Not For Sale

by Rebecca Williams

  Stripping off her clothes, thanking God she'd found her panties, she imagined catching the tram home without them. The very thought sent a shaft of pleasure pulsing straight through her stomach. Not a good beginning for her new resolution. Having experienced Cain, removing the desire for wild, slightly kinky sex from her persona was going to be difficult. The man she was appointed to meet with tonight would be a good start in the right direction. Wild horses couldn't drag her into bed with him. Even thinking about it made slimy tendrils of disgust wriggle under her skin.

  * * * *

  A day full of dread filtered into a warm red-pink sunset. Olivia met Phillip a block away from the hotel where the function they were to attend was being held. Asking all the pertinent questions regarding acquaintances, behavioural expectations and conversation to be avoided helped rein in her nervousness about a repeat encounter with the self-important egotist at her side. Even if she didn't like him, she could still pull off a decent job ... even if she was blonde!

  Instantly, Charlotte's blonde curls popped into her mind. A perfectly valid exception to all “dumb blonde” jokes, the woman had been cleverly working their friendship to her own advantage lately. While this appointment with Phillip Saxton was small repayment for the emotional haven her friend had provided in previous years, it still made her feel edgy and a little more alone than usual.

  "I'll direct you toward all the important people,” he assured her confidently. “You just be polite and look pretty.” Nodding wordlessly, Olivia struggled to find something further to say to him.

  "I love your hair tonight."

  With the first personal comment he offered, her dislike of him grew exponentially. “Thank you."

  Phillip walked beside her, his hands clasped behind his back like a lawyer putting forth his summing up or a gardener inspecting vegetables. Thank heavens for small mercies. With his hands behind his back, they weren't on her body. He did, however, take her elbow to guide her through the entry door and along the parquet floor towards the ballroom. Who knew, perhaps someone had taken him aside to teach him some manners since last they'd met.

  In the doorway of the ballroom, she stopped as if shot. Her heart hammered in her chest. At the far side of the room, his back to her, was Cain Warner. Tall, lean and absolutely stunning in a dinner suit, she knew for certain they would never have made it to this event if she'd chosen him this morning. Seeing him dressed this way, she would have dragged him straight upstairs to one of the hotel's luxurious beds with the specific purpose of tearing off his crisp white shirt, and kissing the washboard stomach beneath before working her way around to the rest of his body. Despite her decision to get her life back in order, circumstance was not offering any respite.

  "Are you all right, dear?” Phillip questioned.

  So many people asking that lately.

  "Fine, I'm fine.” She'd just have to keep a room length away from Cain and her back in his direction. Now that she was blonde he probably wouldn't notice her anyway.

  The ballroom of the boutique manor hotel was filled with old world charm. Polished wood gleamed everywhere she looked, heavy lace curtains were overhung with burgundy velvet, gold as opposed to silver tableware lay arranged on white linen tablecloths. The lush surroundings were almost sufficient distraction from the man at her side. Almost, but not quite.

  Phillip Saxton was not an unappealing man, though he constantly behaved as if he was. Had he been Mr. Universe, his attitude would still have effectively driven people away. Belittling everyone he met, even her, the man emanated enough bad vibes to attract other leering vermin from miles around. His nastiness hung around him, thick and heavy, flavouring every interaction.

  Neither Phillip nor the plush surroundings buffered her from Cain's presence. Not at all, not one single little bit. She could feel the prickle of his presence from across the room—more than thirty feet away, his pull on her was magnetic. Tuned as she was for Cain, she nearly leapt out of her skin when Phillip's hand landed at the base of her spine. Laughing, he leaned down to offer advice, assuring her that her sudden jerk away from his touch did not go unnoticed.

  "Settle down, kitten. I'm paying good money to have you act like a lover, or at least like a woman.” So saying, he pinched her hard on the ass.

