fuck.

  His breath stuttered back to life. ‘I’ll show you the site of the hotel.’

  Her stare held his, bold, astute, daring. ‘And...?’

  If she kept looking at him like that he’d never make it through one mouthful, let alone a whole meal.

  ‘I thought we’d go hot air ballooning.’

  Her composure wobbled, her throat working on a swallow. ‘Seriously?’

  He nodded. Quid pro quo, Olivia. That stunt last night had cost him dearly in the self-denial stakes. Time to return the favour, make her step outside her comfort zone for a good cause, let down that tightly bound hair of hers until her eyes lit up from within.

  Her controlled sigh gusted over parted lips, the tip of her tongue darting out. ‘Well, that’s going to cost you.’

  Blood surged to his groin, his limbs twitchy with contained energy. What would that tongue look and feel like on his dick? What would he do to see it there?

  ‘What do you want?’ He spoke slowly, his words measured, voice low.

  With almost Pavlovian predictability his body responded to the question he’d asked. A question he’d wanted to ask her all day. A question that sounded more like a dare.

  For a second her eyelids drooped, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that lifted her alluring breasts. Then she composed herself, gave a sexy tilt to her head.

  ‘Well, for starters I’d like a tour of your bedroom.’

  * * *

  He asked her again. ‘What do you want, Olivia?’

  He was pressed up behind her, his words husking out with his warm breath on the back of her neck.

  She practically melted into a puddle on the plush carpet of his palatial master suite. She’d barely registered the opulence and modern elegance of his home as he’d led her here. Every ounce of her focus had been required to keep herself upright and seemingly in control of her own body.