Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss. Кейт Хьюит
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during dinner, Lizzie had noticed, and he’d eaten lightly, despite the many rich offerings.
He was, she realised, a man of incredible restraint. Control. Which made what had happened before—the teasing, tempting breath of a kiss—all the more worrisome. He was just flirting with her, teasing her as a form of amusement. Intimidation. He’d obviously seen how affected she was, just as she’d realised how affected he wasn’t.
‘We need to get our stories straight,’ he said now. He took a sip of coffee before reaching for some papers from his attaché case. ‘If you’re telling Hassell we met at a wine bar and I say we met at work…’ he glanced up briefly, eyes lighting with rare humour ‘…even the most trusting of saints would start to wonder.’
Lizzie nodded. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and thought of the silly films she’d seen where just that scenario had occurred. Then had it been funny; now it was frightening.
No matter how exciting it might be, they both still had so much to lose.
‘You’ve thought of a story?’ she asked, nodding at the papers.
‘Best to keep to the truth as much as possible. Then we’re less likely to trip ourselves up. Now, the facts.’ He gave her a glimmer of a smile before he began the recitation. ‘We’ve been married six weeks. You’ve always worked for me, and one day…’
Suddenly Lizzie couldn’t help herself. It was a game and she wanted to play. Flirt, even if just for pretend. She wanted to have fun. To seize life. ‘One day,’ she interrupted, smiling with coy promise, ‘I walked into your office with some letters for you to sign and you just realised.’ Cormac glanced at her, eyebrow raised in amused query. Lizzie gave a breathy, delighted sigh. ‘You looked into my eyes…’ she leaned forward and fluttered her lashes ‘…and realised that your life had been so cold, so empty, so meaningless without me. Didn’t you?’
She dared to trail her fingers along his cheek, revelling in the rough stubble, the tick in his jaw. ‘It was so sudden, of course. I never thought my boss would be interested in me for one second…But you insisted on taking me out to dinner, and the rest…’ she shrugged, gave a little laugh ‘…is history. Isn’t it, darling?’ She sat back, smiling triumphantly even though her heart was beating a bit too hard.
She’d meant to take her hand away from his cheek, but he was too fast. He grabbed it, held it to his lips as his eyes roamed, caressed her face. ‘That’s just how it happened, sweetheart. I’ll never forget the moment I realised how hopelessly I’d fallen in love with you.’ He kissed the tip of her finger, nibbled on the sensitive pad. Lizzie gasped. Aloud. He smiled and continued nibbling. ‘And you,’ he murmured in a lower, more seductive voice like the slide of silk on skin, ‘fell rather hopelessly in love with me.’ He was sucking her fingers, his tongue flicking along her skin, her nerve-endings, his teeth tenderly biting into her flesh, filling her with craven need. Desire. His mouth curved into a smile that was all too knowing, and amusement lit his eyes.
She’d been playing a game and she had the feeling she’d just lost.
With one last brush against his lips, he dropped her hand into her lap. ‘Don’t lay it on too thick, Chandler, or they’ll really start to wonder.’ He turned back to his papers, completely unruffled, while Lizzie sagged against the seat.
Lord help her. What the hell had she got herself into?
Somehow she managed to get through the next half hour as Cormac droned on about the basics of what they needed to know. She felt frozen, numb. Afraid.
She wasn’t sure she could do this after all. At that moment she was more afraid of Cormac than the press. More fearful for her body—her heart—than her career or reputation.
She’d had no idea she would react this way to Cormac, to his touch, his look; she was leaning into it, craving it. Craving him. Adventure was one thing; abandon was quite another. Her mind danced with possibilities she had no business entertaining.
This was a charade, she told herself fiercely, not the real thing.
Never the real thing.
Help.
Cormac irritably tapped his pen against the sheaf of papers. ‘You haven’t been listening to a word, have you?’
‘Sorry.’ She flinched guiltily. ‘It’s just so much to take in.’
He capped the pen and gestured to the flight attendant to take their empty coffee cups. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters,’ he said with a shrug. ‘No one will be expecting a deceit, so no one will be looking for one.’
‘No one will think it strange that you’ve only been married for six weeks?’
‘Coincidence rather than convenience,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘People will expect a newly-wed couple, newly in love, and I don’t think it will take much to convince them that’s what they’re seeing.’ He paused, his gaze dipping down to her fingers—the fingers he’d touched. Tasted. ‘I’m rather confident of your acting abilities.’
Lizzie tried for a laugh; it came out like a wheeze. ‘At least it’s only for a few days.’
‘A few memorable days,’ Cormac agreed. His smile turned languourous, his gaze heavy-lidded. All intentional, Lizzie knew, and yet she wasn’t immune. She felt her stomach clench, prepare for an assault of the senses, the flood of damning desire. Cormac’s smile deepened. ‘Who knows what might happen?’
The cabin lights flickered and dimmed. Cormac leaned over, his arm brushing her breasts—intentional again, Lizzie was sure—and he eased her chair into a reclining position.
Prone, supine before him, Lizzie clutched the armrests. Hated feeling vulnerable.
‘Sweet dreams, Chandler,’ he whispered. Lizzie lay there and watched as he adjusted his own seat, settled a pillow under his head and promptly fell asleep.
If only it were so easy for her. She lay in the dark, her eyes wide-open, her body thrumming with fear, excitement and unfulfilled desire.
It was a heady mix.
‘We’ll be arriving in Bonaire in just under forty minutes.’
Lizzie tilted her seat forward, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, although she’d finally fallen into a restless doze only to be jerked awake by the bright Caribbean sunlight streaming through the window and the chirpy voice of the flight attendant as she pushed the breakfast cart down the aisle.
Her damp hands curled around the metal buckle of her seat belt. Next to her, Cormac sat relaxed, calm, smiling.
Her husband.
She smiled, a small stretching of her lips. In little over half an hour they would exit in Bonaire, take a small chartered plane to Sint Rimbert and the charade would begin.
She would be Cormac’s wife. A thrill of terror rippled through her in an icy wave.
She couldn’t eat any of the breakfast, although Cormac was calmly drinking a cup of strong black coffee. Once the dishes had been cleared away, they prepared for landing.
‘Here.’ Cormac pressed something cool and hard into her palm; Lizzie looked down and saw it was a wedding ring. Platinum. Expensive.
‘I can’t…’ she began, shaking her head. Cormac curled her fingers around the ring.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you can.’
Lizzie slipped the ring on with numb fingers. It was a little too big, although not enough for anyone to notice.
She was the only one who would notice, who would care. Who would realise how wrong it felt.
It was too late for regrets, she knew. Far too late for second thoughts. She’d agreed, she’d let Cormac seduce her with his words, his touch, his promise.
Who