Читать книгу Her Enemy With Benefits - Nicola Marsh - Страница 10

SAPPHIE’S FIRST INSTINCT was to knee Patrick in the groin. But he’d probably enjoy the contact too much.

She settled for placing both palms on his chest and shoving—hard.

‘Can’t blame a guy for wanting to celebrate the most significant moment of his career.’

The fact he was still using that boyish grin to try and disarm her a decade later made her want to knee him again.

As for the flutter low in her belly? It was a reminder that she hadn’t eaten lunch and nothing to do with the insistent tug of attraction between them.

An attraction torched to life by his kiss.

Why did the most annoying guy on the planet also have to be the best kisser?

It didn’t make any sense. She’d barely given him a second thought all these years—discounting the first few months after he’d left—yet all it took was one smooch—okay, one pretty scorching smooch—to resurrect how amazing he’d made her feel with his first kiss.

She could kill him.

Willing her pulse to stop pounding, she glared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘You do that once more and I’ll take Seaborns jewellery and walk.’

He merely raised an eyebrow, not in the least intimidated by her bluff. ‘You need me as much as I need you, sweetheart.’ She gaped at his insolence and he laughed. ‘Come on, you know better than to con a con. I’m blunt. I say it as it is. You and me?’ He waved a hand between them. ‘We’re going to take Fashion Week by storm, so don’t let your predictable outrage over a little spur-of-the-moment celebratory kiss get in the way of a beautiful friendship.’

Predictable outrage? She shook her head, unsure whether to applaud his honesty or reconsider that knee to the balls.

She had to regain control of this situation—fast—and the way to do that was to focus on business.

Not the naughty twinkle in his grey eyes.

Not the smug smirk quirking his lips.

Not the way he continued to stare at her mouth as if he was primed for a repeat performance.

‘What’s with the “most significant moment of your career” big talk?’

For the first time since she’d entered his ultra-modern office he appeared a tad uncertain, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

‘I’ve been looking for an angle for Fashion Week—something to play to the company’s strengths.’

‘And?’

His gaze raked over her but there was nothing overtly sexual about it. Maybe she’d imagined his hungry stare a moment ago. In fact he seemed to be sizing up her outfit and accessories in a purely professional manner.

‘When you first walked in here you made a statement.’ He tilted his head to one side, evaluating. ‘Class. Elegance. Timeless. Made me think of screen legends in the past.’

A compliment from a guy who threw them out there like confetti. Who would have thought it?

‘Should I be flattered or concerned you just called me old?’

The corners of his mouth quirked. ‘You don’t need to fish for compliments. You’re stunning and you know it.’

Actually, she didn’t. The designer clothes, the jewellery, the make-up and hair were all part of her duties as spokesperson for Seaborns. Take away the fancy outer dressing and she was Sapphire Seaborn—the responsible one, the devoted one, the sensible one. She didn’t do outrageous things. She dated suitable men and socialised with a suitable crowd.

Spending more than five minutes in the company of Patrick Fourde was decidedly unsuitable. Or, more to the point, it elicited decidedly unsuitable thoughts.

He’d always had that effect on her. Been able to confuse and bamboozle and intrigue her with the barest hint of that lazy half-smile he had down pat.

She might have been immune in the past, but having him in her face again—bolder, brazen, still bamboozling—unnerved her far more now than he ever had.

‘Get to the point.’

He stalked around his desk and fired up his laptop, swivelling the screen to face her.

‘Bear with me a sec.’

His fingers flew over the keyboard and, increasingly curious, she propped herself on the edge of his desk.

The tip of his tongue protruded slightly as he concentrated on typing and her chest tightened in remembrance.

He’d used to do the same thing when they studied together. She’d known when he’d stopped goofing off—which had been rarely, admittedly—and started taking their studying seriously by that tell, and it was as endearing now as back then.

At the time, she’d done her best to give him the impression she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Had berated him constantly about slacking off and sketching instead of studying. Her chastisement had only served to stir him up further and he’d deliberately make fun of her work or call time out for a coffee.

Interesting how his doodling had probably been a prelude to his career in fashion, an outlet for his creativity. And to see him now, CEO of a branch of a world-renowned fashion house, made her feel ashamed she’d given him such a hard time.

