Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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to take a step back and simplify—starting with divulging his addendum to her week-long stay.
He knocked twice at her bedroom door. ‘Lunch is ready.’
The door creaked open and she stuck her head around it. What did she think? He’d catch sight of the bed and want to ravish her on the spot?
Hmmm...good point.
‘Raincheck?’
He exhaled in exasperation. ‘I need my marketing manager in peak form, which means no skipping meals—no matter how distasteful you find my company.’
‘It’s not that.’ She blushed. ‘I tend to grab snatched meals whenever I remember, so I don’t do a sit-down lunch very often.’
‘Lucky for you we’re not sitting down.’ He snagged her hand, meeting the expected resistance when she pulled back. He tugged harder. ‘It’s no big deal, Cal. Fish and chips on the beach. You can have your head buried behind your computer again in thirty minutes.’
Her expression softened. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you outside.’
‘Is this a ploy so I have to release your hand and you’ll abscond?’
She chuckled, a welcome, happy sound after her apparent snit. ‘It’s a ploy to use the bathroom.’ She held up her hands. ‘No other ulterior motives or escape plans in the works—promise.’
‘In that case I’ll see you down there.’ He squeezed her hand before releasing it. ‘But more than five minutes and I get the best piece of fish.’
‘You’re on.’
Thankfully she only kept him waiting three, and he’d barely had time to spread the picnic blanket on the sand before she hit the beach running.
His breath caught as he watched her scuffing sand and snagging her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. The actions were so reminiscent of their time in Capri he wanted to run half way to meet her.
Not liking how fast she’d got under his skin, he busied himself with unwrapping the paper and setting out the lemon wedges and salt sachets alongside the chips and grilled fish. Anything to keep his hands busy and resisting the urge to sweep her into his arms when she got close enough.
‘That smells amazing,’ she said, flopping down on the blanket next to him. ‘But you said no sitting down.’
‘Trivialities.’ He pushed the paper towards her. ‘Eat.’
And they did, making short work of the meal in companionable silence. He hadn’t aimed for romance but there was a certain implied intimacy that had more to do with their shared past than any concerted effort now.
The comfortableness surprised him. Considering her reservations about heading to Torquay with him in the first place, and then her absentee act all morning, he’d expected awkwardness.
This relaxed ambience was good. All the better to spring his surprise.
‘I need to ask you a favour.’
She licked the last grains of salt off her fingers—an innocuous, innocent gesture that shot straight to his groin.
‘What is it?’
Now or never. ‘My youngest brother Travis is getting married Christmas Eve and I’d like you to be my date.’
She stared at him in open-mouthed shock, her soda can paused halfway to her lips.
‘You’re asking me to be your date?’
She made it sound as if he’d asked her to swim naked in a sea full of ravenous sharks.
‘We’re not heading back ’til Christmas Day, and it doesn’t make sense for you to spend Christmas Eve alone when you could come to what’ll basically be a whoop-up party, so I thought you might like to come.’
‘I don’t have anything to wear,’ she blurted, her horror-stricken expression not waning.
So much for that spark he’d imagined when they’d kissed.
‘There are a couple of local boutiques, but honestly it’ll be a pretty casual affair.’
‘Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’
Her eyes narrowed, and he braced for the obvious question.
‘Why didn’t you ask me before we got here?’
Several lame-ass excuses sprang to mind, but he knew nothing but honesty would work now.
‘Because I knew you wouldn’t come.’
Her fingers clenched so hard she dented the soda can. ‘So the business thing was an excuse?’
‘No way. I need this surf school campaign to fly and you’re the best.’ He tried an endearing grin. ‘I just figured we could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I could kill you,’ she muttered, placing her soda can on the sand and hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I don’t like being taken for a fool.’
‘You know that’s not how I see you.’
She rested her cheek on her knees, her sidelong glance oddly vulnerable. ‘How do I know? It’s been eight years since I’ve seen you.’
Hating the certainty pinging through him that he’d majorly stuffed this up, he scooted closer and draped an arm across her shoulders, surprised when she didn’t shrug it off.
‘Honestly? I wanted to tell you, but I was pretty thrown at your office, and you weren’t exactly welcoming so I took the easy way out and focussed on the business side of things. Forgive me?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, her tone underlined by a hint of ice as the corners of her mouth were easing upwards.
‘Is it that much of a hardship to be my date for an evening?’
‘Considering I don’t know you any more, yeah.’
‘Easily rectified.’
Before he could second-guess the impulse he leaned across and kissed her.
It was nothing like his reckless prove-a-point kiss in the car. This time it just felt right.
She fought him initially, trying to pull away, but his hand slid around the back of her head, anchoring her, and he sensed the second she gave in.
Her lips softened and she moaned, the barest of sounds but enough for him to deepen the kiss, until the roaring in his ears matched the pounding of the surf crashing metres from their feet.
He had no idea how long the kiss lasted. A few seconds. An eternity. But when it ended he wished it hadn’t.
‘You’ve gotta stop doing that.’ She shoved him away—hard.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not meaning it, and by her raised eyebrow she knew it.
‘Hollow apologies after the fact don’t cut it.’ She jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘And neither do those kisses. Quit it, okay?’
‘Hey, I’m an impulsive guy. You can’t blame me—’
‘You want me to be your date for the wedding?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then no more funny business.’ Her gaze dropped to his lips, lingered, and he could have sworn he glimpsed longing. ‘This campaign means a lot to both of us, so let’s keep our minds on the job, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He wanted to lighten the mood, end on a frivolous note. ‘Maybe I wanted that kiss to prove it won’t be so far-fetched for you to pretend to be a devoted date at the wedding—’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, leaping to her feet and dusting the sand off her butt—but