by Paula Roe
A frown skittered across his brow. “Why?”
“Do you want to sit?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Okay. Look, I think there’s something going on with her…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Something she’s not saying.”
“Like what?”
“Well, it’s more of a feeling, a sense I get when we talk.” At Alex’s narrowed eyes, she added, “For instance, she never mentions your father unless I bring him up. She’s not overly affected by all the infidelity accusations. I know he was a brilliant businessman, a self-made man and most are absolute perfectionists.”
“Your point?”
Boy, this wasn’t any easier even now she’d verbalized it. “Did your parents have a good marriage? Was everything okay?”
He gave her a thorough going-over, eyes astute, hands resting on his hips. Finally he said coolly, “And how is this any of your business?”
She flushed. “I thought—”
“I hired you to do a job, Yelena, not psychoanalyze my family. I’d appreciate you sticking with that. Now if you don’t mind, I have a phone conference.”
Leaving her openmouthed and cheeks flushed, Alex turned and stalked out the door.
It was over, buried with William Rush. He could not—would not—dig about in the past. It didn’t affect just him; it had repercussions for his entire family.
It was better this way, putting Yelena back in her rightful place as his PR consultant. Keeping her focused on her job providing positive spin.
Better, better, better. His feet echoed the chant as he strode down the hall, back to his office. So why did he feel like such a jerk?
He slammed his office door behind him, the sound shaking the walls, reverberating down the hall.
Amongst all the peripheral crap going on in his life, the one constant was his dark, burning need for that woman. Yes, Carlos had betrayed his trust and that would live with him until the day he died. But Yelena… Lord, she’d killed him when she’d disappeared. The one person he thought he could count on, the only one not involved in the media circus of his life and she’d not only wormed her way under his armor but had also taken his trust and ground it into the dirt.
He’d been mentally bereft.
He swung away from the door, towards the expansive view from crystal-clear windows.
His world had been black-and-white, until she’d returned and screaming color had crashed in. Yet he couldn’t surrender that power again. He couldn’t afford the devastation it would leave in its wake.
Yelena was grateful for the sudden frantic work load of the upcoming party—it meant she could claim to be legitimately busy and not think about what had transpired these last few days. And Alex must have felt the same way, judging by the way he pointedly avoided being alone with her.
Even though he’d declared their past a nonissue, Yelena could feel the ghosts dog her every moment from that point on. It made talking business awkward, it made every movement calculated so she didn’t accidentally touch him. So incredibly exasperating when all she wanted to do was touch him.
Even as her efforts began to snowball into a solid campaign, she was still relieved when six o’clock rolled around and she could spend time with her daughter. Chelsea had taken to dropping by every night and Yelena gratefully welcomed the company and her obvious attentiveness to Bella. To her delight Pam turned up on Friday night and they all spent a pleasant evening watching television and eating dinner.
When Yelena’s phone rang, she was midlaugh at something Chelsea had said. It was Jonathon, calling to approve her request to stay another week. But in the course of that brief exchange, Yelena sensed something was off. His next words confirmed it. When she hung up, her good mood evaporated.
“Problem?” Pam asked, her legs curled elegantly beneath her on the sofa.
“Just work. Can you keep an ear out for Bella? I need to see Alex about something.”
Yelena grabbed her room card and strode out the door, oblivious to the look Pam and Chelsea exchanged as edginess began to swirl swiftly in her belly.
She knocked on Alex’s door and after a moment it swung open. Before he could say a word, she swept past him then pivoted in the middle of the room, arms crossed.
“I just got a call from my boss,” she started without preamble.
He scratched his chin, a harsh yet intimate sound in the warm room. “You’re going to have to elaborate here.”
“Did you tell him that we’re romantically involved?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yelena, I’ve not spoken with the man for nearly a week.”