  Let the games begin. Gritting her teeth, Olivia refrained from moving his hand. That would come later. She'd deliberately dressed for Phillip's octopus tendencies. Neck to knee fabric with not a skerrick of skin left available to encourage him, but nothing short of steel-plated underwear was going to stop the man. That or a taser. Smiling at the concept, she distracted herself from the toad at her side by compiling a mental list of the possible deterrents that may have been effective in stopping old Phil. The nastier, more publicly humiliating for him, the more stable her smile became. Maybe she would survive the night unscathed after all.

  * * * *

  In the midst of a boring cocktail party, surrounded by various associates from companies who dealt with his, Cain felt his hackles rise, as did another, more obvious part of his body. Tickling along his nerve endings, the sensation built until even his toes curled in response. Bewildered, he sneaked sideways glances left and right. He hadn't had this kind of reaction to anything since high school; even then he'd needed a sexy body to look at. Sexy definitely wasn't the word to describe the woman blathering at him now. Vacant maybe, plastic most likely, and definitely, definitely prowling. He'd nearly laughed out loud when the woman introduced herself as Barbie.

  Offering to get the woman a drink gave him the perfect opportunity to scan the rest of the crowd occupying the room. His gaze came to rest on a body that could well have been Olivia's except for the blonde hair on top of it. In fact, nearly every woman in the room was blonde, either the power dressing “Take me seriously” type, or their nemesis, the deceptively simple “I'm just eye candy” type.

  Olivia would have appeared even more exceptional than usual in these surroundings. All that heavy, glimmering dark red hair would have drawn men like worshippers. He would have enjoyed standing back, watching them fawn all over her, knowing he was taking her home afterward.

  The quiet cleverness of her intellect would spin all these other women into oblivion. She'd incline her head, responding to their questions, drawing her own conclusions, leaving them with no ammunition whatsoever.

  Where the hell was she anyway?

  He'd been sure she'd come tonight. As his date, not his escort. Only after she'd left him this morning, he'd realised he had no way of contacting her privately. The realisation had provided some disquiet in an otherwise perfect morning.

  Now he was here, surrounded by people he didn't care about, making polite conversation for the sake of it, while the one woman he did care for—at least wanted to care for—was God knows where, doing God knows what, with God knew who!

  The blonde with Olivia's body turned when introduced to another interested male. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Cain's entire body stiffened at the profile. What the hell was she playing at? Rigid with outrage and her presence in the room, he watched as Olivia carefully, apparently unnoticed by the men in the circle, removed Phil Saxton's squeezing hand from her ass. Cain almost growled with anger when the same hand returned to land possessively on her shoulder.

  Just as he'd told Olivia, there weren't that many mining execs around and he'd had the dubious honour of meeting Phil at a number of other conferences. While Phil was supposed to be one of the most competent CEO's in the country, he was not the most delightful of human beings. Sporting a different woman at every meeting, he publicly squeezed, pinched and demoralised every one of them, usually before making an equally public exit to his room. The very thought made Cain's blood boil.

  Action was the only option, otherwise restraining his anger was going to result in an explosion of monumental proportions. He needed to vent. Picking up his only scotch for the night, he casually meandered over to greet Phil and his ever-so-lovely ... escort.

  While foul words r
oiled, snarling through his brain, what came out of his mouth was all practised politeness. “Phil, how are you? Good to see you.” The recollections tumbling over him, on meeting with the smell of Olivia, nearly sent him to his knees.

  "Ah, Cain, old man, how goes it?"

  "All well. All well."

  "Have you met my lovely Olivia?"

  Cain bristled at the possessive pronoun. “No, I don't believe we've met.” The only Olivia I know is an incredibly sexy redhead who should be here with ME!

  He was gratified to see her eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he politely took her hand. Other than that, she maintained a perfectly bland expression. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Warner.” She sounded choked and he grinned at her inadvertent mistake. No one had told her his surname. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I'll try finding the ladies room."

  Olivia made a hurried exit while he was left to make small talk with “the other man,” anger rising with every word Phil spoke. By the time Cain made his own escape, he was beyond angry, he was irate. Never in his life had he been jealous, not once—not even when his one time fiancée had taken off with his best friend. But now, now he had to admit he was ready to kill someone. And all for the sake of Olivia.

