Businesswoman Zara Anders always keeps it professional at work—until she meets sexy billionaire Daniel. But their scorching affair is threatened when Zara learns Daniel’s secret... Will his racy business proposal tempt her back to the bedroom?

After a messy breakup with an unfaithful ex, Zara Anders swears off men, vowing to focus on her career running an estate agency for the elite. And then she meets Swedish billionaire Daniel Lazenby: strong, successful and sexually magnetic. Just the kind of man she should avoid.

Daniel is helping his sister buy a house, and Zara finds him impossible to resist. Before long, the pair embark on a passionate fling, all the racier for its secrecy. When Zara discovers the truth about Daniel’s womanizing ways, she’s furious. She wants to end their affair immediately, knowing she’ll only get hurt otherwise. But Daniel isn’t going down without a fight. He hires Zara himself. He wants two houses—and a shot at proving to Zara that their red-hot chemistry is worth fighting for.

Zara knows the deal might break her heart, but the business is too tempting to turn down...and the out-of-office thrills are an electrifying bonus!

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.

RACHAEL STEWART adores conjuring up stories—from heartwarmingly romantic to wildly erotic. She’s been writing since she could put pen to paper—as the stacks of scrawled-on pages in her loft will attest to. A Welsh lass at heart, she now lives in Yorkshire, with her very own hero and three awesome kids, and if she’s not tapping out a story she’s wrapped up in one or enjoying the great outdoors. Reach her on Facebook, Twitter (@rach_b52) or at rachaelstewartauthor.com.

Mr Temptation

Rachael Stewart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08698-1

MR TEMPTATION

© 2019 Rachael Stewart

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To my grandparents,

for inspiring my love of Mills & Boon.

To Jenny, for all those weekend trips to the market,

scooping up secondhand Mills & Boons and writing

our own tales together;

And, of course, to my very own Mr Temptation, for

proving to me that love like this is real and worth

taking a chance on.

Yours always, R. xx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘FUCKERS.’

Daniel raked his fingers through his hair and rose to sit at the edge of the bed, his body hunching over his mobile and its glaring news feed.

It was entirely expected, everything he’d envisaged the night before, so why was he so riled?

He’d asked for it. And the press had delivered. In fact, more than delivered—the article had to be the most scathing yet.

But where was the usual sense of fun, the thrill of living up to his name, of pissing on his mum’s glory?

‘Honey, whatever it is, let it go and come back to bed.’

The voice purred at him from behind, a set of nails down his bare back designed to add to the appeal, and yet he wasn’t taking the bait. Not even a nibble. Both his cock and mind uninterested.

‘You should go.’ He twisted to take in the naked rear of the woman who was last night’s fix. What was it? The third—fourth time they’d slept together.

She was beautiful, everything you’d expect an elite model of her calibre to be. But he was bored, the spark already dying out; it had to be a record. He felt a pang of guilt and buried it. She wouldn’t care, not really; he was careful who he chose to fill his bed. And she’d got what she came for. He always lived up to his rep.

‘What time is it?’ She rolled onto her back, stretching out and pulling the crisp white sheet down her front, her bared rose-tipped breasts pert and alert. His cock gave a twinge, a little interest after all...

But not enough.

It was gone eight. He was due at his sister’s in less than an hour and the press were already gathering outside. The sooner they broke out, the better.

‘Time you went,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I’m hitting the shower.’

‘I’ll come with.’

She moved to follow and he faced her off, unconcerned that the semi he was sporting gave a very different response to his, ‘Nej—don’t.’

She gave a sultry pout and fell back onto her haunches. ‘Party pooper.’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got a rammed schedule for today.’

She rolled her eyes with a resigned sigh. ‘Thanks for the reminder.’

She turned to reach across the bed and take up her mobile from the side table, her focus now on the screen while her pert little ass beckoned him.

Shower. Now.

Making himself turn away, he headed to the bathroom. He could get his fix later, find someone new perhaps. Hell, he could have his pick...maybe that was the problem...

‘Annie, dahling,’ he heard her coo down the phone, ‘can you sort me an escape from The Shard? Seems we’ve caused a bit of a stir with the paparazzi...’

He set the jets of water running and drowned out the remainder of her conversation. He’d just finished with his hair when her naked body curved around the doorframe.

‘Sure I can’t change your mind?’

Ah, fuck it, another ten minutes isn’t going to hurt...

* * *

‘Zara, Shit-Bag is on line one—he’s after a number for a contact, apparently.’

EJ, her PA and right hand, leant back over her office chair, her head appearing through the open doorway to Zara’s private office. Not even her black-rimmed glasses were big enough to conceal her raised auburn brow and sparking blue gaze. She was as pissed at taking the call as Zara was to receive it.

