Читать книгу Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress - Robyn Grady - Страница 12

WITH every step Cally’s whole body throbbed, so sensitive, so well used in the last twenty-four hours that she knew she couldn’t take any more—not physically. Certainly not emotionally. She tiptoed to the bathroom, leaving Blake sleeping soundly in the big bed, only partly covered by the white cotton sheet. She wasn’t going to look at him to be tempted either—much.

She was utterly exhausted. Everything seemed to be tilted topsy-turvy and she had to get away—now, or she never would. At least not still in one piece.

She splashed cold water on her face and assessed the situation. She had to concede she was in the presence of a master. Yesterday he’d started it slow, kept it almost like a date, getting her to relax by talking about her business. Then he’d got her warmed up—progressively warmer until she’d been the one to blow on the crackling embers to burst them into flame.

All they’d done since was have sex and then sleep together. Have sex some more and then sleep. Repeat again. Conversation had been minimal. Only sharing the words needed to convey pleasure and desire, need and want.

In the light of day awkwardness had barrelled into the room and was holding her up. Words now were required. And they’d build the barriers she so desperately needed. Because she was vulnerable and raw and weakly just wanted to return to the haven that was his embrace. But it was a false haven. This was meaningless for him—he’d said it from the start: just some fun with no future, no trust necessary. She didn’t like him for that.

But she’d said it too. Just sex?

All too late she realised she couldn’t play that kind of game. So, tempting as it was not to, she had to finish with him here and now.

He was sitting up in bed when she stepped back out of the bathroom. She was glad to see his perfect features bore signs of their night. His jaw was darkened by stubble, his eyes also shadowed—by fatigue.

She attempted breeziness. ‘I need to get going.’

He said nothing, just watched her with eyes that burned.

‘I have to … um …’

He slid from the bed and pulled on jeans—didn’t bother with undies or tee shirt. She lost her train of thought.

‘You want some breakfast?’ He fastened the buttons on his fly.

Had he even heard her?

‘Before you head home?’

He’d heard her all right. And he wasn’t about to argue.

‘I’ll just get my things.’

She walked out the doors—still open—to the deck by the pool. She tugged on her crumpled jeans—not bothering with the scrappy knickers or the bra hanging on the arm of the chair. She yanked on the tee, stuffed the underwear into her back pocket and hoped she wouldn’t see anyone on the street.

She turned. He was standing across the deck, leaning against the doorway with a mug in his hands, watching her every move. He sipped from the steaming liquid.

She looked around for her shoes and found them under the table.

‘You don’t even want a coffee?’

What was with his host-with-the-most act? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to escape? Before she showed how desperately she wanted back in his arms. Desperately begging for more than he could give—would ever want to give. She had pride to maintain here.

Blake had no idea how to settle her. But he didn’t want her to go yet. And he vainly searched for ways to make her stay a little longer.

‘What about brunch?’ It was way past breakfast and frankly he could do with some food. He was getting light-headed. ‘I’m good with eggs.’

He saw her nose wrinkle in distaste. ‘No, thanks. I really do need to get going. I’ve got some work I need to do.’

He watched as she looked anywhere but at him. Back to that again—denial.

‘Cally—’

‘Thanks for everything.’ She flashed the brittle smile he hated. He had another sip of coffee and let the black, lethally strong liquid fire down to his belly. Hopefully it would get his brain working. Because right now he had serious Neanderthal Man urges to overcome.

‘Cally, I think we need to talk.’ He’d rather they didn’t; he’d rather they just go back to his bed. Contact, physical contact, would sort everything if they had enough of it. And they hadn’t had enough of it yet.

The brittle smile became even more brittle. ‘Let’s not, Blake.’

‘Why not?’ Hell, what woman didn’t want to talk?

‘There’s nothing to say, is there? This was a deal. You won. I paid. Now we’re done.’

He blinked. She was referring to that stupid bet? If this was a game, he was fast forgetting the rules.

‘Our business is finished.’

‘You think?’

‘You know it is.’

Blake knew nothing of the sort. All he knew was that his perfect weekend was coming to a close and he didn’t want it to. He wanted a repeat—next weekend, please. No, that was too far away. Maybe Wednesday. Or Tuesday. Or, hell, why not tomorrow? But she’d gone all finishing school on him. Back to the frigidly polite woman who determinedly avoided his eyes so he couldn’t see the fire they both knew was still there.

She turned quickly and headed to the door.

He hastened after her. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘That’s not nec—’

‘Cally.’

She stopped her verbal protest but her body still oozed battle.

