Читать книгу The Dare Collection September 2019 - Stefanie London - Страница 22

THE FIRST THING I realised on accepting Mr Evans’s deal was that I had nothing to wear. Or at least nothing that a ‘serious girlfriend’ would wear to a billionaires event in Dubai.

I didn’t wear dresses or skirts or make-up—I hadn’t since my mother had died—and had never seen any reason to start. But even I knew that I was probably going to have to scrub myself up for this. Sadly, my chauffeur’s uniform—the nicest, most professional clothing I had—was probably not going to work.

Which meant I was going to have to buy something nicer.

However, that required a level of female know-how I did not have.

A couple of my flatmates could have helped, but I was reluctant to tell them what was going on. They knew me as Ellie the chauffeur and the thought of asking them to help me buy dresses made me feel strangely self-conscious.

Luckily, Mr Evans had an assistant called Petra, who soon took charge of Operation Get Ellie Ready for Dubai by taking me out on a shopping spree the Saturday before we were due to leave.

It took me all of two seconds to realise that the shops she was taking me to were so far out of my price range they might as well have been the sun to my poor, poverty-stricken Pluto, and that there was no way I could afford it. I quickly told her the situation but she informed me crisply that this was a business trip and that Mr Evans would cover any and all expenses. Then she ignored my protests, dragging me into yet another designer shop on Bond Street.

She was very good at getting her way. Some of the dresses and skirts she made me try on I protested about, uncomfortable at seeing myself in the mirror looking so...female. But again, she ignored me. She even got me into a gown—a green thing made out of some gossamer-like fabric that wrapped around me like a second skin—and then bought it, not even blinking at the outrageous price tag.

Business expenses. Bloody hell.

Eventually I gave up protesting. If Mr Evans wanted to pay for all that bullshit, who was I to argue? He could probably pass the dresses on to his next girlfriend anyway and, besides, I had bigger things to think about.

I called Dad that night with the good news that Mr Evans wouldn’t be pulling his investment from Australis any time soon, and he seemed pleased, though, as always, it was difficult to tell.

He didn’t thank me—both of us knew that if it hadn’t been for Mark we wouldn’t have been in the position of me having to go to Mr Evans to start with.

Yet, even though I’d expected it, Dad’s response sat in my gut like a small piece of glass, cold and sharp. He didn’t ask how I’d managed to get Mr Evans to listen and I didn’t tell him.

He didn’t need to know that in return for doing what I had for Australis, I had to promise to go as Mr Evans’s date to some billionaire event in Dubai.

I still didn’t know why I’d agreed. I’d demanded at least that Mr Evans tell me his reasons for lying to some guy so he could get a bunch of islands and also get one over on his half-brother.

I hadn’t expected him to tell me, but he had. And it was clear that as much as he was angry with his half-brother for losing the money his mother had invested, he was also angry at himself, too.

The blame game was something I was familiar with myself, and I couldn’t help feeling for him. But that wasn’t why I’d agreed in the end.

It was the way he’d said ‘please.’ As if the word was foreign to him and he didn’t know its power, but had said it anyway.

And because he’d needed something from me and it had been far too long since someone had needed anything from me.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of trepidation.

Being his girlfriend would probably involve some...physical closeness. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

Watching him talk about his fights, knowing the reasons for his scars, seeing the ferocity in his face as he’d mentioned how he’d won...

The man had a chip on his shoulder the size of a redwood and I don’t know why that fury fascinated me so much, but it did. Like a moth drawn to a burning bonfire, I was compelled towards him.

He was so fierce and passionate. So unlike the reserved, laconic men I’d been brought up with and worked with at Australis.

Sex might not be part of the girlfriend deal but there was a part of me that hoped it would be.

A few days after the shopping trip, my bags packed and ready, I was in the weird position of being the one picked up for a change.

Mr Evans insisted that we go to the airport together—and since we were supposed to be a couple, he had a point.

He drove his own car this time, a massive Land Rover that seemed appropriate given he was a property developer and into construction.

Automatically and by instinct, I headed towards the driver’s side only to have him give me a narrow look. ‘I’m driving, remember?’ he reminded me. ‘It’s my car.’