‘Tell him I have an appointment. I’ll call him back.’ It wasn’t a lie, she did, and she needed to get moving if she wasn’t going to be late. She had the whole day mapped out touring London with her latest client, Julia Larsson, showing her abodes that matched the property brief they’d mapped out together to a T.

‘Righto,’ EJ said, dropping back into her own space. Although it wasn’t really as if the rest of her team had any designated space as such. Not yet.

Other than her office, the walls were only partially in place, the refit as per her design spec was halfway through completion and they were all living with a rather open workspace in the interim. Not that it really mattered. Zara only had a handful of employees currently, but it paid to have space for her expansion plans and, more importantly, it paid to have the right kind of space to entertain the right kind of clients.

The kind of space she’d had up until five months ago when Shit-Bag had left her no choice but to walk out of her former company. Six months of trying to work together following their break-up having taken their toll.

‘Err, Zara, he says it’s urgent.’

EJ walked her chair back into view and gave her an apologetic grimace, making a derogatory hand signal against the receiver at the same time. The latter succeeded in pulling out a smirk. How very different from the way EJ had reacted to him in the early days. How very different from every woman when first being caught in his charismatic web. She’d been no exception. Falling for his clean and slick appearance, a voice that rumbled with teasing provocation no matter what was being said and a body fit for a boxing ring.

Yeah, you fell for it, all right, but no more—you’re older and wiser for it now.

‘It’s okay,’ she assured her, ‘let him through.’

Her tummy twisted, but her smile at EJ was solid. She wasn’t going to upset her with her own discomfort. And she most definitely wasn’t going to let him hear how much he could still hurt her.

She lifted the phone receiver and accepted the call. ‘Charles, what is it?’

‘Zara, be a good girl and send me Tristan Black’s phone number, will you?’

His brash condescension had her teeth clenching, her anger flaring. Did I really find that cockney arrogance sexy once?

‘I’m rather busy right now,’ she said neutrally, using the anger to her advantage. Anger she could work with, it was so much easier to control than pain. ‘I’ll see if I can find it later and send it on.’

‘Come on, Zara, darling, it’s urgent and you know full well you have his number.’ If she didn’t know him better she’d think she caught the hint of panic, as though he could sense she was about to cut the call. Which she was. But panic? What could be so important that he needed to reach Tristan this second? ‘Look, our blasted systems have gone down and I don’t seem to have it on my mobile.’

‘Perhaps that’s because he was my client.’ She couldn’t help the barbed comment. But hell, he’d refused to let her take anyone, enforcing the restrictive contract clauses to the letter. She’d been lucky to set her new business up at all. Even luckier to take EJ with her.

It didn’t matter that he was the reason she’d had to leave in the first place. That she’d been the one who had worked twenty-four-seven to make it the success it had become. The success it still was, only now it was his baby, he was the one reaping all the benefit.

‘Very true,’ he said smoothly, his composure back so swiftly she’d probably imagined the crack—it was too much to hope for after all. ‘But, you know, my client now, of course.’

She clenched her fist around the phone, his smarmy tone and gibe making her want to hurl. The sooner she could have him off the line, the better. ‘I’ll dig it out and send it on, good—’

‘Wait, there’s something else...’

She halted midway through hanging up, the skin at the back of her neck prickling as her memory bank came alive. She knew that tone, knew it meant some big revelation or other. Wasn’t it just how he’d sounded when he’d finally been forced to admit all his extra-curricular activities?

‘What is it?’ She asked the question even though every instinct told her she didn’t want to know. The awkward cough he gave only confirming it. ‘Charles, spit it out, I don’t have all day.’

‘I’m getting married.’

The air caught in her lungs, ice seeping through her veins. Of all the things she could have imagined it being, it certainly wasn’t that.

The great bachelor, Charles Eddison, finally getting hitched. Five years and he’d failed to make an honest woman of her. She’d loved him with all of her being and yet it hadn’t been enough. And now, one year after their break-up, someone had managed to do it, someone had been special enough...

It just hadn’t been me.

* * *

‘Easy, liten syster,’ Daniel said into his mobile as he pressed the button for the lift to her floor. ‘I’m here now.’

‘Less of the little,’ she snapped, her irritation making her London accent revert to her Swedish lilt and making him grin. ‘Or I’ll start calling you Danny.’

He gave a mock shudder. ‘Quit the strop, then.’

Someone swept up behind him, a scent wrapping around him, vanilla twisted up in something so enticing he was damned if he could place it, and his eyes swerved of their own accord.

