Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 11

EVE had some idea of how Cinderella must have felt on her way to the ball. Half an hour ago she’d left her old world behind, all tumbling-down house and broken-down appliances and baby rusks, and was now being whisked off in a silken gown to a world she had only ever dreamt of.

Had Cinderella been similarly terrified on her way to the ball? Had she felt this tangle of nerves writhing in her stomach as she’d neared the palace on that fairytale night? Had she felt this cold, hard fear that things would come terribly, terribly unstuck before the night was over? If so, she could well empathise.

Not that her story was any kind of fairy-tale. There’d been no fairy godmother who could transform her into some kind of princess in an instant with a touch of her magic wand for a start. Instead, Eve had spent the afternoon in a blur of preparations, almost spinning from salon to boutiques to appliance stores, in between packing up tiny pots of yoghurt and Sam’s favourite pasta so Mrs Willis wouldn’t have to worry about finding him something to eat. There had been no time for reflection, no time to sit down and really think about what she was doing or why she was even doing it.

But here, sitting alone against the buttery-soft upholstery of an entire limousine, she had no distractions, no escape from asking herself the questions that demanded to be answered. Why was she doing this? Why had she agreed to be Leo’s pretend fiancée, when all her instincts told her it was wrong? Why hadn’t she insisted on saying no?

Sure, there was the money. She wouldn’t call herself mercenary exactly, but she was motivated at the thought of getting enough money together to handle both her renovations and taking care of Sam. And how else would she so quickly gather the funds to replace a hot water service that had inconsiderately died twelve months too early and buy a new clothesdryer so she could keep up with Sam’s washing in the face of Melbourne’s fickle weather?

What other reason could there be?

Because you’re curious.

Ridiculous. She thrust the suggestion aside, determined to focus on the view. She loved Melbourne. After so many years in Sydney, it was good to be home, not that she got into the city too often these days.

But the annoying, niggling voice in her head refused to be captivated or silenced by the view.

You want to see if he has the same impact on you that he had three years ago.

You want to know if it’s not just his voice that makes your stomach curl.

You want to know if he’ll once again look at you with eyes filled with dark desire and simmering need.

No, no and no! She shuffled restlessly against the leather, adjusting her seat belt so it wasn’t so tight across her chest and she could breathe easier.

Dark desire and simmering need were the last things she needed these days. She had responsibilities now. A child to provide for. Which was exactly what she was doing by coming tonight, she acknowledged, latching onto the concept with zeal. She was providing for her child. After all, if she didn’t, who would? Not his father, that was for sure.

She bit down on her lip, remembering only then that she was wearing lipstick for a change and that she shouldn’t do that. It had been harder than she’d imagined, leaving Sam for an evening—the first time she’d ever left him at night—and it had been such a wrench she’d been almost tempted to call Leo and tell him she’d changed her mind.

But she hadn’t. And Sam had splashed happily in an early bath and enjoyed dinner. She’d read him a story and he’d already been nodding off when she’d left him with Mrs Willis, his little fist clenched, his thumb firmly wedged between cupid bow lips. But what if he woke up and she wasn’t there? What if he wouldn’t settle back down for Mrs Willis?

God, what the hell had she been thinking, agreeing to this?

Outside the limousine windows the city of Melbourne was lighting up. It wasn’t long after seven, the sky caught in that time between day and night, washed with soft shadows that told of the coming darkness, and buildings were preparing, showing their colours, strutting their stuff.

Just like she was, she thought. She wore a gown of aqua silk, which had cost her the equivalent of a month’s salary in her old office job, but she figured the evening called for something more grand than her usual chain-store purchases. Leo would no doubt expect it, she figured. And she’d loved the dress as she’d slipped it over her head and zipped it up, loved the look of it over her post-baby curves and the feel of it against her skin, and loved what it did to accentuate the colour of her eyes, but the clincher had been when her eighteen-month-old son had looked up at her from his pram, broken into an enormous grin and clapped his pudgy hands together.

And she must look all right in her new dress and newly highlighted hair because her neighbour had gasped when she’d come to the door to deliver Sam and insisted she cover herself with an apron in case she inadvertently spilled anything on it before she left.

