Читать книгу Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas - Rachael Stewart - Страница 16

FIVE DAYS SINCE I’ve seen her.

Five days since she told me to finish my shower and leave.

I’d blame it on the fact that I lost my load like an inexperienced fool if not for the fact she was so turned on by it. She told me so herself and I believed her. It was written on her face…in her actions.

And then her watch beeped and she morphed into someone else entirely.

A cold replica.

She had no time for me…for us.

Not that there would ever be an ‘us’—but, hell, in that moment in her kitchen…before, during, after… I felt things shift between us. I thought it felt right, picking up where we’d left off ten years prior, saying to hell with everyone and everything else.

Clearly I was wrong.

She offered no explanation. Nothing. As if I didn’t even warrant one. And I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of grovelling for justification.

I cleaned up, dressed and left.

Two days later Monday morning hit, and my PA informed me that my meeting with her had been scheduled for a week Friday.

I laughed. Actually laughed. Did she really think she could keep me hanging on for two weeks like some insignificant prospect?

But you’ve only got yourself to blame.

I’ve hardly covered myself in glory, following her around like some fool, giving her the impression she can wrap me around her little finger.

But no more.

It’s time she saw the real me. The one who stays in control.

So now I’m here, in her building, more than a week early and ready to face the music.

I know she’s not going to like this, but I have a score to settle. Not just professionally, but personally too.

‘Mr Waring, I’m afraid Miss Beaumont has an appointment with Houston Logistics right now,’ her PA says to me, her smile polite but confused. ‘I believe we have an appointment scheduled for next week on Friday?’

I give her a smile loaded with charm. ‘That was the case, but Houston and I have decided to swap.’

‘To…swap?’

Her brows lift past the rim of her thick black glasses and I want to laugh. It’s a worrying sign. Laughter tells me that I’m nervous. And I’m never nervous.

Control, Lucas. Control.

I clear my throat and slot my hands into my pockets, letting my eyes drift across the office and back to her. ‘That’s right. We—’

‘Lucas?’

Eva.

My pulse skips a beat. Her sudden presence triggers an adrenaline shot and I’m slow to turn to face her, to neutralise it.

‘Evangeline, it’s good to see you.’

Good? Christ. ‘Good’ has nothing on the reality.

She’s striking in pink today. A simple shirt that looks anything but simple clings to her curves and disappears into a tight black skirt. Her legs are exposed from the knee down and accentuated by heels that trigger a carnal hit, making me think about things that have no place in this room right now.

Control.

I drag my eyes back up to her hair—something innocent. It’s twisted high on her head, smart and professional and sexy as fuck.

Dammit all.

I meet her eyes. They’re bright. Their blue depths alive and popping. I could say it was down to effective make-up, but I know it’s her reaction to me.

And then I find my control. I’m not alone in this. She feels it too.

It puts us on an even footing, at least.

My chest eases and I step forward, offering my hand. She eyes it suspiciously before taking it for the briefest handshake I’ve ever experienced. But I feel the current that sparks between us, and I see it reflected in her dilated gaze as she looks up at me.

‘I’m afraid I’m too busy to see you today.’ She crosses her arms, her lips giving a delightful little tremble as she breathes. ‘If you’d called ahead we could have saved you the disappointment.’

She looks past me to her PA.

‘Clare, when are Mr Waring and I scheduled to meet?’

‘Well, you—’

‘Now.’ I cut over her. There’s no point dragging this out. ‘Shall we…?’

I gesture to the open door behind her. Her office. But she’s busy looking at her PA, as though she needs saving, and I allow myself a momentary sense of satisfaction because I’ve unsettled her.

It doesn’t beat my experience last Friday night. No, I had the rug well and truly pulled out from beneath me then. But it’s a start.

‘It seems Mr Waring and Houston Logistics have made an arrangement to swap appointment slots.’

I almost feel sorry for her PA as her voice pitches, and I know she can sense the undercurrent between us.

‘Swap?’ Eva looks at me incredulously. ‘Clare, could you ring and confirm that’s the case?’

‘Sure.’

‘No need—use my mobile.’ I extract my phone. ‘Houston’s in my recently dialled—we played in a golf tournament Sunday. Great chap.’

‘Of course you did.’

She doesn’t take my phone—she doesn’t spare me another glance. She simply turns on her heel and starts for her office.

‘Clare, would you mind bringing me a coffee, please?’

Something tells me she wants something stronger than coffee, and I have to stop myself from grinning.

‘No problem.’ Her PA looks at me, hesitant. ‘Can I get you one too, Mr Waring?’

I force my attention off Eva’s elegant curves as she strides away—she’s so damn sexy when she’s pissed off. ‘Black, no sugar. Thank you,’ I say, and follow her in.

