Just One Night...: Fiancée For One Night / Just One Last Night / The Night That Started It All. Trish Morey
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ends of his tie into a neat knot. ‘A small one, perhaps. It’s not like I’m actually buying them.’
‘No. Of course not.’ He was merely borrowing them for a night to help convince people he was getting married. Just like he was borrowing her.
But even his ruthless designs couldn’t stop her wondering what it must be like to be given such a ring, such an object of incredible beauty, by the man you loved? To have him slide that ring on your finger to the sound of a heartfelt ‘I love you. Marry me,’ instead of, ‘Go on, try them on’.
The sapphire caught the light, its polished facets throwing a dozen different shades of blue, the diamonds sparkling, and she felt her resistance wavering.
With or without the ring, she was already pretending to be something she was not. Could she really make the lie worse than it already was?
‘Very nice,’ he said, lifting her fingers. ‘Have you tried the other one?’
She looked down at the open box, and the pale beauty that resided there. ‘No real need,’ she said, trying to sound like she didn’t care as well as make out that she wasn’t bothered by his proximity, even though her fingers tingled and her body buzzed with his closeness. ‘This one fits perfectly.’
‘And it matches your eyes.’
She looked up to see him studying her face. ‘You know you have the most amazing eyes, every shade of the sea and more.’
‘Th-thank you.’
He lifted a hand to her face and swiped the pad of his thumb at the corner of her mouth. ‘And you have a little smudge of lipstick right here.’ He smiled a knowing smile. ‘How did that happen, I wonder?’
Instinctively she put a hand over her mouth, backing away. ‘I better repair my make-up,’ she said, sweeping up her evening purse from the coffee table and making for the powder room. How had that happened indeed. She really didn’t need to be reminded of that kiss and how she’d practically given him a green light to do whatever he wanted with her. It was amazing it was only her lipstick that had slipped. Well, there would be no more smudged lipstick if she had any say in it. None at all.
He watched her go, his eyes missing nothing of her ramrod-straight spine or the forced stiffness that hampered her movements. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered a few moments ago, when she’d all but rested her cheek against his hand. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her senseless.
‘Evelyn,’ he called behind her, and she stopped and turned, gripping her purse tightly in front of her chest. ‘Something that might make you feel more relaxed in my company…’
‘Yes?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘As much as I enjoyed that kiss, I have a rule about not mixing business with pleasure.’
She blinked those big blue eyes up at him and he could tell she didn’t get it. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA. Whatever I do tonight, a touch, a caress, a kiss, it’s all just part of an act. You’re perfectly safe with me. All right?’
And something—he’d expected relief, but it wasn’t quite that—flashed across her eyes and was gone. ‘Of course,’ she said, and fled into to powder room.
There. He’d said it. He blew out a breath as he picked up the leftover ring from the coffee table, snapped the box shut and returned it to the safe. Maybe it was, as he had said, to put her at her ease, but there’d also been a measure of wanting to remind himself of his golden rule. Because it had been hard enough to remember which way was up, let alone anything else in the midst of that kiss.
He hadn’t intended it to go so far. He’d meant to tease her into submission, give her just a little taste for more, so she’d be more malleable and receptive to his touch, but she’d sighed into his mouth and turned molten and turned him incendiary with it.
And if he hadn’t frightened her away by the strength of his reaction, he’d damned near frightened himself. He’d had to leave the room before she could see how affected he was, and before he looked into her ocean-deep eyes and decided to finish what he’d started.
He ached to finish what he’d started.
Why did he have that rule about not sleeping with his PAs? What had he been thinking? Surely this was a matter that should be decided on a case-by-case basis.
And then he remembered Inge of the ice-cool demeanour and red hot bedroom athletics and how she’d so neatly tried to demand a chunk of ice for her finger by nailing him with her alleged pregnancy.
There was good reason for his self-imposed rule, he reluctantly acknowledged. Damn good reason. If only he could make himself believe it.
She didn’t recognise herself in the powder-room mirror. Even after repairing her make-up and smoothing the stray wisps of her hair back into its sleek coil, she still looked like a stranger. No amount of lipstick could disguise the flush to her swollen lips. And while the ring on her finger sparkled under the light, it was no match for the lights in her eyes.
Not when all she could do was remember that kiss, and how he had damn near wrenched out her mind if not her soul with it.
It was wrong to feel excited, even though its impact had so closely mirrored that of the first. But he’d simply been making a point. He’d been acting. He’d said as much himself. It had meant nothing. Or else why could he so easily have turned and walked away?
Yet still she trembled at the memory of his lips on hers. Still she trembled when she thought of how he’d felt, pressing hard and insistent against her belly, stirring secret places until they blossomed and ached with want.
Want that would go unsatisfied. Cheated again. Just an act. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA.’
And part of her had longed to laugh and tell him that he’d had his chance, years ago, and blown it then. Another part had wanted to slump with relief. While the greater part of her had wanted to protest at the unfairness of it all.
Damn. She’d known this would be difficult. She’d known that seeing him again would rekindle all those feelings she had been unable to bury, unable to dim, even with the passage of time.
She dragged air into her lungs, breathed out slowly and resolutely angled her chin higher as she made one final check on her appearance. For surely the worst was over. And at least she knew where she stood. She may as well try to enjoy the rare evening out.
How hard could it be?
‘Remember,’ Leo said, as they made their way to the presidential suite, ‘keep it light and friendly and whatever you do, avoid any talk of family.’
Suits me, she thought, knowing Leo would be less than impressed if she started telling everyone about Sam. ‘What is it exactly that their sons are supposed to have done?’
‘You didn’t see the articles?’
She shook her head. ‘Clearly I don’t read the right kind of magazine.’
‘Or visit the right websites. Someone got a video of them at a party and posted it on the web.’
‘And they were doing something embarrassing?’
‘You could say that. It was a wife-swapping party.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh, indeed. Half the board were implicated and Culshaw couldn’t stand seeing what he’d worked for all his life being dragged through the mud.’ He stopped outside the suite. ‘Are you ready?’
As ready as I’ll ever be. ‘Yes.’
He slipped her hand into his, surprising her but not so much this time because it was unexpected but because it felt so comfortable to have his large hand wrapped around hers. Amazing, given the circumstances, that it felt so right. ‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered, so close to her ear that she could feel his