by Nicola Marsh
He’d seen her naked, for goodness’ sake. For a week straight. A long, hot, decadent week that had blown his mind in every way.
‘You’re not serious?’
Her stoic business persona faltered and she toyed with the bracelet on her right wrist, turning it round and around in a gesture he’d seen often that first night in Capri.
The night they’d met. The night they’d talked for hours, strolled for ages, before ending up at his villa. The night they’d connected on so many levels he’d been terrified and yet powerless to resist her allure.
She’d been brash and brazen and beautiful, quick to laugh and parry his quips, slow to savour every twirl of linguini and rich Napolitano sauce.
She’d had a passion for everything from fresh crusty bread dipped in olive oil to hiking along pebbly beach trails to nights spent exploring each other’s bodies in erotic detail.
That passionate woman he remembered was nothing like this cool, imperturbable automaton.
Except for that tell with the bracelet he would have thought she didn’t remember, let alone want to acknowledge the past.
‘I’m serious about getting down to business.’
The bracelet-twirling picked up pace, a giveaway that she was more rattled than she let on.
‘Plenty of time for that.’ He gestured towards her slimline laptop, the only thing on her desk. ‘What I want to know is why you’ve been hiding behind your PC all this time?’
Another hit. Her eyes widened and her tongue darted out to the corner of her mouth.
A mouth designed for culinary riches and sin.
A mouth thinned in an unimpressed line so far removed from the smiles he remembered that he almost reached out with his fingertip to tilt the corners up.
‘I’m not hiding behind anything,’ she said, her tone as prim as her fitted black suit.
Actually, the suit wasn’t all bad. Hugging all the right curves, flaring at the cuffs and hem, ending above her knee. Combined with an emerald silk shirt hinting at cleavage, it was better than okay.
He was just grouchy because she wasn’t rapt to see him. But then again, considering the way they’d parted...
‘You didn’t think I might like to know that the marketing whiz I e-mail regularly is someone I...’
What? Once had memorable sex with? Once knew intimately? Once might have given up his freedom for, in another time, another place? If he hadn’t still been reeling from his parents’ revelations?
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Someone you what?’
He should have known she wouldn’t let him off lightly. She hadn’t back then either, when he’d told her he was skipping out.
‘Someone I know,’ he finished lamely, trying his signature charming grin for good measure.
Her lips merely compressed further as she swivelled away and strode to her desk. Not so bad, considering he got the opportunity to watch expensive linen shift over that memorable butt.
Damn, he loved her curves. He’d seen his fair share of bikini babes over the years—an occupational hazard and one he appreciated—but the way Callie had filled out a swimsuit?
Unforgettable.
She sat behind her desk, glaring at him as if she could read his mind. She waved at the chair opposite and he sat, thrown by her reaction. Acting professional was one thing. The ice princess act she had going on was losing appeal fast.
‘Our fling wasn’t relevant to our business dealings so I didn’t say anything—particularly after how things ended.’
She eyeballed him, daring him to disagree. Wisely, he kept mute, interested to see where she was going with this.
‘I tendered for your account without knowing you were behind the company.’
Her next sign of anything less than cool poise was when she absentmindedly tapped the space bar on her laptop with a thumb.
‘When we started corresponding and worked well together, I didn’t want to complicate matters.’
‘Complicate them how?’
A faint pink stained her cheeks. Oh, yeah, this was starting to get real interesting.
‘What do you want me to say? Any shared past tends to complicate things.’
‘Only if you let it.’ He hooked his hands behind his head, enjoying the battle gleam in her eyes. At last the fiery woman he knew was coming out to fight. ‘Don’t know about you, but I don’t let anything interfere with my career.’
‘Like I didn’t know that,’ she muttered, and he had the grace to acknowledge a twinge of regret.
He’d used his burgeoning surfing career to end it in Capri. It had seemed as good as excuse as any. He might as well live down to the reputation his family had tarred him with. Anything was better than telling her the truth.
‘Is this going to be a problem for you?’
He threw it out there, half expecting her to say yes, hoping she’d say no.
He wasn’t disappointed to see her—far from it. And the fact they’d have to spend time together in Torquay to get the marketing campaign for the surf school off the ground was a massive bonus.
Torquay... Wedding...
It was like a wave crashing over him. He floated the solution to another problem.
They’d have to spend time in Torquay for business.
He had to spend time with his overzealous family at Trav’s wedding.
He had to find a date.
A bona fide city girl who’d act as a buffer between him and his family.
Lucky for him, he was looking straight at her.
Not that he’d let her know yet. He needed her expertise for this account, and by her less than welcoming reaction he’d be hard-pressed getting her to Torquay in the first place without scaring her away completely.
Yeah, he’d keep that little gem for later.
Her brows furrowed. ‘What’s with the smug grin?’
He leaned forward and nudged the laptop between them out of the way. ‘You want this latest account?’