Her office is contemporary. A geometric pattern adorns the grey walls, but there are splashes of colour everywhere. Splashes of her. It has a bright couch with co-ordinating chairs, and a glass coffee table adorned with industry magazines. Her desk is large, a mixture of modern glass and old twisted oak. Interesting, fascinating…just as its owner.

I close the door behind me and wait for her to offer me a seat. Actually, I’m waiting for the eruption that I sense is coming.

She’s standing at the room’s only window, looking out. From here, I can’t make out what she sees, but I’m guessing it’s the park across the road. Her building is in a residential area of the city—it’s pleasant. Especially on a day like today, when the sun is out, not a cloud in sight.

Her shoulders lift as she takes a long, drawn-out breath. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t have the decency to let me know about your little arrangement with Houston.’

Her voice is brittle. As if I’ve done something to offend her. As if it’s me who kicked her out and not the other way around. My teeth grind.

Control, Lucas. Today is about business.

Except it’s not.

If it was purely work I would have left it until next week to prove my company’s worth. Instead I’m here now, trying to push past Friday night.

‘An oversight—my apologies.’

My tone is careful, restrained, and she turns to me.

If looks could kill…

‘I like to feel prepared for my meetings, don’t you?’ she asks.

She has a point. ‘Of course.’

She walks to her desk and wakes up her computer. ‘Then you’ll understand my request to rearrange.’

I laugh before I can stop it and her eyes flash to me.

‘Something funny?’

‘Look, I’m here with the perfect deal, tailored to your product—there’s nothing you need to prepare. Unless…’

I look at her—really look at her. The quick undulation of her chest is giving away her rapid breath, and there’s a persistent flush to her skin. I had it tagged as annoyance, but now I’m not so sure.

I close the distance between us and she backs up, her eyes widening. ‘What is it, Evangeline? Did you want more time in the hope that whatever this is between us would go away?’

She scoffs and looks back to her screen. ‘So bloody full of yourself, aren’t you?’

I raise my hands in defence. ‘You’re the one acting all angry. A simple switch in meetings shouldn’t warrant this. Although, let’s be honest, it’s me who got the brutal rejection—a naked one at—’

‘Stop it, Lucas.’

‘What? Reminding you of the truth? Of what we were about to do before that—’

‘Look, you want to talk business? Fine. Let’s do that.’

She drops into a seat and gestures for me to do the same. She won’t look at me, though, and I’m itching to push my luck, to walk around her desk and lift her chin, force her to accept it’s still there, riding strong.

‘But stick to business, Lucas, or you’re out.’

I move to the seat she’s offered me and stand before it. ‘Just tell me one thing…’ I shouldn’t ask, and part of me doesn’t want to know, but… ‘What changed?’

She looks up at me, eyes hesitant, the bob of her throat giving her away. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You do know what I mean. One minute we’re having the best sex of our lives…’ I see her entire body clench, her fingers fisting over her keyboard, and I know she’s fighting it—fighting the heat the memory triggers. ‘The next your watch tells you something and you turn into an ice queen… So what gives?’

She closes her eyes, her fingers relaxing over the keys, and I can’t bear it. She’s shutting me out and I want to know why.

‘Or should the question be—who?’

Her lashes lift. Her eyes are unreadable—hatefully unreadable. There was a time I could have read her like a book, but this new skill she has is driving me crazy. All the more so because I’m letting it get to me.

‘That has no place in this conversation.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Positive.’

She looks at her phone and activates the screen, calm as the day outside. ‘I have another meeting this afternoon, so I suggest we get on with this.’

I feel my mouth gape and quickly snap it shut.

‘I’ll find out what’s keeping Clare first.’

She stands and leaves. Her absence is just as frustrating as her presence.

‘That has no place in this conversation…’

That makes the reason personal. And if it’s personal, does that mean she has another man? Was it guilt that had her kicking me out?

I can’t believe it of her. The Eva I know wouldn’t be unfaithful, no matter how strong our connection. But if it’s not another man…

I look to her phone on the desk. Whatever that notification was, there’ll be a record of it on there. The temptation to lift it and take a chance on it being unlocked, or possessing an easy-to-guess PIN is there, but I’m not going to sink that low. I’m not.

As if I’ve summoned it, the phone starts to flash with an incoming call: Nate.

Something twists deep inside me and I feel I have my answer.

She took me back to her place straight off the back of seeing her parents. Their hold over her wasn’t enough to stop it. But Nate…

My lip curls; the bitter, acrid taste of betrayal stings my throat.

I let him get between us before, there’s no way I’ll let it happen again.

This contract was important enough when it was purely business—now it just got personal, real personal, and I’ll do everything within my power to see it signed. Pull every trick in the book if I have to.

She will sign it.

And do a whole lot more if I have my way.

The business is revenge enough, but Eva… She’s the icing on the cake.