Dear Mrs Willis, who was the closest to a grandparent that Sam would ever know, and who had been delighted to babysit and have Eve go out for a night for a change, no doubt in the hope that Eve would find a nice man to settle down with and provide a father to Sam. And even though Eve had explained it was a work function and she’d no doubt be home early, her neighbour had simply smiled and taken no notice as she’d practically pushed her out the door to the waiting car. ‘Have a lovely evening and don’t rush. If it’s after ten when you get home, I’ll no doubt be asleep, so you can come and pick Sam up in the morning.’

And then they were there. The driver pulled into a turnaround and eased the car to a stop. He passed her a keycard as a doorman stepped forward to open her door. ‘Mr Zamos says to let you know he’s running late and to let yourself in.’ She smiled her thanks as he recited a room number, praying she’d manage to remember it as the doorman welcomed her to the hotel.

Deep breath.

Warily she stepped out of the car, cautious on heels that seemed perilously high, where once upon a time she would have thought nothing of sprinting to catch a bus in even higher. Strange, what skills you forgot, she thought, when you don’t use them. And then she sincerely hoped she hadn’t forgotten the art of making conversation with adults because a few rounds of ‘Open, shut them, open, shut them,’ was going to get tired pretty quickly.

And then she stepped through the sliding doors into the hotel and almost turned around and walked straight back out again. It was little more than the entrance, a bank of grand elevators in front of her and a lift lobby to the left, but it was beautiful. A massive arrangement of flowers sat between the escalators, lilies bright and beautiful, palm leaves vivid green and all so artfully arranged that it looked too good to be real.

Just like her, she thought. Because she did so not belong here in this amazing place. She was a fake, pretending to be something she was not, and everyone would see through her in an instant.

She must have hesitated too long or maybe they recognised her as a fraud because someone emerged from behind the concierge desk and asked if she needed assistance. ‘I’m to meet Mr Zamos in his suite,’ she said, her voice sounding other-worldy in the moneyed air of one of Melbourne’s most prestigious hotels, but instead of calling for Security, like she half expected, he simply led her to the lift lobby and saw her safely inside a lift, even smiling as he pressed Leo’s level on the floor selection so she could make no mistake.

Oh, God, she thought, clutching her shawl around her as the lift door pinged open on the chosen floor, the keycard clenched tightly in her fingers, this is it.

One night, she told herself, it’s just one night. One evening, she corrected herself, just a dinner. Because in just a few short hours she would be home and life could get back to normal and she could go back to being a work-from-home mum in her trackpants again.

She could hardly wait.

She stepped out into the lift lobby, drinking deeply of the hotel’s sweetly spiced air, willing it to give her strength as she started on the long journey down the hall. Her stomach felt alive with the beating of a thousand tiny wings, giving flight to a thousand tiny and not so tiny fears and stopping her feet dead on the carpet.

What the hell was she doing? How could she be so sure Leo wouldn’t recognise her? And how could she bear it if he did? The shame of knowing how she’d act-ed—like some kind of wanton. How could she possibly keep working for him if he knew?

Because she wasn’t like that. Not normally. A first date might end with a kiss if it had gone well, the concept of a one-night stand the furthest thing from her mind, but something about Leo had stripped away her usual cautiousness, turning her reckless, wanting it all and wanting it now.

She couldn’t bear it if he knew. She couldn’t bear the aftermath or the subsequent humiliation.

Would he terminate her contract?

Or would he expect to pick up where he’d left off?

She shivered, her thumping heart beating much too loud for the hushed, elegant surroundings.

Lift doors pinged softly behind her and she glanced around as a couple emerged from the lift, forcing her to move both her feet and her thoughts closer to Leo’s door.

Seriously, why should he remember her? A rushed grope in a filing room with a woman he hadn’t seen before or since. Clearly it would mean nothing to a man with such an appetite for sex. He’d probably forgotten her the moment he’d left the building. And she’d been Eve then, too. Not the Evelyn she’d reverted to when she’d started her virtual PA business, wanting to sound serious and no-nonsense on her website.