‘Strop! You were supposed to be here half an...’

His sister’s voice trailed away into the distance, his sight landing on the woman whose interesting scent had nothing on the visual. He felt his mouth quirk, his interest instant. She was beautiful, in an unusual, edgy kind of way. So not his type, a definite ‘no’ on paper, but when presented with the physical, she was all kinds of yes...

She faced the lift, waiting just as he was, one purple stiletto tapping impatiently, her body encased in a fitted black trouser suit, a leather-clad portfolio hooked under one arm, all quite usual but—

‘Are you listening to me, Dann-eee?’

‘Sure, I’ll be right up,’ he said distractedly, cutting the call and pocketing the device.

It was her hair that fascinated him: cropped to her ears, the reddish-brown mass was parted high to one side, windswept almost. And then there was her make-up, neutral save for the liner around her eyes and the bold lip colour—was that purple?

His gaze narrowed over it and she must have sensed his attention, her eyes flickering in his direction. ‘You know, it’s rude to stare.’

Her voice was husky, a crisp edge that rasped along his spine and sealed her appeal. He was hooked.

Her eyes were back on the doors, her lack of interest obvious. He should’ve taken it as a sign, but since when had he backed off from anything he fancied? In truth, her lack of interest only added to the appeal.

‘Rude?’ he said, raising his brow. ‘I’ve been called many things before—arrogant, reckless, even an arsehole—but rude, not had that one yet.’

Her mouth twitched but she didn’t turn to look at him, the ping of the lift arriving serving as a temporary interruption.

The doors opened and he gestured for her to precede him. ‘See, I’m not entirely rude.’

She looked to him then, her silver-grey eyes sparkling and those bold-coloured lips lifting into a smile that momentarily gutted him. Jesus, she was hot. The bow-like shape stretching and still the lower lip was full—swollen, even—almost as though it had just been thoroughly devoured.

Maybe she’d had to reapply that colour after it had been rubbed clean away. Oh, to be the cause of that little misdemeanour.

‘Thank you.’

It took a second to realise she had spoken, to realise he was staring all over again, and then sanity returned. ‘You’re welcome—which floor?’

He pressed the number for his sister and her thick black lashes lowered to trace his move. ‘The same.’

He nodded and came to stand beside her. The lift closed and together they stood, the silence heavy and loaded—at least to him.

Did she know who he was? Anyone with one eye on the media knew who he was: the sexy, Swedish billionaire who stuck one finger up to his celebrity roots and made it in the real world—the business world—the playboy who liked his women plentiful and hot, and always without strings.

That was pretty much how the article had summed him up that morning before really crucifying him.

Hell, maybe she knew exactly who he was and what he was like, hence her lack of interest.

If that was the case, she definitely wasn’t his type.

Not at all.

Liar...

Okay, so maybe it was time to break with tradition.

* * *

Did he have to be heading to the same floor?

She’d had enough of arrogant arseholes for one day and here she was stuck in a lift with a self-professed one. She couldn’t deny he’d amused her with his honesty and self-deprecating introduction though.

But he was trouble.

He wasn’t like Charles. He wasn’t smooth and perfect, clean-shaven and pristine.

No, this man was all about the stubble and the bedhead hair; a sun-kissed surfer plucked from the ocean, jazzed up and dumped in the city. The jeans and sweatshirt hugging his imposing frame looked laid-back but they screamed designer from top to toe. And the way he had her pulse tripping over itself, he was just as dangerous. On every level.

‘Now you know so much about me,’ he suddenly said, his accent thick and exciting her far more than was fair, ‘how about you let me take you for a drink?’

She almost swallowed her tongue, the portfolio digging into her side as she turned rigid. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Not right this second,’ he said, his amber eyes twinkling with amusement and holding her own. ‘But at a mutually agreeable time, of course?’

Of course. She mentally rolled her eyes. Would he just get the hint?

Her resolve was good, but she wasn’t immune. She could feel the temptation well enough and the sooner she got free of it, the better. She dragged her eyes away, forcing them on the intricate pattern twisting through the gold lift door ahead. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Care to tell me why?’

Because I’m not a fool. ‘I know you.’

The lift announced the arrival of their floor and he spoke over it. ‘You do?’

‘Obviously not you exactly,’ she said, relief sweeping through her as the lift doors opened and she stepped out.

Purposeful, she turned left towards Julia’s and hoped he would take the hint or a different direction at least. He didn’t.

‘Obviously,’ he reaffirmed, falling into step behind her. ‘I’d remember if I’d met you before.’

Her tummy gave an annoying flutter and she squashed it. She was going to have to be more specific. Brutal even...

