Her Enemy With Benefits. Nicola Marsh
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more than five minutes in the company of Patrick Fourde was decidedly unsuitable. Or, more to the point, it elicited decidedly unsuitable thoughts.
He’d always had that effect on her. Been able to confuse and bamboozle and intrigue her with the barest hint of that lazy half-smile he had down pat.
She might have been immune in the past, but having him in her face again—bolder, brazen, still bamboozling—unnerved her far more now than he ever had.
‘Get to the point.’
He stalked around his desk and fired up his laptop, swivelling the screen to face her.
‘Bear with me a sec.’
His fingers flew over the keyboard and, increasingly curious, she propped herself on the edge of his desk.
The tip of his tongue protruded slightly as he concentrated on typing and her chest tightened in remembrance.
He’d used to do the same thing when they studied together. She’d known when he’d stopped goofing off—which had been rarely, admittedly—and started taking their studying seriously by that tell, and it was as endearing now as back then.
At the time, she’d done her best to give him the impression she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Had berated him constantly about slacking off and sketching instead of studying. Her chastisement had only served to stir him up further and he’d deliberately make fun of her work or call time out for a coffee.
Interesting how his doodling had probably been a prelude to his career in fashion, an outlet for his creativity. And to see him now, CEO of a branch of a world-renowned fashion house, made her feel ashamed she’d given him such a hard time.
Then again, considering the amount of time he’d spent poking fun at her study timetables and subject spreadsheets, her guilt quickly faded.
Whatever he was doing now, it had captured his attention and given her an opportunity to study him. In his flawlessly fitted charcoal suit and open-necked black shirt, perched behind a glass-topped desk large enough to fit an entire classroom, with the skyline of Melbourne surrounding him with three hundred and sixty degrees of floor to ceiling windows fifty storeys high, he looked like the consummate businessman.
A guy on top of the world, in total control and loving it. Who would have guessed the laid-back charmer had ambition?
He’d never shared any of his plans with her—had never showed any interest in business beyond teasing her about taking such a manic interest in Seaborns.
She’d been surprised when he’d absconded to Paris—had assumed it had been to live the high life on his family money.
After that first kiss she’d reluctantly kept an eye on him, had followed him on the internet for six months, surprised by mentions of him doing an internship at Fourde Fashion headquarters.
Pity those internet hits had also shown her the type of life she envied: parties and nightclub openings and theatre galas. The type of life she’d secretly craved but had been too focused on work, on proving herself, on seeking approval, to do anything about.
How different would her life have been if she’d let go just a little? Had hung out with Patrick for fun, not study? Responded to his teasing with smiles, not frowns? Allowed herself to indulge in a few wild teenage stunts without thought for the consequences?
Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up stressed, repressed and almost losing the company.
‘Here. Take a look.’ He pointed at the screen, filled with images of stunning screen sirens.
Grace Kelly. Eva Marie Saint. Ingrid Bergman. Audrey Hepburn. Marilyn.
She knew them all, had shared her mum’s love of old films, but had no clue why he was showing her these pictures.
He must have read the unasked question in her eyes for he grabbed a pen and notepad and started scribbling.
‘Tell me the first words that pop into your head when you look at those women.’
It would be a lot more fun brainstorming if she knew what he was getting at but she’d play along for now.
‘Stylish. Chic. Classy.’
‘Exactly.’
He continued jotting, muttering under his breath. The tip of his tongue was back and she couldn’t help but smile. If he was this enthused now, she had full confidence their joint collaboration would steal the show.
‘This is my significant moment.’ He twirled the pad so she wasn’t reading upside down. ‘Hollywood glamour of old.’
She squinted at his illegible notes as he flung the pen down and stood.
‘We go all out. Elegant clothes. Curvy models. Bold colours and designs. Dramatic make-up.’
He started pacing and she’d never seen him so focussed.
‘A theme to make people wish they’d lived decades ago. We play on the fashion frenzy Mad Men has recreated but take it a step further back in time. When women were proud to be sensual and lush and weren’t afraid to hide the fact.’
For some reason heat crept into her cheeks at the way he said sensual. Jeez, what would it be like to have a guy like him go all sensual on her?
Yeah, that was helping her blush.
‘Rich fabrics. Satin. Lace. Hugging curves. Fitted pencil skirts. Long elbow gloves. Hourglass silhouettes.’
He fired the words out at random, his eyes sparking with passion, and the heat in her cheeks spread to the rest of her body.
She literally tingled with the urge to touch him, to see if the powerful vibe emanating from him would zap her.
If he were this passionate about work, how worked up did he get in the bedroom?
She swallowed. It did little to ease the sudden dryness in her mouth. The exact opposite in other areas of her body.
She really needed a date desperately if she were having illicit fantasies about the guy who drove her mad.
‘You like the idea.’ He grabbed her hand and twirled her, and she couldn’t help but laugh. His enthusiasm was infectious.
‘What gave it away?’
‘This.’ He trailed a fingertip from the outer corner of her eye, down her cheek and around her lips, tracing their shape with exquisite precision. ‘When you’re relaxed your face lights up.’
‘Probably a reflection of yours,’ she muttered, knowing she should step back and put some much needed distance between them, but captivated by the incredible longing she glimpsed in the depths of his gaze.
He had to be longing for success, not her, right? The guy who’d squired starlets to gallery openings and models to movie premieres. The guy who’d cut a path through Europe with his legendary parties. The guy who’d teased her incessantly at high school.
They couldn’t be attracted; it wouldn’t be prudent.
But the longer they stood like this, invisible energy crackling between them, his fingertip lingering at the corner of her mouth, which he now stared at as if he wanted to devour it, the more she knew she was kidding herself.
Working with Patrick was going to be a living nightmare.
She stepped back and forced a smile. ‘You’re right. This idea is fabulous.’
‘Great.’
He picked up his notepad, but not before she’d glimpsed confusion creasing his brow. Join the club.
She’d always labelled their relationship as volatile. He’d taunt her, she’d fake aloofness, until they reached an impasse fraught with unresolved tension. At least on her behalf. For being around him back then had made her tense in a way she couldn’t describe. It had gone beyond exasperation at his deliberate teasing,