As I walk back into my office, I notice two things that stop me in my tracks.

Firstly, Lucas has made himself at home, and I don’t want to feel the excited rush that comes with the sight. His jacket is slung over the back of his chair and he has his laptop propped open as he taps away, his crisp white shirt rippling with the movement of his shoulders, his hair falling forward over his forehead.

Too appealing. Too comfy.

Secondly, my phone has moved. It now sits alongside his laptop and my eyes rest there as my heart lurches.

Has he…? Could he have…? It’s my birthdate—would he remember?

He turns his head to look at me, but barely acknowledges my presence before he looks back to his screen and slides my phone across the desk, to where it was before.

‘It kept ringing, so I silenced it.’

I come alive at his voice—so matter-of-fact, so deep and thrilling. ‘Right. Sorry.’

Jesus. Why am I apologising? I remember the coffees I’m holding on to and kick the door closed behind me before striding over and slapping one down next to him.

‘It’s not quite barista standard but it does the job well enough.’

‘Thank you.’

His lashes lift but I don’t wait for our eyes to meet—not at this proximity. Not even excusing myself on the pretence of chasing up Clare has helped me get my head back in the game. I quickly scoot to my side of the desk, putting a whole chunk of glass and wood between us. Better.

‘Don’t you want to see who’s been calling? They’ve been quite persistent.’

He doesn’t look at me as he asks the question but there’s an edge to his tone—something that has my skin prickling.

‘It can wait.’

Now he looks at me and his eyes are cold, piercing. ‘You sure about that?’

I swallow. ‘Yes.’

‘I think you should at least check.’

He’s goading me, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t stop curiosity getting the better of me. I reach out and activate the screen, glancing at it with my trusty poker face. Not that I think it will fool him.

Three missed calls. Nate.

Shit.

I shut the screen down and lean back in my chair, taking my coffee with me. ‘I’ll call him back later.’

‘Three missed calls, though,’ he pushes. ‘Could be urgent?’

I give a dismissive shrug and his eyes lower briefly, burning into the fabric of my blouse. It’s buttoned high, it’s perfectly decent, and yet I feel as if he’s stripped me. Heat swamps my belly, my breasts, my nipples prickle against the lace of my bra.

‘It’s fine. I’ll call him back later.’

I’m repeating myself, but this time the words are harder, stronger, fed with the strength of will it’s taking for me to fight this dogged attraction. Because that’s all this can be—attraction. I don’t know Lucas now, and I don’t know the truth of what went down five years ago with Nate, or the true reason he is back. I want to think it’s for my product, but is it really?

He gives me a slow smile and closes the lid of his laptop. ‘Okay.’

I watch him take up his coffee, watch him sip at the hot, steaming liquid, and not once does he release me from his gaze. I could look away, but it feels like a challenge: first who does admits defeat.

Well, not me…

‘Shall I start from the top?’ he asks. ‘Me? My company? The basics? Or is that a bit like covering old ground?’

How is he doing it? Remaining so calm when I know he’s not? He wanted me to see that Nate had called. He wanted to test me…assess my reaction. Has he worked out it was Nate who ruined Friday too?

‘I know enough about Waring Holdings,’ I say, grateful for my projected confidence.

‘Is that so?’ He shoots me a grin as he settles back in his seat. ‘Please enlighten me.’

I wonder if this is a test too, or if he’s genuinely curious as to what I know.

I humour him, reeling off facts and figures, cities of presence, high-profile partners—the lot—and I know I’ve surprised him. I can see it in the swell of his chest, his pumped-up reaction as I feed his ego. I don’t mind doing it—not when I’m stating facts.

He runs his forefinger along his lower lip and rubs at his chin. ‘You’ve done your homework.’

‘Of course.’

I don’t want to say I knew all this anyway. That he might have been out of my life but I couldn’t help keeping tabs on him. It’s not like anyone can ignore him anyway, not when he’s splashed all over the media to enjoy.

‘I thought you said you needed time to prep for our meeting?’ he says.

My cheeks colour. He’s got me, and I look at my mug to avoid his eye, taking a sip. ‘I like to know who I’m meeting. If I’m expecting Houston Logistics, I want to see Houston Logistics.’

‘Are you saying you prefer dear old Leslie’s company to mine?’

‘I think from a distribution point of view you’re on a par.’

‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I challenge—and, God help me, my belly flutters excitedly. Sparring with him is too much fun.

He gives a soft laugh. ‘Fair enough, but I disagree. We’re not on a par. Open your email. I’ve sent you some comparisons to look at it.’

‘Comparisons?’ I place my coffee on the desk and look at my computer screen, doing as he asks.

‘Sure. I figured I’d make it easy for you. In the attachments you’ll find a whole host of competitors and the reason Waring Holdings outperforms them all.’

I open up his email and the first attachment, giving it a quick scan, and then the next, and the next.