‘What I mean is, I know your type.’

‘My type?’

‘Hell, yeah, great in the sack, perfect bedroom material...’ she sent him a scathing look ‘...but beyond that...well, we don’t go there, do we?’

His step faltered. ‘Wow, hung, drawn and quartered.’

She could hear his surprise, feel his unease, and victory surged warm in her veins. Her harsh assessment had hit its mark, hopefully enough to send him running.

And if that didn’t, the hint of her being the relationship kind should do it.

‘You have quite the opinion of men.’

She gave a derisive laugh and turned a bend, the sanctity of Julia’s hotel room now only a few strides away.

‘So, you’re either an anti-male lesbian—’ it was her turn to falter mid-step ‘—or you’ve been burned before. Which is it to be?’

A lesbian...

She laughed with reignited vigour. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken as such. Ever since she’d opted for the cropped hairstyle—one of her many post-break-up actions—she’d been hit on by women and men alike, hoping she swung their way. But she wasn’t about to tell him anything close to the truth.

‘Typical arrogant male—just because I’m not interested in you per se, I have to be a lesbian.’ She’d arrived at Julia’s door and to emphasise her point, she faced it and rapped against it. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

He wasn’t moving away. If anything, he was settling in right alongside her—what the fuck?

She didn’t have time to ask what he was playing at; the door swung open to reveal her rather disgruntled-looking client—shit. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Ms Larsson.’

The woman visibly cringed. ‘Drop the Ms, makes me feel ancient, it’s Julia...and so you should be,’ she said, shrugging a tan leather jacket over a white T and looking from Zara to her unwanted companion. ‘The pair of you.’

Pair of us?

Zara looked to him and he gave her a bemused shrug. ‘Seems you can’t get away from me that easily.’

‘Oh, good God, Daniel, don’t tell me you’ve hit on my estate agent already?’ The woman’s eyes flashed furiously, their colour strikingly similar to his.

Come to think of it, so was the golden hue to her shoulder-length hair...

‘I wouldn’t call it hitting on, exactly,’ he said, with another one of those annoyingly casual shrugs. ‘We were actually just discussing sexual tendencies.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Julia looked at her, cheeks flushing, eyes bright. ‘Seems I owe you an apology too.’

‘You do?’ Zara’s voice sounded faint, her brain rapidly piecing the situation together.

‘This animal,’ Julia said, gesturing to him in mock disdain, ‘is my brother—well, half-brother, to be exact. But seriously, Daniel, vad fan?’

‘Brother?’ she repeated, her eyes sweeping to the man himself, the realisation that she wasn’t going to evade him any time soon setting off a troubling dance in her chest.

‘In my defence,’ he said, a curious frown creasing his brow, ‘she brought it out in me.’

‘That’s your excuse?’ Julia said incredulously, delivering a playful shove that barely moved him, his eyes remaining fixed on Zara’s every bit as curious and heated and very, very interested. ‘If I didn’t value your opinion so much, I’d tell you to just do one and leave us to it.’

‘Seems that makes two of you today,’ he said, his penetrating gaze reaching inside Zara’s mind and triggering a replay of all that she had said with embarrassing clarity. ‘It’s a bloody good job my ego is big enough to take it.’

‘No one’s ego can be as big as yours, storebror,’ Julia said. ‘It’s just lucky your heart is also as big.’

‘And don’t you forget it,’ he said, looking to his sister with open affection now, freeing Zara at last, to breathe, to think, to get with it... ‘So, are we going to take this show on the road? Or are we going to stand here and do more Daniel-bashing?’

Julia gave a giggle and, God help her, Zara smiled, the move easy. Too easy.

‘For the record,’ he added, ‘my preference is definitely for the former.’

And then she laughed. Really laughed.

Charming. Good-looking. Dangerous.

No. No. No.

CHAPTER TWO

DANIEL WAS GRINDING his teeth. His arms folded across his front. His body rigid as he leant back against the door that housed what Zara had referred to as an ample bathroom for this size of apartment, in this desirable an area.

He’d say this: desirable or not, you could certainly save time going for your morning constitution while brushing your teeth over the sink. And the shower-over-the-bath—you had to be some kind of contortionist to use it. Why was he the only one seeing these issues?

At least this third property was an improvement on the previous two. It had natural daylight for starters, and no pounding pub or store adjoining.

He watched them cooing over the open-plan living space now—the strategically placed sofa that permitted the perfect view of the park across the road and the minute television that was as big as it could ever be in the space available—and bit into his tongue.

