Naughty or Nice

by Rachael Stewart

  I go to answer, but she continues.

  ‘I know you want my product, that you want to join forces with me, and that’s all perfectly acceptable. But you—why are you doing all the leg work? You must have a multitude of very capable employees to entrust with the task of gaining my business, of coming to the party, attending meetings, even taking me on this tour... But it’s all you.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? The potential is huge, the competition for the work fierce. I wanted you to know I’m serious.’

  ‘Wanted me to know, or my family?’

  She leans back in her seat, crossing her legs over one another, and even though she’s now wearing jeans, following a quick change at her home, the skinny fit of the fabric is doing nothing to help ease the appeal of those long, lithe legs I’ve traced with my mouth, my fingers...

  ‘Why does it matter?’

  I don’t know why I ask it. A delaying tactic, I suppose. Because, as I’ve come to realise, there is one reason above all others that I came, and I’m not sure she’s ready to hear it yet.

  ‘You know it matters.’

  ‘I didn’t think it fair to send in one of my people when I wasn’t sure how well my company would be received.’

  She raises an eyebrow at me. Amused. ‘And you thought your own physical presence would be preferable?’

  I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘No?’ She toys with the stem of her glass, her eyes following the rotation of it in her fingers.

  ‘I figured that if there was a personal block to our companies working together it was best I confronted it head-on and in person. I didn’t expect...’

  I trail off and her eyes lift to me.

  ‘Expect what?’ she asks.

  ‘This.’

  I’m not going to lie to her. I’m done with secrets, cover-ups.

  ‘Ten years...’ She smiles softly. ‘Who would think something could flare up again so readily?’

  I wonder if she means it. Is she genuinely surprised at this force determined to pull us together? Whatever the case, my body is already gearing up to pursue the suggestion in her gaze, regardless of my good intentions when we boarded.

  ‘Indeed.’

  My agreement is tight, loaded, and the silence that ensues is heavy.

  She looks to the door through which Frederick disappeared. ‘When do you think the food will arrive?’

  I follow her line of sight, my body rigid as I read her intent. ‘Soon.’

  ‘Shame...’

  I smile as I try to set my body to chill. ‘I thought you were hungry.’

  ‘Absolutely famished.’

  ‘Evangeline...’

  It’s a warning. To her. To me.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re already a member,’ she says, looking at me from under her lashes.

  ‘A member?’

  My heart is thrumming in my ears now, the warmth coiling through my body reaching breaking point. She takes a long, slow sip of the straw-gold liquid, her throat moving hypnotically, her little appreciative hum teasing me.

  ‘Come on, Lucas, you’re not that innocent.’

  I swallow, hard. Of course I know to what she’s referring. And there’s a bed next door...ready to be used. But I don’t want this to be about sex. Me and her. I want it to be about business. About convincing her I’m the right company for her. Not cloud it with this.

  But then, after the way we parted, this is the last thing I expected to be heading off.

  ‘Tell me...is it as amazing as they say at high altitude?’

  She’s still sitting out of reaching distance, but I feel her words like a caress over my cock, and a stream of erotic scenarios streak through my mind.

  ‘They say it’s to do with the dip in atmospheric pressure...’ she practically purrs. ‘The reduction in oxygen levels messing with your brain, making you feel more stimulated, intensifying the pleasure...’

  She curves a hand over her upper thigh and I fight the urge to move, to cover her hand with my own.

  ‘I wouldn’t actually know.’

  ‘With your reputation, you expect me to believe that?’

  I laugh, projecting mock-offence. ‘Why is it so hard to believe?’

  ‘Come on, Lucas, you own this jet—don’t tell me you haven’t brought a date on it?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  I date women, sure. And I have connections around the globe. But they’re connections, not relationships. They serve a purpose when I need it. The jet is simply my transport for work—it’s not a social vehicle.

  Not that I really do social.

  ‘Give over. Once a player, always a player,’ she murmurs into her drink.

  I sense she’s teasing me, but I don’t like it.

  Let it go.

  I can’t. It’s the same reason I couldn’t let her remark about human rights slide. I want her to see the good in me. And if not the good, then at least the truth.

  ‘Is that how you see me?’

  She lowers her glass to the side table and her eyes soften. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just...you know. All those girls when we were younger...you and Nate were horrendous.’

  She’s not wrong. I remember it well. But I also remember the reason, and I want to tell her. But it will open me up, expose me.

  My neck prickles. I’m not used to talking so much. Even though I want to tell her, there’s a part of me that fears the power it will hand her.

  And isn’t that as bad as confessing the real reason I came to her personally instead of sending an employee?

  But is it so bad if it’s the truth?

  ‘Look, it’s okay, Lucas. You’re not the only one playing the field.’ Her cheeks colour and she waves a carefree hand. ‘And, hey, you’re a desirable bachelor. I’m not judging you. I’m just...you know...saying that if you had...’

  She’s babbling and flustered and I fucking love her for it.