Then again, considering the amount of time he’d spent poking fun at her study timetables and subject spreadsheets, her guilt quickly faded.

Whatever he was doing now, it had captured his attention and given her an opportunity to study him. In his flawlessly fitted charcoal suit and open-necked black shirt, perched behind a glass-topped desk large enough to fit an entire classroom, with the skyline of Melbourne surrounding him with three hundred and sixty degrees of floor to ceiling windows fifty storeys high, he looked like the consummate businessman.

A guy on top of the world, in total control and loving it. Who would have guessed the laid-back charmer had ambition?

He’d never shared any of his plans with her—had never showed any interest in business beyond teasing her about taking such a manic interest in Seaborns.

She’d been surprised when he’d absconded to Paris—had assumed it had been to live the high life on his family money.

After that first kiss she’d reluctantly kept an eye on him, had followed him on the internet for six months, surprised by mentions of him doing an internship at Fourde Fashion headquarters.

Pity those internet hits had also shown her the type of life she envied: parties and nightclub openings and theatre galas. The type of life she’d secretly craved but had been too focused on work, on proving herself, on seeking approval, to do anything about.

How different would her life have been if she’d let go just a little? Had hung out with Patrick for fun, not study? Responded to his teasing with smiles, not frowns? Allowed herself to indulge in a few wild teenage stunts without thought for the consequences?

Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up stressed, repressed and almost losing the company.

‘Here. Take a look.’ He pointed at the screen, filled with images of stunning screen sirens.

Grace Kelly. Eva Marie Saint. Ingrid Bergman. Audrey Hepburn. Marilyn.

She knew them all, had shared her mum’s love of old films, but had no clue why he was showing her these pictures.

He must have read the unasked question in her eyes for he grabbed a pen and notepad and started scribbling.

‘Tell me the first words that pop into your head when you look at those women.’

It would be a lot more fun brainstorming if she knew what he was getting at but she’d play along for now.

‘Stylish. Chic. Classy.’

‘Exactly.’

He continued jotting, muttering under his breath. The tip of his tongue was back and she couldn’t help but smile. If he was this enthused now, she had full confidence their joint collaboration would steal the show.

‘This is my significant moment.’ He twirled the pad so she wasn’t reading upside down. ‘Hollywood glamour of old.’

She squinted at his illegible notes as he flung the pen down and stood.

‘We go all out. Elegant clothes. Curvy models. Bold colours and designs. Dramatic make-up.’

He started pacing and she’d never seen him so focussed.

‘A theme to make people wish they’d lived decades ago. We play on the fashion frenzy Mad Men has recreated but take it a step further back in time. When women were proud to be sensual and lush and weren’t afraid to hide the fact.’

For some reason heat crept into her cheeks at the way he said sensual. Jeez, what would it be like to have a guy like him go all sensual on her?

Yeah, that was helping her blush.

‘Rich fabrics. Satin. Lace. Hugging curves. Fitted pencil skirts. Long elbow gloves. Hourglass silhouettes.’

He fired the words out at random, his eyes sparking with passion, and the heat in her cheeks spread to the rest of her body.

She literally tingled with the urge to touch him, to see if the powerful vibe emanating from him would zap her.

If he were this passionate about work, how worked up did he get in the bedroom?

She swallowed. It did little to ease the sudden dryness in her mouth. The exact opposite in other areas of her body.

She really needed a date desperately if she were having illicit fantasies about the guy who drove her mad.

‘You like the idea.’ He grabbed her hand and twirled her, and she couldn’t help but laugh. His enthusiasm was infectious.

‘What gave it away?’

‘This.’ He trailed a fingertip from the outer corner of her eye, down her cheek and around her lips, tracing their shape with exquisite precision. ‘When you’re relaxed your face lights up.’

‘Probably a reflection of yours,’ she muttered, knowing she should step back and put some much needed distance between them, but captivated by the incredible longing she glimpsed in the depths of his gaze.

He had to be longing for success, not her, right? The guy who’d squired starlets to gallery openings and models to movie premieres. The guy who’d cut a path through Europe with his legendary parties. The guy who’d teased her incessantly at high school.