He wasn’t sure what was more painful: The fact he’d been forced to take the estate agency’s car—albeit a classic chauffeur-driven number, but when his state-of-the-art limo was at the ready, seriously, what sense did that make? Absolutely none. Or the fact that his opinion, when he chose to voice one, was counting for nothing, despite what his sister had said to the contrary earlier.

Or was it the fact that any fleeting look or touch from Ms Agent herself and his body stirred.

Yet she’d made it ever so clear it wasn’t happening, not in a million years.

He was now at the point where he was convincing himself his attractive little sister was far more the agent’s cup of tea. Or indeed, her choice of cocktail, the drink suiting her fire so much better. The attention she was lavishing over Julia, totally OTT in his opinion, and yet his sister was lapping it up.

‘So, come on, what do you think?’ came Julia’s on-the-spot question.

They both turned to him expectantly, his sister’s skin annoyingly aglow and happy—she liked it...really liked it. Ah, skit.

He cleared his throat and pushed away from the door, heading to stand between them, careful to keep his eye on the window and the view beyond. ‘It’s...nice.’

He had tried to sound enthused, but the reality was his comment stank, its tone utterly tepid. Funny enough, just how he was feeling.

‘Nice?’ she pressed.

‘The view is good; the location is convenient and—’ he shrugged ‘—nice.’

‘What about the actual apartment?’

He turned and let his gaze sweep the living area, the dining table for two and the kitchenette; he didn’t even want to think on the bathroom.

She could do better.

Her sleaze of an ex-husband should be picking up the brunt of the cost and if not him, she should be letting Daniel help. But he’d had this argument a thousand times over and she wasn’t having any of it.

‘You need to stop frowning so much,’ she piped up. ‘Gives you wrinkles, you know.’

‘You’re clearly not impressed,’ Zara remarked and guilt nagged at him. It wasn’t down to her ability, or lack thereof, to sell the place; she was doing her job plenty well enough.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he assured her. ‘My sister is being stubborn, and, rather than accept other people’s money to afford the kind of place she has grown up with, she is determined to do this alone.’

Julia rolled her eyes, her arms folding across her chest as she pinned him with that pig-headed stare he was accustomed to. ‘Don’t start that again. Dad’s trust fund is already helping me out enough. I’m not taking your charity too.’

‘If not mine, then you should bloody well take Edward’s money. The guy deserves to be coughing up for all he did.’

‘Do you honestly think I want any ties to that man?’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s bad enough that he did the rounds with my so-called friends. The sooner the divorce is final and I can cut all ties, the better.’

He could sense Zara backing away, could feel the personal nature of their conversation putting her on edge. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, reining it back in. ‘I’m sorry to have mentioned him. I just want what’s best for you, and this isn’t it.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s impractical.’

‘Why?’

‘Kristus, Julia, you’re a tall woman—care to explain how you’re going to use that bathroom?’ He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. ‘Allow me to demonstrate...’

He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall.

He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder—‘See?’

They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs—for fuck’s sake.

He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘You think it’s so easy? You try it.’

‘I’d rather not,’ Julia blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.

‘Okay.’ He looked to Zara pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. ‘Why don’t you do the honours?’

His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, ‘Sure, could you just hold this?’

She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.

Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.

‘It’s like this,’ she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest—she could tell him anything now and he’d fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away.

‘Just back up a little,’ she ordered.

Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.

But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head.

‘And you can remove this for more height, like so,’ she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. ‘Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath.’

She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up—not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.

‘Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Zara.’ His sister gave him a smug grin. ‘See, big bro, that’s how it’s done.’

‘You’re welcome,’ came Zara’s response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn’t be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit—did she know where his head was at?

And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.

‘Right, well, I think we’re done with this one,’ she said, unceremoniously shoving the shower screen in his face and almost sending him to his ass on the pink porcelain.

‘Shall we move on?’ she said, already heading out.

‘Yup.’ Julia nodded, smirking right at him.

He screwed his face up in a childish gesture—whatever.

‘If you both go on down,’ Zara said, expertly ignoring their little exchange—thank fuck! The pair of them were doing his ego and renowned charm no favours at all.

‘I’ll join you shortly,’ she continued. ‘I just have to take care of an errand for the owner.’

‘Great,’ Julia said, moving for the front door. ‘I have a quick call to make so I’ll meet you downstairs.’

‘I’ll catch you up,’ he called after her, pushing the glass door back into place and wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought of that.

Perhaps because you’ve never had to endure one before?

He shook his head, brushing the entire incident off as he followed in Zara’s direction.

‘Can I have a quick word?’ he asked, entering the kitchenette hot on her tail. His intention had been to talk budget with Julia out of earshot but as Zara turned in the small space, hemmed in as they were by the cupboards and the breakfast bar, all thoughts of conversation evaporated.

‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes wary as they lifted to his, her hands coming to rest on the countertop either side of her as she backed up against it. ‘But first you need to stop looking at me like that.’

‘Like what?’ He knew the answer well enough, but how would she describe it, what she saw in him? She was good with words—she’d demonstrated it repeatedly throughout the day, when eloquently describing the features of each potential abode. And in truth, he could listen to her talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to criticise: he wasn’t ready for her job to come to an end; he wasn’t ready for her to complete a sale for his sister and vacate his life.

He watched her eyelids flutter, her tongue flicking out to moisten that bottom lip he was so fascinated with. Was she nervous?

‘You know what.’ Her eyes dropped to his mouth, their depths revealing in their helpless nature, and his lips curled upwards. So she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she’d have him believe.

Power surged, his ego with it. ‘What if I said I can’t help it?’

Her eyes snapped back to his. ‘Then make yourself help it because this—’ she wagged a finger between them ‘—isn’t happening.’

‘No?’ He stepped forward and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a ragged breath.

‘No.’ She gave a small shake of her head, the move sending a lock across her forehead and he itched to push it back. ‘I don’t date clients.’

‘Technically,’ he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears, ‘I’m not a client.’

‘You’re as good as.’

‘I disagree.’

‘Whether you disagree or not, I don’t care,’ she rushed out. ‘I’m not falling into this trap.’

His brow knitted together; she’d flummoxed him now. ‘Trap?’

She paled, her words seeming to surprise even her, and then she visibly recovered, her chin rising, to say, ‘The kind of trap where I let this get in the way of my business.’

He studied her face, her sincerity. ‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience.’ He didn’t like the idea one bit. Oh, the irony. ‘I take it you’ve not always been so averse to dating clients?’

She hesitated, her teeth worrying over her lower lip and teasing at his concentration. Was she going to evade giving him an answer? Or should he just kiss her and be done with the whole conversation? He was veering towards the latter when she spoke.

‘Not my clients, no, my ex-business partner...we...we were together.’

‘You dated Charles Eddison?’

She exhaled sharply. ‘We more than dated, we lived together for five years.’

Five years, Kristus!

He felt sick at the very idea.

And then she squinted up at him, her eyes suddenly curious. ‘How did you know it was him? Do you know him?’

‘Not personally,’ he admitted, not liking the way her admission griped with his gut and keen to get back to more enjoyable conversation. But five years, Jesus. ‘I know enough of him, considering we looked at using his services initially.’

‘You looked at using him?’ She frowned. ‘Julia didn’t mention it.’

‘Why would she? She met him and took an instant dislike.’ Had he met the guy too, he was sure he would have felt the same, even more so now. ‘Someone on his team recommended you.’

‘They did?’ Her frown grew. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Well, now you do, can we move on?’

She didn’t acknowledge him; instead her eyes became distant, their sadness unmistakable. As was her vulnerability. No doubt Charles had done this to her. Left her like this.

‘When our relationship ended so did our business partnership, hence why I’m working from the ground up all over again.’ She dragged in a breath and straightened, her focus coming back as her confidence fell into place. ‘And hence why this just isn’t happening.’

He faltered, his brain telling him to agree, to move past the pull that was driving him to distraction.

She’s so not your type. She’s a bag of emotion. She’s not safe in your hands.

Instead he found himself saying, ‘You’re overthinking it. As much as Julia loves me, she’s already bought into your skills as an estate agent, as have I, for that matter. Nothing between us will sway her to go elsewhere.’

You idiot, why pursue her? She doesn’t fit with your no-strings rule. This woman goes in for attachment. Worse still, she’s been burned by it already and still suffering.

But then, if that’s the case, maybe she’s ready for the no-strings alternative.

Maybe she’s ready to become your type.

‘You have my word,’ he pressed gently.

You bastard.

* * *

She lifted her eyes at his soft declaration and immediately regretted it.

He hovered just above her, his wolf-like gaze burning into her own, the rush of warmth it inspired sending her toes curling inside her Louboutins. His confidence in her ability to fulfil her job beating back the negative words Charles had thrown at her on her way out of the door all those months ago—‘You’ll never make it on your own.’

Ha, well, they chose me, not you...at the recommendation of someone on your team, no less.

It felt good to know she still held favour there after walking out.

As for Daniel’s word, she held his eye; was he for real? ‘Your word?’

He made an affirmative noise deep in his throat, almost enticing a reciprocal one from her as it strummed at the heat swelling down low.

