Читать книгу Tycoon's Terms of Engagement - Natalie Anderson - Страница 8

JACK WOLFE DIDN’T need either chloroform or charm to get what he wanted—he had cash.

Because of the possibilities he represented, Stephanie couldn’t refuse him. And now she knew he wasn’t afraid to take advantage of the fact. She also knew he had a wicked streak—an impulsiveness she’d never have expected from the grim-looking man she’d first laid eyes on.

Stay the night? Never.

The car sped along the road, taking the quickest route out of the city. The sun beat down on her, addling her brain. Or maybe the sizzling heat was emanating from him. With his tie removed and his shirtsleeves rolled, some of his body was exposed. The muscles in his forearms flexed and she could see the strength in his large hands as he handled the delicate, sometimes temperamental vintage car assuredly.

He made it look easy, when she knew for a fact that it wasn’t.

But to indulge in the utter fantasy of being in this dress, in this car, next to him, for an hour or so of illicit escape…

‘No choice,’ she muttered.

A small, wicked smile played on his lips. It seemed he’d taken the brakes off both the car and himself, leaving him relaxed and carefree and so strikingly attractive it was a wonder she could breathe.

‘Stephanie…’ he drawled softly. ‘There should always be a choice.’ He glanced her way, a half-question in the back of his blue eyes.

Stephanie licked her dried lips. She could say no. Could demand that he turn around and take her back to the hotel immediately. If she insisted he’d acquiesce. He wasn’t about to abduct her for real. Not for a whole night.

But what a choice it was—stay and play along with his whim, or go and kiss goodbye to any chance of the deal happening?

As she looked at him time stopped. There was that unspoken communication—that intensity that she wanted to run from yet couldn’t break. Fascination. She wanted to be near him for longer. Was this what it was like for her mother when she went headlong into her latest affair?

Stephanie shivered, almost repulsed by her intense reaction to him.

When her oxygen-deprived brain decided to reinstate the use of her vocal cords she answered his question with one of her own. ‘Do you know where you’re going?’

‘I have a rough idea.’ His wicked smile went on full wattage. He looked outrageously pleased with himself. And devastatingly attractive.

She’d bet he knew exactly where he was going. Even in that moment of distress she’d seen back at the hotel he’d been decisive, confident. And determined.

The car sped faster down the motorway and Stephanie slipped into the realisation of a long-held private fantasy—not knowing where she was going. For years she’d dreamed of randomly picking a road and driving along it for as far as she felt like. Or letting someone else take her for a ride for as far and as long as she wanted…

Sweet temptation accelerated along her veins. She’d always wanted to ‘up and leave’—see where the wind blew her. Had always yearned to go deep into the dry heart of the country and explore the infinite unknown possibilities…

Except the one time she’d tried she’d almost destroyed what little was left of her family.

Dan.

Cold memories slammed into her. Her mistakes burned, and regret tasted as acid and as fresh as the day disaster had struck.

She felt responsible for her brother’s disabilities. Every single one of the golden possibilities he’d had had been destroyed. Dan had gone from sporting superstar to wheelchair-bound and broken. His future had once been assured. Now it was up to her to assure him a different future.

He was the reason she was here now.

So she shouldn’t be ogling Jack’s powerful-looking hands or feeling tantalised by his smile. She wasn’t here to flirt. She needed to focus. And she needed to check on her brother ASAP.

Her fingers tightened on her mobile phone. She’d send a quick, quiet text to Dan and another to Tara to double-check her brother was okay.

Jack wasn’t finding out about her brother. She wasn’t telling him he was the reason why she couldn’t be out for hours and hours. She was not playing the pity card. She’d keep up her ‘take it or leave it’ aura—the projection that she had no worries, no need of his offer, was key. She didn’t want him thinking she had to sell her site. She couldn’t appear desperate.

But in truth she’d do whatever it took to secure Dan’s future.

As she texted, Jack’s phone rang again. He didn’t bother to pull over and answer it this time. If anything, it felt as if he hit the accelerator more heavily.

‘Tell me more about your blog. You write all kinds of lists, right?’ he said, talking loudly over the top of his incessant ringtone.

‘That’s how it started, yes,’ she answered, still looking down at her own phone.

Her blog was still titled ‘The List’. She’d begun with all kinds of crazy lists, but the lists had really been a cover for random comments on everyday absurdities to entertain her friends. It had evolved from there, although now they were more straight lists than any kind of astute commentaries, but she tried to keep them as fun and entertaining as always.

‘Because lists are catchy?’ he asked. ‘“Ten Ways with a Tank Top” or something?’

‘Or something…’ she murmured. ‘Lists are easy and quick to read, and people like them. They’re popular. It’s that simple.’

‘Do you write lists for everything?’

The tips of her ears burned as she thought she caught an intimate nuance in his voice. Was he thinking personal lists?

She sent him a sharp look and registered his amusement.

She turned back to glare at the bitumen ahead. She wasn’t biting. But, sure, she could list a number of things she’d like to do with him—none of them polite. Not all of them strictly businesslike and professional either.