They couldn’t be attracted; it wouldn’t be prudent.

But the longer they stood like this, invisible energy crackling between them, his fingertip lingering at the corner of her mouth, which he now stared at as if he wanted to devour it, the more she knew she was kidding herself.

Working with Patrick was going to be a living nightmare.

She stepped back and forced a smile. ‘You’re right. This idea is fabulous.’

‘Great.’

He picked up his notepad, but not before she’d glimpsed confusion creasing his brow. Join the club.

She’d always labelled their relationship as volatile. He’d taunt her, she’d fake aloofness, until they reached an impasse fraught with unresolved tension. At least on her behalf. For being around him back then had made her tense in a way she couldn’t describe. It had gone beyond exasperation at his deliberate teasing, had left her feeling…frustrated.

She’d put it down to being a hormone-ridden teen with a secret passion for romance novels and no time to date. And she was beyond grateful he’d never seemed clued in to her dissatisfaction.

He’d never given any hint he liked her as more than a friend, and she’d been deluded enough to believe her self-talk that she didn’t like him that way.

But she had.

It was why that kiss on graduation night had meant so much. And why she’d freaked out because of it.

Because a momentous kiss like that had the power to change dreams and hers had already been set in stone.

She would be the next CEO of Seaborns.

Nothing—no one—could change that.

So why the relentless yearning now? The feeling that she’d missed out on something and regretted it?

It annoyed her, this uncertainty. Usually she knew what she wanted and made it happen. Yesterday.

She didn’t like doubting herself. Or him, for that matter. And she did. A small part of her wondered how the larrikin teen could morph into this determined businessman and pull off something this big.

Having an inkling he was in this position purely because he’d got the job handed on a silver platter from his folks and having her suspicions confirmed by asking him was mutually exclusive. She couldn’t ask without alienating him or emasculating his pride and potentially stuffing this collaboration up before they’d really begun.

But she had to voice some of her doubts, couched in business terms.

‘While I think something like this could cause a sensation at Fashion Week, and make the world sit up and take notice of our companies, do you think it’s too ambitious?’

He glanced up from his notepad and stared at her as if she’d suggested he don one of the dresses.

‘One thing I’ve learned in this biz is to dream big. Go all out. Make an impact.’

He knew. Knew she doubted him. She saw it in the slightly narrowed eyes, the disappointment pinching the corners of his mouth.

‘If you’re questioning my credentials, why did you come here in the first place?’

Yep, he was mad. She’d never heard his voice like this: hard, flat monotone with a hint of ice.

‘I’m not questioning—’

‘Yeah, you are.’

He flung the pen he’d been holding onto his desk and raked a hand through his hair, ruffling the too-long-to-con-form whorls.

‘Here’s a newsflash. Don’t believe everything you read in the press, because sometimes it’s what goes on behind the scenes that counts.’

Oo-kay, so that was cryptic. What did his social antics have to do with work?

‘Besides, you know me—always the risk-taker.’ He stabbed a finger at the scrawl-covered notepad. ‘Thinking big is what’s going to have every person in this city and beyond talking about Fourde Fashion, and that’s my number one goal. To go places.’ He eyeballed her with a steely determination she hadn’t known he had in him. ‘And if you’re smart you’ll be along for the ride.’

Sapphie didn’t know how smart it was being tied so closely to Patrick for the next month but she did know business, and every cell in her body was screaming that this deal was the opportunity of a lifetime.

‘The new me is in favour of risks.’ She held out her hand to shake on it. ‘Let’s make this happen.’

As Sapphire chatted with Ruby on the phone, outlining the basics and the timeframes involved to ensure their proposal hit the ground running, Patrick surreptitiously studied her.

What had she meant, ‘the new me’?

Apart from a shorter layered haircut and a few more blonde streaks she looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last seen her.

Though the curves were new. And that look in her eyes…

He couldn’t put his finger on it but, while she looked the same on the outside, he had a feeling she’d gone through some major stuff to put that bordering-on-haunted gleam in those big blue eyes.

Not that she’d tell him. She seemed determined to keep him in the same box she’d constructed for him back in high school. The one labelled ‘Lazy Lout Happy to Coast on his Family’s Fortune’.

