Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress. Natalie Anderson
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She appeared then, in the doorway, seeming to float in on the laughter. The girl who’d answered the door followed close. Then a collection of faces filled the frame.
James stayed statue-still and stared—hardly aware of the others, only her. He was barely conscious of his smile stretching wide. Her colour was high again and the blush grew when she saw how far he was along the hallway. For a moment their eyes met. Her colour deepened yet more. Her gaze slipped as she walked towards him, concentrating on balancing the crate. He drank in her appearance like a parched man who’d been stuck in a desert for months. She looked slim next to the pregnant girl and in her skinny jeans and casual tee she didn’t look that much older, and there was something different about her hair. Fresh and shining, she was even more attractive now than her glam-girl look of the night before. And for a crazy second he wondered what she’d look like with the blossoming curves of impending motherhood.
‘Sorry, James, I lost track of the time. Have I kept you waiting?’
James shook his head as he took the crate off her, clearing the wayward images, as careful to avoid any contact with her hands as she was to avoid contact with his eyes. In the face of so much fertility he couldn’t help the way his brain was working. The thought of S-E-X was screaming to him in capital letters. And all he could see was Liss in the centre of the action—with him.
He gave himself a mental pinch. Grow up. Act mature. Stop thinking X-rated thoughts every time you so much as glance at her. But it was impossible not to when she looked so relaxed. He wanted to magic her away with him and start to play.
‘I’ll be back again, soon, OK?’ Liss called to them from the door after the chorus of thank-yous and goodbyes from the girls.
He noticed she didn’t specify when—and the bitterness that had been blown away at the sight of her began to fester back. She’d return some time at her convenience, no doubt—probably when she didn’t have something better to do. It wasn’t about them, it was all about her. He worked his scratchiness up some more—it was a good way of fighting off the lust, and he felt more in control of it when he kept his cynicism to the fore.
They loaded into the car and as they pulled out he couldn’t help the sarcastic cut to his question. ‘Was it good fun?’
She kept looking out the window but he could have sworn her shoulders jerked—had she just flinched? ‘I enjoyed it. Hopefully they did too.’
The insecurity in her voice made him feel mean. He softened. ‘I’m sure they did. All I could hear was giggles when I got there.’ Princess Elissa had charmed again.
The stiffness in her shoulders eased a little. ‘Yeah.’
A quick glance showed a soft smile curving her lips—as if she was remembering something funny. She looked unbearably sweet and he resolved not to talk any more—not to interrupt her happy thoughts, and not to be drawn under her spell and charmed himself.
By public transport it could easily take over half an hour to get home, but in his car, with the way he drove, it was a little under fifteen. But it was still too long for James—and yet, not long enough.
He drove the car into the basement park beneath the apartment block, need eating at him—not just for the obvious, but simply for more time with her. Quiet time, quality time. He wanted to know what was going on in her head—what made her smile like that.
‘Thanks so much for the ride. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ She slid from the car.
‘No problem.’ He moved quicker, beating her to the boot, lifting her container out and keeping a firm hold on it. He swiped his key card to summon the lift, pressed buttons. She leaned back against the wall of the lift and her eyes closed. Her mouth had drooped. Her full lips looked pouty, way too kissable—and sad.
‘You look tired. Come up and have a coffee.’ The words were out before he thought further.
Her eyes flashed open and she looked at the lift controls. He hadn’t pressed the button to her floor so by the time she was about to say no—and he was sure she was going to refuse—the lift had flown up past it and the doors opened onto his lobby.
‘Oh. OK.’
He entered the pin, diffusing the alarm, opened the door and walked ahead of her, heading to the kitchen.
Liss trailed behind him, more certain with every step that this was a bad move but one she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t quite sure what mood James was in—sarcastic or maybe a more gentle one. In some ways it would be better if he was all sarcasm. It would stop her from wanting to get closer—and she badly wanted to. The way he wore jeans should be illegal, and the way he’d smiled so genuinely at those girls had been criminal. He was a thief of hearts. Alarms rang loud in her ears—she should be back in her own apartment where she would be safe. But he’d been kind enough to give her a lift; she couldn’t be rude. A quick coffee couldn’t hurt, could it? She’d keep her distance—admire from afar.
She stopped in the living area, with him in the kitchen, fussing over a gleaming coffee machine.
‘Great view.’ It looked out over the harbour, the water sparkled and the skies were blue. The quintessential, stunning Sydney view. She turned and took in his apartment—the quintessential, also stunning, bachelor pad—complete with neutral colourings erring to the darker shades, a large modern but comfy lounge suite, the requisite high-tech entertainment system and high-tech gadgets. There was also one wall of shelves—clearly the repository for anything and everything: books, CDs, DVDs and papers, magazines, a coffee cup and a three-quarters-empty bottle of red. The mishmash of colour and content was the only hint of maximalist in the whole minimalist look. She stepped closer to check out his choice of reading and viewing material, fiddling with the string of beads one of the girls had threaded onto her hair.
‘Don’t take it out. It looks nice.’ He handed her a coffee and she lifted it to her lips quickly, not wanting to smile at the compliment. The scalding-hot liquid was nothing on the perils of James Black in conciliatory mood. She retreated to the window and the safety of the view outside.
‘You go there often?’ He moved to the window too—the other end of it.
‘I’ve been there a few times.’
‘So what—it’s how you do your bit?’
‘Yeah, my charitable effort du jour.’ Her sarcasm matched his—but was totally made up of defensiveness. So he thought she was a cliché. Sure, she couldn’t do much. But she could try.
‘So why this? Why not cancer kids or the starving people in Africa or something?’ Could he be any more cynical?
‘They’re great causes, but they already get a huge amount of support. They don’t need me in the mix—I wouldn’t make much difference to them.’
‘I don’t know—you’d bring them lots of publicity.’
‘It isn’t about publicity.’ Quite the reverse. She didn’t want it to be about her. Didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want it to become some story all about the ‘princess doing good’. She just wanted to be someone—like anyone—trying to help someone else, even just a little. She glanced at him and saw the scepticism all over his face. The prickle of defensiveness rose.
‘In Paris I used to spend an evening a week working on a youth line. Lots of the callers were young women in this kind of trouble.’ They’d always touched her. Since then she’d heard about her old friend Cassie’s hardship, and it resonated even more deeply. Cassie must have felt so alone in prison with a young baby. And what Liss hadn’t been able to do for her friend all those years ago, she wanted to be able to do in some small way for others now. She stared out at the harbour and tried to explain it more, wanted him to recognise that she wasn’t so self-obsessed.
‘I’m no counselor. I can’t offer them any advice. They’ve got far more major issues going on in their lives than I’ve ever had to deal with. But I’m someone to take