‘I’m willing to bet you’re just as caught up in this attraction as me,’ he said huskily. ‘And if that’s the case, you’ll realise this is about a bit of fun; no harm, no foul, no jeopardised business arrangement.’

‘You reckon?’ She sounded breathless, out of control.

No, no, don’t let this happen.

He nodded and raised his hand, her breath catching as she anticipated his touch, wanting and dreading it all the same, knowing that when it came she would lose herself in it, in him.

‘I’m not very good at...fun.’ She threw his description back at him, desperately clinging to what she knew to be true even as the heat of his hand brushed beneath her jaw, his touch so light it was barely there. And she wanted it there. Wanted every one of those fingers pressed into her skin as he kissed her.

‘Fun?’ he questioned softly, his hand following the contours of her neck as her head lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

‘Not this sort of fun.’ She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

‘You’re going to have to clarify, because I’m talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less.’

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. ‘And so am I.’

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, ‘You’re afraid of keeping it casual?’

She shook her head. If only that were her problem.

‘I’m not very good at it.’ She stressed the it, praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame.

Why admit that? Why admit something buried so deep inside?

Because it wasn’t so deep.

Hadn’t Charles brought it all to the surface when he’d called her that morning?

Hadn’t the revelation of Julia’s relationship troubles kicked up her own storm?

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. ‘I don’t believe that.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. She hadn’t been able to let anyone near her since Charles. Her revamped image was all part of her great big back-the-hell-off-I’m-not-interested persona. She didn’t want anyone to get close enough to risk Charles’s words being reaffirmed by anybody else—‘You’re cold...so frigid in the sack...it’s such hard work.’

Daniel wasn’t getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered, his mouth brushing against hers to say, ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

‘I’m not...’ Her words trailed away, his lips coaxing her to silence, to oblige, to move beneath the hypnotic pressure of his. She lowered her lashes, a small noise quivering at the back of her throat.

Did that really come from me?

She tightened her grip over the counter edge, trying desperately to regain control. ‘We shouldn’t do this.’

He closed what little gap remained, his hardness pressing up against her belly and replacing all sane thought with sensation, the pang between her legs instant and desperate. She clenched her thighs tight, nursing it, wanting it to grow and not wanting it to all the same.

His tongue flicked out to tease her mouth apart, his free hand joining the other to hook around her neck and hold her in place. ‘Then tell me to stop.’

He took her lower lip in his teeth and tugged, the effect ripping a moan from her and sending streaks of heat straight to her neglected clit—Christ. She wanted him. Badly.

‘I didn’t think so,’ he murmured against her, his tongue seeking entry as her own dared to taste him. He was so musky and male, gentle yet demanding. He teased around her mouth, testing every curve, stoking the fire inside.

And then he growled, the sound fierce as his tempo changed, his desperation breaking through his control and she ignited with it. Like a switch being flicked on, she came alive to match him, move for move, her own mouth hungry for more. Her hands seeking out the crazy flop of blond, and loving that he let her. That he didn’t care. Not like Charles. Charles would have told her to watch it, be careful...

He broke his mouth away, pinning his forehead against her own, his ragged breath sweeping down her front, down the channel of her V-cut blouse. ‘I think you’re very good at this.’

‘Is that so?’ Wow, was that really her? So heated, so flirtatious?

She looked to him from beneath her lashes, every nerve-ending alert as it craved the hardness ever-swelling against her.

Yes, this was her. And this man wasn’t Charles, he was as lost to the moment as she... Or was he?

Doubt sparked. What was she doing? She had no interest in opening herself up again. Especially with a man she didn’t know. Couldn’t trust.

His mouth closed over hers once more, ravenous and urgent, his hand dropping to lift her against him. She moulded into him, her neck arching under the pressure of his continued kiss, her muddied thoughts warring with the passion racing through her veins. It felt so good to feel this rush again.

Again? Who are you kidding? No one has made you feel this crazy, this hungry, this desired.

And she could trust him enough to give in to this—couldn’t she?

He had heart enough; he wore it on his sleeve for Julia, his sister—her client. Shit!

She stilled beneath him, her eyes flying open.

You’re meant to be working, not getting cosy with your client’s brother!

She pushed him away, ignoring his widened gaze and the hard expanse of muscle that flexed beneath her touch. What the hell was he playing at, pretending to have something to discuss, only to seduce her? ‘That was a dirty trick.’

‘What was?’

She forced her breathing to steady, shifting her eyes away from the seductive fire in his. ‘Coming in here, under the pretence of a conversation, only to make a move.’

She stepped around him and headed to the sink, amazed that she could make her jelly-like body do her bidding. She took up a plastic jug from the drainer and turned on the tap, throwing her focus into what she was supposed to be doing.

