Читать книгу Seduced by the Rebel: The Big Bad Boss - Susan Stephens, Anne Oliver - Страница 15

SOME hours later with her hair freshly shampooed at Quentin’s preferred salon and left to curl in wild disarray almost to her waist, dressed in a short black skirt, black opaque tights and flat Mary Janes, with a tight little top that clung like sticking plaster to her breasts, Bronte wasn’t totally convinced she looked like the archetypal interviewee for the post of estate manager at Hebers Ghyll, but more importantly Quentin was pleased with her appearance and declared her ready for her interview with Heath. ‘Wouldn’t I have been better buying a tweed jacket, or something?’ she said, feeling increasingly anxious as the moment of truth approached. Craning her neck, she stared at her bottom, which was very tightly clad indeed.

‘A tweed jacket?’ Quentin demanded as if she had suggested wearing a homespun jerkin. ‘Certainly not. Heath is not just the cutting edge, he is the leading edge—the spear, the arrow, the—’

‘Okay, okay, I’m happy,’ Bronte insisted, holding up her hands.

They returned to Heath’s building where Quentin told her to wait in the anteroom to Heath’s corner office.

She could do this, Bronte persuaded herself nervously, her knees jiggling up and down as she perched on the very edge of one of the smart black leather couches. Though why she was dressed as if to seduce the boss, when that was the last thing she wanted.

She was here to persuade Heath she could be a top drawer estate manager. She was not losing her nerve. She would not be fixated on how aroused she was at the thought of seeing him again. She would definitely not be scanning Heath’s office for likely trysting opportunities. She would forget how she had felt after sex when Heath pulled away, and how deep the feeling was that what they’d done hadn’t been wrong. She would be cool and professional. They had both moved to a new place. It was a good place. It was the right place for them to be—

And then the door swung open and the breath left her lungs in a rush. Had she really thought she was ready for this? Her heart was crashing against her ribs. Her awareness levels had soared beyond the possible. Heath stood framed in the doorway like a totem to all things sexual: a deity, a yoni god, a man with eyes of stone, wearing what, on the face of it, was a casual outfit—jeans and a top—but it was the kind of easy look that reeked of money and style.

For a moment her mind was wiped clean and her mouth refused absolutely to communicate with her brain. The last time she’d seen Heath he’d been groaning—She’d been screaming—They’d been—

Thankfully, she managed to summon up an autopilot voice—faint though it was. ‘Hello, Heath.’

‘Bronte,’ he said briskly. All business. All coldly assessing as he took in her new look.

She wasn’t sure whether to be glad of Quentin’s assistance or not now. Something more low-key—something more mouse-like—might have bought her enough time to state her case clearly. Heath could convey more in one sharp stare than most men could hope to communicate in a lifetime, and that wasn’t always a good thing. ‘I’m your three o’ clock,’ she said, standing before she had too much time to analyse Heath’s expression.

‘I’m running late—so we’ll have to make this quick.’

No, we won’t, Bronte thought, frowning even as her heart beat the retreat. ‘I’ve come all this way, Heath, and I know you’re going to treat me with the same consideration you’ve treated all the other interviewees.’

Heath’s expression didn’t change. He wore a brooding look Bronte found impossible to interpret, other than to say it didn’t fill her with confidence. ‘I hope nothing’s wrong?’ she said pleasantly, determined not to be fazed. ‘I guessed these interviews mean your attitude towards the country has mellowed—’

‘Mellowed,’ Heath cut across her, raising a brow.

‘Okay, not mellowed,’ Bronte conceded, but to hell with trying to phrase her words carefully. They’d known each other too long for that. She had to be candid even if their relationship had been somewhat turbulent lately. ‘Finding time for Hebers Ghyll can’t be easy for you, but I can take those concerns away—’ The flexing of a muscle in Heath’s cheek made her pause. His dangerous appeal was working its magic. Steeling herself, she pushed on. ‘Give me a chance, Heath. Put everything else that’s happened between us since I … since you—’

‘Since we?’ Heath angled his chin.

He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. ‘Since we had sex,’ she said flatly, pressing her hands out to the side as if she were pushing the memory away. ‘I’m the best person for this job. All I ask is the chance to prove that to you, Heath.’

‘Go on, then, tell me why.’ He leaned back against the door, drinking her in as she spoke about her experience and outlined her plans for Hebers Ghyll. She was even younger than he remembered and more innocent than he cared to think about. The fiery episode in the kitchen seemed all at odds with the girl standing in front of him now. Bronte had always led with her heart, but there was something different about her today.

He had felt energy blaze between them the moment he walked into the room, but Bronte was cool now. If anything, she was cooler than he’d ever seen her. She had moved to a new level, where ironically she was almost as unreachable as he was. She intrigued him even more. She presented more of a challenge. And she might well be the right candidate for the job. He’d made enquiries in advance of this interview—taking up her references at her old college, as well as talking to people she’d worked with. Bronte was outstanding, he’d been told. She was a terrific catch for any landowner, people in the know had assured him.

Catch was about right, he thought as he stared at her. They’d known each other for what felt like for ever—they knew each other intimately, yet they didn’t know each other at all. She was certainly qualified, he just wished there had been more time to get to know what really made Bronte tick. He glanced at his wristwatch. There wasn’t time. There was never time.

