The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
Читать онлайн книгу.
which ranged from drab grey skirts and neat white blouses to drab black skirts and neat white blouses, all worn with the same flat black pumps. The ravishing hair which he had glimpsed on the one occasion when he had surprised her weeks ago at the apartment had gone back into hiding. Woe betide she actually released it from captivity between the hours of eight-thirty and five-thirty!
‘Why?’
‘Because I think it would work.’
‘And of course, because you think it would work, means I have to agree and go along with it!’
‘How many of the programmes that I’ve set in motion over the past couple of months have failed?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Any? No. Is the company seeing the start of a turnaround? Yes. Have the sales team been reporting gains? Yes.’ He folded his hands behind his head and looked at her evenly. ‘Ergo, this idea makes sense and will generate valuable sales.’
‘But I’m not a model, Javier!’
‘That’s the point, Sophie. You’re the face of your company. Putting your image on billboards and in advertising campaigns will personalise the company—half the battle in wooing potential customers is making them feel as though they’re relating to something more than just a name and a brand.’
She stared at him mutinously and he gazed calmly back at her.
The waiting game was taking longer than he had anticipated and he was finding that he was in no rush to speed things up. He was enjoying her. He was enjoying the way she made him feel and it wasn’t just the reaction of his body to her. No, he realised that the years of having whatever he wanted and whoever he chose had jaded him. This blast from the past was...rejuvenating. And who didn’t like a spot of rejuvenation in their lives? Of course, he would have to hurry things along eventually, because bed was the conclusion to the exercise before normal service was resumed and he returned to the life from which he had been taking a little holiday.
But for the moment...
He really liked the way she blushed. He could almost forget that she was the scheming young girl who had played him for an idiot.
‘So we just need to talk about the details. And stop glaring. I thought all women liked to show off their bodies.’
Sophie glared. ‘Really, Javier? You really think that?’
‘Who wouldn’t like to be asked to model?’
‘Is that the message you’ve got from...from the women you’ve been out with?’
Javier looked at her narrowly because this was the first time she had ventured near the question of his love life. ‘Most of the women I’ve been out with,’ he murmured, ‘were already catwalk models, accustomed to dealing with the full glare of the public spotlight.’
She’d wondered. Of course she had. Now she knew. Models. Naturally. He certainly wouldn’t have dated normal, average women holding down normal, average jobs. He was the man who could have it all and men who could have it all always, but always, seemed to want to have models glued to their arm. It was just so...predictable.
‘You’ve stopped glaring,’ Javier said. ‘Which is a good thing. But now there’s disapproval stamped all over your face. What are you disapproving of? My choice of woman?’
‘I don’t care what your choice of girlfriends has been!’
‘Don’t you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Because you look a little agitated. What’s wrong with models? Some of them can be relatively clever, as it happens.’
‘Relatively clever...’ Sophie snorted. Her colour was high and the look in his sinfully dark eyes was doing weird things to her, making her feel jumpy and thrillingly excited.
Making her nipples tighten...stoking a dampness between her thighs that had nothing to do with her scorn for his choice of dates, whoever those nameless dates had been.
Instant recall of that kiss they had shared made her breath hitch temporarily in her throat.
Just as she had stridently demanded, no mention had been made of it again. It was as though it had never happened. Yes, that was exactly what she had wanted, but it hadn’t stopped her constantly harking back to it in her head, reliving the moment and burning up just at the thought of it. How could a bruised and battered heart take second billing to a body that seemed to do whatever it felt like doing?
‘You used to tell me that you liked the fact that I had opinions!’
‘Many models have opinions—admittedly not of the intellectual variety. They have very strong opinions on, oh, shoes...bags...other models...’
Sophie felt her mouth twitch. She’d missed his sense of humour. In fact, thinking about it, he’d been the benchmark against which Roger had never stood a chance. Not that he had ever been in the running...
In fact, thinking about it, wasn’t he the benchmark against which every other man had always been set and always would be? When would that end? How could she resign herself to a half-life because she was still wrapped up in the man in front of her? Because that intense physical reaction just hadn’t died and could still make itself felt through all the layers of sadness and despair that had shaped the woman she was now.
She hadn’t looked twice at any guy since she’d been on her own. Hadn’t even been tempted!
Yet here she was, not only wanting to look but wanting to touch...
Why kid herself? Telling herself to pretend that that kiss had never happened didn’t actually mean that it had disappeared from her head.
And telling herself that she should feel nothing for a guy who belonged to her past, a guy who wasn’t even interested in her, didn’t actually mean that she felt nothing for him.
Lust—that was what it was—and the harder she tried to deny its existence, the more powerful a grip it seemed to have over her.
And part of the reason was because...he wasn’t indifferent, was he?
Heart racing, she looked down and gave proper house room in her head to all those barely discernible signals she had felt emanating from him over the past few weeks.
For starters, there had been that kiss.
She’d felt the way his mouth had explored hers, hungry and greedy and wanting more.
And then, working in the same space, she’d lodged somewhere in the back of her head those accidental brushes when he had leant over her, caging her in in front of her computer so that he could explain some detail on the screen.
She’d committed to memory the way she had occasionally surprised his lazy dark eyes resting on her just a fraction longer than necessary.
And sometimes...didn’t he stand just a little too close? Close enough for her to feel the heat from his body? To smell his clean, masculine scent?
Didn’t all of that add up to something?
She didn’t know whether he was even aware of the dangerous current running between them just beneath the surface. If he was, then it was obvious that he had no intention of doing anything about it.
And then, one day, he would no longer be around.
Right now, he was making sure that his investment paid off. He had sunk money into a bailout, and he wasn’t going to see that money flushed down the drain, so he was taking an active part in progressing the company.
But soon enough the company would be on firmer ground and he would be able to retreat and hand over the running of it to other people, herself included.
He would resume his hectic life running his own empire.
And she, likewise, would return to Yorkshire to take up full-time residence in the family home, which she would be able to renovate at least enough to make it a viable selling proposition.