Powerful Boss, Prim Miss Jones

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Tut, tut,’ Andreas said, having captured her attention. ‘Shouldn’t you be with your target audience? Leave him for too long and you might find his attention beginning to stray.’ He was grimly aware that he was in serious danger of behaving like a loser—how else would you describe a guy who couldn’t leave a woman alone? Even when his head was telling him that it was the only thing to do. Confusion had taken up residence somewhere deep inside him and he didn’t know what the hell to do with it because it was something he had never felt before.

  Elizabeth bracingly told herself that she would not, absolutely would not, allow Andreas to get under her skin. The second he did that, she was back on the merciless treadmill, see-sawing emotions, grinding misery and self-pity. This party would be her opportunity to launch herself into a different place.

  ‘He’s not my target audience,’ she said. ‘And, anyway, it’s a downright insult to imply that the only way I can get a guy to be interested in me is if I lock him in a room and throw away the key.’

  Andreas had a disconcerting thought about the satisfaction he would get in locking her in a room and throwing away the key. He stamped down such an irrational notion with a dark scowl. He would not permit himself to ask her whether she intended to date Gilbert.

  ‘Anyway, I should be mingling. James won’t think I’m enjoying myself unless I do.’ She gave him a long, cool look and headed away to one of the tables which had been set up in a massive marquee that adjoined the set of French doors out to the garden. The dining-room table had been reserved for the contingent of older guests because it was altogether more comfortable. Which meant that for the next hour at least she would have to make continuing conversation with the young people, who were pleasant enough, in fact more pleasant than she might have expected, but with whom she essentially had nothing in common. If she could only take her own good advice to heart, she would give Toby the green light he was clearly looking for, but she dispiritedly realised that amber was the best she could offer, and even that was a reluctant concession.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Andreas as he cast his hawk-like gaze across the marquee, finally settling on her. Suddenly the plate of food in front of her lost its appeal as he made his way towards the place she had taken up at the very back of the marquee, a solitary figure in red, content to observe. She would mingle in a minute.

  ‘I have come to apologise,’ were his opening words as he settled himself next to her and began to tuck into his food.

  That wasn’t what Elizabeth had expected, and after a few seconds of bewilderment she, too, began eating. With only the minimum of notice, Dot had managed to oversee some splendid catering; although Elizabeth could feel herself stiff with tension, she could appreciate the delicate, flaky texture of the salmon and the crispness of the salad. Less welcome was that stirring of her senses which always happened whenever Andreas was in the vicinity, even when he was in full-attack mode.

  The tables were groaning under the weight of bottles of wine, and he poured them both a glass of white. People coming in saw them and discreetly moved to other tables.

  ‘You’re scaring off the guests,’ Elizabeth muttered. She was determined to let him know that his presence was the last thing she wanted, but her body was singing a different song. Just the mesmerising sight of his long fingers as he tore his bread, and the way his dark hair curled around the silver, metal band of his watch, made her tummy do cartwheels.

  ‘Good. I hate apologising in front of an audience.’

  ‘When have you ever done that?’

  ‘You’re right. Never. And now is definitely not the time to break that record.’

  Elizabeth made a concentrated effort to try and relax. If she could focus on all the things about him that made her mad, then she might actually be able to curtail her wildly inappropriate responses to him. But of course that was all well and good in theory. In practice, her mouth was dry, her pulses were racing and there was a tell-tale tingling in her breasts that spoke shameless volumes.

  ‘I admit I may have been a little out of order to imply that you were jumping on a bandwagon with this sudden array of possible suitors.’ He refused to narrow that down to Gilbert.

  ‘Possible suitors? That’s a ridiculous idea! James just thought that it might be nice to meet some young people, and the only young people he knows are related to older people he knows. Or else are friends of friends.’ She thought maybe she should imply here that Toby was a serious contender, that she was interested in him. Wouldn’t it prove to Andreas that she was on the way to getting over him as easily as he had got over her? Stringing the thought together, though, was a Herculean feat when his proximity was turning her brain to mush, and that softly worded apology had sent her pulses racing.

  Andreas thought it better to keep to himself that James had had much more in mind than altruism when he had compiled his guest list, but he made a mental note to have a quiet word with his godfather about the foolishness of trying to play match-maker. He considered that the very least he could do, as the gentleman he undoubtedly was. And she hadn’t mentioned Gilbert, which was a good thing. Clinging to that omission was less of a good thing, but Andreas didn’t dwell on that.

  ‘Well, whatever.’ He gave an elegant shrug, pushed his plate to one side and angled his chair so that he was facing her directly. His ability to devote one-hundred percent of his attention on the person to whom he was speaking was part of the essence of his charm, but right now it made Elizabeth feel a little giddy and confused.

  ‘The fact is that I believed the worst of you, and for that I owe you an apology.’ She had stopped eating so that she could stare at him with bated breath, and he now took her fingers in his hand and idly played with them.

