Praise for Trish Wylie

‘Another fantastic novel by Trish Wylie which you

will devour in a single sitting! Brimming with passion,

emotion, romance and humour, and featuring a fantastic

heroine and a gorgeous hero … sheer perfection!’

—CataRomance on

O’Reilly’s Bride

‘With its splendid cast of amiable characters, hilarious

one-liners, heartwarming romance and powerful

emotional intensity … another triumph for the hugely

talented Trish Wylie, one of the brightest stars of

contemporary romance!’

—CataRomance on

Project: Parenthood

‘Absolutely wonderful! Trish Wylie’s spellbinding tale

will tickle your funny bone and tug at your heartstrings.

Featuring characters which leap off the pages,

realistic dialogue, sweet romance, sizzling sex scenes,

electrifying sexual tension and dramatic emotional

intensity … feel-good romance at its finest!’

—CataRomance on

White-Hot

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

TRISH WYLIE worked on a long career of careers to get to the one she wanted from her late teens. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder while playing the promotions game, patted her manicured hands on the backs of musicians in the music business, smiled sweetly at awkward customers during the retail nightmare known as the run-up to Christmas, and has got completely lost in her car in every single town in Ireland while working as a sales rep. And it took all that character-building and a healthy sense of humour to get her dream job, she feels—where she spends her days in reindeer slippers, with her hair in whatever band she can find to keep it out of the way, make-up as vague and distant a memory as manicured nails, while she gets to create the kind of dream man she’d still like to believe is out there somewhere. If it turns out he is, she promises she’ll let you know … after she’s been out for a new wardrobe, a manicure and a make-over …

Also by Trish Wylie

One Night with the Rebel Billionaire

His Mistress, His Terms

His L.A. Cinderella

Breathless!

Bride of the Emerald Isle

Claimed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

Her One and Only Valentine

Her Real-Life Hero

Her Unexpected Baby

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Inconvenient Laws of Attraction

Trish Wylie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For everyone who kept me from hitting the ground

until I remembered how to fly again.

CHAPTER ONE

‘OLIVIA BRANNIGAN. Blake Clayton?’

Continuing to rehearse below her breath, she tugged firmly on her jacket as she walked up the path. ‘I represent Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and …’

It was what came after the ‘and’ she was struggling with most. Informing him of a legacy was one thing, breaking the news that came with it was another, even if the news was several weeks old. But the man would have to live in a cave to have avoided hearing about it and they couldn’t have been that close—not when it had taken so long to find him.

The Stars And Stripes hanging from the porch fluttered gently in a welcome hint of air movement as she took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer.

‘I regret to have to inform you …’ She hated that line. Last time she’d made a death notification it had been more than difficult:

It had been the final act in a series of events that altered the course of her life.

When the door swung open, a heavy-set man holding a half-eaten hamburger looked her over from head to toe.

‘Mr Clayton?’

‘Yo, Blake!’ he yelled.

‘What?’ a voice yelled in answer.

‘Anyone suing you?’

‘Not this week.’

‘Guess you can come in then.’ The man grinned, issuing an invitation with a jerk of his head.

Following him down the hallway, Olivia’s heels clicked in an even, businesslike rhythm while she focused on their destination and the man she would discover when she got there. In a matter of seconds he would be a living, breathing person instead of someone she’d spent entirely too much time trying to picture in her mind while she was searching for him. She wouldn’t have to imagine what he looked like or wonder how he was going to react.

The mystery would be solved.

Anticipation built with each step as she prepared for the disappointment of reality when compared to the uncharacteristic flights of fantasy she’d been engaged in of late. There was just something about this case that got to her, and with her track record when it came to emotional involvement in the workplace, that wasn’t good.

The sooner she wrapped it up, the better.

The room she walked into was in a chaotic state of construction. There were four men in it: two chewing hamburgers, one hunkered down sanding a door-frame and another by large windows covered in opaque plastic. Since the man by the windows was looking at her, she approached him and held out a hand. ‘Mr Clayton, I’m Olivia Brannigan from—’

‘Over here, sweetheart.’ A deep, rough-edged voice drew her gaze to the man sanding the door-frame.

‘You’re Blake Clayton?’ She turned around. Considering how long it had taken to find him, she had to be sure. ‘Blake Anders Clayton.’

There was a snort of laughter behind her.

‘Thanks for that.’ He shook his head, dropping his chin and lifting a hand to remove the dust mask from his face as he stood up. ‘So what’d I do this time?’

Opening her mouth to set his mind at ease, anything resembling coherent thought scrambled when he set the mask aside and looked directly at her. The room contracted; it was suddenly smaller and tighter and felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. Everything in her peripheral vision blurred as her gaze locked on him and doggedly refused to let go. But who could blame a girl for staring?

A little heads-up on how he looked might have helped.

