CHAPTER TWO

      CALLIE stared at Archer in disbelief.

      The cocky charmer was blackmailing her.

      As if she’d let him get away with that.

      She folded her arms, sat back, and pinned him with a disbelieving glare. ‘Never thought I’d see the day hotshot Archer Flett resorted to blackmail to get a woman to shack up with him.’

      His eyes sparked with admiration and she stiffened. She didn’t want to remember how he’d looked at her in a similar way during their week in Capri, his expression indulgent, bordering on doting.

      As if. He’d bolted all the same, admiration or not, and she’d do well to remember it.

      For, as much as she’d like to tell him where he could stick his business contract, she needed the money.

      ‘Blackmail sounds rather harsh.’ He braced his forearms on her desk and leaned forward, immediately shrinking the space between them and making her breath catch. ‘A bit of gentle persuasion sounds much more civilised.’

      That voice... It could coax Virgins Anonymous into revoking their membership. Deep, masculine, with a hint of gravel undertone—enough to give Sean Connery healthy competition.

      There was nothing gentle about Archer’s persuasion. If he decided to turn on the full arsenal of his charm she didn’t stand a chance, even after all this time.

      That irked the most. Eight long years during which she’d deliberately eradicated his memory, had moved on, had dealt with her feelings for him to the extent where she could handle his online marketing without flinching every time she saw his picture or received an e-mail.

      Gone in an instant—wiped just like that. Courtesy of his bedroom voice, his loaded stare and irresistible charm.

      ‘Besides, living together for the week is logical. My house has plenty of room and we’ll be working on the campaign 24/7. It’s sound business sense.’

      Damn him. He was right.

      She could achieve a lot more in seven days without factoring in travel time—especially when she had no clue where his house was or its vicinity to Torquay.

      However, acknowledging that his stipulation made sense and liking it were worlds apart.

      ‘You know I’m not comfortable with this, right?’

      ‘Really? I hadn’t picked up on that.’

      He tried his best disarming grin and she deliberately glanced away. Living with him for the week might be logical for business, but having to deal with his natural charm around the clock was not good.

      ‘Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?’

      Great—he was laying the charm on thick. Her gaze snapped to his in time to catch his damnably sexy mouth curving at the corners. Her lips tingled in remembrance of how he’d smile against her mouth when he had her weak and whimpering from his kisses.

      Furious at her imploding resistance, she eyeballed him with the glare that had intimidated the manager at her mum’s special accommodation into giving her another extension on payment.

      ‘Yeah, there is something you can do to sweeten the deal.’ She stabbed at an envelope with a fingertip and slid it across the desk towards him. ‘Sign off on my new rates. Your PA hasn’t responded to my last two e-mails and I need to get paid.’

      His smile faded as he took the envelope. ‘You’re having financial problems?’

      If he only knew.

      ‘No. I just like to have my accounts done monthly, and you’ve always been prompt in the past...’

      Blessedly prompt. The Torquay Tan account had single-handedly launched her business into the stratosphere and kept it afloat. If she ever lost it...

      In that moment the seriousness of the situation hit her. She shouldn’t be antagonising Archer. She should be jumping through whatever hoop he presented her with—adding a somersault and a ta-da flourish for good measure.

      She had to secure this new campaign. CJU Designs would skyrocket in popularity, and her mum would continue to be cared for.

      She had no other option but to agree.

      ‘Just so we’re clear. If I accompany you to Torquay, the surf school campaign is mine?’

      His mocking half salute did little to calm the nerves twisting her belly into pretzels.

      ‘All yours, Cal.’

      She didn’t know what unnerved her more. The intimate way the nickname he’d given her dripped off his tongue or the way his eyes sparked with something akin to desire.

      She should be ecstatic that she’d secured the biggest campaign of her career.

      Instead, as her pulse ramped up to keep pace with her flipping heart, all she could think was at what price?

      * * *

      Archer didn’t like gloating. He’d seen enough of it on the surf circuit—arrogant guys who couldn’t wait to glory over their latest win.

      But the second Callie’s agreement to accompany him to Torquay fell from her lush lips he wanted to strut around the office with his fists pumping in a victory salute.

      An over-the-top reaction? Maybe. But having Callie by his side throughout the Christmas Eve wedding festivities—even if she didn’t know it yet—would make the event and its guaranteed emotional ra-ra bearable.

      He’d suffered through enough Torquay weddings to know the drill by now. Massive marquees, countless kisses from extended rellies he didn’t know, back-slapping and one-upmanship from old mates, and the inevitable matchmaking between him and every single female under thirty in the whole district.

      His mum hated the dates he brought home each year, and tried to circumvent him with less-than-subtle fix-ups: notoriously predictable, sweet, shy local girls she hoped would tempt him to settle down in Torquay and produce a brood of rowdy rug-rats.

      It was the same every wedding. The same every year, for that matter, when he returned home for his annual visit. A visit primarily made out of obligation rather than any burning desire to be constantly held up as the odd one out in the Flett family.

      It wasn’t intentional, for his folks and his brothers tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, but while he’d forgiven them for shutting him out in the past the resultant awkwardness still lingered.

      He’d steadily withdrawn, stayed away because of it, preferring