Читать книгу The Dare Collection June 2019 - Rachael Stewart, Faye Avalon - Страница 13

The warehouse in the Meatpacking District in Manhattan where the latest series of Raider’s Den was being filmed had been decorated to resemble a pirate ship. Treasure chests with costume jewellery spilt out over red embroidered silk strategically placed around a wide rectangular platform on which were set six throne-like antique leather armchairs.

On the far side of the wall hung two banners with a matte black imprint of a skull and crossbones denoting the show’s name. The rest of the space was draped in blood-red curtains, cherry-oak tables and black, red and white spotlights.

The whole marauder vibe added dramatic tension to the show and even though I wanted to roll my eyes as my heels clicked on the hardwood plank from the audition area towards my designated seat, I had to grudgingly admit that the set designer had done a fabulous job. The scene was perfect. Enough to make me tingle.

Applicants who braved the plank to present their ideas had to bring their A games. The formidable panel wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

I’d arrived an hour early not just to stop the butterflies in my stomach from turning into crows, but also so as not to be wrong-footed in any aspect of this project.

But Damian was already there, seated in prime position in the centre, once again impeccably dressed in a bespoke three-piece suit, one ankle resting casually on his knee.

It would’ve been cheap and snarky to mock his need to project his presence but the chair could easily have been a minor accessory. It in no way detracted from his imposing presence.

He didn’t even need the spotlight poised above his head that would be activated when filming started. From producers to make-up artists to film crew, eyes flickered to him with the frequency of homing beacons.

He remained oblivious to all of it, his gaze on the document he perused.

My heels echoed louder the closer I got to him and he raised his head when I was a few feet away.

Intelligent, piercing hazel eyes flicked to me, dropped in a quick skim over my body before rising. ‘Neve. Glad you made it.’

I delivered a neutral smile. ‘And with a whole hour to spare.’

Long, capable fingers tapped his ankle as his eyes conducted another sweep over me. ‘The commute from out of town wasn’t horrendous, I hope?’

I wasn’t going to be impressed that he’d remembered my flagship resort was based in Westport, Connecticut. It hadn’t mattered an iota when he’d advised Malcolm Cahill to kill the affiliation deal without giving me a chance to argue my case for my business and home. ‘I’m staying in town this week. To avoid any unforeseen timing issues.’

One sleek eyebrow lifted at my chilled tone. ‘Am I still not forgiven for arriving at the meeting late?’

I shrugged. ‘Forgiveness, like trust, is earned.’

He paused for a long stretch. ‘The cameras aren’t rolling, Neve. No need to show your claws just yet. We’re all friends here.’

My stupid breath caught at how easily he said the words. How unnervingly sincere he sounded. How could I not have spotted this two years ago? Oh, yes. Lust completely blinded me. ‘This is all a game to you, isn’t it?’

He tensed. ‘Beg your pardon?’

I waved a hand around the room. ‘All this is one giant playground for you to roll around in, isn’t it? What do you do, get up in the morning and roll a dice and decide who you’re going to meddle with?’

Hazel eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.’

My hackles rose. ‘Of course you don’t. Must be hard to keep track of your games when you’ve been at it for as long as you have.’ My voice dripped with bitter acid.

His face grew tauter, his lips twisting with that unique mixture of amusement and cynicism. ‘I’m attempting to get back into your good graces but I see I’m wasting my time here.’

The utter nerve. ‘It’ll take more than a half-smile and a courteous enquiry about my commute to achieve that, Mr Mortimer.’

He grimaced. ‘Can we drop this bloody Mr Mortimer crap? It’s getting a little tedious, don’t you think, Neve?’ he asked pointedly, and raised a hand when I opened my mouth. ‘We’re supposed to be business competitors but only up to a point. You throwing out that rigid formality I hear in your voice won’t make for good television.’

‘On the contrary, I think the high prospect of me clawing your eyes out for a deal is exactly what will keep viewers’ interest.’

His gaze dropped to the fingers wrapped around my coffee cup. ‘I think you should save the clawing for something more...beneficial.’

I thoroughly despised myself for the hot throb that started between my thighs. I counteracted it by moving to the seat farthest from him. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Mortimer. I’m great at multitasking.’

He muttered something under his breath. Something that made my temperature kick up for no reason. ‘What did you say?’