Six foot two, possibly three, lean at the waist, broad at the shoulders, with short spikes of unruly chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes that sparkled with more than a hint of the guy a girl’s mother would warn her about; Blake Clayton was the living, breathing definition of seriously smokin’ hot.

When her gaze dropped briefly to the jut of a full lower lip that begged for immediate, audience-be-damned attention, Olivia ran her tongue over her teeth. Would he taste as good as he looked? She’d just bet he did.

The woman inside her purred appreciatively. The professional forced a businesslike tone to her voice. ‘I represent the legal firm of Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and—’

‘Bet that’s a bitch to put on a business card.’ A corner of his mouth hitched with amusement.

The woman sighed contentedly while the professional frowned at how difficult it was to focus. Her flights of fantasy had fallen woefully short of reality.

‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’

‘We’re talking now.’

‘Mr Clayton, I’m afraid I have bad news,’ she announced more bluntly than she’d intended.

‘I heard,’ he said tightly, the change in him immediate.

Her voice softened ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Don’t be.’ Stepping past her to lift a mug from a worktop, he sat down beside one of the men eating lunch, spreading long, jeans-clad legs while tipping the rim of the mug to his mouth. ‘We done?’

Glancing at their audience, she found them watching her like some kind of floor show. Surely he didn’t want to—

‘You can say whatever you have to say in front of them,’ he added as if he’d read her mind.

Considering her thoughts since she’d laid eyes on him, Olivia sincerely hoped he hadn’t.

‘No secrets among friends,’ the man who’d answered the door added. ‘Offer us the right money, we could tell you enough to get him arrested in a half-dozen states.’

‘And Canada,’ added a chorus of voices.

‘You got something you need me to sign, hand it over,’ Blake said over the sound of laughter. ‘You can mail whatever memento I’ve got coming my way.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ Olivia replied patiently. ‘You’re the sole beneficiary. He left everything to you.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. He obviously hadn’t known. Not that the flat tone to his deep voice gave any indication he was happy with the news. The majority of people would have been turning cartwheels.

‘There’s no one else?’

Confused by the question after her use of the term ‘sole beneficiary’, she shook her head. ‘No.’ Thanks to Charles Warren’s will, his son was one of the richest, most powerful men in America. ‘I know it must seem daunting to take on the responsibility of—’

‘Such a great legacy?’ A dark brow lifted. ‘Wrong tactic, Miss—what did you say your name was again?’

‘Brannigan.’ She tried not to be piqued by the fact he hadn’t remembered. ‘Olivia Brannigan.’

‘Well, Liv—’ he leaned forward ‘—someone should probably have warned you: I don’t give a rat’s ass how great a legacy it is. I don’t want it.’

Was he insane?

‘I understand you need time to process everything, b—’

‘There’s nothing to process.’ Setting his mug down, he pushed to his feet. ‘What I need is to get this job done.’

As she faltered, he walked past her and picked up his tools. She’d never been in such a surreal situation. What did he expect her to do? Go back to the office, walk up to her boss and say, Sorry, no go, we have to find someone else we can give billions of dollars’ worth of property and assets to? They could hold a raffle.

When she didn’t move, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. ‘Am I supposed to tip you?’

Seriously?

The professional stepped forward and smiled smoothly. ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Clayton. Allow me to make it clear: you’re it. Whether you want it or not, you’re the sole beneficiary of Charles Warren’s will.’

‘The Charles Warren?’ an incredulous voice asked behind her.

‘Your father made his wishes very clear.’

‘Father?’ said the same incredulous voice. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

So much for no secrets between friends …

He took a step forward and lowered his voice. ‘Look, lady, I get that you’re trying to do your job but, in case you didn’t get it, allow me to make it clear: I’m not your man. So unless you’re planning on setting down that briefcase and picking up a power tool, I suggest you hightail it back to Manhattan and tell Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise—or whoever it is you answer to further down the food chain—they best find a distant Warren relative they can lay this on. I have a life. I’m not living someone else’s.’

‘This isn’t going anywhere,’ she insisted with a deceptive calmness that masked the effect his proximity was having on her body.

‘Maybe not,’ he allowed. ‘But I can.’

What about the life he’d said he had? Olivia found herself wondering if there was a woman in it; one who would miss him when he was gone. Somehow she doubted he was the type to stick around long enough to let anyone get that close. Judging by the number of addresses she’d discovered in various different states—some of which he’d only resided in for a matter of weeks—any relationships he had were short-lived. Not that looking the way he did would leave him short of company for long.

Squaring her shoulders, she reached into the front of the briefcase he’d mentioned and held out her hand. ‘I’ll leave my card. When you’ve had time to think things over—’

‘Not gonna happen.’

Olivia stood her ground.

‘I take it you can find the door on your own?’

Okay. If he wanted to play hardball, she’d play. Lowering her gaze to his broad chest, she relaxed her shoulders and took a step forward, standing within inches of his large body and slowly lifting her lashes until she was looking deep into dark eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips and smoothed them together, watching his gaze lower and smiling when he frowned. She spoke in a low voice just loud enough for their audience to hear.