‘Yes!’ She made herself reply in ultra-perky Steffi Leigh style. ‘They help me stay organised.’

‘So, do you have a list of everything you’re going to achieve in life?’

‘Like many of your travellers will have a list of all the must-do, must-see places—of course.’

‘I’m curious about what’s on it.’

‘Oh, you know—the usual stuff anyone has.’

‘I can’t believe that. I get the impression you’re not like just “anyone”.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ She laughed. Pure Steffi Leigh.

‘Tell me about the haters. How do you handle them?’

‘I don’t,’ she said, her amusement fading. ‘I ignore them.’

‘It’s that easy?’

It was never that easy. ‘To be honest, I let a lot of my hard-core fans respond to them. I used to moderate the comments, but it took up too much time.’

‘But you still read them all?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it doesn’t get to you?’

‘Why would I let it?’ She maintained her smile with determination. ‘There are far more positive comments than negative. They’re the ones I think about when I’m working on a segment.’

At first the blog had been for her own fun. Then it had grown legs of its own—until she’d been sprinting to try to keep up with its demands. Since Dan’s illness it had got harder to maintain the schedule, and yet she had all the more reason to make it bigger and better. Leveraging her ‘platform’ was the only way she could think of to earn the money she needed to get her brother motivated and into some kind of study.

She waited, but Jack still ignored the strident ringing of his phone.

‘So your lists cover everything—no topic is off-limits? How do you decide the content? By strategy or whim?’ He glanced at her. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I’m not criticising. I’m trying to understand your success.’

Because it was so hard for him to believe little ol’ her could have made something so massive?

How could she be so attracted to someone so irritating? She had not got out enough in the last eighteen months.

‘Well…’ She smiled another Steffi Leigh smile through gritted teeth, determined to stay positive and upbeat. ‘There’s a lot of hair and make-up stuff going on. And fashion choices—what to wear, how to wear it. And, yes, there’s some whimsy—designing doilies from paper towels or sewing slippers from comic book covers… whatever takes my mind. But I do plan and keep a list of topics—’

‘Of course you do.’

‘Right.’ She conceded another laugh. ‘And of course there’s restaurant recommendations,’ she concluded. ‘And good places to go.’

‘You make it sound easy, when we both know it isn’t,’ he commented.

And, stupidly, that was enough to make her feel all warm about him again.

‘What’s the best trip you’ve been on?’ he asked.

She hesitated, thinking of that fateful holiday to the Northern Territory. For once Dan hadn’t had a sporting camp or competition and they’d been able to go. It had been perfect—until his fever and headache had suddenly come on. She’d loved the vast, isolated beauty. But she couldn’t bear the reminder of it now.

‘I love the big city thrill of Sydney.’ She reverted to an answer he’d expect from Steffi Leigh.

‘And the shopping?’

‘Why, yes…’ she all but cooed. ‘And all those restaurants. The scene is a lot of fun.’

‘And beyond Australia?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve not been many places outside of Australia.’

She’d not been anywhere outside Australia, despite her mum now living in France with husband number three. Because, unlike her mum, she wouldn’t walk out on her whole world for a man. Unlike her mum she wouldn’t walk out on her responsibilities. And Dan needed someone. By default it had to be her.

That fateful trip Outback had been the first Stephanie had planned—her choice, her organisation—and she’d been so excited because, yes, she’d longed to travel. But Dan had been recovering from the flu just before they’d left and his immunity had been weak. And when they’d been miles from anywhere he’d suddenly got really, really sick.

Headache. Fever. Rash.

Stephanie had never been so afraid. Her brother had almost lost his life. As it was the meningitis had cost him limbs—his lower arm, his leg. All his dreams of sporting fame and fortune had been obliterated.

And all because she’d been the one who’d insisted on their trip to the back of beyond—where medical help was hours away.

‘But what about Queenstown, New Zealand? You had a list on that just the other day on your blog.’

Jack interrupted her thoughts.

Frowning, she glanced at him—and registered his frown.

Queenstown?

Oh, yes. Her face burned as she suddenly remembered. A schoolfriend had emailed and helped her. She was so close to being caught out right now.

‘Oh, you know—I meant further afield than New Zealand,’ she recovered quickly. ‘I meant Europe.’

‘Mmm…’ he nodded, negotiating an exit onto a different motorway. ‘The travel pieces on your blog are done well. You can tell you’ve spent some time in the places.’

Well, someone had. That person just wasn’t always her.

Tara helped her with the make-up lists, and a few of her other school and uni friends helped her with the destination and restaurant lists. Other stuff she gleaned from the internet.

The truth was that Steffi Leigh was a phony—a caricature of a woman, and not even the author of all the ideas she shared.

So she had to be more careful in answering him. If he knew she faked it—that she got as much help as she did to generate content—he wouldn’t be interested in buying the blog at all.

‘I haven’t covered many destinations outside of Australia,’ she said brightly. ‘I guess that’s something your people could build on if you decide to take it over.’