His mocking smile said he wasn’t going to repeat it. ‘You’re in the wrong seat.’

‘I didn’t realise the seats were assigned.’

‘They aren’t. But as Executive Producer, I have a little discretion. And I prefer you next to me. Besides, Nate has already bagged that seat.’

I gave a challenging little laugh. ‘Are you sure you want me next to you?’

The rapier-sharp retort I expected didn’t materialise. Instead a cloud drifted over his face, his expression mirroring the one I saw yesterday when his phone rang. Now, like then, I wanted to ask if everything was okay. If he was okay. I staunched the absurd urge. If I wanted to play in the big leagues, I couldn’t be blinded by emotion. Not unless I wanted to be chewed up and spat out again.

‘It makes for good optics, according to those who’re fussed about such things,’ he replied in his crisp accent. Except his voice was colourless. Flat. As were his eyes. ‘Totally up to you whether you want to take it up with the producers, of course.’

Oh, how very neat of him to lob the ball back in my court. Make it impossible for me to do anything but take the seat he preferred. Because how much of a diva would I be if, as one of the newest members of the group, I started throwing my toys out of the crib over seating arrangements?

I swallowed my reservations, urged my runaway pulse to calm the hell down and took the seat to his right.

A hint of a smile twitched his mouth. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me just yet. You might live to regret it.’ A part of me already regretted it after one whiff of his aftershave immediately threw me back to when I’d experienced that scent up close and very personal.

‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ he answered cryptically.

The other mentors’ arrivals put paid to our conversation. Final instructions were given, we were miked up and official shooting began.

The first contestant’s pitch was mediocre and unanimously dispatched. Nate snapped up the second participant’s golf-ball-retrieving invention suited to his golf-based hotels.

Brian and Gary battled over the next two contestants and decided to partner up in the end.

I swallowed my disappointment as the last contestant of the day pitched a sex-centric app that held zero interest for me.

It set the tone for the next few days.

By Friday afternoon my nerves were fried from being subjected to Damian for several hours a day. It was no use telling myself I shouldn’t have let him goad me into taking the seat next to him. I was committed for the duration of the series.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to deny with every ounce of my being the hyperawareness generated by being this close to him. It really wasn’t fair that he was so jumpable. And the guy didn’t just look good. His aftershave made my mouth water with every breath I took and the smug bastard knew it, if his lingering glances when the camera swung away from us were any indication.

I gritted my teeth and attempted to focus on the producer’s notes. Three more presentations before filming ended for the next five days. Another couple of hours and I’d be on my way home. I loved hotels, especially boutique hotels with their own charming identity, but I’d grown tired of New York.

I preferred the tranquillity and fresh air that surrounded my Westport resort, had done ever since my first visit to my grandparents’ B & B when I was eight. The unforgettable summer when the planets had aligned and my mother and her estranged parents had attempted to patch up their differences.

The trip had been an unmitigated disaster, and by the time Mom had bundled me into her beat-up Corolla, their relationship had strained beyond repair. Somehow the blame for that had landed at my feet, just as every misfortune that occurred to Priscilla Nolan somehow found its root cause at my existence.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped my mother from dumping me on my grandparents every school holiday after that summer.

But as much as it’d hurt to know I was a burden she couldn’t wait to be rid of whenever the opportunity arose, I’d treasured the visits to Connecticut, had grown to love the quaint Quaker two-storey characterful B & B painted a buttercup-yellow.

Almost as much as I’d treasured the relationship with my grandparents. In their eyes, I’d seen the dashed hopes and dreams they’d harboured for their own relationship with my mother and had striven to make up for that emptiness, selfishly absorbing the affection lacking in my own relationship with my parent.

Finding out they’d left their beloved property to me in their will had seemed like a sign, a way to hang onto their legacy and to keep their memory alive; a way to hold onto a precious connection filled with love and compassion, not disappointment and bitterness.

The moment I’d scraped a decent business plan together, I’d poured my heart and soul into making my dream come true. I might have five other resorts on the East Coast, but the Westport branch of Nevirna remained my favourite place in the world.

I couldn’t return just yet though. Not until I’d achieved my end goal and knocked Damian Mortimer to his knees.

‘Something wrong with the notes?’ the man asked, igniting a deeper awareness that made my body hum as he approached where I stood in one corner of the converted warehouse.