‘Tomorrow morning … all over the state … thousands of Warren Enterprises employees are going to turn up for work. I’d like to be able to tell them they’ll have a job a month from now, especially in this economy.’ She angled her head. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Reaching out, she set her business card on a plank of wood beside him before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall. Her hand was on the door when she heard a voice ask, ‘Charles Warren is your old man?’

Silence.

‘You know my cousin Mike works for Warren Tech? He’s got a wife and three kids …’

Olivia smiled as she opened the door. There was no question in her mind she’d be seeing him again.

She was looking forward to it already.

Blake had always liked cities better than small towns. Cities were anonymous, no one wanted to poke their nose in anyone else’s business; it was easy to disappear into the crowd in the city. At least it used to be …

‘Isn’t that your lawyer lady from the other day?’

‘Yup.’ He’d known she was there from the minute she appeared with her mismatched set of friends. His gaze found her in the crowded bar with the same accuracy as a heat-seeking missile.

‘Sure fills out a pair of jeans,’ Marty observed.

‘I’m sure Chrissy will be glad to hear you noticed.’

‘I’m married, not blind.’

Without her power suit she was different, there was no denying that. Dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a scoopnecked blouse that highlighted her narrow waist, pale skin and the swell of her breasts, it had been hard to ignore her presence since she arrived. If there’d been the remotest chance they might cross paths again, he would never have accepted Marty’s usual end-of-the-working-week invitation for a beer and a game of pool in the nearest bar to the restoration project they’d been working on in the West Village. But it was too late now. It was only a matter of time before she crossed the room.

Bending over to line up his shot, Blake’s gaze was drawn upward by the appearance of distinctly feminine, jeans-clad thighs at the other side of the table.

‘Gentlemen …’

And there she was.

Sinking a ball into the pocket in front of her before standing upright, he set the end of his cue on the floor, folding his fingers around it as he looked her over.

American pool halls had once been the exclusive realm of men who smoked cigars and drank beer while they growled and spit tobacco. Young truants cleaned tables and floors, racking balls for new games while they learnt pool hustling and miscreant behaviour. It had been a poor man’s men’s club, devoid of female company.

Blake couldn’t help thinking it would have been better for Olivia Brannigan if it had stayed that way.

Because the second his gaze swept over her, he had the exact same reaction he’d had the first time. The tips of his fingers itched to be thrust into her sleek blond mane and mess it up until it framed her face the way it would after a session of the kind of hot, sweaty, mutually gratifying sex he doubted she’d ever experienced. He wanted to set the pad of his thumb on her full lips and smear away any hint of lipstick before he set his mouth on hers, to place a palm to the small of her back, melding her body to his as—

He took a measured breath. ‘Want to play, do you?’

‘So it would seem.’

There was a brief spark of light in the cool blue of her eyes that suggested a challenge did it for her. The fact she’d answered in a low voice which could easily have been described as sultry didn’t escape him either.

‘Reckon you can take me on?’

‘I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?’

Indeed they would.

‘Rack ’em up, Marty.’

While Marty handed over his cue and started gathering balls from the pockets, Blake stepped around the table to issue a low warning. ‘If you’re over here to discuss my luck in the legacy department, you can forget it.’

‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ she replied brightly, ‘but I’m off the clock.’

Looking down at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her check the face of a neat wrist-watch. A wave of softly curled hair hid her profile from him until she lifted her chin and added, ‘As of an hour and ten minutes ago.’

‘You’re the kind of gal who’s never off the clock.’

‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you like to think you do.’

‘Meaning I should get to know you better?’

‘We’re set,’ Marty said.

Blake held out an arm. ‘Ladies first.’

‘Don’t hold back on my account.’

He leaned towards her as he walked by. ‘Never do.’

‘She know what she’s doing?’ Marty asked as he joined him at the bar.

Time would tell. Since every town had a pool table, they’d been one of the few constants in Blake’s life growing up. He knew a lot of pool was simple physics. Watching men who’d been playing for most of their lives, he knew it was all about the angles, the action and reaction, knowing when to exert a little force and when to use a finer touch. He’d learnt a lot of valuable life lessons from the game of pool. Watching Olivia Brannigan in action turned it into something altogether different: less physics, a whole lot more to do with chemistry.

Didn’t matter which side of the table she took her shot from, either way it provided the kind of view any red-blooded male could appreciate. When she was on the far side of the table, bending over the cue, it allowed a clean line of sight down her blouse to a hint of coloured ribbon that became the equivalent of an apple in Eden. A side view let his gaze skim over the sweep of her spine, the sweet curve of her ass, down legs that would never have ended if it hadn’t been for the floor.

