Читать книгу It Was Only a Kiss - Joss Wood - Страница 11

THREE

Jess’s thin heels made tiny square marks in the thick carpet of the passage outside the smallest conference room at the hotel where Luke had chosen to view the various campaign presentations. She was scheduled to present last, and was getting more and more nervous. Realising that her hands were slick with perspiration, she hustled off to the closest bathroom to wash her hands and check her face. Again.

She was being ludicrous, she decided, drying her hands for the third time in twenty minutes. Since her contretemps with Luke eight years ago she’d always been nervous before presentations, but no one besides Ally ever knew it. She appeared to be ice-cool and confident, unflappable, but underneath her façade her heart misfired and her brain spluttered.

Jess slicked on another layer of lipstick and smoothed down her scarlet mid-thigh-length jacket. The bottom of her short black pencil skirt just peeked out under the hem, and she wore a black silk polo-neck jersey underneath. With sheer black stockings and knee-high boots, the outfit was dramatic and eye-catching, and not what she’d usually wear to pitch for a job.

But if this was the last time she’d see Luke Savage then she’d damn well make sure that she made a lasting impression.

Ally stuck her head around the door to the Ladies’. ‘Jess, it’s time.’

Jess walked out of the Ladies’ and was grateful for Ally’s steadying hand on her back, unaware that she was biting the inside of her lip. ‘Let’s knock their socks off.’

‘Okay...but maybe you should take a deep breath first...’

‘Why?’ Jess asked, picking up her laptop and boards.

‘Your knees are knocking together.’ Ally reached into her bag and pulled out a small bottle of Rescue Remedy. ‘Open up.’

‘Ally!’ Jess muttered, but she obediently stuck out her tongue as Ally shook the foul-tasting drops into her mouth.

The door behind them opened and Jess’s eyes slid over. She winced as Luke stepped out of the conference room.

‘Hi—’ He stopped suddenly and Jess yanked her tongue in. Could she feel any more stupid?

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Luke demanded, his hands in the pockets of his smart black pants. Jess noticed his button-down cream shirt with its discreet, expensive logo and sighed at how good he looked.

Mr Savage cleaned up very, very well indeed.

‘Nothing,’ Jess muttered.

‘Rescue Remedy,’ Ally said at the same time. ‘Jess tends to get a bit nervous before presentations.’

‘Alison!’

Luke smiled at Jess and her stomach flipped over. ‘I would never have guessed. Jess doesn’t seem to be the gets-nervous type.’ Luke held out his hand to Alison. ‘Luke Savage.’

‘Ally Davies.’ Ally shook his hand.

‘How nervous?’ Luke asked, and Jess willed Ally not to be her normal open, brutally honest self.

‘Very. Her knees are knocking together and her hands are shaking.’

‘Will you stop?’ Jess demanded. ‘Jeez, Alison! He’s a client.’

‘Relax, Jess, there’s no need to torture such pretty knees.’ Luke sent her another of his slow, sexy smiles that were guaranteed to melt the panties off any female between eighteen and eighty. It was the smile she intended to use to launch his campaign. She was under no illusions. It was going to be tough to sell it to him...

‘And I like the skirt you’re almost wearing, Sherwood,’ Luke added.

‘Oh, shut up!’ Jess told him before sailing into the room, her nose up in the air.

Great start, Jess, telling your prospective client to put a cork in it. Not.

* * *

Jess ended her presentation and caught herself biting the inside of her lip in the resultant heavily pregnant silence. She felt her heart thumping in her chest and wondered if the St Sylve contingency could hear it.

Thump, thump, kadoosh. Thump, thump... Oh, the kadoosh happened every time she looked at Luke; it was, Jess realised, her heart bouncing off the floor.

Well, okay, then. Good to know. Better if she knew how to make it stop.

Luke looked utterly inscrutable and non-committal—especially for somebody who, as she’d suggested, should be the new face of St Sylve wines. Did they love it? Hate it? Think that she’d not only crossed the line but redrawn it as well? Jess just wished they’d say something—anything!

About a million years later—okay, ten seconds, but it felt that long—Luke sat forward and rested his arms on the table. His eyes sliced through her.

‘Let me get this straight... You want me to be the face of St Sylve?’

Jess nodded. ‘Not just the face of St Sylve. I want the consumer to associate you and St Sylve with fun. Hip and cool, yet sophisticated. The plan isn’t to sell your wine. It’s to sell your life.’

Now Luke looked thoroughly puzzled. ‘I don’t have a life, Jessica! I work and that’s about it!’

‘The consumer doesn’t know that, Luke. He sees you as this young, single, good-looking—’ smoking hot, but she couldn’t say that ‘—rich guy who has the world at his feet. He does hip and cool things...like parasailing, dancing, mountain-climbing. He plays touch rugby with his mates, has friends around for dinner, attends balls. And it’s all done with, or followed by, a glass of wine. St Sylve wine.’

