Sweet Seduction Surrender (Sweet Seduction, Book 4)

by Claire, Nicola

  Sure, she wanted everyone there for her and Dom's big moment, but it still filled my bitter heart with warmth. And then the thought of having to face Jason again froze it solid.

  "Oh, Genevieve," I said on a breath of air. Then corrected myself. "That's sounds brilliant." I forced a little joy into my words.

  "Everyone thought I was being crazy, changing the date by one day," Gen was saying, but I found myself slinking further and further beneath the covers, gripping the handset in a white knuckled clasp, and blanking out slightly on her actual words. "But I think they've got used to my uniqueness by now. I didn't tell them it was because you couldn't make it, just in case they were pee'd off or something. But I made them all promise to be here by six. I've started getting a bit tired in the evenings, so it's a little earlier than usual. Hope you don't mind. Kelly just said she'd hit the town afterwards, if Dom and I kicked everyone out for an early night in bed. I laughed at that, couldn't exactly tell her I'd be asleep by nine, no hanky panky for me."

  There was a grumble in the background, which had to have come from Dom. Either bemused at Gen's forthrightness, or contradicting her about the whole no hanky panky thing.

  "I know, honey," Gen said, voice slightly muffled as she held the phone away, "but it's Katie, I can't say that. You flipped when she saw your naked butt, how the hell do you think she'd respond to you suggesting I just lie back and think of Britain and you'd do all the..."

  The phone was abruptly pulled from Gen's hand, by the sound of the scrabbling in the background. There was a grunt, followed by a giggle and then Dominic's voice down the line.

  "Six o'clock tonight, Katie. Bring a pasta salad. And no excuses. You will be there."

  "Dom," I attempted.

  "No excuses. We need to see you. OK?" The last was said more softly. He was worried.

  "OK," I replied, meekly.

  There was a pause, then a sigh his end.

  "Good. See you tonight, sis." The line went dead.

  I returned the handset to its cradle and curled up under the covers again. I spent the next few minutes refusing to cry, then mercifully, my alarm went off and the day of distraction could finally begin.

  Tremayne Arts was on The Strand, just below Parnell Rise. It had a pleasant façade and maybe half a dozen parking spaces out front. A boon for this part of Auckland City. As the business wasn't yet open to the public, there were plenty of spots available for me to park in. I pulled up next to a shiny Lexus, which I was guessing belonged to Tremayne.

  Picking up my satchel, which included all the necessary equipment I'd need if I chose to take this contract on, I slipped out of my car and after locking it, headed over to the front doors. I didn't need to knock, Tremayne opened it when I was still a few feet away. He'd been watching for me. I felt a little jolt of surprise shoot through me at that thought. I wasn't late, so he shouldn't have been pacing at the doors for my arrival, but an almost creepy feeling slithered down my spine.

  Nick, in all his brotherly over protectiveness, had instilled in me a wary observant quality. It wasn't something I found at all natural, but over the course of the past few years his constant reminders of trusting your first impressions and never ignoring that initial reaction to a situation, has made me more circumspect. I don't think I would have even considered Tremayne's behaviour unusual in the past, but Nicky had a way of getting through my resistance. Making Tremayne's intense demeanour and obvious heightened anticipation of my arrival cause me to startle slightly.

  I forced myself to calm and not show the small amount of alarm I had felt. Smiling at Tremayne, I offered a greeting.

  "Good morning, Mr Tremayne."

  "Please, call me Richard. And may I call you Catherine?" he asked, holding the door open for me to walk through, but not stepping back enough for me to slip past without brushing his sleeve.

  "Of course," I murmured, ducking my head as I stepped into a large open planned space.

  The natural lighting streaming through the large exposed windows along the front of the building made long shadows appear in haphazard stripes across bare concrete floors. It was a complete blank canvas. No flooring or lighting in place. No wall breaks or designated areas existing. Just a huge square room, with offices and amenities along the back wall. Nothing else.

