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As if the wall would magically move and place some distance between them if she just pushed hard enough, Olivia leaned back and fought through the fog of residual desire and a rapidly descending red mist to form a lightning-fast list of defensive moves she could use without causing any lasting damage. It didn’t matter that he was bigger and stronger than she was—she’d been trained for that. Step one: verbal warning.
She opened her mouth and sucked in a sharp breath.
‘Hey, Anders, we’re going to the deli,’ a voice called, making her aware the music had stopped. ‘You coming?’
‘Did I mention I owe you one for my new call sign?’ He stepped back and responded with, ‘Right behind you.’
Olivia frowned as she exhaled. He couldn’t leave. They weren’t done yet.
‘We’ll pick this up in the morning—nine a.m.—first place on your list.’ To her complete astonishment and immeasurable irritation, he flashed a grin that knocked her on her ear. He even had the unmitigated gall to add a wink before telling her, ‘I’ll bring my own coffee.’
There. Weren’t. Words.
Olivia followed him through the door and down the hall. ‘Mr Clayton—’
‘We’re back to Mr Clayton again?’
‘This is a professional relationship, nothing more.’
‘Don’t remember agreeing to that.’
‘As I said, there are lines I won’t cross.’
‘Lack of adventure noted.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with a lack of adventure.’ She followed him down the first flight of stairs. ‘You seem to be under the impression—’
‘That you’re attracted to me?’
‘I am not—’ Her breath caught when he turned without warning and she found herself looking directly into his eyes again, up close and personal.
How did that keep happening?
Placing large hands on lean hips, he nodded firmly. ‘Add lying to me to the list: don’t do it.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Yes, you were.’
Well, yes, she was, but he couldn’t know that. What part of dealing with a lawyer hadn’t he got? Did he think she couldn’t look into his sensationally dark, fathomless eyes and conceal what she wanted? How did he think lawyers negotiated with other lawyers?
She lifted her chin. ‘You’re not the first difficult client I’ve worked with, Mr Clayton.’
‘Blake. And worked for …’
The question slipped out before she could stop it. ‘Does this tactic work for you with women?’
‘This one isn’t?’
‘No.’
‘You sure about that?’
Oh, he was annoying.
The corners of his mouth twitched with barely suppressed amusement as he dropped his hands to his sides. ‘You want something to eat before you head back?’
‘No.’ She faltered, remembering the manners drummed into her from an early age. ‘Thank you.’
‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He flashed another grin as he turned away. ‘Try not to miss me too much.’
Olivia shook her head as he jogged down the second flight of stairs. The man was unbelievable. But if he thought he had the upper hand, he was mistaken. She could maintain her professional decorum under trying circumstances. No way was she screwing up two careers inside a decade. Henceforth, she was enacting a strictly at arm’s length policy. No encouraging him through verbal engagement, no rising to the bait—even if she had to bite her damn tongue off—and if he ever got close enough to do the whole addle-her-senses thing he was so good at …
Yeah, she really couldn’t let that happen again.
Continuing down the stairs, she allowed herself a brief foray into fantasy where she could hand out a little quid pro quo. In that universe she would have the same effect on him as he had on her. She would play on it, winding him tight, getting him so hot and hard for her, he’d beg—
She took a deep breath and blew it out with puffed cheeks. Since that train of thought wasn’t helping any, she started looking for loopholes in his stupid rules as she made her way back to the office. Women like her didn’t have hot, steamy casual sex with men like him—even if they were tempted.
Really, really tempted …
CHAPTER THREE
BLAKE walked around the vast expanse of space that had been one of Charles Warren’s last purchases. The view of Central Park’s lush green treetops, rolling lawns and duck ponds beneath the sharp contrast of the Manhattan skyline was spectacular, there was no denying that. But could he see himself living there?
Hell, no.
‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it?’
Olivia followed him around with a file cradled against her breasts and the same transparent enthusiasm as a realtor looking to make a sale. It wouldn’t last. After several days in her company one-on-one, Blake knew she started the day in a better mood than she ended it. He liked to think he’d had something to do with that.
‘Amazing would be one word.’ Turning towards her, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Little over the top, don’t you think?’