What the hell?

‘How can you—?’

‘How can I know who I’m up against? Your launch party told me that, and my research team did the rest. I may be missing a few—in fact I’m sure I will be—but if they’re not on my radar they’re not worth worrying about.’

I can’t believe it. A thorough analysis worthy of myself or my team is laid out before me. It wouldn’t take me long to check what the reports say for accuracy, but I know in my gut that I won’t find anything to fault.

And then Nate’s words come back to haunt me—his timely text from Friday night, the multitude of communications since: You can’t trust him.

I look at Lucas now and Nate’s warning clashes with what I know for myself, with what I feel.

Why did he want me to see that Nate had called? Was it his way of saying his conscience is clear? That he’s not worried about him or what he has to say? And if his conscience is clear, then what does that say about my brother? My family?

A wave of uncertainty washes over me and I throw my focus into the spreadsheets and the words before me. But they simply blur.

Lucas left, though. The company collapsed, my brother and father dealt with the fallout, and Lucas was long gone. Why didn’t he stick around and protest his innocence? At least help? Why did he go without saying goodbye?

And there it is—the crux of it.

Christ, it was hardly like you spent any time together by then. He owed you nothing.

But the pain is there, and I know it’s a huge part of it all. He left without so much as a nod in my direction, without even attempting to clear his name with me, and he must have known the crap my family would lay at his feet.

‘What really happened?’ I say, looking at the screen.

‘Excuse me?’

I look at him now, my eyes narrowed. ‘Between you and Nate…the company?’

He stills, his posture straight as his eyes fall away from me. ‘You should talk to him about it.’

‘I’m talking to you.’

Not to mention that it’s the last thing I want to raise with Nate. He went off the rails for two years after the company collapsed, drinking heavily, socialising day and night—he was a mess. No one talks about it. Least of all me.

‘If we’re potentially going to work together, I want to hear your version of events.’

‘It’s not my place.’

‘The hell it’s not! You left when the going got tough—is that how it was? Because that’s exactly how my family see it. Things got a touch hard and you legged it, leaving them to pick up the pieces.’

Colour seeps into his cheekbones, his knuckles whiten around the mug he still holds, and his eyes harden as they land on me.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Then tell me—give me your side and I’ll consider you as equally as I am everyone else.’

‘My company stands for itself. I’m not justifying the past to you.’

‘You told me Friday night that you make it your business to know all there is about the companies you wish to work with and the people who run them. This is me doing the same due diligence.’

He leans forward in his chair and I think he is about to speak. I hold my breath, waiting. This is it: the truth, his side to balance out theirs.

‘Thank Clare for the coffee.’

What?

He places his mug on the desk and gets to his feet.

I stand abruptly. ‘You can’t leave.’

‘Changed your mind already?’

There’s humour in his words but not in his eyes.

‘We have things to discuss, to go over,’ I say.

‘It’s all there in the email. The last attachment details the arrangement I propose. I think you’ll find it fair.’

‘But—’

‘Speak to Nate, Eva, or drop the past.’

His tone brooks no argument, but how can I tell him I don’t dare have it out with my brother for fear of a relapse?

‘My business references speak for themselves. Speak to anyone about Waring Holdings and they will put your mind at ease…if it’s truly the business you’re worried about.’

He lifts his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugs it on, taking up his laptop and case.

‘My number is in the email—call me when you’re ready to talk business.’

And with that he leaves. I haven’t even managed a goodbye. I’m still floundering under the mess that is the past and the present, my family and my business—and, if I’m truly honest, my heart.

To think I had believed it possible to be around him again and keep it tucked away was ridiculous.

Maybe in some way I hoped the past would protect me, keep me safe from falling again. And maybe it would have, if not for the fact that the past as I know it—as my family know it—could well be based on a lie. Or a clever manipulation of the truth. My brother was a pro at doing both when he wanted to.

And Lucas’s words in my kitchen about his ten-year wait… They told me there was more to his rejection than I believed all those years ago.

But where does any of that leave me now?

If the company failure was down to Nate, why would Lucas want to go into business with another Beaumont? Why would he sleep with me?

I don’t want to think of it as some sort of vendetta, but I can’t help it. The rejected eighteen-year-old still inside me can’t believe his sudden turnaround. Get in business with the little sister…get in bed with her.

It makes for the greatest revenge. But…

‘I’ve had ten years to wait for this.’

Surely that shows he cares about me? Not my family, not my business, but me?

I want answers. To explain ten years ago, five years ago. I want the whole damn lot.

And that means going after him.

My phone starts to buzz, along with my watch, and I know it’s Nate again without even looking. I ignore it.

I’m going to finish going through the email. I’m going to get my meetings done for the day. And then I’m going get my head around all of this.

If only it can be as simple as it sounds.