The Debt / Cross My Hart. Clare Connelly
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gnawed at me. How dare he think that? I would never use sex to get what I wanted and certainly not after Mark. ‘No,’ I repeated, with more force this time. ‘That’s…oh, my God, that’s the last thing I would ever do.’
He ignored that. ‘Do you know how many people have tried to use me to get what they want over the years?’ His voice was cold and gritty as sleet, his accent even more cut-glass than normal. ‘Many, many people, Miss Little. Believe me, you’re not the first.’
Heat surged through my cheeks. ‘I wasn’t intending to have sex with you. I just wanted to talk to you.’
‘But you didn’t, did you? You liked the idea of my cock instead.’
I struggled to get a handle on my anger. ‘So? It’s just sex, mate. Like you said, no big deal. So, could we talk about the investment that Dad—?’
‘No,’ he cut me off, the word cold as an arctic frost. ‘We will not talk about the investment. We will not talk about anything at all. This conversation, Miss Little, is done.’
Behind me someone honked their horn and I realised the light had turned green, leaving me no choice but to begin driving again.
I slammed my foot on the gas, trying to get a grip on my boiling emotions, very conscious that if I let rip the way I wanted to, I was in danger of screwing this up completely.
I couldn’t do what I’d done with Mark and let my anger get the better of me. Certainly kneeing Mr Evans in the balls wouldn’t help, which meant I needed to try something else, think of another angle that might interest him.
There is something else.
No, I couldn’t tell him about my personal project, not after Dad had poured scorn on it. It wouldn’t work and was going to end up being a huge waste of money, that was what Dad had said.
Still, I didn’t have that many options. And besides, I had to fix this. Especially since it was my fault that this was a problem in the first place.
‘I have my own project,’ I said into the silence, ignoring the nervous tension in my gut. ‘I’m designing an electric supercar. I think it could be a game changer, but Dad won’t fund it because he doesn’t approve. Not that he has the money, anyway, but if I could just get some backing for a prototype, it could turn Australis around, I’m sure of it.’
Silence from the back seat.
I didn’t want to look in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t want to meet his fascinating blue eyes, not again. ‘I know you’ve got every right to withdraw your money,’ I went on doggedly, ‘but I’m asking you personally at least to put it on hold. If I get funding for my project, it has the potential to do really well and then I could pay you back with a ton of interest.’
Again, silence.
Dammit. I’d bloody well screwed this up, hadn’t I? Sex had ruined it and then mentioning my stupid project probably hadn’t helped.
There was pressure at the back of my throat, a heaviness in my chest. Shit, that was pathetic. Dad would be appalled. He’d tell me to pull myself together, that it was my mess and crying about it wasn’t going to help anyone. I just had to suck it up and deal with it. That was the Little way.
The airport was coming up and soon I’d have to stop and let Mr Evans out. He’d walk away from me and that would be my opportunity gone.
‘I can show you pictures,’ I said uselessly. ‘My design is pretty unique, so if you want to see an example of—’
‘No.’ The word was flat, unequivocal.
‘Mr Evans—’
‘I said no.’ The was no mistaking the note of absolute authority in his cold, gritty voice.
The discussion was over.
Hot, angry words filled my mouth, but I kept it closed, my jaw aching with the strain.
Don’t make a fuss.
‘Hey, no worries.’ I forced my mouth into a smile. ‘Can’t blame a girl for trying though, eh?’
He said nothing, the silence in the car becoming thick and suffocating. Full of his anger and something else I didn’t understand.
I pulled the limo up in the drop-off area outside the airport and only then, gathering my courage, did I glance into the mirror.
But he was putting his laptop away and not looking at me.
I stared at him, unable to help myself. His face was guarded, the white seams of his scars stark against his olive skin. A muscle flickered in his hard, strong jaw. And I couldn’t help noticing that he had the longest, darkest lashes I’d ever seen on a man.
My fingers itched to touch him, a throb between my thighs reminding me of what he’d felt like inside me, surging into me, taking me hard and fast, the wild thrill of having a man like that under my hands…
Abruptly he looked and the vivid colour of his eyes caught me, held me.
‘Goodbye, Miss Little,’ he said expressionlessly.
And then he was gone.
Ash
I STARED OUT from the empty floor of the tower building my company was in the process of constructing in Southwark, the Thames looking black and sluggish in the early afternoon light. Wind blew through the big empty space where the windows were going to go, while the site manager went through a list of excuses as to why the project had been delayed by several months.
I was only half listening. Despite the delays, the construction was going according to plan and I didn’t care about the man’s excuses. What I was concerned about was the upcoming trip to Dubai that I’d promised Delaney, and how I still hadn’t sorted out the issue of the ‘serious girlfriend.’
The solution, of course, was to bring someone with me and have her act the part. I had no shortage of women who’d be only too happy to pretend to be my ‘serious girlfriend’, but my real problem was that I couldn’t act to save my life.
I’d never pretended to be anything but what I was, a former street fighter turned property developer, and I seriously doubted my abilities to pretend to be ‘serious’ about a woman, no matter how lovely she was.
And I didn’t see why I had to bother with this nonsense just to get those islands. But Delaney wasn’t budging, which meant that if I wanted them, I had no other option. My only consolation was that he’d no doubt be doing the same thing to Dumont.
‘Excuse me, Mr Evans?’
A female voice floated through the empty floor and I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the lightning bolt that hit me every time a woman said ‘Mr Evans.’
Christ, after a week, you’d think I’d have forgotten about one encounter in the back of a limo with a sexy Australian chauffeur.
Apparently not.
I turned from the site manager to see my chief assistant, Petra, exit the construction elevator and make her way towards me, adroitly skirting the piles of wood and steel offcuts, metal shavings and concrete dust that littered the floor, despite the skyscraper heels she wore.
‘What is it?’ I snapped, deciding my irritation had nothing to do with being reminded of my one-time chauffeur and everything to do with being interrupted.
Petra ignored my temper the way she always did, peering at me from underneath her hard hat. ‘You wanted to know the moment I had that dossier ready. Shall I email it to you?’
Instantly the single lightning bolt down my spine became a storm, igniting me for no fucking reason that I