  I stop thinking. I sweep across the cabin and pull her with me onto the sofa, crushing her mouth with my own, swallowing her startled moan.

  She moulds to me instantly, her kiss just as fierce, as hungry.

  God, this feels right. Being here like this with her. Totally wrapped in one another. I try to tell her, I need to tell her, and then I hear movement—

  A trolley. Frederick. Christ.

  I pull away from her and give her an apologetic smile. ‘Time to satisfy that hunger of yours.’

  She blinks at me, dazed. All hot and bothered and embarrassed at once, And then she turns to Frederick and musters a sheepish grin.

  To his credit, he barely bats an eyelid. ‘Dinner is served.’

  He lays it out on the dining table before us. The smell wafts over to me, mixed in with the lingering scent of her still tingling my senses.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, and he dips his head before turning and leaving once more.

  I move to the table, retrieving our drinks as I do so, and wait for her to sit before I follow suit, placing her drink before her.

  She raises it to her lips, her eyes locking with mine. I do the same. And this time I taste it. I feel the fine stream of bubbles dance over my tongue, taste the caramel, the hint of lemon...

  It’s exquisite.

  As is she.

  The perfect match, just as I told her.

  And she deserves the truth. I need her to know.

  ‘All those girls you saw me with...’

  She takes up her cutlery and shakes her head softly. ‘Don’t worry about—’

  ‘It was because of you.’

  Her fingers still, her eyes return to mine. ‘Me?’

  Her frown is delectable. I want to lean over, kiss it away, trail kisses right down to her open lips.

  ‘Yes, you.’ I reach out, brushing
my thumb across her cheek as I lose myself in her eyes.

  ‘I was trying to prove to myself that I could look past you.’

  ‘Past...me?’

  ‘You were off-limits. I had to go elsewhere.’

  It’s so simple, so honest, but she doesn’t seem to accept what I’m saying.

  ‘It was a foolish notion,’ I add.

  She licks her lips and her cheeks heat beneath my palm. ‘How so?’

  ‘Because there’s only one you.’

  There—I’ve said it. It’s out there.

  Her lashes flicker, her eyes water. Jesus, she’s going to cry.

  ‘I... I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Nothing. You need to eat. And then you need to sleep.’

  She’s staring at me as if I’ll give her more, but I’m done with opening up. My body is tight with it.

  Fear. That’s what it is. Fear of where it puts us now. Because the one thing I’m sure of is that I love her. Still love her. And she loves her family. Her family who hate me.

  I watch as she cuts up her food, but I sense that her mind is racing with what I’ve told her. Hell, mine is. What did I hope to gain? A sweeping confession of something similar from herself? And even if she had, then what?

  The problem is I’m selfish. I have no one else. I only have to look out for me.

  Which means I should be going after not just her business but her heart too, and saying to hell with the Beaumonts.

  I should make her choose. Them or me.

  I should.

  But I can’t.

  She forks the food and places it in her mouth. Her shoulders relax, her lashes lower and then she smiles, pleasure ringing through her and pulling me in.

  Screw the Beaumonts—make her choose.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DINNER IS INCREDIBLE. Fine dining at its best, all at forty-odd thousand feet in the air. It’s almost too good to believe, but my taste buds are still zinging over the lemon tart I ate for dessert and I’m still crushing over the jet itself.

  It’s real.

  I blame it on the designer in me. I’ve only seen a glimpse of the galley kitchen beyond the door behind me—all black and glossy, with crystalware on display in a high cabinet and accented lighting that you’d expect in a slick city apartment.

  The cabin we’re in features a plush sofa, seats that swivel and recline, a high-tech TV and sound system, and the dining table at which we sit is laid out like a high-end restaurant. All in colours designed to soothe and relax.

  And I am so relaxed.

  The flight is smooth; only the gentle hum of the engine, the dry air and the strange headiness that comes with flying remind me that we are truly on a plane.

  This kind of luxury is beyond belief. I knew people did this sort of thing—of course I did. I just never expected to be one of them.

  And it truly does beg the question... What would it be like?

  I look at him sitting across from me. He’s checking his phone, his face serious and so goddamn sexy. It should be a crime to be this attractive, this distracting.

  And the way he watched me through dinner... My body warms at the memory. He wants me as much as I want him. I know it. And who wouldn’t want to experience an orgasm at altitude just to know if it’s truly that good?

  And just maybe the fizz is going to your head quicker than normal and your inhibitions have gone the way of your brain. Hmm...entirely possible... But do I care?

  His eyes lift to mine and my breath catches, my pulse making a little trip of its own. No.

  ‘All okay?’ I say, amazed that I sound relatively normal.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Care to share?’ I ask.

  What the actual fuck?

  His brow cocks and I want to slap myself. As if I have any right to know what he’s up to on his phone. But it was supposed to be a flirtatious prompt—like Hey, I’m interested.

  Oh, God.

  The fizz and altitude have definitely gone to my head.

  ‘Just catching up on messages and firing one off to the team in Singapore to confirm our arrival.’