He tipped his head, hands on his hips. It was then Yelena finally noticed his clothes…or rather, lack of them. His white shirt, unbuttoned and rumpled, teased open to reveal the curves and planes of a magnificent torso. Her eyes trailed slowly down, skimming over his chest to his stomach. His muscles were a work of finest sculpture, chiseled and touchable under warm, tanned skin, before tapering down to slim hips encased in black pants, belt suggestively unbuckled.
Too late she snapped her eyes up to his, the full body flush warming every inch of her skin.
“Finished looking?” His voice was husky, his eyes amused.
Her body hummed with energy, as if she’d stuck her finger in a light socket and the powerful force now thrashed to break free.
“I…” She paused, struggling for the upper hand. “So if it wasn’t you, who?”
He shrugged. “Who else knows you’re here?”
A spark of irritation nipped at the edges of desire. “My father. Carlos.”
He didn’t have to say a thing, his expression mirrored her thoughts. Carlos wouldn’t. Her father, on the other hand, was Jonathon’s squash partner.
Contrite and embarrassed, she broke eye contact. “I…I’m sorry. I may have jumped the gun.”
“Not a problem.”
She glanced back up and caught his smile at the worst possible moment. Now all she could think about were those curved lips nipping at her hot skin.
“Okay. Er…” She clasped her hands nervously in front of her body. “I’d better be—” she gestured one thumb over her shoulder, towards the door “—better be going.”
“Okay.”
Still she remained rooted to the spot, until Alex added helpfully, “Anything else?”
“Yes. No! No, I’ll…” With a whoosh of breath she whirled to the door. Estúpida. Surely you’re not waiting for an invitation into his bed?
She paused, her hand on the door handle, her back to him. Thanks to what would've undoubtedly been a skillful, off-the-cuff comment, her father had effectively undermined her and cast doubt on her abilities, reducing her to fifteen all over again, and with all the accompanying emotions of confusion, isolation and anger.
The same emotions Alex himself had dealt with on a daily basis since his father’s death. Without her.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“For what?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “For not being there for you when your father died.”
She paused, waiting, but his silence said it all. With a pained frown she cracked open the door, prepared to make a dignified exit.
It happened so suddenly she barely got out a squeak of surprise. One moment she was grasping the handle, the next Alex had slammed it shut, grabbed her arms and whirled her, pinning her up against the door.
He was in her personal space, close enough she could see the dark navy flecks in his eyes and the rough stubble on his strong chin, feel his warm breath brushing her cheek.
Then he kissed her, hard.
Their breath mingled, tongues tangling until her nipples pebbled in painful arousal beneath her shirt. His manhood pushed hard against her belly and when she shifted, his groan was a mix of vexation and desire.
She felt it, too, this fierce need that scorched like a fever under her skin, her willpower bending and swaying under its awesome power. Her
mind tangled as she felt his hands under her shirt, slide up over her waist then her ribs, before he cupped her breasts.
His soft murmur of approval in her mouth fired her blood, sending aching shards of longing into her limbs, fanning across her body.
He fiddled with her bra clasp as they kept on kissing, and when her bra fell free, he bunched up her shirt and latched hot mouth on to one tight nipple.
“Alex…” A groan of pleasure ripped from deep within as her legs began to buckle.
“I have you,” he murmured, his lips full of her flesh. It was true—his arms wrapped securely around her, the hard door at her back. His knee wedged between her legs, offering erotic support.
He was everywhere, in her senses, her mind, under her skin. In her blood. She took a breath and he was there. She opened her eyes and his face filled her vision. Her palms, shaking with passion, ran over his shoulders, until she cupped his nape, that special erotic area where his hair met vulnerable flesh.
It turned her on every time. She tunneled her fingers in his hair, gently pulling, a deep burst of satisfaction as she heard him grunt. Yet despite the raging desire in her blood and her desperation to have him inside her, she couldn’t relinquish herself. Not tonight. Not now.