And it’s only one night, she told herself, willing herself to relax as she arrived at the designated door. Just one short evening. And then she looked down at the keycard in her damp hand and found she’d been clenching it so tightly it had bitten deep and left bold white lines across her fingers.

Let herself in when it was the last place she wanted to be? Hardly. She rapped softly on the door. Maybe the driver was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t even there…

There was no answer, even after a second knock, so taking a fortifying breath she slid the card through the reader. There was a whirr and click and a green light winked at her encouragingly.

The door swung open to a large sitting room decorated in soft toffee and cream tones. ‘Hello,’ she ventured softly, snicking the door closed behind her, not game to venture yet beyond the entryway other than to admire the room and its elegant furnishings. Along the angled wall sat a sofa with chairs arranged around a low coffee table, while opposite a long dresser bore a massive flatscreen television. A desk faced the window, a laptop open on top. Through the open door alongside, she could just make out the sound of someone talking.

Leo, if the way her nerves rippled along her spine was any indication. And then the voice grew less indistinct and louder and she heard him say, ‘I’ve got the figures right here. Hang on…’

A moment later he strode into the room without so much as a glance in her direction, all his focus on the laptop that flashed into life with just a touch, while all her focus was on him clad in nothing more than a pair of black silk briefs that made nothing more than a passing concession to modesty.

He was a god, from the tips of his damp tousled hair all the way down, over broad muscled shoulders that flexed as he moved his hand over the keyboard, over olive skin that glistened under the light, and over the tight V of his hips to the tapered muscular legs below.

And Eve felt muscles clench that she hadn’t even known she’d possessed.

She must have made some kind of sound—she hoped to God it wasn’t a whimper—because he stilled and glanced at the window in front of him, searching the reflection. She knew the instant he saw her, knew it in the way his muscles stiffened, his body straightening before he slowly turned around, his eyes narrowing as they drank her in, so measuredly, so heatedly she was sure they must leave tracks on her skin.

‘I’ll call you back,’ he said into the phone, without taking his eyes from her, without making any attempt to leave the room or cover himself. ‘Something’s come up.’

She risked a glance—there—and immediately wished she hadn’t, for when she looked back at him, his eyes glinted knowingly, the corners creasing, as if he’d known exactly what she’d been doing and where she’d been looking.

‘Evelyn?’

He was waiting for an answer, but right now her tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth, her softly fitted dress seemed suddenly too tight, too restrictive, and the man opposite her was too big and all too obviously virile. And much, much too undressed. The fact he made no attempt to cover himself up only served to unsettle her even more.

He took a step closer. ‘You’re Evelyn Carmichael?’

She took a step back. ‘You were expecting someone else?’

‘No. Nobody else—except…’

‘Except what?’ she whispered, wondering if spiders’ eyes glinted the same way his did as they sized up their prey.

‘I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone like you.’

She felt dizzy, unbalanced and unprepared, and there was absolutely no question in her mind what she had to do next, no wavering. She turned, one hand already fumbling for the door handle, her nails scratching against the wood. ‘Clearly you’re not ready,’ she said, breathless and panicky and desperate to escape. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

But she’d barely pulled it open an inch before a hand pushed it closed over her shoulder. ‘There’s no need to run away.’

No need? Who was he trying to kid? What about the fact a near-naked man was standing a bare few inches away from her and filling the air she breathed with a near-fatal mix of soap and citrus and pure, unadulterated testosterone? A man she’d once been prepared to spend the night with, a lost night she’d fantasised about ever since. A man standing so close she could feel his warm breath fanning the loose ends of her hair, sending warm shivers down her neck. What more reason did a girl need to flee?

Apart from the knowledge that it wasn’t the beast she had to be afraid of after all. It wasn’t the beast she couldn’t trust.

It was her own unquenched desires.

‘Stay. Help yourself to something from the minibar while I get dressed next door. I promise I won’t be long.’

‘Thanks,’ she whispered softly to the door, not sure if she was thanking him for the offer of a drink or for the fact he was intending to put some clothes on. But she was sure about not turning around before he removed his arm from over her shoulder and moved away. Far, far away with any luck. ‘I’ll do that.’

