By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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returned to her mouth, a feather-light kiss that lasted a fraction of a second before the air shifted and swirled cold around her and he was gone.
She opened her eyes, breathless and stunned and wondering what had just happened. ‘Excellent,’ he said thickly. ‘That should do nicely. Wait here. I’ve got something for you.’ He turned and disappeared into the other room. She slumped against the credenza behind her, put her hands to her face and tried not to think about how she’d responded to his kiss exactly like she had the first time. Drugged stupid with desire, shameless in her response to him.
Excellent? Hardly. Not when in another ten seconds he could have had her dress off. Another twenty and she would probably have ripped it off herself in desperation to save him the trouble. And all because he didn’t want her to be nervous around him! God, how was she supposed to be anything but, especially after that little performance? Had she learned nothing in the intervening years?
She’d barely managed to catch her breath when Leo returned, a tie looped loosely around his collar, a jacket over his arm, and an expression she couldn’t quite read on his face. Not the smug satisfaction she’d expected, but something that looked almost uncomfortable. When she saw the two small boxes in his hand, she thought she knew why and she didn’t feel any better.
‘Try these on,’ he said, offering the boxes to her. ‘I borrowed them for the night. Hopefully one should fit well enough.’
‘You borrowed them?’ she said, considering them warily, knowing what came in dangerous-looking little blue boxes like those. And if his words were a hint that whatever sparkly bauble she would wear on her finger wouldn’t be hers to keep, it wasn’t terribly subtle. But that wasn’t what bothered her. Rather, it was the artifice of it all, like they were gilding the lie, layering pretence upon pretence. ‘Is this strictly necessary?’
He lifted her hand, dropped the boxes on her palm. ‘They’ll notice if you don’t wear an engagement ring.’
‘Can’t I simply be your girlfriend?’
‘Fiancée sounds much better. All that added commitment.’ He winked as he shrugged into his jacket. ‘Besides, I’ve already told them. Go on, try them on.’
Reluctantly she opened the first. Brilliant light erupted from the stone, a huge square-cut diamond set in a sculpted white-gold band, inlaid with tiny pink diamonds. She couldn’t imagine anything more stunning.
Until she opened the second and imagination took a back seat to reality. It was magnificent, a Ceylon sapphire set with diamonds either side. She had never seen anything so beautiful. Certainly had never imagined wearing anything as beautiful. She put down the box with the white-gold ring, tugged the other ring free and slipped it on her finger, hoping—secretly praying—that it would fit, irrationally delighted when it skimmed over her knuckle and nestled perfectly at the base of her finger.
She looked down at her hand, turning it this way and that, watching the blue lights dance in the stone. ‘They must be worth a fortune.’
He shrugged, as if it was no matter, using the mirror to deftly negotiate the two 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