‘Oh, right. Sure.’ I gave him a sheepish grin.

It felt strange not having the wheel in front of me and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. So I gripped onto my seat belt as he took us to London City Airport, where we’d catch his company’s jet to Dubai.

He drove with the kind of aggressive confidence I’d expected of him, talking via speakerphone the whole time, dealing with site issues, property concerns, something legal to do with a contract and then some kind of staffing problem. He dealt with it all with authority and a bluntness that probably added to his fearsome reputation, yet I found myself admiring it.

No wonder people didn’t know how to deal with him in the UK. He wasn’t polite and he didn’t play by the normal rules, and I found that incredibly attractive. That he didn’t care what other people thought of him was also apparent, and, as someone who did care, I found the fact that he didn’t fascinating.

Dad would have been appalled.

We got to the airport, boarded the jet, and were in the air within a couple of hours and even then Mr Evans was still dealing with calls.

He paced impatiently around the cabin, filling the space with his own particular brand of vibrant electricity, and even though I sat in one of the plush leather seats, ostensibly looking through a magazine, I couldn’t help but watch him instead.

That energy was anger. I knew that now.

Given how he’d been totally shafted by his half-brother and how responsible he felt for the loss of his mother’s money, I understood how driven he was.

I was curious, though, as to why she was still living in the council estate, not to mention why he was still feuding with his half-brother, when all of that had happened so many years ago. Also, the few times he’d spoken of his father it was with nothing but contempt, and I wondered what the story was there.

Being curious about him was probably a bad thing, but I was all the same.

It was a good half hour into the flight before Mr Evans finally finished up his calls and threw himself down into the leather seat opposite mine, his blue gaze like a slap of ice water across my hot skin.

He stared at me for a full minute at least, then said, ‘So, tell me how Australis got into trouble.’

Every muscle in my body gathered tight. ‘Wh-what?’

‘I’ve been looking over the financials and it does seem as though there are some issues.’ His stare became sharper. ‘Which is odd because it seemed like a good bet when we made our initial investment. You want to tell me what the problem is?’

I should have expected him to ask, especially considering it was his money he’d invested, but that didn’t change the sudden and intense need to change the subject. Because I really did not want to have to explain to him about how my mismanagement of the Mark incident had turned what should have been a minor problem into a giant mistake.

‘There was a...staff issue,’ I said, deliberately vague. ‘We lost one of our best designers.’

‘And why was that?’

‘He had to be let go for...certain reasons.’ My hands had crept into my lap, my fists clenched.

Mr Evans frowned. ‘What reasons?’

It was stupid to feel so tense about confessing the truth to him. So I’d made a mistake in my handling of it. So what? Anyway, I didn’t have to say it was me, did I?

I swallowed. ‘He harassed a staff member. There was a fuss so Dad paid him to keep quiet and go away. It was a lot of money.’ Too much money. But Dad hadn’t wanted it to become public. He’d met Mark’s demands without protest and hadn’t said a word to me about it. But I knew he was angry at how I’d handled it. If I hadn’t gone and hurt Mark, it wouldn’t have been such an issue.

Mr Evans’s gaze had got very narrow, sapphire glinting from beneath his thick black lashes. ‘And Australis struggled after that?’

‘We couldn’t get another designer that good. I tried to fill in, but...’ I trailed off. No need to tell him that Dad had never been satisfied with my work after that, no matter how hard I’d tried.

A silence fell and it wasn’t a comfortable one, not with Mr Evans’s gaze on me, concentrated as an X-ray.

‘It was you,’ he said suddenly. ‘You were the person who got harassed.’

Of course he’d guess. He wasn’t a stupid man by any stretch.

Who cares that he knows? You shouldn’t. It was nothing, remember? Nothing at all.

I forced myself to look at him. Forced myself to smile. ‘Yeah, but it was no big deal.’

Mr Evans didn’t smile. He went very still instead, a feral light glowing in his eyes. ‘Did he hurt you?’

But I didn’t want to go into it. ‘It wasn’t a drama, honestly.’