As a card-carrying one hundred per cent red-blooded male, his body’s reaction to her was understandable. Unwelcome, considering what she represented, but understandable. Not to mention a timely reminder he’d obviously been all work and no play for too long. Something he would have to rectify, soon.

Standing upright, her gaze collided with his as she walked around the table with a hint of a smile on her face. Turning, she bent over to line up her next shot, gently swaying her hips from side to side: right in front of him.

‘She’s good,’ Marty said appreciatively as a ball ricocheted off a cushion directly into a corner pocket.

Blake’s silent agreement had nothing to do with her pool skills. Setting his bottle down, he stepped towards her. ‘Hustling me, Liv?’

‘It’s Olivia,’ she informed him, twisting on her heel and backing away with a sweet smile. ‘And if I wanted to hustle you, wouldn’t it make more sense to play badly before making a wager?’

‘You just popped over here to play a friendly little game of pool with the boys?’

Standing still long enough to efficiently chalk the tip of her cue with short, sharp movements, she continued walking around the table. ‘Is that illegal?’

‘You’re the lawyer. You tell me.’

‘I know it’s not in the state of New York.’ She bent down. ‘But I’d have to check the rules for Canada.’

When another ball disappeared off the table, she smiled a small, satisfied smile as she stood up.

‘I’m not talking to you about the will.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘You’re going to.’

‘You can see into the future?’ A flicker of amusement sparkled in her eyes. ‘Wouldn’t happen to know next week’s lottery numbers, would you?’ She shrugged a shoulder as she walked around the table.

‘Not that you need them.’

‘You know I can take out a restraining order against everyone at your firm if I have to …’

‘Be a pretty long list of names.’

‘I’d know who to put at the top.’

When he set his palm on the wooden edge of the table as she bent over her cue again, a brief upward flicker of her lashes revealed what might almost have been taken for hesitation. Did she realise she was playing in the big leagues? Good. Considering her options? More likely. Looking back down the cue, she swayed her hips again, a move that could have been misconstrued as preparation for her next shot to the untrained eye. Blake recognised it for what it was.

What bugged him was how well it was working.

‘I didn’t know you’d be here, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

That he was more likely to believe. How could she when he hadn’t known himself until a little under an hour ago? He never did from one Friday to the next. It was the nature of the job, the story of his life.

There was a sharp click and another ball disappeared off the table. ‘But, since we are here, maybe if you told me what the problem is, we could talk about it.’

‘We could—’ he rocked forward as she stood up ‘—if I hadn’t already said I wasn’t talking about it.’

‘You brought it up.’

‘Pity you’re off the clock then, isn’t it?’

She sighed. ‘It’s a lot of money to ignore.’

If money meant as much to him as she seemed to think it should, she might have a point. Rocking back on his heels, Blake stilled, his gaze scanning the crowd. He wondered what she’d think if she knew, given the option, he’d prefer every cent to disappear. He didn’t want to be responsible for thousands of people’s lives. A rolling stone could end up looking like the Rockies if it gathered that much moss.

‘I know it’s an intimidating prospect, running a company that large—’ her voice softened to a hum that washed across his senses with the same burn as the first sip of a smooth Scotch ‘—but there are people who have been with the company for decades …’

She was playing the guilt card again? When he looked down at her from the corner of his eye, she tacked on a soft smile and added, ‘They could run it for you.’

‘That’s exactly what I—’

Blake set an arm across Marty’s chest when he stepped forward to add his two cents.

‘You think I’m avoiding this because the leap from carpenter to CEO is beyond me?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

Not in so many words. But she was smarter than that.

Tucking the cue into the crook of his arm, he folded his arms across his chest. ‘So you’re gonna do what? Talk me through a pie chart? Help me pick out a suit for the office? Hold my hand while I go play with the big boys?’ He narrowed his eyes and smiled tightly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, sweetheart.’

‘It’s called trying to help.’

‘That’s going well.’ He nodded. ‘For future reference—insulting my intelligence? Not a good place to start.’

Stepping around her to get to the bar, he lifted his bottle and tilted it to his mouth. His gaze followed her in the mirror as she followed him.

‘I wasn’t trying to insult you,’ she said in the sultry tone that travelled directly from ear to groin.

Blake gritted his teeth. Sure she wasn’t.

‘Would hardly be the best way to start a working relationship, would it?’

What working relationship?

‘It’s really none of my business why you want to turn your back on billions of dollars. But, like I said, the responsibility isn’t going anywhere. The board’s hands are tied. You have controlling interest in the company—they can’t do anything without your say-so. It’s how your father wanted it.’

The woman didn’t know when to quit.