And then the arm withdrew and she sensed the air shift and swirl as he departed, leaving her feeling strangely bereft instead of relieved, like she’d expected. Bereft and embarrassed. God, she must seem so unsophisticated and gauche compared to the usual kind of woman he entertained, practically bolting from the room with her cheeks on fire like some schoolgirl who’d wandered into the wrong loos by mistake!

She could actually do with a stiff drink right now, she mused, still shaky as she pulled open the minibar fridge, assuming she could open her throat wide enough to drink it. Then again, tonight would be a very good night not to drink alcohol, and not just because she probably had no tolerance for it these days. But because drinking anything with anaesthetic qualities in this man’s presence would be a very, very bad idea.

Especially given she was already half-intoxicated just being in his presence.

True to his word, he was already returning from the room beyond by the time she’d made her selection, a pair of slim-fitting black trousers encasing those powerful-looking legs and a crisp white shirt buttoned over his broad chest. Even dressed, he still looked like a god rather than any mere mortal, tall, dynamic and harshly beautiful, and yet for one insane, irrational moment her eyes actually mourned the loss of naked skin to feast upon, until he joined her at the minibar and it occurred to her that at least now she might be able to speak coherently.

‘Did you find something?’ he asked, as she moved aside to give him room as he pulled a beer from the fridge.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, twisting the cap from a bottle of mineral water and grabbing a glass, still discomfited by his presence. Then again, it was impossible to see him clothed and not think about those broad shoulders, the pebbled nipples and the cluster of dark hair between them that swirled like storm fronts on a weather map, before heading south, circling his navel and arrowing still downwards…

She sucked in a rush of air, cursing when it came once again laced with his tell-tale scent. Distance was what she needed and soon, and she took advantage of his phone ringing again to find it. She did a quick risk assessment of the sitting room and decided an armchair was the safest option. She needed to stop thinking about Leo Zamos with no clothes on and start thinking about something else. Something that didn’t return the flush to her skin and the heat to her face.

Like the decor. Her eyes latched onto a triptych set above the sofa. Perfect. The three black and white prints featured photographs of Melbourne streetscapes from the Fifties and Sixties, their brushed gold frames softening their impact against the cream-coloured wall. Understated. Tasteful. Like the rest of the furnishings, she thought, drinking in the elegant surrounds of the sitting area and admiring how the decorator had so successfully combined a mix of fabrics, patterns and textures. Maybe she should try for something similar…

And then Leo finished the call and dropped onto the sofa opposite, scuttling every thought in her head.

He stretched one arm out along the top of the cushions, crossed one long leg over the other and took a swig from his beer, all the while studying her until her skin prickled with the intensity of his gaze and her heart cranked up in her chest till she was afraid to breathe.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Evelyn Carmichael, my virtual PA. I have to say I’m delighted to find you’re very much real and not so virtual after all.’ And then he shook his head slowly and Eve’s lungs shut down on the panicked thought, He knows! Except his mouth turned up into a wry smile. ‘Why did I ever imagine you were middle-aged?’

And breath whooshed from her lungs, so relieved she even managed a smile. ‘Not quite yet, thankfully.’

‘But your credentials—your CV was a mile long. What did you do, leave school when you were ten?’

The question threw her, amazed he’d remembered the details she’d supplied when he’d first sent his enquiry through her website. But better he remember those details rather than a frenetic encounter in a filing room with a PA with a raging libido. ‘I was seventeen. I did my commercial degree part time. I was lucky enough to make a few good contacts and get head-hunted to a few high-end roles.’

His eyes narrowed again and she could almost see the cogs turning inside his head. ‘Surely that’s every PA’s dream. What made you leave all that and go out on your own? It must have been a huge risk.’

‘Oh, you know…’ she said, her hands fluttering around her glass. ‘Just things. I’d been working in an office a long time and…’

‘And?’

And I got pregnant to one of the firm’s interstate consultants…

She shrugged. ‘It was time for a change.’