  For the first time since arriving I felt a much more welcomed feeling settle inside my stomach. Excitement. The exuberant thrill of creating something out of almost nothing. What I could do to this space.

  "Ten days, you said?" I asked distractedly, scanning the height of the walls, taking further steps inside to look at everything from different angles. I had a dozen different ideas streaming through my mind already. Some of them running away and becoming behemoths in seconds. All of which I needed to rein in as the man had said he already new what he wanted. No doubt anything I suggested would be dismissed. He may not have been a dominant person, but he knew how to get what he wanted, I was sure.

  "Yes," he murmured, making me flick a glance over in his direction. He was leaning against a wall, legs crossed casually at the ankles, watching me keenly. "I'm on a tight schedule."

  I returned my attention to the room itself. Something about his continued appraisal of me left me unnerved. I wasn't sure if it was entirely bad, this sensation of unease. Which sounds paradoxical. But sometimes that jittery feeling you get when something disturbs you can be because of something good. At this point, I couldn't tell if I liked his obviously male regard, or not.

  "You said you already know what you want. I gather that means you have a theme or design in mind already?" I asked, still scanning the space, estimating distances and the potential that existed. Already choosing the central piece of furniture that would make this showroom shine; an almost completely circular shaped settee I'd spotted in one of my furniture supplier's storerooms last month. It would be perfect as a focus point, not to mention a suitable spot to sit back and relax, while you gazed at artwork around the space.

  "Not at all," he replied, surprising me enough to stop what I was doing and devote my attention to him. "What I meant to say is, I know who I want. To create the design, of course."

  "Oh." It slipped out. I couldn't deny I felt flattered. In a professional manner, of course.

  "I've seen much of your work, Catherine. I like it. I especially like the modernity and unexpectedness of Malcolm's sitting room." So, he had been inside the Montgomery-Smith's room. Just not last night. "I could imagine something along those lines here. Can't you?"

  I returned my gaze to the blank room before me and forced myself to overlay an image of the Montgomery-Smith's design in this space. My heart fell. Because he was right. This could be a grand room, it could really make a statement. And as much as I didn't want to revisit a design that had been created at such a pivotal part of my life, at a moment in time I cared to forget, I knew I might have to.

  But, most art showrooms tend to be bland, to allow the art to speak for itself. If you detracted from the pieces for sale, then you sold your product short. If I created anything here, it would have to be a version of the Montgomery-Smith's to produce ambience and awe, toned down to a degree where necessary, to complement the art.

  "What type of artwork do you sell, Mr Tremayne?" I asked, my mind moving a mile a minute now.

  "Richard, Catherine," he reminded me. "Please call me Richard. I have every intention of us becoming fast friends throughout this process. And friends call each other by their given names. Am I correct?"

  My friends called me Katie, not Catherine. Even my parents called me Katie. Jason, of course, called me Kate. For some reason, neither of those nicknames felt suitable for this man. I was nowhere near ready to hear him call me anything other than Catherine. Catherine was almost someone else in my mind.

  I just offered a nod in agreement, not wanting to get too bogged down by semantics.

  "As for the artwork, everything you saw at Malcolm's house, I sourced for him."

  Ah, and there went that idea that
it couldn't coexist with the Montgomery-Smith's design. I had worked the final look around their artwork. It was made to measure.

  Which meant, this job could go an awful lot easier than I had first thought.

  I walked over to the far wall and looked inside the offices. They were finished to a professional standard, so was the kitchen and bathroom area.

  "I gather you're satisfied with these," I said, nodding my head toward each room.

  "Yes, they'll do."

  "So, that leaves this wonderful space." I'd opened my arms up and waved to indicate the vast empty room we were in. Richard's smile at my choice of words and action was genuine. He was pleased I could see the potential.

  "Yes," he murmured. "What's the verdict? Can you make something of it?"

  I peeled my eyes off the room and turned my gaze to him. He'd stepped away from the wall and now stood, hands in trouser pockets making him seem approachable, even handsome.