Her voice lowered. ‘I know you’re still grieving. The last thing you want right now is—’

‘Grieving?’ A burst of sarcastic laughter split the air as he set his bottle down with a slam and turned on her, frustration mixing with anger. ‘Lady, you don’t know anything about—’

‘Blake …’ Marty used a hand on his upper arm to hold him still and allow him time to take a breath; his voice was filled with the same rock-steady calmness he’d used in the old days when Blake had been prone to standing up to guys twice his size. It had been the curse of the new kid and since Blake had always been the new kid …

With a nod from Blake to indicate he was good, Marty stepped away. Blake looked at Olivia and saw she was staring at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Not fear, he noted. Part of him respected the hell out of her for that when guys much bigger than her had been known to baulk. It was enough to make him step towards her again; the fact she stood her ground increased his perception of her as a woman who could hold her own.

He shook his head when his libido buzzed with the numerous possibilities that came with the thought. Strong women who could take him on both in and out of the bedroom—preferably without needing emotional entanglement—did it for him. Always had, always would.

He took a short breath. ‘As much of a pain in the ass as you’re proving to be, you didn’t deserve that.’

She arched a brow. ‘Is that an apology?’

‘It’s as close as I ever get to giving one.’ A corner of his mouth tugged wryly. ‘I’d run with it if I were you.’

Considering him with a tilt of her head, she came back with, ‘Know what you could do to make it up to me?’

Wasn’t going to like this, was he?

‘You know what the Warren Foundation is?’

And now he was an idiot again.

‘They’re hosting a benefit a couple of weeks from now. If you showed up—even for an hour or two—you might encourage people to reach deeper into their pockets to impress the new owner of the company.’ She shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or another if he showed. ‘As well as helping a worthy cause, you can meet some of the people who work for you in a social environment.’

‘You’re one of those women who calls in the middle of the night to tell a guy his phone is ringing, aren’t you?’

When she continued calmly holding his gaze, Blake wondered if she ever cut loose. What would it take to get the real Olivia Brannigan to come on down and—the question immediately jumped to the front of his mind—just how far was she willing to go to get what she wanted?

He was tempted to find out.

‘It’s at the Empire hotel,’ she added with a nod as if he’d already agreed, her gaze lowering to travel over his body from the middle of his chest to the toes of his boots.

Digging in the pocket of his jeans as he turned away, Blake frowned at the immediate response the invisible touch had on him. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘It’s formal. You’ll need a tux.’

‘I said I’ll think about it.’ Tossing several bills on the bar, he turned to face her again. ‘While I do, I suggest you think about what you’re getting yourself into.’

‘Meaning?’

He stepped closer, forcing her to lift her chin. Searching her eyes, he noted the spark it took a blink of long lashes to conceal and smiled a slow smile. As aware of him as he was of her, wasn’t she? Unless he was mistaken—which he doubted—she’d known exactly what she was doing around the pool table. She thought she was in control of the situation and could use her sexuality to her advantage. He was fine with her attempting the latter, but if she wanted to take him on at more than a simple game of pool there were a few things she needed to understand.

‘Meaning you gamble, you best be prepared to ante-up, so think long and hard about what you’re bringing to the table, sweetheart.’ He closed the gap and moved his face closer to hers, his gaze lowering to her mouth, then shifting sharply to tangle with hers. ‘Because I’ll collect, and I think you know exactly what I mean by that.’

The almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes told him she’d got the message. Blake smiled lazily when the next thing he saw was a spark of light that said it was ‘game on’ as far as she was concerned.

It was enough, for now.

Walking across the crowded room without looking back, he swung open the door and stepped out into oppressively humid air, pacing up and down on the sidewalk while he waited for Marty. Maybe he should just get the hell on with it. The sooner he did something about offloading property, dumping stocks and signing things over to people who might want them, the sooner he could leave it behind and get on with his life. It was more constructive than waiting around for a hint of grief to make an appearance. Especially when the lack of it was starting to make him feel like a heartless son-of-a—

Shouldn’t he feel something? When he looked inside at the dark corner where he’d tucked away his memories of the past, there was nothing: a big, black vacuum of nothing. That should have made him feel guilty; but nope, still nothing. Not a thing. As if part of him was missing.

When the door swung open again, he made a snap decision. ‘Think you can keep an eye on the crew?’

‘Sure.’ Marty’s shrug wouldn’t have inspired confidence if Blake hadn’t known him better. ‘Do what you gotta do, Anders.’

That was that, then. Another thought occurred to him and he began to smile as they walked towards the subway station. No reason he couldn’t have some fun along the way. Never let it be said he couldn’t multitask.

Olivia Brannigan’s life was about to get interesting.

CHAPTER TWO

‘NOW, remember, you can’t kill a client.’

Be prepared to ante-up? He would collect? Who did he think he was? Inside her head, Olivia was laughing the derogatory laugh of a woman in serious self-denial. But who was she kidding? She hadn’t been able to resist a battle of wills since the second grade.

‘Potential client,’ she corrected, tucking her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear so she could reach into her briefcase. ‘And right now I’m not even sure I can work with this guy. He’s—’

‘Sexy as sin?’ Jo asked in a tone that suggested she was batting her eyelashes.

‘Not helping.’