He leaned forward, held out his beer towards her in a toast. ‘Well, the bricks and mortar office world’s loss is my gain. It’s a pleasure meeting you at last after all this time, Evelyn. You don’t know how much of a pleasure it is.’

They touched drinks, her glass against his bottle, his bottomless eyes not leaving hers for a moment, and now she’d reeled in her panic, she remembered the heat and the sheer power of that gaze and the way it could find a place deep down inside her that seemed to unfurl and blossom in the warmth.

‘And you,’ she murmured, taking a sip of her sparkling water, needing the coolness against her heated skin, tempted to hold the glass up to her burning cheeks.

Nothing had changed, she thought as the cooling waters slid down her throat. Leo Zamos was still the same. Intense, powerful, and as dangerous as sin.

And it was no consolation to learn that after everything she’d been through these last few years, everything she’d learned, she was just as affected, just as vulnerable.

No consolation at all.

She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He sipped his beer and reflected on the list of qualities he’d wanted in a pretend fiancée as he watched the woman sitting opposite him, trying so hard to look at ease as she perched awkwardly on the edge of her seat, picking up her glass and then putting it down, forgetting to drink from it before picking it up again and going through the same nervous ritual before she excused herself to use the powder room.

She’d been so reluctant to come tonight. What was that about when clearly she ticked every box? She was intelligent, he knew that for a fact given the calibre of the work she did for him. And that dress and that classically upswept hair spoke of class, nothing cheap or tacky there.

As for charming, he’d never seen anything as charming as the way she’d blushed, totally mortified when confronted by his state of undress before she’d tried to flee from the room. He’d had no idea she was there or he would never have scared her like that, but, then, how long had it been since a woman had run the other way when they’d seen him without his clothes on? Even room service the world over weren’t that precious, and yet she’d taken off like the devil himself had been after her. What was her problem? It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger to her after all. Then again, she’d made plain her disapproval of his long line of companions. Maybe she was scared she might end up on it.

Now, there was a thought…

He discounted the idea as quickly as it had come. She was his PA after all, even if a virtual one, and a rule was a rule. Maybe a shame, on reflection, that he’d made that rule, but he’d made it knowing he might be tempted from time to time and he’d made it for good reason. But at least he knew he wouldn’t have to spend the night forcing himself to smile at a woman he wasn’t interested in. He found it easy to smile at her now, as she returned from the powder room, coyly avoiding his eyes. She was uncannily, serendipitously perfect, from the top of her honey-caramel hair to the tips of the lacquered toenails peeping out of her shoes. And he had to smile. To think he’d imagined her middle-aged and taking nanna naps! How wrong could a man be? He would have no trouble at all feigning interest in this woman, no trouble at all.

He rose, heading her off before she could sit down, her eyes widening as he approached and blocked off the route to her armchair so she was forced to stop, even in heels forced to tilt her head up to look at him. Even now her colour was unnaturally high, her bright eyes alert as if she was poised on the brink of escape.

There was no chance of escape.

Oh no. His clever, classy little virtual PA wasn’t going anywhere yet. Not before he’d convinced Culshaw that he had nothing to fear from dealing with him, and that he was a rock-solid family man. Which meant he just had to convince Evelyn that she had nothing to fear from him.

‘Are we late?’ she asked, sounding breathless and edgy. ‘Is it time to go?’

He could be annoyed at her clear display of nerves. He should be if her nervousness put his plans at risk. But somehow the entire package was so enticing. He liked it that he so obviously affected her. And so what that she wasn’t plain? She wasn’t exactly classically pretty either—her green eyes were perhaps too wide, her nose too narrow, but they were balanced by a wide mouth that lent itself to both the artist’s paintbrush and to thoughts of long afternoons of lazy sex.

Not necessarily in that order.

For just one moment he thought he’d noted those precise details in a face before, but the snatch of memory was fleeting, if in fact it was memory at all, and flittered away before he could pin it down to a place or time. No matter. Nothing mattered right now but that she was there and that he had a good feeling about tonight. His lips curved into a smile. A very good feeling.

‘Not yet. Dinner is set for eight in the presidential suite.’