  "Yes, I could make something of this." I'd kept my voice level, professional. But inside I was eager to get started. I'd already fallen for the project, there was no way I'd turn down this job now. "Do you have any specific requirements? Areas set aside for different artwork? A piece that requires special treatment and placing?"

  "I can give you a catalogue with all the pieces I currently have and we can work through what should have priority and not. I know what sells, but I'd like your interpretation of what should go where. It will be your design. Fully. I'll just provide the pieces as your muse."

  I sucked in a small breath at his words. The design I'd create would be based on the Montgomery-Smith's, and we all know how I managed to come up with that. In that instant, I had a sudden urge to flee. But I scolded my ridiculous lovelorn heart and told myself this was business. A job. A contract that would pay the bills.

  "All right," I said with a nod of my head; more for me, than him. "I can't provide a quote until I've seen the pieces and we're agreed on a display plan. Once I have those items locked down, the design can be created in forty-eight to seventy-two hours."

  The fact that I would be mimicking a completed design and already had focal furniture picked out in my mind, knowing they were available at my suppliers and easily covered to suit the finished look, made the time-frame required to complete the project a fraction of what I would normally require.

  "I'd need at least ten days to achieve the finished product," I added, "so it would be advisable if I could see the catalogue of your stock today and we arrange a time to discuss your needs as soon as possible." I was ready to get this started. To throw myself into something that would take utter focus and block out everything else.

  "I can give you a catalogue to take away this morning, and as for arranging a time to discuss my... needs, may I suggest dinner tonight." He must have seen the wariness and reluctance on my face, because he quickly added, "A business dinner, if you will."

  I hesitated, trying to think of a way out. Then the obvious flashed through my mind. The barbecue. I already had plans that I couldn't possibly put off. I mean, Genevieve had changed the date to fit in with me. I couldn't, in all good conscience, deny her wishes now. Even if every fabric of my being wanted to avoid her and Dom's house, in the hopes of not having to see Jason.

  The bottom line was: Hurt Genevieve to save face or have dinner with this strange man? I couldn't wound Genevieve, even to avoid pain myself. I'm not that kind of person. So, the decision was easy in the end, despite the angst it brought with it.

  "I'm so sorry," I said, trying to convey honesty in my words. "But I have plans tonight I can't get out of. Perhaps we can meet tomorrow?"

  Richard held my gaze for quite some time, his face blank, but there was depth behind his eyes. Shadows of something I couldn't decipher. Was he determining what argument to give? Deciding whether to push me or not? I couldn't tell, and then the mystery of his profound gaze passed. I felt like I'd witnessed something intriguing. Something that gave me hope that there was more to Richard Tremayne than I had thought. But with his eyes returning to a more lazy look, the intense feeling I had been seeking, vanished.

  I wasn't sure what to make of my reaction to a simple look in someone's eyes. It was as though I was searching for something, something vitally important, but had found only a hint, a possibility, and no more. The disappointment in not finding what I wanted was more prevalent than I expected. Just what had I hoped he would do?

  "That's unfortunate," Richard said, with a small smile. "I'm out of the city tomorrow on business. It will have to wait until Monday."

  I frowned, realising the time-line for this project had just become more urgent. The sooner we had his pieces locked-down in the overall plan, the sooner I could design the final look. Without knowing that pre-requisite I could only do so much tomorrow. It would probably take at least until Thursday or Friday now, to finalise a design. I couldn't even offer a sufficiently accurate quote until I had some idea of his requirements. Without pinning down his signature pieces of art, the ten day time-frame would be impossible to achieve.

  Richard didn't wait for my reply, just wandered off to the office at the back of the room and returned moments later with his catalogue.

  "You can, at least, start with this today, I presume?" he asked in an arched tone that made me believe he was disappointed in my refusal to attend dinner this evening and therefore the consequent delay it caused.