Grimacing at the pain from a rapidly growing blister, Olivia checked the address on the folded piece of paper and lifted her gaze to the numbers above the doors in a neat row of brownstones. Being forced across the Brooklyn Bridge in searing midday temperatures to play messenger girl in the most inappropriate heels known to messenger-kind helped—as did the fact he’d demanded the files immediately.

Difficult clients she could handle. Raging sexual attraction to a man she might have to work with on a daily basis, not so much—and since a simple game of pool had felt a tad too much like foreplay …

Catching sight of a dumpster outside one of the houses, she checked for traffic and crossed the street.

‘You know what would help?’ Jo asked.

‘I’m not having sex with him,’ she answered firmly, wondering just who it was she was trying to convince. ‘He’s a client.’

‘Potential client and you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’

Not under oath she couldn’t. Her imagination had been having a field day, particularly in the restless hours she spent tossing and turning in bed before her alarm went off.

The number above the door matched the one on the piece of paper. Olivia’s voice lowered to mutter, ‘Here we go.’

‘I’m just saying …’ cajoled the voice in her ear.

‘I know. I meant I’ve got to go. I’m here.’

‘Ooh, call me back with the blow-by-blow. I want details. What he’s wearing. How he looks. What he says. Don’t leave anything out!’

Olivia smiled. ‘I’m hanging up now.’

With her cellphone tucked safely away in a pocket at the front of her briefcase, she put her jacket on over her sleeveless blouse and buttoned it up as she walked up the steps to the open door, pausing to remove her sunglasses and check her appearance in a nearby window. Loud music echoed from the floor above while she sidestepped debris in the hall and sighed heavily. No air conditioning. Great.

‘Hello?’

The downstairs rooms were deserted but on the first floor landing the loud squeal of a power tool drew her to a room where she waved a hand to have her presence acknowledged. ‘Do you know where I can find Blake Clayton?’

The man pointed upward before continuing his work. On the second floor, she met a semi-naked man in shorts.

‘Blake Clayton?’

‘Top floor.’

Of course he was. She brushed her shoulder on a wall while trying to avoid a stepladder, and then twisted her neck to search for signs of damage to her jacket as she moved to the next set of stairs. It was getting hotter by the floor. Wasn’t hell supposed to be downstairs?

‘Whoa!’ Two large hands grasped her elbows when she caught her heel on a loose floorboard and stumbled forward. ‘Careful, lady.’

Scowling briefly at the dusty fingerprints semi-naked man number two had left on her linen sleeves, she forced a smile as she lifted her chin. ‘Olivia Brannigan from Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise. I wonder if—’

‘You should get that printed on a T-shirt,’ a rough-edged voice said above her head, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. ‘Save time on the introductions.’

Her gaze lifted to where he was leaning casually on the banister, her breath catching. Did he look sexier than he had the last time? How was that possible? Before she could open her mouth, he turned and disappeared, leaving her to make her way up the stairs and peek through several doors until she found him again. It was beginning to feel as if she’d spent half her life looking for him.

‘I have the papers you requested.’

Swiping a cloth over his large hands, he ignored her and began staining the carved piece of wood laid out on a workbench in front of him.

‘It’s a list of personal assets and properties.’

‘You’d think I’d know that if I requested them.’

‘You didn’t request them?’ Not that she’d been there when the call came in, but Carrie on the front desk was normally pretty reliable when it came to—

‘Stalking me again?’

‘I have never stalked you.’

‘Some guys might be flattered.’

‘I don’t think your ego needs any help.’

Had she said that out loud? Maybe he hadn’t heard her over the echoing music? The corner of his mouth twitched. Oh, he’d heard. Well, as overjoyed as she was to be a source of amusement to him …

Looking for somewhere to set the file down, her gaze fell on a heavy bed with ornate scrollwork on the posts and a huge headboard carved with curling leaves and branches; incredibly lifelike birds and squirrels were scattered at random intervals. It was practically a work of art. Olivia glanced sideways at him as dense, dark lashes lifted and his intense gaze locked with hers.

The temperature in the room jumped several degrees, a bead of moisture trickling into her cleavage. The woman immediately wanted him to lick the same path it had taken. Even the professional’s mouth was dry.

‘Did you make that?’ She waved the file in the general direction of the bed.

‘Showing an interest in what I do the next step in your plan, is it?’

She had to know. ‘Are you this judgemental with every one or have I been singled out for special attention?’

‘You want my special attention, sweetheart, all you got to do is ask.’

Shaking her head, Olivia wondered why she was surprised. She should be getting used to it by now, and the accompanying reaction from her body when she realised she was standing within a few feet of evidence he was good with his hands.

‘You can leave the file.’

He was dismissing her after she’d trekked halfway across the city in temperatures the equivalent of the face of the sun? Olivia didn’t think so. Not till they’d cleared up a few things.

‘Mr Clayton.’

‘Blake.’

