Читать книгу Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress - Natalie Anderson - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

LISS would have slept in if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about James. One moment he was hot—looking at her as if he wanted her—the next coolly sarcastic and disapproving. The zing was undeniable but the circumstances were all wrong and she got the vibe he thought she was all wrong. Her only logical course of action was to retreat. Be cool and professional during the day and keep her distance should their social schedules intersect.

But, oh, my, he looked so good in a tux—and in a business suit. Thank heavens she didn’t have to see him doing casual; she had the feeling he’d fill a pair of jeans jaw-droppingly well.

She spent a long time in the shower, the noise of the streaming water blocking the oppressive silence within the apartment. She slipped on skinny jeans and a casual tee shirt. Not bothering with much in the way of make-up. After a scrappy lunch she decided to leave for her appointment early—especially as she was determined to master the public transport system this week and not have it beat her. The numerous taxis home at night were beginning to add up and she couldn’t afford to take them during the day as well. And after last week’s nightmare of getting it all wrong, at least now she knew exactly which train and which bus were the ones to get. All she had to do was make it to the station on time.

She picked up her crate of goodies and headed out the door. By the time she was out of the lift and crossing the lobby she was ruefully thinking the crate was bulky and surprisingly heavy. She should have put it all in her wheelie case. Just then one of her slip-on shoes decided to slip off and skitter halfway across the floor.

‘Damn,’ she muttered.

‘Where are you going?’

She jerked her head around. James was walking across the floor—James?

‘To the station,’ she blurted, totally nonplussed.

‘Carrying that?’

She ignored the question, too busy picking up her jaw. She’d been right about the jeans—fit and firm and with that not-too-tight-not-too-loose tee shirt he was stealing all her breath. ‘What are you doing here?’ she half whispered, half hysterical.

‘I live in the penthouse.’

‘Oh.’ She tried to process that while juggling the crate and attempting to slip her foot back into the misbehaving shoe. She failed at all three.

‘Can I help you?’

‘No, thanks.’ Cool and professional. That was the way. Not ogling. Not imagining what his apartment must be like. Not feeling completely thrown.

But he’d already taken the crate from her and was frowning. ‘Which part of town are you headed to?’

‘Oh. Um. Just the other side of Chatswood.’

‘Why are you going there?’

She shrugged, getting her grip back. ‘I have some things to do there.’

His frown deepened. ‘I’ll give you a lift. I’m going out anyway.’

‘Oh, no, thanks, James…’ She broke off, finding herself talking to empty air. He was already at the lift. She righted her shoe and fell into line, going with him to the car park in the basement and to the sleek two-seater convertible he’d just unlocked.

To her relief, he didn’t speak as they drove. She gave him the address and that was it—giving her time to recover, and to surreptitiously check him out some more. After five minutes she knew she was best off staring out the window. Her heart rate would never get back to normal otherwise. When they pulled up at the house, she saw him looking it over—critical all the way.

‘Are you going to be long?’

Liss nearly giggled. He was acting like some control-freak bodyguard.

‘A couple of hours, I think.’ She’d just sit and hang with the girls, talk a little, more importantly listen.

‘I’ll be done about then too so I’ll come back and pick you up.’

It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement of intent and she already knew there was no point arguing. Might as well just enjoy the ride. ‘Thanks. That would be great.’

Two hours later James sat at the wheel of the car outside and waited. Twenty minutes after that he got out. She’d be fine of course, he wasn’t really worried. He’d got into the office and Googled the name of the place as soon as his computer had powered up. Atlanta House—a safe shelter for young mothers to stay while they waited for their babies to be born. A place where they could try to keep up their schooling and learn basic parenting skills too. A place to go when no one else would take them in.

He figured it was a charity stop for her. Of course she’d be keen to be seen doing ‘her bit’—especially with her brother Alex putting the hard word on her. It was the done thing for a wealthy socialite—to be known as a great charity supporter. James walked up the path, eyeing the building with cynical disfavour. Liss’s interest here could only be about appearances—only to further her own cause. His mother was exactly the same—on the committee for this, fund-raising for that…but the primary purpose had been to maintain the façade.

Liss was probably faking her way through every minute of her time inside there. Doing it out of a sense of duty, not any real desire.

He did wonder about the plastic crate, though.

After he knocked, the door was answered smartly by a very pregnant teen whose eyes grew even rounder than her tummy as she stared at him, and then at his car parked illegally right outside. He asked for Liss.