She nodded, a flicker of something bordering on fear in her eyes. It might make him callous, but he could work with fear. Fear meant she was probably scared of losing his lucrative business. Fear meant she might agree to accompany him to Torquay even if she had been giving him the ice treatment ever since she’d set foot in the office.
‘You know this campaign will mean spending loads of one-on-one time together on the school site down at Torquay?’
Her clenched jaw made him want to laugh out loud. ‘Why? I’ve always worked solo before. and as you can attest the results have been great.’
If she expected him to back down, she’d better think again. He’d get her to accompany him to Torquay by any means necessary—including using the campaign as blackmail.
Feigning disappointment, he shook his head. ‘Sorry, a remote marketing manager won’t cut it this time. I’ll need you to shadow me to get a feel for the vibe I’m trying to capture with the school. The kids won’t go for it otherwise.’
Her steely glare could have sliced him in two. ‘For how long?’
‘One week.’
She sucked in a breath, her nose wrinkling in distaste, and he bit back a laugh.
‘From your previous work I’m sure you want to do this campaign justice and that’s what it’s going to take. You can be home in time to celebrate Christmas Day.’
Appealing to her professional pride was a master touch. She couldn’t say no.
‘Fine. I’ll do it,’ she muttered, her teeth clenching so hard he was surprised he didn’t hear a crack.
‘There’s just one more thing.’ Unable to resist teasing her, he twisted a sleek strand of silky brown hair around his finger. ‘We’ll be cohabiting.’
CHAPTER TWO
CALLIE stared at Archer in disbelief.
The cocky charmer was blackmailing her.
As if she’d let him get away with that.
She folded her arms, sat back, and pinned him with a disbelieving glare. ‘Never thought I’d see the day hotshot Archer Flett resorted to blac
kmail to get a woman to shack up with him.’
His eyes sparked with admiration and she stiffened. She didn’t want to remember how he’d looked at her in a similar way during their week in Capri, his expression indulgent, bordering on doting.
As if. He’d bolted all the same, admiration or not, and she’d do well to remember it.
For, as much as she’d like to tell him where he could stick his business contract, she needed the money.
‘Blackmail sounds rather harsh.’ He braced his forearms on her desk and leaned forward, immediately shrinking the space between them and making her breath catch. ‘A bit of gentle persuasion sounds much more civilised.’
That voice... It could coax Virgins Anonymous into revoking their membership. Deep, masculine, with a hint of gravel undertone—enough to give Sean Connery healthy competition.
There was nothing gentle about Archer’s persuasion. If he decided to turn on the full arsenal of his charm she didn’t stand a chance, even after all this time.
That irked the most. Eight long years during which she’d deliberately eradicated his memory, had moved on, had dealt with her feelings for him to the extent where she could handle his online marketing without flinching every time she saw his picture or received an e-mail.
Gone in an instant—wiped just like that. Courtesy of his bedroom voice, his loaded stare and irresistible charm.
‘Besides, living together for the week is logical. My house has plenty of room and we’ll be working on the campaign 24/7. It’s sound business sense.’
Damn him. He was right.
She could achieve a lot more in seven days without factoring in travel time—especially when she had no clue where his house was or its vicinity to Torquay.
However, acknowledging that his stipulation made sense and liking it were worlds apart.
‘You know I’m not comfortable with this, right?’
‘Really? I hadn’t picked up on that.’
He tried his best disarming grin and she deliberately glanced away. Living with him for the week might be logical for business, but having to deal with his natural charm around the clock was not good.
‘Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?’
Great—he was laying the charm on thick. Her gaze snapped to his in time to catch his damnably sexy mouth curving at the corners. Her lips tingled in remembrance of how he’d smile against her mouth when he had her weak and whimpering from his kisses.
Furious at her imploding resistance, she eyeballed him with the glare that had intimidated the manager at her mum’s special accommodation into giving her another extension on payment.
‘Yeah, there is something you can do to sweeten the deal.’ She stabbed at an envelope with a fingertip and slid it across the desk towards him. ‘Sign off on my new rates. Your PA hasn’t responded to my last two e-mails and I need to get paid.’
His smile faded as he took the envelope. ‘You’re having financial problems?’
If he only knew.
‘No. I just like to have my accounts done monthly, and you’ve always been prompt in the past...’
Blessedly prompt. The Torquay Tan account had single-handedly launched her business into the stratosphere and kept it afloat. If she ever lost it...
In that moment the seriousness of the situation hit her. She shouldn’t be antagonising Archer. She should be jumping through whatever hoop he presented her with—adding a somersault and a ta-da flourish for good measure.
She had to secure this new campaign. CJU Designs would skyrocket in popularity, and her mum would continue to be cared for.
She had no other option but to agree.
‘Just so we’re clear. If I accompany you to Torquay, the surf school campaign is mine?’
His mocking half salute did little to calm the nerves twisting her belly into pretzels.
‘All yours, Cal.’
She didn’t know what unnerved her more. The intimate way the nickname he’d given her dripped off his tongue or the way his eyes sparked with something akin to desire.
She should be ecstatic that she’d secured the biggest campaign of her career.