‘If I’m going to work with you—’

‘Work with me. Hmm.’ He dropped the brush in the can of wood stain. ‘Still haven’t figured it out, have you?’

‘Figured what out?’

‘Didn’t you go to some fancy law school to learn all this stuff?’ He wiped his hands on the cloth again.

‘ All what stuff?’

‘Stuff like who calls the shots.’ Tossing the cloth aside, he continued holding her gaze. ‘You won’t be working with me. If I hire you, you’ll work for me.’

Technically true, but she could argue a technicality. ‘I’m employed by—’

‘Seriously—’ the corner of his mouth tugged again ‘—consider the T-shirt.’

‘They pay my salary.’

‘And Warren Enterprises pays them. Way I figure it—since I’ve just been handed the keys to the kingdom—that means I pay you.’

Not until he signed the papers, he didn’t.

‘So if I’m stepping up to the plate—’ a potent smile began to form on his lips ‘—you get to be at my beck and call, day and night. I holler, you come a-runnin’.’

Summoning the professional demeanour expected of an employee of one of Manhattan’s most respected law firms, Olivia stopped herself from running through the endless possibilities involved with being at his beck and call, day and night.

Wait a minute. She was playing messenger girl so he could prove a point? Her eyes narrowed. ‘Trust me when I tell you I’m not paid anywhere near enough for that kind of service. I’m good at what I do, Mr Clayton. That’s why I’m here. I can work with you, represent Warren Enterprises’ best interests and ensure a smooth transition for you to head of the company. But I’m not going to bring you coffee, I’m not going to jump when you snap your fingers—’ she stepped across the room and set the file down beside him ‘—and I’m not a messenger.’

The slow hand clap started when she was halfway across the room. ‘You practice that on the way over?’

Olivia kept going, the words ‘justifiable homicide’ jumping into her head. She was almost at the door when a large hand captured her elbow, causing her to jerk in surprise. She swung round. She was a heartbeat away from allowing the training of her former career to kick in before she realised where she was and who he was. Horrified by what she might have done, she took an immediate step back, bumping her spine into the doorframe.

She closed her eyes. ‘Please tell me you didn’t stain this doorframe before I got here.’

When she opened her eyes again, he was setting a palm on the wood beside her neck. Immediately glancing at her one remaining escape route, she watched another large palm flatten on the wall beside her waist. Like it or not, she wasn’t going anywhere. Not without hurting him.

‘Nice speech,’ he commented.

‘I meant every word of it,’ she said with a lift of her chin, trying desperately to ignore the erratic thudding of her heart. One man should not be that breathtakingly gorgeous up close. She took a deep breath and stifled a moan. He absolutely shouldn’t smell that good.

For a second she felt a little bit dizzy. She could really do with some air that wasn’t filled with testosterone. Everything around him contracted and went fuzzy again, leaving her unable to focus on anything but him. Her gaze went to the full lip she was so attracted to—the one she wanted to kiss, lick with the tip of her tongue, suck and maybe even nibble a little.

When had she got so sexually frustrated? She tried to remember the last time she’d been on a date—the kind with the remotest possibility of ending in great sex.

Well, that was depressing.

‘If you’re not up to the task, maybe I need to find another lawyer.’

Thank you! It was exactly how she needed him to be. If he added charm—or, worse still, seduction—to an already potent mix, she would be in deep, deep trouble.

Not to mention naked. Fast.

‘For the record, Mr Clayton, underestimating me is a bad idea.’ And she wasn’t kidding about that. Thanks to her former profession, she could have him flat on his face on the floor in less than ten seconds and when it came to her present occupation—‘I’ve been assigned to the Warren accounts since I joined the firm. I know the company inside out and back to front. You won’t find anyone more qualified than me.’

He frowned. ‘You worked for Charlie?’

‘I met him.’ She softened a fraction at the mention of the father he’d lost. ‘But I didn’t work with him.’

‘For him,’ he corrected.

‘With him,’ Olivia argued. ‘That’s how we do things at the firm: we work with our clients. It’s a long-term partnership based on mutual trust and common goals.’

‘I’m not looking to get married, sweetheart. I’m looking for someone to do what I tell them to do when I tell them to do it. Is that a problem for you?’

‘You tell me to jump, I ask how high?’

‘Works for me …’

Over. Her. Dead. Body.

Her breath caught as his head lowered. What was he doing? When he stilled, his face inches away from hers, every fibre of her body ached with an almost crippling desire to be kissed. How could she dislike him and want him so badly at the same time? Maybe the heat was getting to her. They said people did things they wouldn’t normally do during a heatwave. Olivia just wished she was the kind of girl who hid behind excuses when they did something stupid.

‘What’s wrong, Liv?’ he asked in a low, excruciatingly sensual rumble. ‘Not good at taking orders?’

‘Depends what they are,’ she replied in an equally low voice. And what they were doing at the time.