With every step towards her car he felt the energy in his body return. Tension rising until he was as pent up as he’d been all week. So much for one night being enough to get rid of it. She pressed the button on her keyring so the car beeped and its lights flashed. It was unlocked, but she’d gone as impenetrable as the Rock of Gibraltar. The need to conquer flared through him.

She reached for the handle, but he reached for her first. His eyes narrowed as he took in her frozen expression. He liked his chocolate warm and melting, not cold and hard.

He sandwiched her between the car and his body. He slid his hand around her neck and worked his fingers into the silky mass that was her hair. It looked so perfect yet felt so soft. He curled strands round his fingers and tugged, so she tilted her head up to his. Then he kissed her.

He kissed her and kissed her. Long and deep, until he felt her arms around him, felt her holding on tight and stroking him, pulling him closer. A final dig of his hips into hers gave him the moan from her that he’d been seeking—total surrender.

With strength he’d never known he had he lifted his hands from her, pressed them onto the car and levered his body off hers. Every cell in his body protested and he clamped down on all his muscles, stopping them from moving the way they so desperately wanted to—back into her. Leaning a millimetre away, he stared moodily into her face. Her lips were red and plump, the shadows under her eyes were pronounced and she wouldn’t look back at him. Hiding away. Running away.

OK, so they both needed some time and distance. But this wasn’t over. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t over.

‘See you ‘round.’

As a parting shot it was weak but it was the best he could come up with given his conflicting feelings—let alone those so obviously fighting within her. They’d take a day or so to regroup, reassess and then return to the table. Because this deal most definitely wasn’t done.

Cally drove the long way home. She should probably hate herself. Hadn’t she just done what she’d always vowed she’d never do? Paid for a guy? OK, it had been a bet that he’d won but it was still nothing more than a ‘transaction’, a coldly planned encounter that meant nothing. For whatever reason he’d wanted her and so they’d struck their bargain. There was nothing more on offer from or for either of them.

It had been heaven. Pure heaven.

Only now she felt lonelier than ever.

If she closed her eyes she could still feel him—feel the way he liked to twist and tangle his fingers in her hair. She could still taste him. Most definitely still smell him. She couldn’t shake him from her head at all. And she couldn’t help but want more. Lots more.

Cally had a soft heart. She worked hard to keep it protected because soft hearts bruised really easily and she didn’t like how much that could hurt. Her heart was already half in his hands and she knew how strong his hands were. He wouldn’t just bruise her heart, he’d crush it completely. So she had to claim it back and the only way she could do that was to remove herself from temptation.

One of the good things about being wealthy was the fact she had more than one residence. She had the apartment she used mostly when in town and she had the big sprawling manor with too many childhood memories for her to be able to use and which she rented out as much as she could. And she had the bolt-hole on the vineyard deep in the New South Wales wine country from where she could manage her business remotely when she needed country air and escape. Definitely time to take a trip—because when she went back to Sydney she wanted to have forgotten.

She spent a couple of weeks reacquainting herself with the local town and the surrounding countryside. It should have worked a treat in terms of distraction—except that every time she so much as looked at her car, let alone drove in it, she was reminded of him. She’d sell it as soon as she got back to the city.

She attributed the tiredness to lack of sleep. She worked later and later, hoping to exhaust herself to the point where she’d just collapse in bed and sleep dreamlessly. But as soon as her body hit the sheets she was wide awake and wanting to be back in his bed, not her cold, lonely one. When she finally did sleep it was only to dream—fiery dreams starring Blake and nothing but Blake, buck naked.

Memories tormented her day and night. She could still feel his body covering hers, the brush of hair on his thigh against hers, his arms tight around her waist, the fit of their bodies as they snuggled close to sleep after. All she wanted was him inside her, filling her, giving her that release. My God, she’d never realised that sex could be so addictive, so all-consuming.

Days passed and sleepless nights dragged and she started to feel like a walking wreck. The country escape had failed for the first time and she headed back to town and to work. Only once there the tiredness left her prone to illness.

‘Cally, are you OK?’ Mel called through the bathroom door.

‘Tummy bug.’

‘You shouldn’t be here. You can’t go poisoning all the customers—Health and Safety will shut us down and I’ll lose my job.’

‘What would it matter?’ Right now Cally felt so dreadful she couldn’t care less. ‘Your fiancé is loaded.’

‘It’s important to my sense of security to be financially independent. As your employee I’m ordering you to go home.’

Cally half staggered out the bathroom door and leaned on her table.

Mel looked cheeky and concerned at the same time. ‘See you.’

‘Tomorrow.’

