One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘And how did you know Phil was his father?’

  She snapped her head around. ‘Look, is all this going somewhere?’

  He glanced at her, surprised but not entirely disappointed by her outburst. It was much too fascinating. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know, okay? I guessed, and I got lucky. He and his wife hadn’t heard from him for a long time, so he was pleased when I told them my sister had seen him just a month ago.’

  He steered the car into the underground car park and brought it to a halt, but made no move to exit the car.

  ‘Morgan,’ he said when she reached for the handle.

  She turned around to face him. ‘Yes?’

  He slung one arm around the back of her seat and leant over towards her, not missing that she shrank back towards the door like she was afraid he was going to pounce on her.

  Then again, maybe he was.

  The idea had appeal, especially if it would be to continue where they’d left off last night. All night he’d thought about that kiss, where it could have gone—where it would have gone—if only she hadn’t bolted like the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

  ‘Did you want something?’ she prompted, her hand still on the door handle. Her eyes were suspicious, and her colour was up. Even her breathing was coming too rapid, like she was preparing for battle.

  Or something else.

  Was she remembering that kiss too? Was she feeling this pull, like it wasn’t over, that they still had unfinished business?

  ‘Your sister saw Rogerson’s son a month ago. It was remarkable she told you that.’

  ‘Look! What is your problem? I expected you to be happy after that meeting. Didn’t you just get what you wanted?’

  What he wanted? What he wanted? He wasn’t sure what he wanted lately. Other than right now wanting to kiss his sultry secretary senseless.

  But she’d already released the catch and was halfway out.

  ‘Morgan!’

  He was out of the car and after her as she made for the lift, her fingers jabbing at the call button like she was clamouring for emergency services.

  ‘Why are you so defensive about this? It was nothing short of remarkable,’ he said as she stared at the closed lift doors, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a hundred metres. ‘Just as it was nothing short of fortuitous.’

  This time she swung her head around, her eyes large and luminous in their surprise. ‘Fortuitous?’

  She was so sick of his questions, so sick of the constant probing. She knew it was only a matter of time before he caught her out on a lie, a lie that would bring this whole sordid deception tumbling down around her. But he was now saying it was fortuitous. ‘I thought you were angry with me.’

  ‘I thought I was too,’ he said. ‘Because I couldn’t work out what you’d done to bring Rogerson around.’

  She shook her head, but whether it was to argue with his words, or more as a protest against his menacing proximity, she wasn’t sure. He was too close, like a dark presence bearing down upon her, focusing on her so intently it was difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.

  It had been easier when he’d been antagonistic, easier when he’d been distant, and a dark fury like a storm cloud had hung over him.

  The lift arrived and she fled into the relative sanctuary. A sanctuary that became a prison cell when she turned and realised she was now trapped in a metal box with the very man from whom she’d been trying to escape.

  He inserted a card key and pushed a button that would take them uninterrupted to his penthouse office, but then, instead of staying by her side like she was hoping, he turned so his back was to the doors. She flattened herself hard against the wall of the lift, feeling the hand rail pressing into the small of her back.

  ‘Don’t you see,’ he said, moving even closer, planting a hand on the wall beside her head when the lift jerked into motion, ‘that if your sister hadn’t told you that she’d seen Sam, and if you hadn’t thought to mention it today, then Rogerson’s response might have been a very different one? He went into this meeting shaky about committing, but something you said made the difference. What did you tell him?’

  He was too close. Way too close, so she could feel his heat curling into hers; way too close, so she could study the individual whiskers that made a shadow in the cleft of his chin. And if she could feel his scent wrap around her like a silken ribbon and tug her even closer then he was so close it was damn near fatal. She battled for control of her tongue, felt even that shred of control slipping dangerously away.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she managed at last. ‘Phil was saying he worried about his son taking risks in difficult circumstances, and I just told him that sometimes it’s worthwhile taking risks if you want to make a difference.’

  His eyes glinted in the light and the corners of his mouth turned up. ‘Oh, bravo,’ he uttered, a low rumbling whisper that turned her scattered thoughts and her bones to jelly. ‘I gave a long speech about what the project meant for the world and our respective businesses. But somehow you managed to encapsulate what the project meant on a personal basis, for the one man who could’ve put paid to the entire agreement. But who didn’t.’

  He reached his free hand out and she flinched, pushing herself back even farther against the cold half-mirrored wall behind her, the hand rail pressing deeper into her spine. But his touch was gentle, little more than mere fingertips against the line of her cheek and jaw.

  So why was it enough to set her flesh aflame? Why did it set her breasts to aching—yearning—fullness?

  Her teeth grappled with her bottom lip. The last time they’d been so close it had ended badly. But then she’d imagined he was interested in Morgan. Her sister had soon put paid to that. Which could only mean that for whatever crazy, nonsensical reason he was interested in her—Tegan!

  And how was she supposed to fight that?

  But then, why should she?

  Because Morgan is coming back, a tiny remaining shred of sanity in Tegan’s head insisted. And it’s Morgan who’ll have to live with any consequences.

  ‘Maverick…’ she pleaded.