  Elizabeth felt as though there had been a sudden drop in the oxygen levels. She literally froze and then, when her lungs began working again, told herself that this was an absentminded and casual gesture from a man who had moved on and so could do this, could touch her without getting into knots about it. As she was doing.

  Andreas could feel the tension in her body as clearly as if it had announced itself in bright, neon lettering across her forehead and that in itself was strangely pleasing. As was the feel of her slender, smooth fingers between his. He found that he had a very clear memory of the feel of her, soft, satin-smooth, wholly and utterly feminine. It must have lodged somewhere at the back of his mind, or maybe it had been absorbed into his bloodstream, because along with that memory came an overwhelming urge to recapture the completeness of being with her. He didn’t just want to hold her hand in a caring, friendly way. He wanted to lead her hand to his body so that she could touch him where it was now beginning to physically hurt. He wanted his hand to dip into the sweet moistness of her. He wanted to watch her face as she moved against his fingers, and see her eyelids flutter as she located that special place and began grinding sinuously, exciting herself, and luxuriating in the knowledge that her excitement was his excitement. He had taught her to do that, to feel comfortable with her body, and comfortable with his vocal and visual appreciation of it.

  Like a possessive master selfishly holding on to his star pupil, Andreas gritted his teeth in the face of the glaring reality that he just wasn’t ready, willing or even able to let her go. He was in the grip of a desire much stronger than anything he had known before. Why else had he come to this party? He had plenty to do in London. He had been away from his office for a considerable length of time. James had not been at all disconcerted by his refusal, and yet he had found himself coming anyway. Why? Because he wasn’t ready to let her go.

  It irked him that she could still get to him even though she had affronted him on pretty much every level. She had contrived to keep secrets from him, even when they had become lovers. She had reacted to Amanda’s appearance on the scene by hurling unjust accusations at him, and he hadn’t explained himself. It wasn’t his style. Yet she had been less than impressed by his boundaries, choosing to behave in a fashion w
hich he would have found unacceptable in any other woman. Most gallingly of all, she had turned down his offer that she become his mistress. That had been a direct hit to his sense of pride and to his ego.

  Taking all those things into account, Andreas knew that he should have had no problem whatsoever in walking away from her. In fact—in theory, at least—he should have had no problem walking away from her and straight into the arms of someone else, someone fashioned from that mould to which he had become accustomed; one of those women who didn’t keep him up at night, never questioned his authority and was inordinately pleased with whatever shows of generosity he chose to display. Isobel should have fitted that bill, but he hadn’t been remotely turned on by her, and she had ceased to exist the minute their date had come to its abrupt conclusion.

  James’s confession that he wanted Elizabeth to find stability with a boyfriend, and to that end was going to invite some eligible chaps, should have caused resounding cynicism and a sigh of relief that he was rid of her. Instead, he had ruminated all the way to his helicopter, his formidable, hard-headed logic and ferocious self-control for once taking a back seat behind other emotions which he had no inclination to analyse.

  It all went to prove conclusively to him that lust was something he had previously underrated. All that ugly confusion and tightness in his chest was testimony to the power of unfinished business.

  He released her hand and sat back, content in the knowledge that her body still stirred for him. She still quivered in his presence, and it would seem responded to him exactly like he responded to her, if only she was aware of the fact.

  He was acutely attuned to her every small movement, from the nervous fidgeting of her fingers to the delicate, heightened colour staining her cheeks.

  ‘I won’t deny that I was angry when I discovered that you’d taken us in.’

  ‘I explained.’

  ‘You did. And there’s no need to retrace old ground. You did what you felt you had to do, and I can see that you reached a certain point when backtracking might have been a little daunting.’ Andreas discovered that he actually did believe that. He suspected that he had believed her from the start, although his ingrained inclination towards suspicion, which had always stood him in good stead, had compelled him to question her motives.

  Elizabeth breathed a little sigh of relief and half-closed her eyes. ‘It means a lot to hear you say that,’ she confessed, her eyes widening as she looked at him and began drowning in the steady intensity of his gaze.

  She wondered if he would touch her again, and when she realised that she was longing for it she resolutely stuck her hands under her thighs. Just in case they started wandering of their own accord. It would have taken a lot for him to say what he had said, because he was nothing if not supremely arrogant, but say it he had.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in my presence,’ Andreas murmured softly. As his glittering, black eyes collided with hers, Elizabeth drew her breath in, feeling very much as if she had stepped out from the pages of a Victorian novel and was on the verge of swooning. She resisted the manic temptation to giggle when she wondered whether the generously supplied tables also had a line in smelling salts. She wondered what he would do if she told him that his fraternal reassurance was the last thing she wanted.

  ‘I don’t,’ she said with equal composure, even though her heart was hammering madly in her chest. ‘And I’m really glad that you believe me. I know I’ve said this before, but I wasn’t going to say anything about…well, about anything, if your girlfriend…’

  ‘Ex-girlfriend. And, by the way, we had broken up before I started sleeping with you.’ His eyes roved lazily across her flushed face. Yielding on this one small matter was worth it to see the shell-pink blush that spread across her cheeks.

  ‘Why didn’t you say so at the time?’

