Not For Sale

by Rebecca Williams

  The arrival of their food called attention back to the table.

  Relieved at the distraction from Cain, Olivia began demolishing her heavenly seafood laksa, intermittently conversing with the women in German while listening to the men in English. This duality wasn't new to her. As a child, her parents had often spoken to her in French, but with friends or at school she'd spoken English. She and Charlotte frequently slipped between languages, depending on the topic of conversation and their moods.

  Sometime over the course of the meal, Olivia forgot to be invisible, her brain engaged before she had a chance to gag her mouth. Looking to the men, she enquired after the processes by which they treated the cyanide and arsenic waste that was obviously problematic when processing gold. Surprise flickered briefly in the foreign men's faces, but they went on to explain current processes employed in Turkey. From the sound of their procedures, which mostly involved burying everything, Olivia presumed this was the reason the men were currently in Melbourne.

  "Can you tell me please, Ali bey, about the submarine tailings placement program currently undertaken by Turkish gold mining companies? What have been the environmental results of this process so far?” Olivia asked.

  All of the men at the table, Cain included, sat back dumbfounded and silent. Very few people outside the industry had ever heard of this method by which large quantities of “tailings,” the waste soil that resulted from the mining process, were buried at sea. Tailings in this case were a considerable environmental worry, due mostly to the fact they contained trace levels of cyanide, arsenic and other residual reagents, which easily contaminated their surroundings unless well encapsulated and properly monitored. Olivia had done a case study on these methods and the general lack of rigor exhibited by some companies responsible for monitoring these tailings over long periods of time.

  The hand at the back of her neck tightened. Looking up to catch the warning in Cain's eye, she smiled blithely, attempting to overcome what must have been a faux pas with a small apology and an admission of ignorance. “I am very sorry if I sound stupid. I have heard of such things and was curious to learn more. If this is privileged information, you must ignore me, of course.” Doing her best imitation of a vacant expression, she fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head shyly. The men at the table relaxed noticeably.

  "You must be very work focused, Mr. Warner, if such a beautiful woman hears only business words from you.” The elder of the gentlemen chided the man who was currently running negligent fingers along the course of her upper arm. Another shiver of excitement went coursing across Olivia's nerves, suppressed only by her gritted teeth and ruthlessly clenched shoulder muscles. She was still trying to focus when Ali bey offered her another scotch.

  "Another scotch and all my languages will run together,” Olivia explained her restraint, then repeated her response in German for the women. Laughter followed and the meal continued in a more casual vein.

  The evening drew to a close when the Turks explained they were desperately jet-lagged. It was long past their “real” bed times. Following their departure, Cain kept a hold on Olivia's arm. “Stay a while. Have another scotch with me. I'm sure you'll manage to stick to English if you concentrate hard enough.” His rough request was accompanied by a truly wolfish grin. Perhaps her eastern friends had been right after all. With a light smile, she accepted, loath to end the delicious quivers swimming about in her body.

  "So, you're bilingual.” Cain opened their conversation while she sipped on the warm golden liquid in her glass.

  "Multi, actually,” she corrected in her best matter-of-fact manner. In Europe being multilingual was a necessity. Almost everyone spoke at least two languages and she didn't find her language skill exceptional at all. At his querying eyebrow, she listed them for him, “I speak French, German, Italian and English fluently. I can swear in a few extras.” She smiled cheekily at him, enjoying his appraisal.

  "Then why do you work as an escort and not as an interpreter?” The blunt question hinted at artfully disguised antipathy toward her current line of work. Why was it that men rarely saw the hypocrisy in hiring an escort while simultaneously denigrating the occupation?

  "Have you seen any advertisements for interpreters in the papers lately?"

  "Certainly most multinational companies employ permanent linguists on their staff. I would employ you in the blink of an eye."