‘She’s in the common room. I’ll get her for you.’

He took a step through the doorway, lingering in the hall as the young woman headed towards the sound of giggles. He looked at the notice board covered with pictures of young mums cradling newborn babies—cards and postcards and letters of thanks and progress reports. He half expected to see a picture of Liss sitting in a circle of beaming girls—their most famous visitor. He figured one would be up there soon. She’d sign some saccharine message on it and it would be framed and hung proudly. Then it would fade in the light and gather dust and she’d probably never darken their door again. Irritated, he walked away from the brightly coloured board and further along the hall.

The high-pitched tones of the teenager carried clear back to him.

‘Liss, there is a seriously hot guy here asking for you.’

He heard a muttered, ‘Oh, hell, is that the time?’

More laughter, sounds of disruption, comment.

‘Wow, you can move faster than lightning.’

‘Is he your boyfriend?’

‘No.’ Liss’s answer came quick and loud.

‘Is he your bodyguard?’ another girl asked.

James stilled as he felt a ridiculous spurt of pleasure in that idea—all the vulnerability in the place must be making his protective male instinct rise.

‘Actually he’s my boss.’

‘Do you have to work, Liss?’

‘Everyone has to work, Sandy.’ Her tone was light.

‘But you’re a princess.’

‘I still have to eat.’

She appeared then, in the doorway, seeming to float in on the laughter. The girl who’d answered the door followed close. Then a collection of faces filled the frame.

James stayed statue-still and stared—hardly aware of the others, only her. He was barely conscious of his smile stretching wide. Her colour was high again and the blush grew when she saw how far he was along the hallway. For a moment their eyes met. Her colour deepened yet more. Her gaze slipped as she walked towards him, concentrating on balancing the crate. He drank in her appearance like a parched man who’d been stuck in a desert for months. She looked slim next to the pregnant girl and in her skinny jeans and casual tee she didn’t look that much older, and there was something different about her hair. Fresh and shining, she was even more attractive now than her glam-girl look of the night before. And for a crazy second he wondered what she’d look like with the blossoming curves of impending motherhood.

‘Sorry, James, I lost track of the time. Have I kept you waiting?’

James shook his head as he took the crate off her, clearing the wayward images, as careful to avoid any contact with her hands as she was to avoid contact with his eyes. In the face of so much fertility he couldn’t help the way his brain was working. The thought of S-E-X was screaming to him in capital letters. And all he could see was Liss in the centre of the action—with him.

He gave himself a mental pinch. Grow up. Act mature. Stop thinking X-rated thoughts every time you so much as glance at her. But it was impossible not to when she looked so relaxed. He wanted to magic her away with him and start to play.

‘I’ll be back again, soon, OK?’ Liss called to them from the door after the chorus of thank-yous and goodbyes from the girls.

He noticed she didn’t specify when—and the bitterness that had been blown away at the sight of her began to fester back. She’d return some time at her convenience, no doubt—probably when she didn’t have something better to do. It wasn’t about them, it was all about her. He worked his scratchiness up some more—it was a good way of fighting off the lust, and he felt more in control of it when he kept his cynicism to the fore.

They loaded into the car and as they pulled out he couldn’t help the sarcastic cut to his question. ‘Was it good fun?’

She kept looking out the window but he could have sworn her shoulders jerked—had she just flinched? ‘I enjoyed it. Hopefully they did too.’

The insecurity in her voice made him feel mean. He softened. ‘I’m sure they did. All I could hear was giggles when I got there.’ Princess Elissa had charmed again.

The stiffness in her shoulders eased a little. ‘Yeah.’

A quick glance showed a soft smile curving her lips—as if she was remembering something funny. She looked unbearably sweet and he resolved not to talk any more—not to interrupt her happy thoughts, and not to be drawn under her spell and charmed himself.

By public transport it could easily take over half an hour to get home, but in his car, with the way he drove, it was a little under fifteen. But it was still too long for James—and yet, not long enough.

He drove the car into the basement park beneath the apartment block, need eating at him—not just for the obvious, but simply for more time with her. Quiet time, quality time. He wanted to know what was going on in her head—what made her smile like that.

‘Thanks so much for the ride. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ She slid from the car.

‘No problem.’ He moved quicker, beating her to the boot, lifting her container out and keeping a firm hold on it. He swiped his key card to summon the lift, pressed buttons. She leaned back against the wall of the lift and her eyes closed. Her mouth had drooped. Her full lips looked pouty, way too kissable—and sad.