  He caught her in the hall, her green eyes were bright like she was trying not to cry and he saw her swallow hard on sight of him. At least she had the decency to feel guilty. Strong-arming her, he pulled her against him, his body hard and hot with anger, frustration and the enormous desire to bury himself in her, right here in the hallway. He wanted to remind her of how they felt together, the way she melted for him.

  How could anyone who felt as soft and pliant as Olivia did be so bloody minded as to show up here with someone else? How could she have chosen Filthy Phil Saxton? Talk about adding insult to injury!

  "Don't do this, Cain, I'm working.” Her voice sounded husky and nervous.

  He was glad.

  Keeping her crushed against him, he lifted her from her feet, carrying her into the bathroom kept separate for wheelchair visitors. Depositing her back on her feet, back to the door, he placed a hand above her head on its frame. It obviously irked her that he would try pushing her around. She huffed, her eyes sparking angrily at him and her hands making fists on her hips.

  "Keep flashing those eyes at me, Olivia, and I'm going to kneel down right here and eat you out.” She gasped at the bold words and he grinned archly in return. “Your eyes are stunning when they're flaring with anger.” On meeting her distressed gaze, his anger had almost dissolved, most of it rapidly reforming as hunger on contact with her body. He let his lips rove softly across hers, tasting scotch and the warmth of her breath at once. She was addictive and he was hooked. If he had to hunt her to the end of the universe, that's exactly what he'd do.

  While continuing in the soft way of the kiss, he deliberately imbued his next words with possessiveness. She should know how he felt about her. She should know that he didn't share easily, that he wanted more from her than a couple of nights in the sack. She was intriguing, clever and sexy. He was sure there was a lot more of her to be uncovered and he wanted to do the discovering. “You might be his date, but you're my lover."

  Her eyes slitted further. “No, Cain, I'm not! We're not lovers. We're just two people who happen to have had sex together. Great sex, earth shattering, in fact, but we're not lovers. Now if you would please step back, I'd like to return to my date."

  Step back! Step back?!

  Now he was angry, so angry he could see the thin veil of red creeping into the periphery of his vision. He'd never hurt a woman before and he had no intention of starting now, much as she might tempt him. Reining back his temper, he tried hard to remember that. He must have moved away, because she left without him.

  What the hell kind of woman was she, doing the things she did with him then walking away? It took a good five unmoving minutes before he was capable of behaving like a human again, during which time he wrestled with the desire to barge into the ballroom, flay Phil Saxton alive and throw Olivia over his shoulder before charging his way out the door. Next, he considered flaying Olivia—an arousing concept but highly ineffective, all it did was put his blood pressure up another couple of notches. In reality, there was nothing for him to do but grin and bear it.

  The following hours were torture. He gritted his teeth, bit his tongue and clenched his fists so often and so hard that his head began a dull throb. Despite how well he thought he bore the torment of watching the “happy couple,” he didn't recall smiling once during the entire time Olivia paraded around the ballroom. That wasn't like him. He was generally a very happy person. Nice family, great job, no worries—it was easy to smile when life was good. Life was not good now. Life was bloody excruciating.

  Finally, angels smiled on him. Olivia was leaving with Phil. Feeling like a creep, he followed in their wake. From his position behind them, he could see Olivia quickly and decisively fending off Phil's hands. He could hear filthy Phil muttering to her, something about paying for her time. Jesus, even Cain's skin was crawling. How could Olivia be so calm in the face of such an asshole? In the car park near the taxi pick up point, demons began roosting on his shoulders.

  Grabbing Olivia by the hair, Phil pushed his mouth against hers. Even from this far away, Cain could see the man's hands pawing at her through her awful conservative dress. The volcanic temper building in him throughout the evening exploded, enveloping him in a towering rage, surging through his veins in less than a heartbeat. Hearing Olivia's outraged exclamation, he began closing in on the pig ... only a moment before she took care of him herself, simultaneously taking his breath away.