  "And were I to be employed by your company, would I be required to comply with the dress code, behavioural code, live where I was told and uphold company values with which I may not agree?” The immediacy of her rebuttal evidenced the amount of thought she'd actually given her current career. Ultimately, though, interpreting held no challenge for her. There would be no thrill in such a job, only the daily grind of doing something she already knew how to do.

  His eyebrow quirked at her response. She watched him recalibrate, trying to decide what to do with an articulate bimbo. To his credit, he found his balance quickly. “Isn't that the case no matter where you're employed?” He blatantly inspected her outfit, making unspoken reference to the fact she'd appeared here only at the will of her employer, wearing clothes deemed appropriate for their encounter. She'd not had any real choice in the matter.

  "Not if you work for yourself, consulting to others."

  "I see. You are for hire, but not for sale.” He sounded insulting.

  Instead of taking the bait, she smiled at him. It was a battle of wit and will ... her favourite kind. “Does that upset you, Cain?” In that moment, she realised this was the first time since the beginning of the evening she'd used his name. It felt good on her lips.

  "Not at all, but it does surprise me. Most women prefer more ... security in their lives."

  "I'm perfectly secure as I am,” she reassured him, calmly rolling her scotch inside the heavy crystal tumbler.

  "So I see.” His heavy-lidded eyes scanned the plunging cowl neckline of her softly clinging dress. She stood still, letting him get a good look. If he was trying to make her uncomfortable it wasn't going to work. She was used to men looking at her and was paid well to let them. He wouldn't find any of her insecurities on the surface. “How is it you know so much about the environmental impact of gold mining?” he asked.

  "Oh, you know...” she waved a hand nonchalantly, her third scotch going down rather nicely, “I escort all the gold mining execs."

  "Really? There aren't that many of us around.” He chuckled, obviously enjoying calling her bluff.

  Frowning, she shook her head. “Well, then it must have been on Oprah.” She brushed off Cain's question, like lint from a skirt. No way was she telling him more about her life than necessary. If he wanted to think she was nothing but a tasty treat with no more to offer than soft skin and a generous smile, who was she to argue? “Some nights I have trouble knowing what to say. I thought I recovered quite nicely though, didn't you?"

  "I'm sure you do everything very nicely, Ms. Maigret.” The response rumbled past her ear, his breath warming her skin while his fingers returned to drawing more delicate circles along her shoulders.

  Here it was, the moment she'd known was coming all evening, now she just had to decide what to do. What was she thinking? She had to leave ... fast! Fast enough to counteract the melting sensation swamping in the pit of her stomach every time he looked into her eyes.

  She sneaked another appraisal of his torso. His face was good certainly, but his body was to die for. And he smelled sooo good. Olivia almost grimaced at the pangs of longing he sent rocketing under her skin. If she didn't get out of here in a hurry, she'd be in terrible trouble.

  "I should really be going.” She put her glass down and stood to leave. Cain rose with her and walked, his hand at her waist, out to the lobby.

  "How will you get home?"

  "The tram that brought me here runs in the opposite direction also.” At least catching a tram and going home was her intent—until his hand moved to her neck, lifting the weight of her hair away fro
m it, letting the breeze from the street outside kiss her skin.

  Not knowing why, she turned to face him. It would have been easier to run if she hadn't looked at him. Gently, he pressed her closer, his forehead resting lightly against hers, their noses almost touching. Lips barely a finger width apart, he was near enough for her to feel his breath against her cheek. Anyone else she would have knocked to the floor by now, but oh dear, he was so beautiful. And he was the first man in a long time to twist up her insides like this. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to break the rules, just this once. To make some memories while she had the chance. His lips lowered slowly to hers until they barely touched; his hand still at her neck.

  Standing there, in the foyer of the Grand Hyatt, he kissed her so that she forgot the people milling about at the reception. Piano music rippled from the jazz bar and traffic roared past the sliding doors. She was rippling and crashing at once. If her heart wasn't hammering in her chest, she might be able to think. To hear her thoughts. Feel the fears that usually clung and strangled initial flashes of excitement. But blood roared in her ears, and she thrilled at the quiet force in his touch. Logic drowned in the cacophony of unreasoned responses.