‘I wasn’t pretending anything,’ he said, his voice still so near in the closed-in space. ‘I wanted to speak to you without my sister listening in.’

‘Really?’ She raised a sardonic brow at him over her shoulder and regretted even looking. He was ruffled, the evidence of her touch in the state of his hair, his puffed-up lips, the heat to his cheeks. He was too hot before, now he just taunted her with what she knew to be real. What she knew she could have if she chose it.

He grinned. ‘Yes, really. It was your provocation that made me forget it.’

‘My provocation?’ Water overflowed the jug in her hand but she couldn’t care.

‘Yes, you.’ He reached out and cupped her chin, scanning her face with that same curious look he’d been sporting half the morning. ‘There’s just something about you, and I can’t seem to control my reaction to it.’

She couldn’t speak. Wasn’t it how she felt too? Hadn’t he broken through the layers she’d effectively held in place for months, all in the space of a look, a touch...?

But hell, it was hardly surprising when she’d been celibate for so long.

‘Need a hand with that?’ he said, reaching around her to twist the tap off and his proximity made her heart skitter anew.

‘Thank you,’ she said, backing away enough to escape the kitchen, jug in hand, the spark of an idea creeping up on her that she just knew she should quash before it took hold. It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t rational...but still, it was there...

Would one night do it?

One night—with him?

She walked around the flat, watering the plants that adorned it, all the while feeling his eyes on her, penetrating her, lighting her up from top to toe. He’d resumed the position he’d been in earlier, his brooding silhouette resting up against the bathroom door. And just as he had then, he clouded her judgement, her mind struggling to function under the effect of his gaze.

Would one night release her from this? Clear her mind and rid her body of this insane need so that normal service could resume?

‘I think you’ve given that one enough.’

‘What?’ She frowned and followed his line of sight to the spider plant she was tending to, seeing the water pooling at the pot rim, a trickle commencing down the side. She cursed, her cheeks warming as she righted the jug. Seemed she couldn’t even cope with the simple task of watering plants in his presence—unbelievable.

‘Can you pass me some kitchen towel?’ she snapped and then cringed, realising she was projecting her frustration onto him and making herself add a guilt-ridden, ‘Please?’

She wished she hadn’t softened her request when she saw how his eyes danced, how amused he was at her fluster, knowing it was because he understood the cause.

‘Sure.’ He pushed away from the door and headed into the kitchen area.

She forced her eyes away. She couldn’t carry on like this. For however long it took to find his sister a home, she needed to get this under control. Christ, she needed his sister to spread a good word. Not tell every Tom, Dick and Harry that she was an airhead... Or, worse, that she couldn’t stop lusting after her brother long enough to concentrate.

‘Here,’ he said, coming up alongside her and offering out the paper towel.

‘Thank you.’

She didn’t quite meet his eye as she took it and bent forward to clean up the mess.

Now was the time, she realised; if she wanted to put the idea to him, she needed to do it now. ‘One date.’

He stilled in the periphery of her vision. ‘A date?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ignoring the bemusement in his tone.

Hell, you’d be bemused if someone had just burst out with those two words.

Straightening up and smoothing her wrist over her hair to right it while avoiding the damp kitchen towel clutched in her hand, she nodded. ‘Let’s go on one date together.’

‘You want to do that?’

Yes... No... Yes.

The words whirled through her mind as their gazes locked and she lost herself in his warm, amber depths, a wedge forming in her throat.

Are you crazy? Do you really know what you’re letting yourself in for?

She headed for the kitchen, praying he hadn’t spied her hesitation. She prided herself on knowing her own mind, for heaven’s sake—why was he making that so hard?

‘Yes, I do,’ she said, placing the jug back on the drainer, grateful that her voice gave away none of her internal wrangling and feeling her resolve swell.

You’ve put the idea out there, you can bloody well follow it through.

Turning to look at him, she leisurely travelled his entirety, taking in his sheer beauty, his continued silence and bemusement, and her tummy gave the smallest little flutter. Was he going to turn her down?

Hell, no.

‘Unless, of course...’ she said the words softly, teasingly, her legs moving of their own volition to close the distance between them ‘...you don’t want to?’

He didn’t budge, his body seemingly fixed in place as he watched her approach, a telltale pulse ticcing in his jaw as he no doubt worked to gauge her intent.

He didn’t have to wait long, not in this confined space.

Once she was within touching distance she reached out, her fingers hooking over his belt buckle with daring provocation. The move bold and quite unlike her. Yet it felt completely natural, instinctive with him, as did the words that slipped from her lips. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t fancy a bit of fun together?’

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