‘I love it,’ Kendall said. ‘I think it’s brilliant.’

Jess flashed him a grateful smile.

‘I like the idea, but I don’t like the idea of me doing it. Why can’t you get a model to...model?’ Luke demanded.

‘It would have a bigger impact if the owner of the winery appeared in the adverts and, frankly—’ Jess took a deep breath ‘—why would you want to spend a shedload of cash on a model when you are attractive enough to do it yourself?’

And I managed to say that without blushing or drooling, Jess thought.

‘I’m really liking this,’ Kendall stated.

‘Actually, so am I,’ Owen agreed, but Jess noticed that he wasn’t looking at her but at Ally. Okay, so that was interesting. Jess swivelled her head. Ally was so looking back, the flirt!

Luke stood up abruptly. ‘Thanks, everybody. It’s been a long day. Let’s sleep on it and meet on Monday to make a decision. Jess, if you’d wait, I’d like a moment of your time?’

Now he wants a moment, Jess thought. He’s had three weeks. She looked at Luke, who was writing on her presentation booklet. Then again, it was probably about work.

She was acting like a lonely, lovelorn teenager. She was, it was embarrassing to admit, an utter drip.

* * *

Luke waited until the last person had left the room and the door had snicked closed behind them before walking around the table to the top of the room, where Jess was still standing by the projector screen, a laser pointer in her hand. He sat on the edge of the boardroom table and stretched out his legs. Jess seemed to get better-looking each time he saw her, he thought idly. She’d done something to her hair—there were now pale blonde streaks in the honey colour. It was also brutally straight today. He preferred it loose and curly...

Luke scratched his forehead, thinking that he was too far gone if he was wasting time noticing the details of a woman’s hair. Which was chilling on a dozen different levels.

He was impressed with her presentation, her professionalism; no one would have guessed that this slick, cool businesswoman suffered from performance anxiety. He wouldn’t have guessed it if he hadn’t seen her sticking her tongue out for those drops. The entire episode made her seem not quite so aloof, a little warmer, a lot more human. Infinitely attractive.

‘Um...what do you really think about my idea?’ Jess asked, and he could hear a quiver underneath her professional tone of voice.

‘I like it—apart from me being in the ads.’

‘I should also tell you that I think you should start getting out, promoting the St Sylve name and its wine. I would strongly suggest that you go out more...social events, parties, balls...and that you host wine-tasting evenings and start networking.’

‘Why don’t you just take my internal organs? It would be easier.’ Luke rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Do you have an extra twenty-four hours in the day for me?’

‘It’s important, Luke.’

‘I don’t have the time, Jess. I’m working at St Sylve. I get home from the land and then I spend hours on business plans, financing... I’m running my other businesses at night. I don’t have the time for advertising shoots, let alone for a social life.’

‘Then I think you should be prepared to keep ploughing your own money into St Sylve or to lose it,’ Jess told him bluntly. ‘You need the wines to sell to get St Sylve sustainable, and to do that you need sales—for sales you need advertising.’

‘Then why must I do the social stuff?’

‘Because you need to be seen to be living the campaign or else the consumers won’t believe in it.’ Jess perched on the edge of the conference table and crossed her legs. ‘Step out of your comfort zone, Luke.’

Comfort zone? He hadn’t felt remotely comfortable since he’d set eyes on her again weeks ago.

Luke eyed her long legs in those sexy boots and felt his groin twitch. Dammit! He didn’t like not being able to control his physical reaction to this woman, the fact that he thought about her far too often. And he especially didn’t like the fact that she could talk so coolly about business when he was imagining her naked except for those boots, at the mercy of his touch...

‘If I agree to hire you, and by doing so agree to any and all of your proposals,’ he said in a voice that most of his staff and friends would recognise as non-negotiable, ‘then I have a couple of conditions of my own.’

‘Okay—what?’

‘You work on the campaign. No passing it off to your flunkies.’

‘Understood. I had no intention of doing that anyway.’

‘And I want St Sylve to have your undivided attention. You move to St Sylve for however long it takes to get this wrapped up. Get out of your comfort zone.’

He saw the look of shock that flicked across her face. ‘That’s not practical, Luke. I have a business to run.’

‘Skype, e-mail and phone. We live in the twenty-first century, Jess. Besides, Ally looks competent enough to take the reins.’

‘She is, but—’

‘And you also organise the networking. I don’t have the time or the inclination and I have even less enthusiasm. And you accompany me to all these functions. If I have to do it, then so do you,’ Luke told her.

‘So, are you saying I’ve got the job?’

‘Yep.’

Of course she had the job—was she mad? Hers was above and beyond the most exciting presentation of them all, and while the others wouldn’t need his time, presence or input, they wouldn’t have the effect Jess’s would.

‘Uh...good,’ Jess said in a strangled voice. ‘But I don’t know if I’m going to manage living in Franschoek. I have a life, apart from my business, in Sandton.’