  I nod and automatically lift my wine glass. I do a mental recap: three glasses of champagne and a bit of red—no more for you—and put it down again.

  ‘Isn’t it early there?’ I check my watch. It’s half-ten at night, UK time. ‘What is it? Eight hours ahead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So that makes it six-thirty...?’

  My voice trails away. That look is back in his eye—that look that has salacious heat swirling in me so readily that I forget what point I’m even getting to.

  ‘You should get some sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Sleep is not what I’m thinking of. Far from it.

  ‘Yes—you know...that thing babies hate, teens crave and us adults scarcely get enough of.’

  I give a laugh, but it’s tight with need. I know it is, and he does too, judging from the way his eyes drop to my mouth.

  ‘Why break form, then? Sleep can come later...’ I say.

  The lights have been dimmed, the plates cleared away. Frederick is gone—dismissed until his next summons, I assume—and I’m curious to see what other thrills this plane has to offer.

  I stand and step around the table. ‘Tell me, Lucas, where do you sleep?’ I walk around the cabin, my fingers brushing over the back of a chair. ‘Here?’

  To be fair it looks as comfy as any hotel bed, but he shakes his head, his jaw tense. It’s as if he’s fighting his instincts and I wonder why...

  I look to the back of the cabin, to the closed door, and I know the answer before I ask. ‘What about through there?’

  I walk towards it and look at him over my shoulder. He’s still seated, rooted, but his eyes follow me.

  ‘May I?’ I say, my fingers over the handle.

  I move before he answers, sliding it open, and I can’t stop the gasp that parts my lips. I shouldn’t be surprised—not having already enjoyed the living space, glimpsed the kitchen. But I am.

  It’s incredible: sexy, dark, alluring. Much like its owner.

  I sense him move and suddenly he’s behind me.

  ‘That bed just calls to me...’ I murmur, taking in the mink throw, the cloud-like pillows and inviting duvet.

  He laughs softly. ‘Good, because you’re sleeping there.’

  I turn to him, my palm lifting to his chest, feeding off his warmth. I can’t meet his eyes, though. I feel suddenly unsure, nervous of his answer despite all he’s said. ‘You’ve really never brought anyone else here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I’m the first?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My tongue sweeps over my bottom lip and I feel his chest tighten beneath my palm, his breath brushing over my forehead.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m thinking you should get into bed,’ he says, backing away a little. ‘I’ll sleep out here. We’ve a busy weekend planned, and this is all about our two companies working together. I want to keep us focused on that.’

  I smile. My eyes are still lowered. He’s trying to do what’s right. Trying to maintain some form of professionalism and I love him for it. But I love the sexual undercurrent even more—the tightness in every word he speaks, the tension thrumming off his body.

  ‘Is that why you kissed me earlier? To keep me focused on work?’

  He clears his throat. ‘I shouldn’t have.’

  I look up. ‘Oh, yes, you should.’

  I lift myself on tiptoes, my lashes closing, and he moves swiftly, his hands reaching out to grip my arms. ‘Come on, Eva—bed.’

  My eyes flick to his. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  ‘No, this is your bed for tonight.’

  I pout. Actually pout. Like some naughty
child. He can’t be serious. He’s given me signs all evening that this is heading somewhere, that this isn’t just about work.

  And now he steps back out of the room while my cheeks burn.

  ‘There’s a bathroom through there—help yourself to anything you need, Frederick has already brought your suitcase in.’

  ‘Lucas?’

  I don’t want to sound affronted. But I am.

  Or am I tipsy? Is that what this is? Some drunken plea and he’s saving me from myself?

  My cheeks flame deeper and his smile is small, warm. ‘Sweet dreams, Evangeline.’

  He slides the door closed, leaving me alone, and I have to stop myself from striding after him and demanding he do something. Anything to see off this need he’s evoked.

  It’s his fault.

  Entirely his fault.

  So why am I still loving his decency?

  I flop onto the bed and am instantly cocooned in softness. The kind that makes every muscle in your body go weak, your brain quiet. Bliss.

  He can have his way for now—his bed is an inviting compromise—but there are hours ahead. Many hours in which he can change his mind...

  All he needs is the right kind of nudge.

  I smile as I strip down to my underwear and climb beneath the quilt. I’ll just give him a few hours of thinking he’s won first...

  * * *

  I flick my phone over, face down on the table, and lean back into my seat.

  Ignore it. Ignore him.

  But Nate’s text burns into me:

  Leave her the fuck alone.

  And she really thinks that talking to her family, her father talking to Nate, is going to fix this?

  Like hell it is.

  I grit my teeth and close my eyes, riding my shoulders into the soft upholstery, seeking comfort, seeking the blissful ignorance of sleep. But my conscience laughs at me. There’s no way sleep will be forthcoming when I know she’s lying in the room next to me. Wanting me.

  I know she’s pissed off with me. My rejection has goaded her. And I can’t blame her—not when it comes so soon off the back of that kiss, when all my good intentions disintegrated, incinerated in the heat of a need that won’t shift.