  * * * *

  Even if she hadn't introduced herself, Cain would have known who Olivia was immediately and for more reasons than one. The woman emanated sex appeal. Long legs, long body, smooth skin the colour of cream. Every facet of her had his body paying attention. Never having hired an escort before, his phone call to Charlotte's had been based on sound reason. To hold any sway with the Turks, who judged manhood by the number and quality of wives, he'd needed to produce a woman ... a stunning woman. Save his sisters and mother there wasn't a woman in his life at the moment. Despite his love for the five women related to him, they really weren't in the same league as Olivia. When she'd swung her head, heavy hair sweeping across her shoulders as she inspected the foyer in search of him, the cold logic in his decision had melted on impact. From that moment on, all he'd wanted was to touch her.

  He couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of the way she'd strutted through the lobby like she owned the place. Her clothes screeched Chapel Street, Melbourne's hot spot when shopping for designer couture ... clearly she was a well-paid escort. She wore her dress well, too. Catlike, she was all long slow movements and graceful gestures. He'd gotten the feeling she was acutely aware of her surroundings. It wasn't until she'd moved to the brochures regarding Melbourne's cultural precinct that he'd made his decision. Anyone actually interested in the museum of modern art had more than enough class for his taste.

  When she'd quizzed the Turks on their method of dealing with tailings, he'd nearly choked on his scotch. Outsiders generally knew less than nothing about mining methods, never mind the experimental, sometimes hazardous processes of waste disposal. Her lame excuse didn't wash either. Oprah wouldn't touch anything as boring as engineering with a barge pole. So who the hell was she to know so much about his job? She certainly wasn't a spy from another company—their executives could never look so good in such a slinky dress. Maybe a reporter? Whoever she was, she was obviously more intelligent than her current place of employment would lead a man to believe.

  Later. He'd deal with her deception later. Now he needed to uncover her current behaviour.

  All his life, Cain had been fascinated, awed and completely confused by women. This one was no exception. What was a woman working as an escort doing quivering like a frightened deer over some something as simple as a kiss? Her big green eyes looked to him for a sign, waiting for him to make the move. Something told him the choice needed to be hers. Maybe it was her indecision tugging at his heart, making his chest swell and his pulse beat faster. In direct contrast to her almost brazen self-confidence earlier in the evening, now he was watching her waver. Stay or go, she seemed to be wondering.

  Clearly she needed some encouragement. If she left, he was going to spend the rest of his life weaving her into his fantasies. Much better to have the real thing.

  "Stay here with me, Olivia."

  He could taste her on his lips already. Enticed, he felt drawn into her with each soft breath that hushed from her mouth to his. How could she take so long to decide? The world disappeared from his senses—no porters, no tourists, no clinking cutlery in the restaurant. Nothing. She was all that was left.

  Somewhere in the back of his head, recognition clanged loudly—she was the one. This was not the average “good time only” seduction. This was big.

  He waited, balanced on a knife edge.

  She made her decision. He felt her body soften, leaning into him. Her eyes were closed when she bridged the last breath of distance between them. His entire body leapt to greet her. Groaning, when he felt her tongue slide delicately along his bottom lip, he struggled to keep his reactions in check. What he wanted to do was wind his hands into all that glorious rust-coloured hair and lose himself in her.

  God, she'd be so easy to love.

  The thought never became words.

  Instead, he opened his mouth and kissed her back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cain said nothing, spoke not a word, but Olivia gathered he was pleased from the small smile ghosting across his lips after their kiss. Taking her hand, he led her to the elevator. When the bell dinged, they entered the tiny, dimly lit car. He pushed the button for the appropriate floor, then leaned against the wall, settling her comfortably between his thighs. It was a deceptively simple gesture. This was a position for people familiar with each other, people who were comfortable in the presence of their partner. She was feeling far from comfortable. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was sure he could hear it over the quiet hum of the elevator. She was glad he didn't expect small talk, because she couldn't have forced a word from her throat if he'd paid her to ... which he had originally.