Everything about the place had been over the top since they arrived on the red-carpeted steps outside one of New York’s most prestigious landmark hotels. A liveried doorman had touched the peak of his cap as they stepped into the revolving doors. The manager had met them in the foyer, shaken Blake’s hand and practically fallen over himself to make it clear he could get anything from anywhere at a moment’s notice. There had even been maids in traditional uniforms who magically scurried out of sight when the doors to the penthouse were opened. Blake had hated every moment.
Even while he stood inside three floors of some of the largest square footage known to Manhattan apartment-kind, he could feel the walls closing in on him.
‘It’s … opulent …’ she replied after some thought.
‘Opulent would be another word.’
Looking at the long sofas placed at right angles to a massive wood-burning stove, he took his hands out of his pockets, sat down, and stretched his arms along the cushions at the back. As he set his feet on the glass coffee table, he saw Olivia frown in disapproval before she controlled her expression.
‘You could redecorate.’
‘What would you change?’ he asked, idly swaying his feet from side to side. When she frowned again, he stopped the movement and stifled a smile. There were times she made it too easy for him.
‘It’s not mine to change.’
‘If it was …’
Her gaze flickered briefly to his, then away. She’d been doing that a lot. Different sides of an elevator, more than an arm’s length away when they were walking, subtle side-steps if he moved any closer—he’d noticed them all and each and every one had either amused or bugged him to varying degrees.
‘I’m afraid that doesn’t fall under the remit of my professional opinion,’ she replied as she wandered around the room.
‘Humour me.’
‘I don’t think that’s in my job description either.’ Smiling sweetly, she turned to face him; she decided several items of expensive furniture provided a safe distance between them.
‘Kills you to even think about breaking a rule, doesn’t it?’
‘Your rules, not mine.’
Seemed to Blake she’d been pretty damn close to breaking a rule when he’d been inches away from kissing her. But since thinking about reminding her had the same effect on his body it always did, he lifted his feet and pushed upright. ‘May as well check out the bedrooms.’
‘I’ll wait here.’
‘Where I lead, you follow.’
She lagged behind more noticeably on the second floor than she had when he’d looked at the large kitchen with its black marble counters or through the rounded bay windows overlooking the reflecting pool and plantings in the plaza’s courtyard. She remained silent while Blake threw open random doors to increasingly decadent bedrooms and mosaic-tiled bathrooms; each and every room possessed a chandelier whether it needed one or not.
Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpeting in the master bedroom, he walked across to the giant bed, sat on the edge and bounced a couple of times before looking to where Olivia watched warily from the door.
‘Take a seat.’ He patted the covers. ‘If we’re lucky we might see a camel before the harem gets back.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
He held her gaze and waited.
‘Okay,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Maybe it’s a little over the top.’
It was the kind of understatement the place could use in Blake’s opinion. Restless again, he walked to the windows. ‘Remind me how many properties I own in Manhattan.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Current value of this place?’
‘Fifty-three million … give or take …’
When he looked over his shoulder—brows raised in disbelief—she cut a smile loose, distracting him from the ridiculous price tag with how it lit her up from inside. She should smile like that more often, he thought, forcing his gaze to look out of the window again. For a moment, when her reflection came into focus on the glass, he watched her looking at him. Her smile faded as she bit her lower lip and checked him out from head to toe. She did that a lot. It was her ‘tell’ in the game they were playing, his way of knowing she was bluffing when she’d claimed she wasn’t attracted to him.
‘Sell it,’ he said firmly, forcing his gaze from her reflection to the clear blue sky above the city. ‘There’s a private jet on that list, isn’t there?’
‘Three of them,’ she replied with resignation. ‘Let me guess, you want to sell them, too.’
‘Explain to me why I need three private jets.’
‘Senior executives use them to—’
‘Join the Mile High Club?’ His gaze sought her reflection again. ‘Understandable. The restrooms on commercial airlines can be a tad tight when it comes to wriggle room.’
She sighed. ‘You’re very cynical when it comes to people with money. Isn’t that going to be a problem when you look in the mirror?’
It had taken long enough. Blake bit back a smile, ‘Is that an opinion?’
Pressing her lips together, she breathed deep, striving for what remained of the patience he’d been purposefully testing. ‘I don’t see why we’re visiting these properties if you’re going to sell everything.’
‘And now she’s questioning my decisions …’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘That’s eight properties and three private jets, bringing your running total to approximately one hundred million dollars.’