He’d pretended it hadn’t bothered him back then, had gone out of his way to tease her for being the opposite—‘Little Miss Prissy Being Groomed to Follow in Mama’s Footsteps’.

But now? Yeah, it bothered him. He’d had a gutful of being labelled and misjudged by everyone from the paparazzi to his folks. Especially his folks.

Ironic that growing up he’d craved their attention, and yet when they’d finally given it, it had been for all the wrong reasons.

To have Sapphire echo their doubts felt as if someone had slugged him in the guts.

For some unfathomable reason her opinion mattered after all this time. It shouldn’t. They were now business colleagues.

The irrefutable, irrational urge to rip her clothes off and devour her didn’t come into it at all.

Sex without complications. That was what he wanted, and for one insane moment earlier, from the way she’d been looking at him, he’d almost say she wanted it too.

For Sapphire wouldn’t have room in her well-ordered life for complications. He respected that about her—her focus on her job. He’d met women like her around the world—high-fliers who took no prisoners, who didn’t have time for emotional entanglements, who were happy being independent and forceful and in control.

Not every female needed a wedding ring and kids to feel validated, and by Sapphire’s go-get-’em attitude, she’d chosen to marry her career instead.

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, imitating Ruby’s garrulousness with her hand. He mimed hitting the disconnect button and she smiled—a genuine, dazzling display that left him slightly winded.

Sex without complications, remember?

Sleeping with Sapphire wasn’t wise. That was one giant complication just waiting to happen.

She had changed. The Sapphire he’d known would never have taken time out to do yoga, let alone be seen dead in leisure clothes. When she hadn’t been in school uniform she’d worn tailored pants and button-down shirts, appearing way older than her years but making it work regardless.

She hadn’t cared what other kids thought of her, and while their rich, indulged classmates at the exclusive school they’d attended had been boozing and partying their way through high school she’d been friendly yet aloof, happy in her own skin, proud of her choices.

He’d envied her that—her certainty in knowing what she was going to do with her life. He hadn’t had a clue, and had taken the Fourde internship by default, accepting it when a PR job at a Paris magazine had fallen through.

And look how that had turned out.

Maybe he would have been better staying well away from the family business but despite what had happened he didn’t regret the years he’d spent at Fourde.

He wouldn’t have discovered his talent for taking conceptual ideas and seeing them through to fruition. He wouldn’t have discovered his passion for brainstorming and elaborating and collaborating. And he wouldn’t have known he had the creative spark passed down in his genes if he hadn’t been surrounded by the passion of Fourde Fashion on a daily basis.

A huge part of him was grateful for the opportunities he’d been given, but another part wished he’d been brave enough to put his plans in motion earlier.

Seeing his folks in action had gone some way to soothing his resentment. If they’d been time-poor with him when he was growing up, they were frenetic now. They never stopped. Working eighteen hour days. Rarely taking time to eat. Grabbing coffee and croissants on their way between meetings.

Their dedication to Fourde explained why they’d missed his first footy game—missed the whole season—why they’d never shown up at his school presentations, why he’d thought eating dinner alone was the norm until one of his school buddies had invited him around to his place one night.

It had sucked at the time, fending for himself, and their neglect had fed his antipathy. But working alongside them in Paris had shown him it wasn’t personal. They didn’t have time for anyone unless it involved Fourde’s.

Were they selfish and self-absorbed? Hell, yeah.

Malicious? No.

And his tense relationship with his folks had more to do with people co-existing but not really knowing each other than any residual bitterness on his behalf.

That didn’t stop him wanting to prove how damn good he was, and that was exactly what he’d do with Sapphire’s help.

‘Done.’ She slid her phone back into her handbag. ‘Ruby’s hyped. She’s on the Net as we speak, researching the general feel of old Hollywood glamour, and she’ll start doing some virtual mock-ups for you to take a look at by tomorrow.’

‘Wow, no grass growing under her feet.’

He watched her walk towards him, gorgeous in designer mulberry and high heels, and all that self talk about not going there was gone in the few seconds it took for a hard-on of mammoth proportions to return.

Gritting his teeth against his apparent lack of self-control, he turned away to look out of the window.