For over a fortnight Blake tried to forget her. And failed. Finally, halfway into the third week, with his body screaming its tension to him, he accepted the fact that he was going to chase and chase hard. There’d been no contact between them since she’d left in such a hurry that Sunday morning. Regrets perhaps? He couldn’t see how anyone could regret sex that good. The only thing to regret was that they hadn’t had more.

She intrigued him—hadn’t been anything like he’d imagined she would. After the auction he’d anticipated some hardened, spoilt society heiress who’d never done a day’s real work in her life, a brat playing at being a businesswoman. But, boy, he’d been wrong. She had a brain, talent, ambition. She was able to admit to her weaknesses, able to laugh. Easy to talk to. Easy to tease.

And when he’d touched her? When she’d touched him?

Her generosity, her genuine response had floored him, fired him—no way was he not having that again.

Only this time he wanted to be better prepared and to have a plan for the future. When considering any kind of business transaction Blake was meticulous about due diligence—he’d get his info together beforehand and work out his acquisition or merger strategy from there. Cally Sinclair was no different from any other company target, she was just a personal target; that was all.

She’d declared her intention not to have a family, a fact which still, irrationally, angered him. This anger was especially stupid considering he had no intention of having a family himself. But anger aside it meant, on the face of it, they’d be a good match for a very adult arrangement—one of mutual pleasure and minimal risk. Now he just had to put the package together in such a way that she’d be unable to resist buying in. And to do that, he needed more knowledge.

He buzzed Judith into his office. She ambled in. Hell, could her belly get any bigger?

‘Sit.’ He pointed to the chair irritably. ‘How much longer are you here?’

‘Just over a month.’

He frowned. ‘Shouldn’t you be decorating the nursery or something?’

‘Or something,’ she agreed affably. ‘What can I do for you?’

Blake gave up. ‘I want to know everything about Cally’s Cuisine.’

‘The soup company?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Cally Sinclair runs it, doesn’t she?’ Her brain was quick as lightning. ‘Didn’t she buy you at the auction?’ She didn’t even try to hide her obscene level of interest.

‘Yeah.’ He watched Judith’s cunning look grow. He sighed. He didn’t want to know what she was thinking. But he needed to know more about Cally. And if anyone could find out the gossip about someone, Judith could.

‘When you say you want to know everything …?’

‘I mean, everything.’

Judith’s smile was wicked now. She rose. ‘Your wish …’

He grunted and told her to shut the door behind her. Then called through the wood. ‘As fast as possible.’

Cally leaned against the refrigerator and sighed. This tiredness was not going away, nor was the sickness. The vomiting had ceased but she still felt queasy. Mel looked at her again and Cally tried to mask the feeling she knew was all over her face.

‘Are you sure you’re well enough to be in here?’

‘I’m sure. You go get your things. I’ll be fine.’

The lunch rush was over—that time from eleven to two when Mel was run off her feet serving customers fresh, hot soup. The quiet spell came between two and three—and then picked up again as people slipped in to get a container to take home for dinner. So this was when Mel took her break and Cally took to the shop floor—if she hadn’t already. She could have one of the kitchen staff do it, but she liked keeping an eye on the customers. Seeing firsthand which soups were most popular. Talking to the customers about what they liked, what they didn’t.

Thankfully today the quiet hour was really quiet and after a few late-lunching customers Cally was able to sit on the stool behind the counter and listlessly flick through the latest addition to Mel’s pile of bridal mags. Over two thousand pages of powder-puff or meringuey dresses to choke over.

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Blake. She was getting so bad she’d decided to make a soup in his honour. Something with even more texture and bite—because he certainly had both—and one taste would never be enough. It would be so divine the customers would be beating down the door to get more. If only she could distil and bottle the essence of him she’d be a billionaire businesswoman and not merely a millionaire heiress.

She really needed to stop thinking about him, because she was not going to beat down his door. Not going to be another statistic along his highway of conquests. She’d taken her leave early and wasn’t going back. But, hell, she couldn’t stop the fantasies.

She channelled the desire and debated the bite—chilli, definitely chilli, in a big, thick soup to satisfy the hungriest of appetites. She knew what it was to be hungry and she knew how well he could fill her.

She glanced again at the clock and saw with relief the hands had finally moved and Mel should be back any moment so she could slither to her office, or maybe home. This damn bug was taking for ever to work its way out of her system. Lovesick, she mocked bitterly, that was what she was—or lust-sick.

The door opened and Cally dragged herself to her feet, not wanting to look such a layabout in front of a customer.

The blonde was pretty and as pregnant as it was possible to be. She looked puffy in the face and hot and Cally was amazed she wanted soup at all. She looked at the fridge and gave Cally a conspiratorial grin.