She glanced at the sparkly evening watch on her wrist and then over her shoulder, edging ever so slightly towards the door, and as much as he found her agitation gratifying, he knew he had to sort this out. ‘Maybe I should check with the staff that everything’s good with the dinner,’ she suggested. ‘Just remind them that it’s for a party of six now…’

He shook his head benevolently, imagining this was how gamekeepers felt when they soothed nervous animals. ‘Evelyn, it’s all under control. Besides, there’s something more important you should be doing right now.’ He touched the pad of his middle finger, just one finger, to her shoulder and she jumped and shrank back.

‘And what might that be?’ she asked, breathless and trembling and trying to mask it by feigning interest in the closest photographic print on the wall. A picture of the riverbank, he noticed with a glance, of trees and park benches and some old man sitting in the middle of the bench, gazing out at the river. That wouldn’t hold her attention for long. Not when he did this…

‘You’re perfect,’ he said, lifting his hand to a stray tendril of hair that had come loose and feeling her shudder as his fingertips caressed her neck. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better pretend fiancée.’

Her eyelids fluttered as he swore she swayed into his touch until she seemed to snap herself awake and shift the other way. ‘I sense a “but” coming.’

‘No buts,’ he said, pretending to focus on the print on the wall before them. ‘We just have to get our stories straight, in case someone asks us how we met. I was thinking it would make sense to keep things as close to the truth as possible. That you were working as my PA and one thing led to another.’

‘I guess.’

‘And we’ve been together now, what, two years? Except we don’t see each other that often as I’m always on the move and you live in Australia.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘That makes perfect sense. And explains why we want to wait before making that final commitment.’

‘Marriage.’ She nodded. ‘We’re taking our time.’

‘Exactly,’ he said, slipping a tentative arm around her shoulders, feeling her shudder at the contact. ‘We want to be absolutely sure, which is hard when we only get to see each other a few snatched times a year.’

‘Okay. I’ve got that.’

‘Excellent.’ He turned towards her. Put a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes. ‘But there’s one thing you don’t get.’

‘I knew there was a but coming,’ she said, and he would have laughed, but she was so nervous, so on edge, and he didn’t want to spook her. Not when she was so important to him tonight.

‘This one’s simple,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is relax with me.’

‘I’m perfectly relaxed,’ she said stiffly, sounding more like a prim librarian than any kind of lover.

‘Are you, when my slightest touch…’ he ran a fingertip down her arm and she shivered and shied away ‘…clearly makes you uncomfortable.’

‘It’s a dinner,’ she said, defensively. ‘Why should you need to touch me?’

‘Because any red-blooded man, especially one intending to marry you and who doesn’t get the chance to see you that often, would want to touch you every possible moment of every day.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed. You see my problem.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

Her eyes were wide and luminous and up close he could see they were neither simply green nor blue but all the myriad colours of the sea mixed together, the vibrant green where the shallow water kissed the sand, the sapphire blue of the deep water, and everything in between. And even though she was supposed to be off limits, he found himself wondering what they’d look like when she came.

‘I find practice usually makes perfect.’

She swallowed, and he followed the movement down her slender throat. ‘You want to practise touching me?’

Fascinated, his thumb found the place where the movement had disappeared, his fingers tracing her collarbone and feeling her trembling response, before sliding around her neck, drawing her closer as his eyes settled on her too-wide lips, deciding they weren’t too wide at all, but as close to perfect as they could get.

‘And I want you to practise not jumping every time I do.’

‘I…I’ll try,’ she said, a mist rolling in over her eyes, and he doubted she even realised she was already swaying into his touch.

He smiled as he tilted her chin with his other hand, his thumb stroking along the line of her jaw. ‘You see, it’s not that hard.’

She blinked, looking confused. ‘I understand. I…I’ll be fine.’

But he had no intention of ending the lesson yet.

Not when he had such a willing and biddable pupil. ‘Excellent,’ he said, tilting her chin higher, ‘and now there’s just one more thing.’

‘There is?’ she breathed.

‘Of course,’ he said, once again drawing her closer, his eyes once again on her lips. ‘We just need to get that awkward first kiss out of the way.’