He had to hand it to his folks. Nothing but the best for Fourde Fashion, with this sky-high office on the top floor of one of Melbourne’s newest developments. Though he knew his fancy office had more to do with maintaining the image behind the Fourde name than any caring for him on their part.

Fourde Fashion needed a presence in Australia. He was it. They didn’t expect soaring profit margins or breakout collections. They’d be happy with same-old, same-old and a steady cashflow from a market they deemed insignificant at best.

Lucky for them he never settled for anything but the best. Ever. He would never accept failure again, and he intended on proving that to everyone—including the woman now standing by his side.

Her subtle cinnamon fragrance teased his senses and he curled his fingers into his palms to stop himself reaching for her.

Maybe he should sleep with her and be done with it?

‘Some view.’

He grunted in response, surprised when she laid a tentative hand on his arm. Yeah, that was helping.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You really want to know?’

‘Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’

He dragged in a breath, another, staring at the iconic city landmarks so many floors down. Flinders Street Station, Federation Square, St Patrick’s Cathedral—buildings he’d explored as a kid on school excursions, usually with this woman by his side.

What the hell was he doing, contemplating telling her the truth? It wouldn’t end well.

But he knew one thing for sure. He couldn’t go on like this.

It had been two measly days since he’d marched back into her life, and this relentless, driving urge to have her wasn’t going away any time soon. In fact it would probably intensify the more time they spent together working.

Probably best to get it out of his system? Then focus one hundred percent on blowing the competitors away?

But how did he tell her without sounding like an ass?

Hey, Saph, the reason I keep kissing you—can’t keep my hands off you. Want into your pants. Now.

Yeah, that would go down a treat.

‘Not like you to be at a loss for words.’ She removed her hand and he instantly wished he’d grabbed it and held on. ‘Maybe working with you is going to be tolerable after all?’

A reluctant chuckle spilled from his lips and he turned to face her.

And that was when he knew he couldn’t tell her about his driving need to ravish every inch of her body.

Staring into her guileless eyes, seeing concern clouding their perfect blue, he couldn’t do it.

Ten years had passed, but how well did he really know her? If she’d freaked out back then, what was to say she wouldn’t do it now and jeopardise the entire showing?

He needed this Hollywood glamour idea to fly. He needed to wow audiences and critics and guarantee that orders flooded in. He needed to show everyone he wasn’t the wealthy flake they wrongly assumed.

And that meant focussing on the goal and not on his rampant libido.

‘We have to make this work. It’s important to me.’

Her eyes widened in surprise, as if she’d doubted his sincerity before but didn’t now.

‘Me too,’ she said, her nod brisk and businesslike. ‘You meet with your designers, I’ll put the PR machine in motion, and we’ll reconvene later today.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

He liked plans. Plans were orderly and well thought out and logical. The opposite of the uncertainty rioting through him.

‘We should do dinner.’

It was a vast improvement on what he really wanted to say: We should do each other.

A tiny crease reappeared between her brows. ‘A working dinner, you mean?’

He’d prefer something along the lines of cosy and candlelit, with the two of them naked, but he’d settle for working. It was the one thing to keep him focussed away from wanting her, right?

‘We’ll be working long into the evening—stands to reason we need to eat.’

‘Okay, then.’

She’d reverted to brusque and he mentally kicked himself for wanting what he couldn’t have.

‘Meet back here at five?’

He glanced around the room, at the contemporary sterility, and made a rash decision he’d probably live to regret.

‘How about we meet at Seaborns? That way you can show me what Ruby has in mind for some of the major pieces?’

‘Sure, that’s doable.’

There he went again. One word—doable—and he could see the two of them doing each other.

‘Better get cracking.’

He mentally cringed at how abrupt he sounded, not surprised when she shot him a sideways glance.

But in true Sapphire form she didn’t push the issue or demand answers. She picked up her portfolio, hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, and headed towards the door.

With her hand on the doorknob, she paused. ‘Want to hear something crazy?’

Crazier than how badly he wanted her?

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m actually looking forward to this.’

Her impish grin as she eased through the door made him want to stride across the office and haul her back in.

She wasn’t the only one looking forward to the month ahead.

Who said he couldn’t mix a little pleasure with business?