‘Did. He. Hurt. You?’ Each word was bitten off, a rough thread of anger running through his voice.

I wanted to ask him why he cared so much, but I was afraid of the answer for some reason, so I didn’t. ‘Not physically.’

‘And your father paid him off? Why? He didn’t defend you? Get the police involved?’

‘No,’ I snapped, feeling defensive. ‘Dad didn’t want any fusses made. And I’d made it into this big deal already.’

Mr Evans’s expression settled into forbidding lines. ‘And how exactly did you make it a big deal?’

‘Mark grabbed me, so I... I kind of...kneed him in the balls.’

An electric-blue flame leapt in Mr Evans’s eyes and it looked suspiciously like approval. ‘Good,’ he said fiercely.

‘No, it wasn’t good.’ I tried to ignore the warmth that approval had ignited inside me. ‘I shouldn’t have done anything. I should have just...handled it. But Mark told everyone that I’d assaulted him and Dad didn’t want to deal with it. So he paid Mark to be quiet and leave.’

‘He shouldn’t have.’ Mr Evans leaned forward abruptly in his seat, his voice low and savage. ‘He should have hauled that motherfucker down to the station and booked him.’

I blinked at his vehemence and the ferocity in his gaze. ‘Well, he didn’t. Why does it matter to you, anyway?’

‘My mother was my father’s maid. He seduced her and she ended up living hand to mouth in a council estate with a child she got no support for.’ Bitterness edged each word. ‘I know what workplace harassment can do to a woman. And yes, I care about it.’

His ferocity was a physical force. A shock wave pushing against me. ‘Apart from anything else, I don’t like people taking advantage of others more vulnerable than they are.’ He put a hand on each of the armrests on either side of my seat, a wall of hot male anger. ‘In fact, you’re damn lucky I wasn’t anywhere around this Mark bastard when he grabbed you. Because if I had been, he wouldn’t have had any balls left for you to knee.’

He was threatening like this, his anger not directed at me but for me. A protective anger. An anger that Dad had never displayed, not once. No, his had always been at me. As if Mark grabbing me had been my fault.

I didn’t know why desire hit me so hard in that moment, a surge of it spiking in my blood. Because it shouldn’t have. I didn’t need a man getting protective of me—hell, I’d kicked bloody Mark straight in the family jewels, hadn’t I? I could protect myself.

But some part of me liked that Mr Evans was angry on my behalf. I could imagine him at the Australis Christmas party, standing behind me, big and scarred and dangerous. Scowling that famous scowl. A wordless threat to anyone who thought touching me was a good idea.

And he wouldn’t have cared about making a fuss as Dad had.

No, he wouldn’t have cared about that one single iota.

He would have been on my side.

I wanted him suddenly and very, very badly.

And he must have seen it, because his gaze became very focused. ‘You like that idea, don’t you?’ His voice dropped almost an entire octave.

‘Yes.’ Very purposefully, I put my hands over his where they rested on the armrests of my seat, his skin searing my palms. ‘I do.’

‘That’s very bloodthirsty.’

‘You have a problem with a woman being bloodthirsty?’

‘Fuck, no. But fair warning, pretty thing. It turns me on.’

I shivered. I shouldn’t goad him and yet I couldn’t stop. ‘I don’t mind if you’re turned on.’

The expression on his face got taut. ‘You might. Because if you keep touching me like that, we’re having sex. Understand?’

Oh, I understood. I was very clear. And the more I stared into his eyes, the more I wanted him and the less my doubts about it seemed to matter.

I couldn’t even remember why I hadn’t wanted to have sex with him again in the first place. It was only sex. Not a big deal.

‘That’s going to be difficult in Dubai,’ I said huskily. ‘I mean, presumably couples who are serious have to touch each other. And it’ll look weird if we don’t.’

The look in his eyes became scorching. ‘You want to get in some practice, then?’

If I thought about this too long I’d get cold feet.

I needed to stop thinking.

I leaned forward, running my hands up his strong forearms, trailing my fingers over hot skin and powerful muscle.

And kissed him. Hard.