  I didn't particularly like letting people down, but Genevieve was family. I was committed to the barbecue, but that didn't mean I couldn't work around it. Gen had said she tired easily, perhaps I could get away from their house early enough for a late meeting.

  "My appointment this evening is quite early," I began, taking the catalogue from Richard's hand. He stilled all motion, holding on to his side of the booklet, while I clasped mine. His eyes lifted hopefully to mine. He seemed genuinely interested in getting this project started. It made me feel more inclined to make this suggestion. "Perhaps we could meet for a drink afterwards?"

  His mouth spread into that lazy smile and he released the catalogue at last.

  "I think that would be a splendid idea, Catherine. What time?"

  Ah, and now to guess how long Gen would want festivities to continue. Does getting tired mean bed by eight, nine or ten?

  Perhaps the truth would be best. Richard's reaction to my suggestion seemed genuinely happy. For the first time I felt relaxed in his company.

  "I have this family thing I have to attend," I admitted. "It starts at six, but I'm unsure how long it will go for. Can I phone you when it's over and we'll arrange to meet then?"

  "How about I come with you, then we can skip out as soon as your obligations are met?"

  His proposal was given in such an offhand way I was momentarily stunned into thinking it was appropriate. Then reality returned and I formed the words in my mind to deny him such a liberty. Family gatherings were no place for a business acquaintance to attend. How would Genevieve feel announcing her news with a stranger in the room?

  He must have seen my reticence, because he took a step closer, dipped his face to peer into my eyes and said, voice low, "I was hoping we could be more than just colleagues, Catherine. I know we'll be discussing the design this evening, but I had intended to get to know you a little better as well. And for you to get to know me better, too. I would like to accompany you as your date."

  Silence met his announcement. Date? I couldn't do a date. No way could I date. And him? I just met him. Even if I was in the market to date, I'm not sure he'd be who I'd pick. The whole time I'd been in his presence I'd been searching for something. Something powerful, something that I craved. And I hadn't found it. Not yet.

  My eyes flicked over his face. Strong lines met my gaze, a soft smattering of stubble, that roughened up his look a little, graced his cheeks. The shadow adding character and depth I hadn't noticed before. And his eyes were a lovely colour. Browns and greens, a hint of autumnal golds.

  "What are you afraid of?" he whispe
red, his voice sounding intimate despite the size and emptiness of the room we stood in. "Would your family be surprised if you turn up with a date?"

  Yes. But that wasn't the real reason why I baulked at this idea. Apart from being unsure how I felt about this man, Jason would be there. I couldn't turn up at Dominic's and Genevieve's with another man. Not yet. It wouldn't be right.

  But then, no one else knew what Jason and I had experienced together. Jason was acting as if I didn't exist, let alone as if we'd shared something so very special, so very personal, together. And let's face it, Gen was sure he'd be bringing one of his blonde busty bimbos to the event.

  Oh, dear Lord. I couldn't face that and hold my head up high. I couldn't swallow the humiliation.

  Then, did I have to be the jilted lover?

  My gaze swept over Richard again. He was still close, but not overstepping the mark. In fact he hadn't overstepped the mark once since I'd met him. Sure he was a little eccentric. But he was also often amusing, handsome and part of my world. My reluctance to accept any advances he'd made had all been because of Jason.

  Damn! I would not let Jason Cain make a fool of me.

  "I'm sure my family would be delighted if I brought a date," I said, a little breathlessly. Not because I was excited, but because I was a little scared.

  I'd said the words, now I just had to live with them.

  "Brilliant. Shall I pick you up at five-thirty?"

  "It's a date."

  Chapter 15

  And The Brothers Grim And Grimmer?

  Jason

  Genny was acting even more blonde than usual. Forgetting where she put things, smiling to herself at strange moments, singing fucking stupid shit songs all the fucking time. If I didn't know any better I'd say she was in love.

  Oh, wait. That crazy train had already pulled into the Genevieve Cain station.