Resisting the addition of a congratulations, she opened her file, made a note, snapped it shut and left the door. Blake turned away from the window and followed her into the hall, his mood improving by the second.
‘Hold off on the sale of a jet. Apart from the Mile High possibilities, we might need it when we go to look at the overseas properties.’
She swung around to face him. ‘You never said anything about taking trips overseas.’
‘Is your passport out of date?’
‘That’s not the point.’ She frowned as he closed the gap between them. ‘I can’t drop everything and go jetting around the world with you so you can spend five minutes looking at each of the places you’re planning on selling.’
‘Who says I’m planning on selling them?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’ She arched a brow as she looked into his eyes. ‘Whether or not they look like something thrown together from a tsar’s yard sale?’
The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Meaning you think it’s more than a little over the top. Could you live here?’
‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘What would you do with it?’
She sighed again. ‘Sell it to someone who could.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded.
When he stepped into her personal space, she lifted the file and hugged it against her breasts like a shield. Glancing away, she held her breath for a moment before sizing him up from the corner of narrowed eyes. ‘You want to look at every property, no matter where it is?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you have any idea how many properties you own overseas?’
‘Is there a prize if I get it right?’
‘It could take weeks to visit all those countries.’
‘On a tight schedule, are we?’
Cocking her head, she came back with, ‘You tell me.’
Closing his thumb and forefinger over the file, Blake tugged and watched her reaction when the instinctive tightening of her hold caused the backs of his fingers to brush against the skin between the lapels of her jacket. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darkening a shade. But when he smiled in response, she let go of the file and lifted her chin in defiance.
The woman had a unique way of looking at him: As if she was hinting heavily she could drop him to his knees with very little effort and he was lucky he was still upright. It was one heck of a turn-on for a man whose personal preference ran to strong-willed women. They were right up there with women whose confidence in their abilities added to their sex appeal and who knew what they wanted in the bedroom and weren’t afraid to demand it. She’d find he could be very accommodating with the latter. He might not stick around long enough for anything to get complicated but when he took a lover there was no question in her mind he was one hundred per cent with her.
He took a great deal of pride in that.
Turning his upper body to make room, he opened the file and pretended to read the contents. ‘You want to tell me what the real problem is?’
‘Meaning?’
The way Blake saw it, it was one of two things. ‘Either you hate the idea of taking an all expenses paid trip around the world—’ which didn’t seem likely ‘—or you hate the idea of taking that trip with me.’ Closing the file, he turned and lowered his voice. ‘Worried about breaking your mixing business with pleasure rule if you spend more time with me?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ he challenged softly.
While tapping the spine of the file with the palm of his hand, his gaze wandered over her face. The arch of her brows, the length of darkly spiked lashes, the sparkle of warning in her eyes—she really was something.
‘There’s a reason that rule exists,’ she said tightly.
‘Office romance gone bad?’
‘That would be none of your business.’
‘Married, huh?’
There was a small noise that almost sounded like a growl. ‘You are the most—’
‘I’ve been told.’
‘You really don’t care what people think, do you?’
It was said as if it was a completely alien idea to her, something Blake found telling. Appearances mattered, judging by the number of times she straightened the endless selection of suits that had to be hell to wear during the heatwave they were experiencing, but it went deeper than fashion. Her personality was adjusted according to the demands of her profession, even if it meant suppressing what she thought and felt—the latter explaining why she’d been able to follow his rules for as long as she had when Blake wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked.
‘If you care?’
‘What people think …?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Long lashes flickered as she looked over his shoulder and considered her answer. ‘Because the attitude we project tends to influence the attitude we receive in return.’
A hint aimed at him, no doubt.
Blake laid the file against her breasts when she looked into his eyes again. ‘Then maybe you should try being nicer to me.’
Her mouth opened then closed, her lips pressed together to stop herself from saying what she thought.
Time for a little prodding. ‘Know what I think?’
She took the file. ‘I’m sure I’m about to.’
‘I think frustration makes you testy.’
The hand holding the file snapped down to her side. ‘If I’m testy it might have more to do with the fact you’re hardly the easiest person in the world to work with.’
‘Work for.’ When she turned and headed for the stairs, Blake followed at a leisurely pace. ‘You’re really struggling with that part of the arrangement, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not used to winging it,’ she announced in a voice that echoed down the hallway. ‘Did it occur to you if you told me what it is you’re thinking of doing with all this money, I could plan ahead?’