  Somehow she'd grabbed Phil Saxton and thrown him to the ground. Saxton dragged himself up. Too stupid to know when to quit, he raised a hand to hit her—open handed of course. Saxton's code of ethics must have demanded he not hit a lady with closed fists. Olivia had no such compunction. Grabbing the hand streaming towards her face, she manacled Phil's wrist, hurling him sideways in front of her body, ramming an elbow into the side of his head as he fell towards the ground. Oddly, he didn't make it all the way to the concrete. Somehow defying all the laws of gravity and momentum, filthy Phil kept a wobbly balance on his feet. Even odder still, Cain was beginning to pity the stupid bastard—he had no idea the can of worms he'd opened.

  Undeterred by Phil's refusal to fall, Olivia continued her flurry of movements. Grasping one fist in the other, she performed some ballet style spin before catching the slimebag on the underside of his jaw. The force of the blow actually lifted him off his feet, catapulting him sideways to the ground. Cain winced, imagining exactly how much the hit must have hurt her top hand. She'd be lucky if the bones weren't broken. At the moment, though, pain seemed to be the least of her concerns. She was fired up, ready to carry on.

  "Get up!” she shouted. "Vous leve, le cochon crétin. Vous degoutant le lache. Vous vous pensez're un tel grand homme, une position en haut et combat comme l'un."

  If he'd understood a single word, Cain was sure he'd have been admiring. All he caught was cretin, and that was plenty. Jesus Christ, she was going to pull Phil up for more! Staving off the desire to applaud was tough, but someone had to save the fool.

  "Olivia, stop!” Disappointed he didn't know French and, therefore, was unable to join in the foreign language abuse club, he made do with what he had—hours of her time where she followed his every command. Hoping his voice would be enough to bring her back to her senses, he picked his most commanding tone. She stopped mid-movement, looking towards him, breathing heavily, her chest heaving beneath the velvet sheath she wore. The light of battle was in her eyes, fiery and enraged. From the look of her, only the adrenaline in her blood kept pain and shock at bay.

  "Enough, Olivia, you don't want to hurt him.” Actually, they both wanted to hurt him. What Cain had really meant was she didn't want the legal repercussions.

  "Did you see her assault me?” Filthy Phil whined pathetically from the ground.


  Olivia moved to grab the man again. Taking his chances, Cain wrapped an arm about her waist, lifting her off her feet, away from her prey.

  "I saw every second of it, Phil.” He felt his little demon stiffen in his arms. “And I mean every second ... including your attack on her.” And if you ever touch my woman again, I'll kill you myself. Fair enough, it was a caveman attitude but it was exactly how he felt. Keeping Olivia right where she was, he carried her back from the car park to the hotel foyer, her beautiful bottom rubbing against his groin the whole way. Amazing the effect an angry female, fresh from a fight, could have on his libido. Suddenly, he understood the attraction of mud wrestling. A grin tickled at his lips before he decided it was best to keep it from her.

  His car was parked, waiting for him. He'd had a valet bring it out front on his way through the foyer at the commencement of his spy mission. Olivia was shaking visibly by the time the car “blipped” to unlock. Seating her in the passenger side, he moved to sit behind the steering wheel. Not reaching to start the car, only to turn on the heaters, he sat very still, sighing loudly, trying to force the remnants of tension from his shoulders. His comical images of Olivia surging through a pool of mud, trouncing her opponent then sliding herself all over him had dealt with most of the pent up aggression he'd collected during the night.

  "So, what was that karate, judo ... you on a wrestling team?” Did he sound too hopeful?

  She smiled, wanly, but at least it was a smile. “Aikido, actually. You don't think I'd have a job like this and not be able to look after myself."

  "Aikido? Tell me about it. What belt are you?” Keeping her mind busy while the heaters warmed up the interior of the car might just be enough to stave off shock.

  "Aikido is one of the Okinawan empty hand forms of combat. It's designed for small, quick people. You don't need to be huge to be the best. It works for me. I'm a blue belt, grading to brown next week."