Don’t go there, the professional warned the woman.

When a knowing smile began to form in his eyes, she frowned, swiftly getting back to business with, ‘I won’t do anything illegal.’

‘Unless I’m mistaken, a big part of your job would be to make sure I don’t.’

‘Whatever trouble you get into away from Warren Enterprises isn’t my concern.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind when I’m only allowed to make one phone call.’

The man had no shame. Raised on a diet of discipline and obeying the letter of the law, Olivia had never considered herself the kind of woman who would be attracted to a bad boy but apparently she’d been wrong. Who knew?

‘I assume I can’t schedule any meetings north of the border.’ She analysed his reaction with a tilt of her head.

‘Probably best not,’ he replied without giving anything away.

She sighed heavily. ‘Is this how it’s going to be every time we try to have a discussion?’

‘That’s what we’re doing, is it?’

She aimed a narrow-eyed glare at him.

‘So what’s it to be?’ he asked. ‘We got a deal?’

‘I’m not going to come running when you holler.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’

‘I think you’ll find it would be more fun for one of us than it would for the other.’ Inwardly groaning at the fact she was encouraging him, she moved on to the next point. ‘I have no problem working outside office hours, but you can’t call me in the middle of the night.’ Her errant gaze dipped to his tempting lower lip. ‘There are boundaries I’m not willing to cross.’

‘Like never mix business with pleasure—you have a rule on that, right?’

As it happened, yes, she did. Olivia liked rules. It was part of the reason she loved the law so much. A single set of rules for everyone to follow, there for the protection of all. It was an even playing field and she was less likely to mess up as badly as she had before if she worked within the boundary lines.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Why am I not surprised?’ He shook his head. ‘But you’re still not getting it. I’m not questioning your capabilities. If they sent you to deal with this, I’m sure you’re up to the task.’

Then what—?

‘But here’s how it’s gonna be, sweetheart. The only advice you get to give me is law-re-lated—you don’t question my decisions unless it’s something that might get me prosecuted, sued, or both—and there’s no First Amendment for free speech in this arrangement. We clear on that?’

Olivia blinked in surprise as the woman inside her purred like a cream-filled cat. Suddenly she understood why Charles Warren had chosen him as his heir. He didn’t sound like a man who didn’t want the responsibility of the legacy that had been left to him; he sounded like a man taking charge and more than up to the task.

It was exactly how Jo had described him: sexy as sin.

Who was this man? Tilting her head, she looked at him more closely. Her curious gaze whispered over his face, taking in every detail from the crease lines at the corners of his dark eyes that suggested he laughed more often than she’d had evidence of thus far to the small scar on his chin her fingertips itched to touch while she asked how he’d got it.

‘Liv—’ his deep voice held what sounded like an edge of warning, forcing her gaze back up ‘—we clear?’

Right. Negotiations. Focus.

‘No middle of the night phone calls,’ she insisted.

She could do the maths. Her dreams of late plus that voice on the other end of a phone line multiplied by the never-ending heatwave they’d been experiencing equalled the road to insanity.

‘Not unless it’s something I need an answer to right away,’ he allowed.

‘You holler expecting me to come running, I’ll tell you to go to hell.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

Olivia nodded firmly. ‘Then we’re clear.’

‘Good. I want to go through personal assets first. Can you handle that area?’

She nodded again.

‘We’ll start looking at the properties on the list you brought me tomorrow.’

Another nod, then, without warning, the tip of his thumb brushed back a strand of hair from her neck, the light graze of work-roughened skin sending a sharp jolt through her body that tightened her abdomen.

‘Now that’s settled,’ he said in a seductively rough rumble as the backs of his fingers trailed lazily over the sensitive skin below her ear, ‘I think we should discuss your rule …’

What rule? She had a rule?

Blake watched the movement of his fingers, his head lowering. ‘How set in stone would you say that is?’

Oh, this was bad. This was really bad.

It felt good.

Breathing ragged, pulse erratic, her heart threatening to beat a hole in her chest, Olivia felt the hand on the wall slide to her waist. The fingers on her neck moved to her nape as his gaze focused intently on her mouth.

‘Blake …’ Her voice was thick, the unspoken plea caught somewhere between stop and don’t stop.

The tip of his thumb brushed against her jaw as his gaze lifted to search her eyes and a slow smile began to form on the sensual curve of his mouth. ‘That’s a step in the right direction.’

‘What is?’

‘My name. It’s the first time you’ve used it.’

It was?

‘Say it again,’ he demanded, his smile growing. ‘Practice makes perfect.’

The sparkle of amusement in his eyes snapped her to her senses. What was she doing? He wasn’t caught up in the moment the way she was. He knew exactly what he was doing. Worse still, he knew what it was doing to her.

Never in all her born days had she been more tempted to play the tease and hand out a little payback. But since she was pretty sure playing up to him would give him exactly what he wanted …

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.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.