  He tilted his head, his eyes firmly focused on her mouth. ‘I should thank you,’ he muttered. ‘You saved the deal. I should find some way to repay you.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said too quickly, looking to the side, thinking she could just slip along the back wall of the lift and get some breathing space.

  His free hand landed in front of her face, cutting off her escape, imprisoning her in the cage of his arms and drawing her closer with the vacuum of his heat. ‘I could at the very least say thank you.’

  She turned to look at him, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Brooding magnetism and ‘angel of doom’ qualities stared back at her. And she knew she was doomed.

  ‘So say it,’ she whispered breathlessly, recognising a stab of disappointment that all this build-up could lead to nothing more than a gravelly thank you, but wanting nothing more than to end this loaded anticipation if it was to lead nowhere. Logically there was nowhere for it to go.

  He lifted one hand from the wall to curl one finger under her chin, angling her head higher. ‘But mere thanks hardly seems enough for what you’ve done.’

  Blood rushed loud in her ears, a sensual thumping that slowed her thoughts and reactions, and threatened to swamp logic entirely.

  And meanwhile the lift slid inexorably skywards, up to where the air was thinner. Already she was feeling the effects—the dizziness, the congealed thought processes. It had to be the altitude.

  ‘Then…’ she ventured uncertainly, wishing for an end to the suspense—to the anticipation. ‘Then, what?’

  His face was like a mask, all stillness, its harsh angles and planes held together by a dark, brooding magnetism that screamed control but looked set to snap. Only his eyes betrayed the turmoil going on inside—dark and filled with heat and burning with desire—desire f
or her. It was all she could do not to launch herself into their molten depths.

  He dropped his elbows to the lift wall, framing her face with his forearms, his face hovering just above hers, his warm breath mingling with hers. Her breasts pressed into his chest, the slightest movement setting up a delicious friction that charged them to an aching tautness, turning her already tight nipples bullet-hard.

  ‘Then…this.’

  His lips met hers—not so much a kiss as a caress. She melted into him on a sigh. A sigh of relief. A sigh of homecoming.

  And it was exactly like coming home. It was like finding your way back to somewhere special and knowing you never wanted to leave again.

  If he’d been rougher, if he’d been forceful, she might have found cause to resist—but as it was he moved his mouth so gently; so warmly did he share this meeting of lips that there was nothing to endure, nothing to resist. Only to welcome. His tongue traced the line of her teeth, invited hers into the dance, and she trembled into his mouth. Instinctively she reached out her hands, needing to find purchase on something solid lest her knees give way and her legs buckle beneath her.

  A pinging noise brought her back to reality, reminding her of where they were. With a cushioned bump the lift came to a halt and the doors hissed open. He lifted his mouth a fraction, his forehead resting on hers, his breath ragged. ‘Oh my God,’ he rasped, and Tegan knew without doubt that he was experiencing the same overwhelming sensations as she.

  Then in one deft movement he scooped her up into his arms and, without saying a word, carried her from the lift. She gasped, at once shocked and yet grateful, certain she would never have managed to exit the lift on her shaky legs. The sheer thrill of being swept up into his strong arms—her body cradled next to his, the thump of his heartbeat reverberating through her body—was intoxicatingly heady. So heady that she barely registered that he’d failed to stop to let her down next to her work station. He didn’t stop at the anteroom beyond, and when he swept her purposefully through his own office she began to have an uncomfortable sense that maybe today Maverick intended on finishing up what he’d been denied before.

  He looked resolutely ahead, the set of his jaw firm, his expression grim, and a thread of panic wound through her and yanked tight.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Somewhere private, where we won’t be disturbed.’ Without letting go of her, he turned a door handle, kicking open the door in front of them.

  ‘Maverick!’ she protested, squirming in arms that held her like prison bonds close to him. ‘I don’t think this is such a good idea.’

  ‘Right now, I can’t think of a better one.’

  He had a point. But, while her body applauded his initiative, a part of her registered the core truth. It still didn’t make it a good idea. This could never be a good idea.

  He marched her through a large sitting-room that, like his office, overlooked the glorious stretch of beach that made up the long golden sweep of the Gold Coast. But this was hardly the time to appreciate the vista, not when he was heading still deeper into his private suite.

  ‘Put me down. This is a mistake!’

  ‘There’s no mistake,’ he replied, his voice sounding strained and dangerous. ‘But I’ll put you down, seeing you ask so nicely.’

  It wasn’t the easy setting-down on the floor she’d been anticipating. With a strangled cry she felt herself launched through the air, landing with a thud in the middle of the wide, silken-covered monster of a bed, and she only just caught his jacket being tossed lazily in the other direction.

  He placed one knee on the bed and looked down at her, his eyes like dark fire, his hands at his shirt cuffs popping his buttons free before starting on his shirt front, working his way down, button by button.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said, scurrying for the edge of the bed, even as a thrill of arousal shimmied through her blood.

  She had to get out of here. So why did her muscles feel so unresponsive? Why was she so loath to leave this bed? And why did such a delicious heat curl warm and damp between her thighs?