‘Do you have any cold soups?’

‘Like gazpacho?’

As Cally moved the nausea rose and the walls started wobbling. Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she?

‘Are you OK?’ Curious concern was clear in her customer’s gaze and Cally lowered hers to avoid it. She stared at the round belly. A sudden suspicion gripped her. She felt warmth flooding into her cheeks. She managed to ask.

‘When are you due?’

‘Just over a month.’

And the thoughts swirling in her head were so dizzying, so impossible and yet so true. She couldn’t believe it. Could hardly dare to think it. Excitement and hope and incredulity flooded her and in the craziness her brain decided it couldn’t cope—it needed to descend into darkness to meditate on the idea a while.

She came round and stared into Mel’s concerned face.

‘Cally, not again!’ Mel was on her knees beside her, clutching at Cally’s upper arms, rubbing them as if she were cold.

Cally threw her a ‘settle down’ look.

Mel wasn’t having it. ‘You have to go home. See a doctor. This has gone on too long to be some bug.’

Cally looked over to see if the customer had left. No. The pregnant woman was looking right back at her. For a suspended moment their gazes met and meshed. Recognition flowed between the two. A shared knowledge.

Cally grinned, the first huge, natural beam in three weeks. Unstoppable delight. And the curious question in the customer’s eye settled into certainty.

‘Mel, I’m fine. Really. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m fantastic.’

‘I’ve got that info you wanted.’

It was first thing the day after he’d asked her. Judith could always be relied upon to deliver the goods. He’d hired her immediately on application. She had drive, dedication and was completely and utterly competent. And she was thoroughly in love with her husband, which meant there wasn’t any risk of unwanted attraction or distraction. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replace her. She also had a social networking system like no one else he’d ever encountered. Which was why she’d been the one to hit up unsuspecting males for the bachelor auction.

Today he could see she looked agitated. Usually her eyes sparkled and good humour shone from her—even when he was being demanding. But now she looked troubled and, yes, apprehensive. He sat very still and braced himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to tell him and that gave him the feeling he didn’t want to hear it.

‘Tell all.’

‘You know the state of the business already—you can see from the sales sheet there. I’ve pulled the most recent mentions in the paper—social stories as well as business. Seems she’s pretty active in the charity scene although not obviously so. No significant male interest. In fact you could say she’s conspicuously single. She’s known as a workaholic.’

‘What else?’ He gripped the pencil that little bit tighter. ‘Spit it out, Judith.’

His secretary sighed and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think she might be pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘I think she’s pregnant.’

Blake picked up the two pieces of the pencil and tossed them into the rubbish bin by his desk, leaned back in his chair and tried, vainly, for a relaxed pose. ‘What makes you say that?’

The uncomfortable look increased. ‘I have no concrete evidence. But I do have intuition, Blake, and she was fainting and she looked at me, looked at my tummy and I just know it, Blake. I know it.’

Judith did not get things wrong. He knew to trust her judgment. If she thought there was good reason to suspect anything, then he’d suspect it.

‘Early on, I’d say. She’s not showing or anything. In fact, I think she’s still getting used to it herself. Certainly keeping it to herself—she hasn’t told her staff.’

Blake stared into middle distance. Judith’s voice faded as he thought about the possibilities. The implications. Then he remembered what she’d said—that she was never having children, that nothing was more important to her than her business. He’d assumed she meant she was covered contraception-wise. A career girl through and through. Just like Paola.

She’d better not be just like Paola.

He swore—short, sharp and loud. He was not going to be shut out again. He was not going to be robbed of all power. He’d get in there and make damn sure his baby was all right. Nothing would happen to another child of his. He wouldn’t let it—not this time.

She’d been so adamant about her business being her priority. His eyes narrowed, as did his concentration. This was the business about whose future she was unsure—how unsure? Exactly how honest had she been with him? What the hell kind of game was she playing?

He rapidly reassessed his plan. If what Judith thought was true then Cally Sinclair had no idea what was about to hit her. OK, so this wasn’t going to be some nice little beneficial-for-all merger. This was a takeover. And he was quite happy for it to be hostile, because one thing was for sure: he was going to be in control.

‘Blake?’ He heard his PA’s soft voice and when he looked at her he realised it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ She looked worried.

‘No.’ He summoned a slight grin. ‘Thanks. Head home and rest up. I’ll handle things here.’

‘It’s a few hours off home time, but I’ll leave you in peace and find something to do.’ She gave him a look but said nothing further, reminding him why he’d given her that rise. Then she stood and made for the door.

‘Judith?’ She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t need to remind you about discretion, do I?’