Instead, as her pulse ramped up to keep pace with her flipping heart, all she could think was at what price?
* * *
Archer didn’t like gloating. He’d seen enough of it on the surf circuit—arrogant guys who couldn’t wait to glory over their latest win.
But the second Callie’s agreement to accompany him to Torquay fell from her lush lips he wanted to strut around the office with his fists pumping in a victory salute.
An over-the-top reaction? Maybe. But having Callie by his side throughout the Christmas Eve wedding festivities—even if she didn’t know it yet—would make the event and its guaranteed emotional ra-ra bearable.
He’d suffered through enough Torquay weddings to know the drill by now. Massive marquees, countless kisses from extended rellies he didn’t know, back-slapping and one-upmanship from old mates, and the inevitable matchmaking between him and every single female under thirty in the whole district.
His mum hated the dates he brought home each year, and tried to circumvent him with less-than-subtle fix-ups: notoriously predictable, sweet, shy local girls she hoped would tempt him to settle down in Torquay and produce a brood of rowdy rug-rats.
It was the same every wedding. The same every year, for that matter, when he returned home for his annual visit. A visit primarily made out of obligation rather than any burning desire to be constantly held up as the odd one out in the Flett family.
It wasn’t intentional, for his folks and his brothers tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, but while he’d forgiven them for shutting him out in the past the resultant awkwardness still lingered.
He’d steadily withdrawn, stayed away because of it, preferring to be free. Free to go where he wanted, when he wanted. Free from emotional attachments that invariably let him down. Free to date fun-loving, no strings attached women who didn’t expect much beyond dinner and drinks rather than an engagement and a bassinet.
His gaze zeroed in on Callie as she fielded an enquiry on the phone, her pen scrawling at a frenetic pace as she jotted notes, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips.
Callie had been that girl once. The kind of girl who wanted the picket fence dream, the equivalent of his ultimate nightmare. Did she still want that?
The finger on her left hand remained ringless, he saw as he belatedly realised he should have checked if she was seeing anyone before coercing her into heading down to Torquay on the pretext of business when in fact she’d be his date for the wedding.
Then again, she’d agreed, so his assumption that she was currently single was probably safe.
Not that she’d fallen in with his plan quickly. She’d made him work for it, made him sweat. And he had a feeling her capitulation had more to do with personal reasons than any great desire to make this campaign the best ever.
That flicker of fear when she’d thought he might walk and take his business with him... Not that he would have done it. Regardless of whether she’d wanted to come or not CJU would have had the surf school campaign in the bag. She’d proved her marketing worth many times over the last few years, and while he might be laid back on the circuit he was tough in his business.
Success meant security. Ultimately success meant he was totally self-sufficient and didn’t have to depend on anyone, for he’d learned the hard way that depending on people, even those closest to you, could end in disappointment and sadness and pain.
It was what drove him every day, that quest for independence, not depending on anyone, even family, for anything.
After his folks’ betrayal it was what had driven him away from Callie.
He chose to ignore his insidious voice of reason. The last thing he needed was to get sentimental over memories.
She hung up the phone, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of him lounging in the doorway. ‘You still here?’
�
��We’re not finished.’
He only just caught her muttered, ‘Could’ve fooled me.’
As much as it pained him to revisit the past, he knew he’d have to bring it up in order to get past her obvious snit.
He did not want a date glaring daggers at him all night; his mum would take it as a sure-fire sign to set one of her gals onto him.
‘Do we need to clear the air?’
She arched an eyebrow in an imperious taunt. ‘I don’t know. Do we?’
Disappointed, he shook his head. ‘You didn’t play games. One of the many things I admired about you.’
Her withering glare wavered and dipped, before pinning him with renewed accusation. ‘We had a fling in the past. Yonks ago. I’m over it. You’re over it. There’s no air to clear. Ancient history. The next week is business, nothing more.’
‘Then why are you so antagonistic?’
She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut, her icy façade faltering as she ran a hand through her hair in another uncertain tell he remembered well.
She’d done it when they’d first met at a beachside vendor’s, when they’d both reached for the last chilled lemonade at the same time. She’d done it during their first dinner at a tiny trattoria tucked into an alley. And she’d done it when he’d taken her back to his hotel for the first time.
In every instance he’d banished her uncertainty with practised charm, but after the way they’d parted he doubted it would work in this instance.
‘Cal—’
‘Us being involved in the past complicates this campaign and I’m not a huge fan of complications.’
She blurted it without meeting his eye, her gaze fixed on her laptop screen.
He wished she’d look at him so he could see how deeply this irked, or if she was trying to weasel out of the deal.
‘You said it yourself. It’s in the past. So why should it complicate anything?’ He didn’t want to push her, but her antagonism left him no choice. ‘Unless...’
‘What?’ Her head snapped up, her wary gaze locking on his, and in that instant he had his answer before he asked the question.
The spark they’d once shared was there, flickering in the depths of rich brown, deliberately cloaked in evasive shadows.