  Any thought of speech left her head when his hands moved from her waist to rest behind her shoulder blades, trailing shivers across her bare skin. Leaning forward, his lips met hers in more gentle kisses. There was no assault on her body or senses, only the most tender of salutations, his mouth whispering greetings, carefully acknowledging her as someone to be worshipped. The elevator doors opened just as he began to kiss his way along her top lip with both of his own.

  Hand at her back, he directed her down the thickly carpeted hall. He slid his key card through the slot, and she heard the lock “snick” open in the quiet corridor. Silence heightened her senses, underlining the knowledge that they were both here for only one reason. Entering his room, Olivia gasped to see all the lights of Melbourne spread out before her through floor to ceiling windows. The lights in the room were dim and the sparkling carpet of stars spread from her feet to the horizon beyond. The celestial carpet was relieved only by the snaking blackness of the Yarra River, winding its way through the city. Dark and seemingly unending, the river created a rift in otherwise stunning beauty. Olivia knew well the way a river of darkness could flood and overflow, drowning those in its path. But not tonight. No darkness tonight.

  From behind her, Cain's hands reached under her hair, but found no fastening for the halter neck. She covered his hands with hers, showing him without words how it lifted over her head, before dropping the entire dress to the floor. Still there was no shoving, no attack, no animalistic appetites, only firm hands moving her across the lounge room and into his bedroom. The wall of glass continued in this room, too. With the bed near the window, it would be like sleeping on top of a universe. He guided her to the foot of the bed, where he sat and had her stand before him. He undid his dress shirt and removed his shoes, obviously his jacket had already been deposited somewhere while she'd been admiring the view. Standing almost naked in front of him, she could feel his breath on the skin of her stomach, warm and moist and quiet.

  Cain stood, clothed only in his trousers. Half-naked, he seemed bigger, more imposing. Less of a supplicant and more of a master. Olivia would have stepped back if his hands hadn't returned to rest at
her waist, keeping her close enough to feel him everywhere, exaggerating the tension between them. The skin of his chest was hairless and smooth, brown nipples stood out from well-formed muscles. His stomach would have made most women kneel just to kiss it. Despite time obviously spent in the gym, he wasn't chunky. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist still encircled by his belt. She didn't move to undo it. He had led this far, she would let him continue. If she was going to remember this, it may as well be everything she'd fantasised about. She wanted to be led, to be overwhelmed. He seemed exactly the man to oblige.

  Moving a hand to cup the back of her neck, he drew the hair away from her ear, and whispered against the fine strands left behind. “You are the most beautiful, enchanting, intriguing creature I have ever encountered. One night with you will feed my fantasies for a lifetime."

  Arching her neck to greet the feel of his warm breath on her skin, his teeth nipping their way along her shoulder, Olivia shivered and closed her ears to his words. She didn't want to hear about a single night of passion, her dreams and fantasies involved love and devotion and endless desire. For tonight she would pretend otherwise. She could do that, she was a good pretender. She pretended not to care about the men grabbing at her in nightclubs, treating her like she was a piece of meat. She pretended not to have a brain when being an air-head was de rigueur. She pretended to like people she really despised. Tonight she was going to do some pretending for her own pleasure.

  Pleasure was an understatement. Cain was touching kisses onto her face, on her cheeks, her jaw, her forehead, teasingly avoiding her mouth.

  She closed her eyes ... imagining.

  In her mind, she was beneath the hands of a man who felt like he was cherishing her, whose every touch made her believe in forever. Eventually his lips returned to hers, softly requesting she open her mouth wider. Constantly, he returned to nibble and lick at her top lip, as though his mouth couldn't bear to leave hers.