  He reefed out his shirt from his pants and hauled it off. This time her gasp was one of appreciation. He was simply beautiful, his chest and shoulders every bit as magnificent as they’d felt, his sculpted torso an artist’s delight. And every woman’s.

  ‘You felt it back there,’ he whispered, not letting go of the laser-like hold on her eyes. ‘You felt what was happening between us in that lift.’

  ‘It was just a kiss,’ she pleaded, knowing she was lying, knowing he knew it.

  ‘It was more than just a kiss,’ he argued, dropping his hands to his waist.

  Oh God!

  There was no air in the room, no oxygen, and no hope for her unless she did something soon. She forced herself to the side of the bed farthest away, pushing herself up on shaky legs.

  ‘But that doesn’t mean…’

  He rounded the bed to cut her off. He took one of her trembling hands and pressed it to his lips. ‘It means you want me.’ He hesitated a fraction as he stared down at her, before taking her hand and moving it lower until her fingers cupped his length. Breath dragged through his teeth as her fingers found purchase. He was so big, so hard, the power evident. Power waiting to be unleashed within her.

  ‘And, God knows,’ he hissed, as she couldn’t help but test his firmness with her hand, ‘I want you.’

  His mouth descended to hers once more as he crushed her to him, and she shuddered into the truth of his all-powerful embrace.

  And it felt so right. It was so welcoming; so welcome and so right.

  But even as his hands stirred her body, sweeping up and down in a sensual dance of persuasion, tears of futility squeezed from her eyes.

  Another time, in other circumstances, and things would have been different; she could have acted to satisfy this desperate yearning, this desperate need which saw her abandoning everything she’d ever thought of love or romance. It was insane; she’d known this man just two days and here she was so close to giving herself up to him. She wanted to give herself up to him. But it was too quick, it was too passionate, and it was too all-consuming.

  It was madness.

  A madness she couldn’t give in to—not now, not with Maverick. Not when she was supposed to be someone else, and that someone else would be returning to this job, never expecting the mess Tegan would have been leaving for her.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she pleaded.

  ‘But you want this,’ he soothed, his tongue laving her throat, stirring her senses like nothing she’d ever known before. ‘You want me inside you.’

  Yes! she wanted to scream, shocked at her own wantonness but still coherent enough to know that if she admitted anything she was lost.

  ‘No,’ she lied, searching for new stocks of resolve just as quickly as it flowed out of her. ‘I don’t want you. I want you to stop.’

  He stilled on a long exhale without letting go of her, the tension in his bunched muscles like a caged lion clawing to be set free. ‘You really mean that?’ Then he lifted his head and stared at her, the heat in his eyes giving way to surprise. He touched fingertips to her cheek. ‘You’re not crying?’

  She took advantage of his concern and wheeled away, swiping at her face with one hand. ‘I have to go.’

  He moved to bridge the gap, and she moved still farther away, closer to the door that would take her from this room, take her from Maverick—remove her from temptation.

  ‘Morgan,’ he urged. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Me! she wanted to scream. I’m what’s wrong, can’t you see that? But instead she said, ‘I don’t want to make love with you. Don’t you understand? Just like you really don’t want me.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he protested. ‘That’s not true. I do want you. You know that.’

  She shook her head. Morgan had told her exactly how things were between her and her boss, and Tegan knew exactly how Morgan would expect things to be when she came back M
onday morning. The last thing she would be expecting would be her boss wanting to carry her off into his den at the drop of a hat.

  ‘It is true!’ she flung at him, her chest heaving, her defences at breaking point—because if this didn’t work she would be lost. ‘What was the line you used when I started work here? “I don’t do PAs.” Isn’t that what you said from the very beginning? So what the hell do you think you’re trying to prove now?’

  White-hot fury devoured him like a lava flow. Yes, he’d told her that—maybe not as crassly as the words she’d employed, but he’d made his position clear.

  But it was his line. It had been his decision. And to have it thrown back at him by her…

  ‘Go home,’ he said once the rush of blood in his ears had finally settled down to a dull roar. ‘Take the afternoon off.’

  ‘I have work to do—’

  ‘Go home!’ he repeated, louder this time. ‘You’ve already done enough.’

  More than enough, if it all came down to it. And she’d reminded him of too much in the process, of a woman who’d wanted everything and had left him with nothing, and of a vow he’d made never to let that happen again.

  He picked up his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and did up his buttons with a hell of a lot less satisfaction than he’d undone them a few minutes before.

  Damn that vow. But he’d had good reason back then to make a vow like that. He’d had good reason to make it clear to anyone who worked that closely with him that they shouldn’t get ideas.

  Which hadn’t stopped him getting ideas.

  What was happening to him? Morgan had worked for him for eighteen months and he’d never so much as looked at her, and now suddenly it was like he’d taken the blinkers off and discovered the woman who hid behind her ‘repel all boarders’ outfits.

  And he wanted her.

  And why shouldn’t he have her? She was nothing like Tina. If she had been, she would hardly have put up with him without making a move for the time she’d been with him. She would have been off to secure another, more receptive mark. And even now she wasn’t racing to fall into his bed. She wanted him, he could tell, but she was fighting it.