‘What?’ This little light-headedness whenever his raw masculinity hit me was becoming a problem.

‘You’ve been staring at that paper for the last five minutes and you’re wearing an adorable little frown. Did the producers miss something?’

I opened my mouth to chastise him for ruining my concentration but the words that tumbled from my lips were the last I expected. ‘Did you just call me adorable?’

His lips twitched. ‘What if I did?’

‘I’d remind you that we’re in the workplace. I could sue your ass for saying things like that.’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘You’re in a tetchy mood. Anything I can help with?’

Yes. Stop looking so damn mouth-watering. Stop wearing those ties that match your eyes and make them look so incredible that I want to keep looking into them. I need clarity of purpose.

‘Unless you have a time machine handy, no.’

Speculation flickered through his eyes. ‘You’re in a rush to get somewhere?’

Reluctant to tell him I missed my cottage by the lake, I shrugged. ‘I’m a hands-on boss with a demanding business to run.’

‘And business is your only reason?’

I frowned, irritated that I’d given myself away somehow even before I’d been able to formulate a clear plan of how I’d get Damian in my bed. ‘What other reason would there be? And why would it concern you?’

The flicker in his eyes intensified. ‘You’ve sat next to me all week. I know you’re intense when a pitch interests you but otherwise you’re frustratingly... buttoned-up. Maybe I’m interested in what else makes you tick.’

This was my chance to test the waters. ‘It’s a little late, isn’t it? Didn’t we already put the cart before the horse, so to speak?’

Shadows crossed his face but he still shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re not the only one who craves time machines.’

My breath knotted in my throat. ‘You sound like you have regrets.’

‘A bloody boatload of them.’ His gaze met mine, and a wave of heat slammed into me. ‘But in other ways, I wouldn’t change a thing.’

Right. The sex had served its purpose, insulated him from whatever demons had hounded him that night for a little while. Even if he’d regretted it after, he’d still indulged himself.

His asshole ways, however, were ones he wouldn’t change. Not if it allowed him to walk away with the deal that should’ve included me.

‘Well, I’m not interested in your little getting-to-know-you expedition, so save us both the time-wasting, hmm?’

His gaze swept down for a moment, his mouth twisting ruefully. ‘It might make for good television but, as sexy as they are, I’m growing weary of you glaring at me all the time. You have a spectacular smile. I’d love to see it again.’ His low, deep voice shot flames straight to parts of my body that made me want to clench my thighs.

‘The whole point of a one-night stand is that it’s uncool to keep bringing it up.’

He stepped closer and leaned against the wall next to me. The stance threw his body into a sexy position that made my heart beat faster.

‘Do you regret it?’ he demanded abruptly, a throb of something indefinable in his voice.

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisted the urge to lie and tell him that I regretted every moment of it. ‘I’m an adult. I made a consensual decision to sleep with you, and the experience wasn’t awful.’ I should’ve left it at that, but again my tongue got the better of me. ‘Do you?’

Aquiline nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his gaze dropped hungrily to my mouth before rising again. ‘I regret certain aspects of it.’

I was weak enough to step through the door he’d left open. ‘Which aspects?’

His silence lasted a few seconds too long. ‘There was a...recklessness I could’ve done without. I’m not the type of man who follows women to their hotel rooms.’

‘Because you’re too busy fending them off when they throw themselves at you? Got it.’

He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed...weary. Worn down by a heavy weight. I steeled myself, yet again, from asking what that burden was. ‘What’s it going to take for you to change your mind about me?’ he rasped.

‘Admitting you fucked up would be a great start,’ I returned sharply.

‘I didn’t fuck up. I fucked you and I don’t mean that even remotely metaphorically. I fucked you as thoroughly and enjoyably as you fucked me,’ he breathed in that low, lethal voice, his simmering stare starting fires in all the right places. ‘That’s what pisses you off, isn’t it? You wish you could dismiss it as the worst fuck you’d ever had but you can’t because we were that good together. Admit it.’

‘You’re wrong. I never disparage good sex. Treacherous assholes, however...’

His face clenched tighter than I’d ever seen it. ‘Excuse me?’

From behind his shoulder I spotted the producer heading our way. ‘Don’t worry. I hear what goes around, comes around. And this time, I’m going to come out on top.’

The satisfaction I should’ve felt walking away was marred by the distinct notion that I was playing with lethal fire.