‘You look tired. Come up and have a coffee.’ The words were out before he thought further.

Her eyes flashed open and she looked at the lift controls. He hadn’t pressed the button to her floor so by the time she was about to say no—and he was sure she was going to refuse—the lift had flown up past it and the doors opened onto his lobby.

‘Oh. OK.’

He entered the pin, diffusing the alarm, opened the door and walked ahead of her, heading to the kitchen.

Liss trailed behind him, more certain with every step that this was a bad move but one she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t quite sure what mood James was in—sarcastic or maybe a more gentle one. In some ways it would be better if he was all sarcasm. It would stop her from wanting to get closer—and she badly wanted to. The way he wore jeans should be illegal, and the way he’d smiled so genuinely at those girls had been criminal. He was a thief of hearts. Alarms rang loud in her ears—she should be back in her own apartment where she would be safe. But he’d been kind enough to give her a lift; she couldn’t be rude. A quick coffee couldn’t hurt, could it? She’d keep her distance—admire from afar.

She stopped in the living area, with him in the kitchen, fussing over a gleaming coffee machine.

‘Great view.’ It looked out over the harbour, the water sparkled and the skies were blue. The quintessential, stunning Sydney view. She turned and took in his apartment—the quintessential, also stunning, bachelor pad—complete with neutral colourings erring to the darker shades, a large modern but comfy lounge suite, the requisite high-tech entertainment system and high-tech gadgets. There was also one wall of shelves—clearly the repository for anything and everything: books, CDs, DVDs and papers, magazines, a coffee cup and a three-quarters-empty bottle of red. The mishmash of colour and content was the only hint of maximalist in the whole minimalist look. She stepped closer to check out his choice of reading and viewing material, fiddling with the string of beads one of the girls had threaded onto her hair.

‘Don’t take it out. It looks nice.’ He handed her a coffee and she lifted it to her lips quickly, not wanting to smile at the compliment. The scalding-hot liquid was nothing on the perils of James Black in conciliatory mood. She retreated to the window and the safety of the view outside.

‘You go there often?’ He moved to the window too—the other end of it.

‘I’ve been there a few times.’

‘So what—it’s how you do your bit?’

‘Yeah, my charitable effort du jour.’ Her sarcasm matched his—but was totally made up of defensiveness. So he thought she was a cliché. Sure, she couldn’t do much. But she could try.

‘So why this? Why not cancer kids or the starving people in Africa or something?’ Could he be any more cynical?

‘They’re great causes, but they already get a huge amount of support. They don’t need me in the mix—I wouldn’t make much difference to them.’

‘I don’t know—you’d bring them lots of publicity.’

‘It isn’t about publicity.’ Quite the reverse. She didn’t want it to be about her. Didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want it to become some story all about the ‘princess doing good’. She just wanted to be someone—like anyone—trying to help someone else, even just a little. She glanced at him and saw the scepticism all over his face. The prickle of defensiveness rose.

‘In Paris I used to spend an evening a week working on a youth line. Lots of the callers were young women in this kind of trouble.’ They’d always touched her. Since then she’d heard about her old friend Cassie’s hardship, and it resonated even more deeply. Cassie must have felt so alone in prison with a young baby. And what Liss hadn’t been able to do for her friend all those years ago, she wanted to be able to do in some small way for others now. She stared out at the harbour and tried to explain it more, wanted him to recognise that she wasn’t so self-obsessed.

‘I’m no counselor. I can’t offer them any advice. They’ve got far more major issues going on in their lives than I’ve ever had to deal with. But I’m someone to take an interest in them for half an hour. Someone to listen.’

‘Is that what they need?’

She turned her head to look at him. He stood at the other end of the floor-to-ceiling window, facing her rather than the view. Looking so cynical she wanted to shake him.

‘Of course it’s not all they need. But no one wants to know about them. They’ve been pushed to the side and forgotten about. By the men who used them, by the rest of society, by their own families.’

Written off by almost everyone, a statistic, a drain on the country’s resources, the futures forecast for them were bleak, but why shouldn’t they have some lightness too? ‘Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to listen to you. To make a bit of a fuss. Make you feel special.’

While the phone line had been good in Paris because it had given her complete anonymity, here, in a city where she knew no one, she’d wanted face-to-face contact as well. So she’d enquired about Atlanta House, made contact to find out if they’d be interested in her visiting. She’d gone several times in the week before she’d started work to get to know them. To show them she was serious about being a friend to the organisation and to the girls. She had no intention of flitting in and then out again. Now she’d settled into a once-a-week pattern—although she’d drop in at other times when she could.