“Alex…” she whispered, desperate to ignore the shocks of pleasure as his tongue ran over her nipple, teasing and arousing it to painful erection. “I need to gooooooo…” Her plea ended on a groan as his hand dipped into her pants, his fingers quickly finding the damp sensitive nub of her arousal.
“Do you?” His teeth toyed with one rock-hard nipple, making her hiss.
“Your…mother and Chelsea…. are…. with—” his tiny strokes made her body jerk with pleasure; she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her body to settle even as it screamed in joy “—Bella. We can’t do this right now.”
His hand stilled and Yelena breathed a sigh. Relief or disappointment? Right now, she had no idea.
Slowly, he lifted his head and Yelena nearly lost it then—the fire in his eyes still raged, bathing her in desperate yearning. His hand was still down the front of her pants, his fingers wedged intimately in her flesh, flesh that throbbed and ached beneath his touch.
“I need to go,” she repeated breathlessly.
The moments ticked into seconds, long, apprehensive seconds that did nothing to clear the passion-fueled moment. Yet Alex finally gave in. In one slow, excruciating movement, he slid from her, the sensual glide of his fingers forcing her to swallow a frustrated groan.
Then the cool air rushed in. She opened her eyes just in time to see his jaw tighten before he turned away, tunneling fingers through his hair.
Abject disappointment warred with common sense. “Alex…”
“Don’t.” He got out hoarsely, his back still to her. “You need to go.”
She blinked, still dazed. Then without another word she opened the door and finally escaped.
Alex whirled to the closed door, a deep scowl across his brow. Gently he thumped a clenched fist on his forehead, one hand on his hip. His groin throbbed, a painful reminder of what he’d had, what he still wanted. Yelena.
He muttered a few choice curses under his breath before yanking his shirt free from his pants. This wasn’t him, unable to figure out the simplest of problems. He’d had a mission—destroy Carlos’s world by sleeping with his precious sister. But instead of triumph, bitterness tainted his every move, his every thought. Even when he thought about how amazing Yelena had felt in his arms, how mind-blowing it had been to finally taste her, to kiss her, to be inside her, a surge of guilt always followed.
Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
He’d used her in his revenge plan, even though he’d never been certain it’d work, even though he’d begun to believe she hadn’t played a part in Carlos’s lies.
The kicker was she had no idea how much of a bastard Carlos was.
The injustice of it burned like fire as he strode into the kitchen, wrenched open the fridge door and grabbed a beer. He scowled at nothing in particular, until his gaze landed on Yelena’s file for the Sunset Party. He still hadn’t given her his guest list—
It hit him like a bolt from heaven, immobilizing every muscle in his body. With a rush of breath that ended on a stunned grunt, he slammed a hand on the counter top.
If Yelena couldn’t see the kind of person Carlos was, then it was up to him to show her. And he knew just the thing.
Ten
Saturday morning—the day of the party—slowly blended into early afternoon. After fussing over her hair, her makeup and her general nerves, Yelena walked into her lounge room for Chelsea’s inspection.
“How do I look?”
Chelsea frowned, gently replacing Bella across her other shoulder. “As if you’re about to chair a board meeting.” The teenager looked fabulous in a sleek, dark blue halter neck, the empire waist slashed to reveal aqua-and-black satin that shimmered as she walked.
“What’s wrong with this?” Yelena ran a hand down her red silk shirt then readjusted the waistband of the black wool pencil skirt.
“It’s hardly a party dress, is it?”
“Well, I’m working.”
“You’re always working.” Chelsea rolled her eyes. “It’s a party, for heaven’s sakes. You know—food, people, music?”
She sighed melodramatically. “Okay, you’d better let me look at what you’ve got.”
In less than ten minutes, Chelsea declared every piece of clothing in Yelena’s lineup unsuitable and was on the phone. Three minutes, to the dot, and the concierge was at her door with a special delivery.
“Open it,” Chelsea commanded after she’d signed the slip and closed the door. To Yelena’s surprise, a scorching-red dress unfurled beneath her hands.