Luke shook his head. No, she didn’t. She was as much a workaholic as him. ‘Stop hedging. And you’re not staying in Franschoek—you’re staying at St Sylve.’

Jess thrust out her stubborn chin. ‘I won’t feel comfortable staying with you, in your house.’

‘Why not?’

Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Are you really going to be all coy and not acknowledge the...’

Luke lifted his eyebrows when she stuttered to a stop. ‘Lust? Heat? Passion?’ he suggested.

‘Heat...stick to heat,’ Jess suggested, her eyes everywhere but meeting his.

Luke grinned internally; it amazed him that she could be so businesslike about—well, business, but get so flustered when talking about their mutual attraction.

‘Now who’s being coy?’ Luke muttered. ‘Okay, you can stay in any one of the six bedrooms at the manor house.’

Luke stepped closer—so close he could almost feel her breasts against his chest, smell the citrus in her hair. Those amazingly long lashes fluttered and lifted and he felt the zing of attraction arc between them. In that age-old subconscious display of attraction her mouth opened, and he nearly lost control when he saw the tip of her pink tongue flicker at the corner of her mouth. Stuff the marketing strategy and St Sylve. Stuff the world...Jess was here and he wanted her.

Her body, not her mind...

Luke jerked his head up and quietly cursed. And what was he doing? Acting on what was happening in his pants. Catch a clue, Savage. He wasn’t fifteen any more, or even twenty, but he was still listening to his libido. He’d realised a while back that it was a very bad judge of character, time and situation, and it had the ability to lead him into deep trouble.

Luke stepped away from Jess, but couldn’t resist tucking a long, straight strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t disappoint me, Jess.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ she replied in her husky, take-me-to-bed voice.

Jess finally looked him in the eye and he couldn’t help himself; his thumb drifted across her bottom lip. ‘You have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen.’

He saw sense and sensibility flow back into Jess’s eyes—her mental retreat. A cool, polite mask dropped into place.

‘Not a good idea, Luke. Any physical intimacy could blow up in our faces.’

‘We should be smart enough to separate the two.’

Her shoulders came up and her spine stiffened at his challenge. ‘Theoretically I’m smart enough—anybody is smart enough—to solve string theory, but that doesn’t mean I can. Or will.’

‘We have unfinished business, Jessica. You know it and I know it; we both want to finish what we started eight years ago.’ Luke moved the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

Jess’s eyes remained passionate even as she nudged his hand away. ‘Luke, let me make it very clear that I don’t do casual sex—especially not with colleagues, competitors or clients.’

He loved the snap he heard in her voice, the passion that slumbered in her eyes. The contradiction of the two had his heart in his throat and his groin twitching. This was going to be interesting, he thought, amused and still very turned on. She might be flustered but she wasn’t intimidated, and she didn’t back down.

He wondered who’d taught her that.

* * *

The day before Jess was due to arrive at St Sylve, Luke sat on the end of the antique double bed in the largest guest suite in the manor house and looked around the room. Angel, his part-time housekeeper, had worked her magic in the room he’d allocated Jess. The yellow wood headboard had been oiled, there was white linen on the bed and fresh flowers on the nightstand. Luke glanced through the large bay window opposite the bed which enabled the guest to wake to a stunning view of the mountains. Luke had never understood why this room, with its large en-suite bathroom, had never been used as the master bedroom instead of the smaller, pokier bedroom at the front of the house, overlooking the driveway.

Easier to see who was coming up the road, Luke decided. Friend, foe, tax collector... In his father’s case, lover. There had been many, Luke knew. He remembered lots of women wafting around the house when he was a child... Some had paid far too much attention to him; others had paid him absolutely no attention at all.

They’d all left eventually. By the age of seven he’d learned to protect himself against getting emotionally attached to any of his father’s girlfriends. That way he hadn’t been affected when they’d dropped out of his life. Apart from the blip that had been his marriage, it was his standard operating procedure when it came to women.

Being a reasonably astute guy, he hadn’t needed therapy to work out that he’d learnt to protect himself against emotional entanglements, and he’d honed his ability to keep his distance from people at a young age. Between his mother’s death, his father’s dictator tendencies and his girlfriends wafting in and then storming out, it had become easier not to care whether people left or not.

His ex-wife and his marriage had been the exception to that rule. While he now called her a crazoid, with the ability to incinerate money, he had to accept that his own issues had also contributed to the train wreck. He hadn’t loved her, but he’d been monstrously in love with the idea of her: a wife, a family, normality. When he’d got it he hadn’t known what to do with it...

Saying goodbye to his lifelong dream of being part of something bigger than himself had stung like a shark bite, and because Fate had thought that wasn’t punishment enough, his father had died and he’d been yanked back to St Sylve.

He was still trying to come to terms with his legacy, and frequently wasn’t sure how he felt about the estate. Some days he loved it. Then resentment got the better of him, and on other days, when the memories of his father bubbled close to the surface, he actively hated the place.