  ‘I am not in the habit of explaining myself.’ He gave a theatrical shrug of his broad shoulders and shot her a smile that literally brought her out in beads of perspiration. ‘But in this instance I feel it’s justified, so that I clear the air between us. I wouldn’t want you labouring under the misconception that I’m the kind of guy who would ever sleep with more than one woman at the same time. For me, making love is not to be taken lightly.’ His voice dropped a notch to a husky, sexy drawl. ‘Nor, while I am being totally honest, would I want you to think that you were anything but bloody amazing. There are times when I close my eyes and I can still taste you on my tongue.’

  He sat back, leaving her with that thought, which affected him like a shot of adrenaline, and looked around at the marquee which was filling out nicely with people.

  ‘But never mind that. You probably don’t want to hear that, especially not now, when you should be enjoying yourself with all the guys James has invited here for your benefit.’ He still couldn’t bring himself to single Gilbert out by name but he was damn sure that the guy was not even on the fringes of her consciousness as she breathlessly watched him.

  Elizabeth, taking her cue from him, tried to clear her head of the devastating memory of them making love.

  ‘Are you enjoying yourself, by the way?’

  She nodded, and then when she had located her voice said evenly, ‘It’s a bit over the top, but it was a kind thought, and I think James is thrilled to have all his old friends around him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a lavish do like this before?’ There was nothing snide in his observation and she allowed herself to relax a little. She found herself telling him about the parties she had had as a child growing up, and about how hard her mother had tried to compensate for the lack of a father. She knew she was babbling, because she was nervous and over-aware of him sitting there with his head inclined to one side, for all the world as though he really cared about what she was saying. But she was proud of herself that she could communicate like this, when her head was swimming and her body felt as though it was submerged in treacle. That said something, didn’t it?

  People were beginning to drift over towards them, plates in hands, while waiters scuttled around topping up glasses, making sure that wine was poured at the tables.

  In under a minute, their table would be full, and the tedious business of mingling would begin. It was a shame. Having swotted away the irritating business of potential suitors, having confronted the unexpected fact that he still fancied the hell out of her—never mind that she had rejected him, a little technicality that should have killed off all remnants of lust stone-dead—Andreas was enjoying the idea of showing her just how little Gilbert, or anyone else for that matter, meant to her. Of getting her back into bed. With him. Where she belonged. Until such time as his crazy desire fizzled out, which it inevitably would.

  No. Until such time as their crazy, mutual desire fizzled out. Because his antennae had honed in on her responses to him and relayed back to his brain that he certainly wasn’t the only one who thought that there was unfinished business between them.

  But there was no rush, was there? A feeling of warm contentment spread through him, blessed relief after the puzzling array of frustrated emotions that had been swirling through him like toxins over the past week. The uncertainty that had gripped him when he had seen her mingling with other guys was subsiding.

  He didn’t want to be in the grip of those weird, conflicting emotions and he therefore reduced the situation to its basic essentials: she still wanted him, he still wanted her. And, most importantly, they had been lovers. In that respect, he held the trump card. He noted that Toby was nowhere in evidence, and that gave him a further feeling of having landed on safe ground. He wondered whether she was already regretting her haste in turning down his magnanimous offer for her to accompany him to London. He hoped so. Was she silently making comparisons, drawing obvious conclusions? Was she realising that, when it came to giving herself, he was the only contender? It shocked him to realise how much he desired that outcome.

  In a life previously fuelled by the demands of work, w
omen had been ready and willing at the click of a finger. He therefore had never had the need to indulge in anticipation. Since when had anticipation ever been necessary when the conclusions were all foregone?

  He was anticipating now, and the anticipation was sweet after that previous, sickening assault on his equilibrium at seeing her turn her attentions to someone else.

  He was even enjoying watching her as, meal over, she immediately left the table so that she could dutifully enjoy herself. She hadn’t been brought up in this sort of society—would have probably baulked at mixing with a bunch of mostly toffeenosed people a few months ago—but she had grown in confidence since then. He remained where he was, sprawled in his chair at the table. Having demonstrated such an outstanding lack of enthusiasm for the various women who had optimistically sidled across to him to ‘renew their acquaintance’, he had eventually been left in peace. Lazily he looked on as Elizabeth chatted and mixed, and only glanced at her watch a couple of times when she thought no one was looking.

  In fact, he only snapped out of his watchful reverie when his godfather approached him, with Dot protectively hanging on to him, even though his opening words to Andreas were, ‘Woman can’t leave me alone! Thinks I need propping up just in case I collapse in the middle of my own damn party!’

  Andreas noticed with amusement that he didn’t seem intent on shrugging off the protective hold, despite his grumbling, and for a while he allowed himself to be distracted by his godfather. It was getting late. People were stopping by to relay their thanks, amidst much warm words about dropping by for visits. Most had brought drivers, some had ordered taxis, and none, thankfully, were staying over. Dot had suggested that it might not be a good idea, given the fact that James would be exhausted the following day and would not be able to face another round of entertaining.