“Go and try it on.”
“I can’t—”
“Yeah, you can,” Chelsea countered firmly, hands on hips.
Yelena finally caved. “All right. Can you watch Bella?”
“Sure. And loosen up that hair!” Chelsea added as she went once more into the bedroom.
Yelena pulled on the delicious dress, the fabric pouring over her skin with silken cool fingers. She couldn’t suppress a shiver of excitement as she stared at her reflection.
It was one of the most gorgeous gowns she’d ever seen. Stylish, dramatic and totally sexy. The strapless bodice hugged her figure to snug perfection, the sleek material emphasizing her waist and generous curves to flare past her hips into an elegant, floor-length train. A swathe of sheer red floated behind her, a flirty mermaid tail with tiny seeded crystals on the hem to add extra oomph when she walked.
There was a small knock on the door before Chelsea opened it a crack.
“Mum’s here. Come on out and show—wow!” Chelsea’s eyes widened. But her smile faltered when she came to Yelena’s hair. “Hair down. Fluff it out.”
“Yes, miss.” Yelena grinned and reached for the pins holding it in place. It tumbled down, the soft whisper across her bare shoulders sending another shiver down her spine. “You know, Gabriela used to boss me about like that, too.”
Sadness flittered across Chelsea’s eyes before she smiled. “Well, she did have style.” She eyed Yelena before adding, “And you have awesome hair—why on earth would you tie it up all the time?”
Yelena grinned at her though the mirror. “Try living with it.”
“Pleeeease.” Chelsea tweaked Yelena’s curls into place, smoothed her own shiny, straight hair behind her ears then nodded at their reflections. “Okay. Let’s go.”
When Yelena swished into the lounge room, Alex stood there, talking in hushed whispers with Pam who was holding Bella. Alex and she had barely spent an hour together since that kiss. Yelena had been gratefully busy with the party preparations and via Chelsea, she’d gleaned that Alex was dealing with the day-to-day running of his father’s businesses.
Yet when he glanced up, saw her and smiled, her normally iron composure just crumbled.
> “You look gorgeous.” His eyes told her much more, all of it definitely X-rated, judging by the glint in those jeweled depths.
“Thanks” was all she could choke out, more than aware of his sister and mother standing discreetly to the side, Chelsea attempting to fasten a simple gold necklace around Pam’s neck as Bella gurgled.
“I didn’t think a ball gown would’ve been on your packing list.”
“The dress is yours, bro,” Chelsea piped up, too focused on pretending not to listen to actually carry it off. “Lori at the boutique gave me a loaner.”
Yelena met his eyes head-on, a small smile hovering over her lips as she shrugged.
“Nice,” he murmured. But the timbre in that one word said so much more. Like, I’d much prefer you out of it.
Even as her body leaped in response, she gave him a steady glare, telling him she knew exactly where his mind was at. He remained unfazed.
Just as Alex was about to offer his arm, Yelena took Bella from Pam.
“You’re bringing her?” he asked, surprised.
Yelena shot him a cool look. “It’s her first party. I have Jasmine coming over at six.”
He eyed the gurgling baby, sitting comfortably on Yelena’s hip. “Won’t she—”
“What?”
“I don’t know—throw up or something?”
Yelena laughed. “Maybe.”
“What about your dress?”
“Then it’ll get dirty.”
Her smile stretched as the women shared the joke, one that made him feel uncomfortably male.
“Yelena’s letting me show Bella off.” Pam finally came to her son’s rescue. “And after the wonderful job she’s done, we can at least give her a dress.”
“It’s not that,” he began, glancing at his mother. She was looking chic in a black pantsuit, a burnt-orange wrap around her shoulders. When she smiled, it was a real one, not those fake smiles that never reached her eyes, ones he’d seen her give way too often when his father was still alive.
They opened the door, Pam and Chelsea going first in a rush of excited whispers.