Today she’d sat and chatted with the girls, made a few bead bracelets with some, plaited them onto hair with a couple of others—been a complete girl. And, yes, there was something in it for her—she’d felt welcome, just as she was.

She turned away from the coldness of James’s questions. ‘It’s not a nice feeling knowing you are not wanted.’

She gazed out the window, but no longer saw the glorious sky—too busy thinking. That was the one way in which she could truly relate to them. She hadn’t been wanted by her family for years now and she’d never really understood why. So she’d acted up a bit as a kid—who didn’t? And she felt hurt that they hadn’t even given her a chance this time. There was no recognition that maybe she’d grown up a little—they still just didn’t want to know.

Suddenly she became aware that the silence had been ticking for some time. She looked across the space, pasted a polite smile on her face. It disappeared the instant she encountered his gaze. His eyes were dark, intently focused on her, intensely burning. She’d never seen him look more serious, so assessing and, at the same time, so unreadable. The silence ticked on and as she watched the planes of his face became even more angular, his jaw hardening as if he were deliberately holding back—from speech? From movement?

All she knew was that she was suddenly, incredibly, uncomfortable. Her body temperature rose and she feared another of those awful blushes was imminent. She drained her cold coffee. ‘I should get going.’

He looked down, stretched alongside the sheet of glass for her cup, and cleared his throat, visibly relaxing. ‘Yeah.’

She aimed straight for the lift. ‘Thanks for the ride. And the coffee. It’ll help me get through the theatre tonight.’

As she passed him he asked, ‘You’re going out? You still look tired.’

She felt it. And the strain of spending time with him wasn’t helping. ‘It’s supposed to be a great play.’

He beat her to the lift, pressed the buttons. ‘Don’t you ever just want to sit at home and hang?’

‘Not really.’ What would she do, talk to the walls? ‘And I said I’d go tonight. I don’t want to let them down.’ She didn’t want to be rude or for the invitations to stop coming. She didn’t like sitting in the apartment alone and lonely. Better to be out and too busy to brood.

‘Of course.’

She glanced at him, his face had closed over again. That touch of sarcasm was back and as the doors closed, separating them, she heard it even more in the slow drawl. ‘Have a good night.’

He called her into his office the minute she appeared—ahead of time—on Monday morning.

‘Princess, let’s be honest.’

Oh, no, he was looking serious. She realised the whole work life/social life being separate stuff was accurate in James’s case. He’d smile charmingly at drinks and then sack her without a qualm the next working day.

‘The secretary thing.’

Oh, no. He was going to sack her.

‘It’s not working out.’

‘I’d thought…’ She stumbled over her words, felt the flood of fire in her face. ‘I’d hoped I was improving.’ Dignity, where art thou? She didn’t want to be sent back to where she wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t she ever going to be wanted anywhere? And she really had been trying. Really.

‘There’s something else I think you could do for me.’

She paused, for a second her thoughts going totally inappropriate and her internal heat sizzling.

‘I have a new hotel opening on Aristo in a few weeks.’

Aristo?

‘We’re having a party there to herald the opening at the end of next week.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘Do you do parties, princess?’

‘You know I do.’ He wanted her to go to a party? What, once she was home and fully in disgrace? She wouldn’t be home for long—Alex would probably pack her off again to another far-flung destination before she even had the chance to get over the jet lag.

‘I want you to take over the planning. I want exclusive. I want glittering.’

She dragged her attention back from the pool of self-pity. He wanted her to organise it? The mother of all parties?

‘I want a gala ball unlike any other. I need VIPs in attendance and international media to cover it. I want the place dripping in glamour and a spread in every magazine and newspaper on the planet.’

Her heart started thundering and for once it wasn’t because of the way he was looking at her—not entirely anyway. ‘OK. You’ll have it.’ She beamed at him, her mind already whirring with wicked ideas. There was nothing she loved more than a big party—and this one was hers to create.

‘Go.’ He jerked his head towards the door, his matching smile seemingly reluctant—a little indulgent. ‘The file is in the system—you’ll find the budget details there and the preparations that have already been made. Look them over and make any adjustments you see fit. This is your party, princess. You make it work.’

‘Yes, boss!’ She answered smartly, but practically skipped out of the room.

‘Princess.’

She stopped and turned. His smile was gone and there was a serious message in his eyes.

‘Don’t make me regret it.’