‘Lack of organisation isn’t the reason you’re frustrated, sweetheart. You don’t want to think about kissing me. Trouble is, you can’t stop thinking about it. You’re angry. Probably blame me for it …’
She spun around to face him at the top of the stairs. ‘You are the most arrogant man I have ever met.’
‘You should get out of the office more.’
‘This attitude won’t help in the boardroom.’
Since he didn’t plan on ever stepping into one it was a moot point. Blake smiled a slow smile at how close she was to losing her temper. It was about time. If he’d been her, she’d have strangled him by now.
‘Don’t do that,’ she warned.
His smile grew. ‘Do what?’
‘You know exactly what you’re doing.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And trust me when I tell you, you really don’t want to play this game with me.’
‘Don’t want to like me, do you?’
‘If I did, you wouldn’t be making it easy,’ she muttered. Scowling, she turned a little too quickly. Her eyes widened when the toe of her shoe slipped over the edge of the top stair and her heel caught. The file dropped from her hand as she swung her arms out to her sides for balance, grasping for a railing just out of her reach.
Before she fell, Blake snagged an arm around her waist and hauled her round against him.
Grabbing handfuls of his shirt, she uttered a breathless, ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He smiled. When she tried to move he tightened his arm. ‘Give it a minute.’
If her heart was thundering as loudly as his it would do them both good. He’d never have forgiven himself if she’d tumbled headlong down two flights of stairs. But as her breathing slowed, his concern, tempered by relief, was replaced with something more potent.
She blinked once, twice; the fingers holding his shirt loosened and her palms flattened as if she couldn’t stop herself touching him.
Then her gaze lifted.
With her guard down, he was shown how truly expressive her eyes could be. Curiosity threaded with need, confusion tangled up in desire—and those were just the things he could recognise. Everything she was feeling danced in the light of a blue flame he was drawn to with the same compulsion he felt to draw air into his lungs. Did she have any idea what she was willing him to do when she looked at him like that? The effect it had on his body when she had her hands on him? He searched her eyes for a hint of power in the knowledge, feeling marginally better when he couldn’t find it. If she knew, he’d be in trouble.
As her palms slid across his chest and down his arms, he tensed, unable to stop the telltale sign from happening; it was almost as if part of him wanted her to know. Her gaze lowered as she felt it happen, hands sliding down to his elbows, her mesmerized expression suggesting she was watching what she was doing as if it was some kind of out-of-body experience.
Blake studied the soft sheen of hair against her forehead before lowering his chin and looking at her hands where they rested against the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. Such small, fine-boned hands, such a light touch, but he could feel the effect of it scorching into his veins, transforming his blood to the same consistency as lava: thick, heavy and fiery-hot.
Damn, they were going to be good together.
When their gazes lifted, she focused on his mouth.
‘Do it,’ he demanded in a huskier voice than he’d have preferred.
‘Do what?’ she asked in a thick voice.
‘Kiss me.’
She shook her head.
‘You’re thinking about it.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she lied.
Moving his fingertips in slow, soothing circles on her back, Blake silently willed her to forget whatever was holding her back. ‘If you spent less time trying to pretend this isn’t here we might get along better.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘Yes, you do.’ Raising a hand, he used the backs of his fingers to brush her hair off her cheek. ‘You’ve been thinking about the kiss that never happened.’ Just like he had. ‘Wondering what it would have felt like if it had …’
Why should he be the only one tortured by it?
Turning his hand, he traced his fingertips over her jaw to the sensitive skin below her ear. She leaned her head towards her shoulder in response, dutifully arching her neck to allow him access as her eyelids grew heavy. Her body couldn’t hide the truth any more than his could.
‘Don’t you want to find out, Liv?’ He dipped his head and saw the lift of her chin bring her mouth closer to his.
‘You’ll have to fire me first.’
‘I’m not going to fire you,’ he answered in the same husky-edged tone as before. ‘You’ll have to quit.’
‘I’m no quitter,’ she replied, an incredibly sensuous smile curling her lips.
‘Neither am I.’
When she breathed deep and exhaled on a hum of what sounded distinctly like pleasure, he stifled a groan. The slow slide of her lower lip between her teeth, the hooded gaze she had focused on his mouth—she was testing him, wasn’t she? If she was, it was a test he was failing.
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