Then perhaps he should make time

Bronte took a breath and waited. She didn’t know how long she could keep up this cool act with him towering over her like some feudal warlord—and one who had pleasured her with the utmost skill.

Forget that!

Forget that how? Heath’s blatant masculinity blazed in the frame of the intricate graphics framed in his office. He was both an artist and a warrior—and as hard as nails. She could forget those romantic notions she’d been nursing for the past thirteen years. Heath had no intention of softening towards her—towards anything.

‘Is it that time already?’ he said, glancing at his watch.

Her shoulders slumped. She’d barely been in his office ten minutes. Was that it?

‘Shall we go?’ he said, staring directly at her.

We? ‘Go?’ Bronte frowned. ‘Go where, Heath?’

‘As I told you, I’m running late, and I have an appointment I can’t break. We can talk on the way.’ He held the door for her.

She let out a tense breath. ‘Of course.’ It was an unusual interview, but it was an interview.

The Lamborghini was waiting at the steps of Heath’s office building. They climbed in and shot away at speed. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t like Heath’s decisive manner or that the electricity between them hadn’t increased in the confines of his car. ‘Where are we going? she said casually.

‘To the launch of one of my games.’

‘Great.’ Hmm. Okay. Not an interview opportunity—perhaps that would come later, but interesting all the same.

The grand reveal took place in London’s most prestigious store. People had been queuing round the block all night in the hope of securing the latest in the long line of hits, and now Heath had explained his premise to her Bronte could understand the enthusiasm that greeted this new game. The little guy putting one over on the bad guys would be a winner every time. And who knew better than Heath about the bad guys? Bronte mused as he escorted her inside the building with a light touch on her arm.

Heath and his team received ear-splitting applause when they took the rostrum. They looked more like a cool rock band than anything else in their motley tops and well worn jeans, fists raised to acknowledge their fans. Heath stayed on to give autographs until Bronte was sure his hand would seize up. He shot her a look halfway through that could be interpreted as: This is my home. This is where I belong—here in London with my team. It was a reminder that the only thing Heath was capable of feeling passion for was his business empire. Sex was a sporting activity like running, or sparring, or working out at the gym—something he enjoyed and was very good at, but realistically sex was only one more way to work off Heath’s excess energy.

Which didn’t prove to be nearly enough to wipe out how she felt about him.

When the signing was over they said brief goodbyes and Heath escorted her back to the car. She thought he might go back to the office, but their next stop was an upscale restaurant. Good venue to talk, she thought, initially approving Heath’s choice. But seeing him again and spending time with him had shaken her up, and she wasn’t sure she could relax in such refined surroundings. ‘Must we?’ She bit her lips, but it was too late. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Heath asked. ‘I know I am.’

Did Heath’s stare have to be quite so direct? ‘Well, yes, I am,’ she said honestly, finding it impossible to think up an excuse while Heath was raiding her thoughts. She glanced up at the chi-chi sign. Heath had brought her to one of the most famous restaurants in London. ‘I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this…’

‘But?’ he said, angling his chin.

‘It’s just a little stuffy. I don’t know if I could be myself.’ As she answered he hit the hazards and left the car. She watched him walk towards the restaurant. Not that Heath walked anywhere—he struts, he strolls, he strides, hummed through her head. Mostly, he moved as he was doing now with that confident, sexy swagger.

But it was a relief not to be entering the hallowed portals, Bronte reflected as Heath disappeared inside. Her emotions were red raw, and she didn’t fancy putting them on show for the other diners. She sat forward as Heath breezed out. ‘Well?’ she demanded as he swung back into the car.

‘I cancelled the table.’

‘I’m sorry—I hope it wasn’t a problem?’ Nothing was a problem for Heath, she thought as the Lamborghini roared. ‘So where to now?’

‘Somewhere I hope you like better—somewhere fun, where you can relax and we can talk.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ They hadn’t done enough of that. But would Heath relax? Glancing across at him, Bronte felt her cheeks burn when Heath caught her staring at him. She could tell he was still buzzing after the signing—still high on adrenalin. She wondered where he’d take her next, and decided to find out—the roundabout way. ‘Am I dressed okay for wherever we’re going?’

Heath glanced over. ‘So long as you think you’ll be warm enough.’

‘We’ll be outside?’ She had hinted that she would like to eat somewhere less stuffy than the upmarket restaurant, and there were plenty of hot-dog stands and fast food stalls around London.

‘We’ll be outside,’ Heath confirmed.

‘Will I like it?’

‘I know I will.’

Heath looked worryingly pleased with himself. She hazarded a guess. ‘Why’s that? Is there a pool table?’

‘Better than that,’ Heath said, stopping at the traffic lights.

Okay …

‘I hope it isn’t too noisy,’ she said as the lights turned to green.

‘Stop digging, Bronte. It’s somewhere you will have to relax—and when you do, maybe we can get a serious discussion going.’

Fun and a serious discussion? How did that work? she wondered, falling silent.

‘Still hungry?’ Heath demanded, powering away from the traffic lights.

Sadly, for all Bronte’s good intentions, she was starving—and not just for food.