‘Possibly.’

She fidgeted with her phone, absently rubbing her gloved thumb back and forth over the screen, wishing Tara or Dan would hurry up and text back to let her know all was okay.

‘What about you?’ She flipped the question back at him to fill the lull. ‘What was your most amazing adventure? You must have had so many.’ And, yes, she was envious.

‘It’s a thing in our family to take a year out to travel. Nothing but a backpack and a few hundred dollars. ‘Bye-bye—see you in a year’.’

‘Really? No big money? No five-star hotels?’ she teased.

‘None.’

Wow. Curiosity piqued, she twisted to look at him. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I didn’t travel around as much as my brothers did when they went. I spent most of my time in South East Asia. A little village in Indonesia.’

‘Working?’

‘Volunteering,’ he corrected. ‘At an orphanage.’

‘Doing “the charity thing”?’ A tiny thread of jealousy tinted her tone.

‘Is that cynicism I hear from Steffi Leigh? Is it so awful to want to help others?’

Of course not. And cynicism wasn’t what she’d intended. But now he’d heard it the only thing she could do was make a joke of it. ‘So you did your year and now your conscience is salved? You can spend the rest of your life doing the five-star thing?’

‘Answer me this, Ms Five Ways with Ugly Festive Woollens, do you do charity work?’

‘Sure.’ Charity begins at home. But she played up the flippant. ‘A cocktail party. A fundraising dinner. Art auctions. You know how it goes…’

And she was so faking it now. She’d never been part of that wealthy socialite do-gooder scene.

‘Perhaps.’ He glanced at her, his eyes glinting brighter than the sun.

Possibly. Perhaps. Full of the non-committal, wasn’t he?

‘That’s your phone again.’ She grimaced as it rang loudly yet again.

‘You can’t cope with the fact I won’t answer it?’

‘Isn’t it rude?’

‘Isn’t it more rude to sit texting while we’re trying to have a conversation?’ He nodded pointedly at the phone in her hand. ‘You’re the one addicted to your phone. Updating your social media status every two seconds?’

‘I was letting Tara know I’m going to be a little late, otherwise she’d worry. Don’t you check in with family when you travel?’

‘No.’

‘Well, someone wants you now.’

That grim look hardened the line of his mouth. Whoever it was, he was fully into avoidance. And what was the betting it was a woman?

Irritation spurted. ‘What if it’s an emergency?’ she prompted.

‘It’s not.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Because we have a special ringtone for emergencies.’

For a half-second she gaped at him. ‘You’re making that up.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘What if someone is worried about you?’

That oddly tense look crossed his face just has his phone started ringing again. ‘I can’t answer it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m driving.’

‘You want me to answer it?’ she asked, not meaning it at all.

Suddenly he smiled. ‘Would you mind? That’d be great.’

Huh? He’d called her bluff.

‘Fine.’ She twisted to get his phone from where it lay on the tiny back seat, swiping the screen to answer it. ‘Jack Wolfe’s phone—this is Steffi Leigh speaking. How may I help you?’ she asked in dulcet tones.

‘Uh… pardon me?’

Yep. A woman. Stephanie’s blood simmered. ‘This is Jack Wolfe’s phone… Steffi Leigh speaking,’ she repeated. Ultra-dulcet.

‘Uh, hi… Steffi. Is Jack there? Can I speak to him?’

Definitely a woman. A young, breathless woman, desperate to speak to him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Stephanie said slowly, ‘he’s driving at the moment, and the vehicle we’re in doesn’t have any kind of hands-free capability. Can I take a message for you?’

‘Uh, yes, please… This is Bella.’

Bella. Nice name for a lover. What was the betting she was tall and slender and stunning—?

‘Can you tell him that the board is waiting for that report and they’re really pressuring me for a date.’ Bella sounded apologetic. ‘I know he doesn’t want to be disturbed, because he’s really busy over there, but they want to know his thoughts as soon as possible. They won’t make a decision without his input.’

Huh? Not a personal call.

‘Also, he’s had a zillion messages,’ Bella added. ‘I’ve tried to prioritise, and I’ve put most of them off ‘til he’s back next week, but the Italian printing company are really pushing to speak with him. Tell him I’m almost out of options for holding them off. The others I’ve listed in an email to his private account. If he can go through that when he has a minute that would be great.’

‘Okay—anything more?’ Steffi asked, wanting to get off the phone now.

‘Actually, yes…’ Bella sounded ultra-apologetic. ‘That freelance photographer has been phoning every morning since last Thursday, desperate for an answer on the shots he sent over. I know Jack wants to review them personally, so if he can take a quick look that would be fantastic, because I know he doesn’t want to lose him to any competitor if he turns out to be any good. Oh, and the couple who are doing the revision to the French cycling route had all their gear stolen when they were waiting for a train. They’re covered with insurance, of course, but now the local mayor is on us because he’s worried his town is going to get a bad report. He won’t settle for speaking to anyone but Jack. And—’