Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss. Кейт Хьюит
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strode towards her, plucked the garment she’d balled uselessly in her hand. ‘Talk about wrinkles.’ He smoothed it out; it was a filmy silk negligee.
Lizzie snatched it back. ‘I’m not wearing that,’ she warned him. ‘I only brought it because you told me to.’
‘Good girl.’ His smile was so mocking it made her want to scream. To slap his face.
Then she noticed he had no shirt on. His chest was smooth and brown, taut with muscle. Just a glimpse of the flat plane of his stomach had Lizzie swallowing and gulping and desperate for air.
‘Where is your shirt?’ she demanded shrilly.
‘On the floor.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘We’ve been flying all night and I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. You should, too.’
She shook her head. ‘Cormac, don’t…don’t try to intimidate me.’
‘I thought I was trying to undress.’
They amounted to the same thing, but she wasn’t going to say it. He knew, anyway. Somehow she found the strength to drag her gaze to his face which, even though it was sardonic and knowing, was safer. ‘We need to lay some ground rules.’
‘Such as?’
‘You wear clothes in my presence,’ Lizzie snapped, ‘for starters.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier,’ Cormac countered, ‘to just get used to each other’s bodies? People are bound to notice if we blush and stammer every time we catch a little glimpse of skin.’
Lizzie knew only one of them would be blushing or stammering. She ran her hands through her hair and let out a frustrated sigh that half turned into a yelp. ‘I wish I’d never agreed to this!’
‘But you did,’ Cormac replied, unruffled, taking off his belt, ‘and now you’re just getting cold feet.’ He tossed the belt onto a chair and began to unbutton his trousers.
Lizzie flung out a hand. ‘Don’t.’
‘Chandler, you’re being ridiculous.’ He sounded annoyed. ‘Stop being a prude and get undressed. Didn’t you realise it would be like this when you agreed?’
‘I thought you’d be a gentleman!’
His voice turned hard. ‘Then I suppose you were mistaken.’
Lizzie’s eyes were squeezed shut but she heard the whisper of sliding fabric and knew he’d undressed. She heard him move to the bed, and opened one eye to glimpse a broad, muscled back tapering to narrow hips and, fortunately, a pair of boxers.
He was wearing underwear. Thank God.
‘You can stand there all afternoon if you’d like,’ Cormac informed her, ‘but I’m going to sleep.’
It only took Lizzie a few seconds to realise how ridiculous she really was being. Every shocked gasp and prudish look gave Cormac more weapons to use against her. More power.
She took in a shuddering breath, not caring if he heard, and resumed unpacking. Despite her resolve, she wasn’t quite ready to get into that bed.
Cormac’s breathing was deep and even before she finally decided to change into her own pyjamas—ones she’d brought from home—faded, comfortable and baggy. She glanced at him one last time to make sure he was asleep before she quickly slipped out of her clothes, grateful for the soft, cool cotton against her skin.
Lizzie moved to the bed and lifted the sheet. She glimpsed Cormac’s midriff, a whorl of hair leading to the waistband of his boxers, and jerked her glance away.
The sheets were cool and smooth, but Lizzie felt as if she were on fire. She lay there, stiff and straight, painfully, achingly aware of Cormac’s relaxed body next to hers.
She shifted on to her side away from him, curled up into a protective little ball.
She heard Cormac stir, felt his breath against her skin. ‘I like your pyjamas,’ he whispered, ‘but I’d like you better naked.’ She felt rather than saw his smile and he tucked the sheet over her shoulder, laughter lacing his voice. ‘Sleep well, Chandler.’
LIZZIE lay there, tense, thrumming, angry and afraid. Sleep felt very far away.
Yet she must have drifted off, for what seemed like only minutes later she was blinking sleep out of her eyes as Cormac exited the bathroom. His hair was wet and slicked back from his forehead, his eyes bright in his work-tanned face.
‘Did you know you snore?’ he asked with a wicked smile as he pulled on a crisp white button-down shirt.
‘I didn’t realise I had fallen asleep…’ Lizzie mumbled, brushing a tangle of hair from her eyes.
‘For nearly three hours. It’s time to get ready for dinner.’
What with the jet lag and flying time, Lizzie felt completely disorientated. She didn’t like the way Cormac gazed down at her, mocking laughter in his eyes, his whole body bursting with health, energy and determination.
He jerked his head towards a chair, where Lizzie saw he’d laid out some clothes. Her clothes.
‘I want you to wear that dress tonight.’
She saw it was a simple green sundress with a white floral pattern and a halter-neck.
‘I am capable of dressing myself, you know,’ she snapped, but he simply ignored her.
He continued dressing, buttoning his shirt as he spoke. ‘I talked to Jan while you were asleep and there’s been a slight change of plan.’
‘Oh?’ Alarm prickled, nerves roiled. Change was not good.
‘One of the architects on the short-list had to bow out.’ He glanced at her; his smile had an air of triumph. ‘His child was ill and had to be hospitalised. So you see where those family values get you.’
Lizzie didn’t bother to reply. She knew any protest she made would be ridiculed. Reviled. Cormac Douglas was not a family man, which made this charade all the more difficult. Painful.
Ludicrous.
‘So how does that affect us?’ she finally asked.
‘Jan picked another architect to replace him. An Englishman—Geoffrey Stears.’ He paused, selected his tie and knotted it. ‘I know him.’
Lizzie remembered what he’d said, how no one would know them. Of course, pulling this charade off would be so much easier with strangers. But if this Geoffrey Stears knew him…knew his reputation…
He might also realise he wasn’t actually married. He might leak that information to Hassell, to the press.
‘But doesn’t that change everything?’ she asked. ‘If this Stears knows you…’
‘Getting scared, Chandler?’ he mocked. ‘I knew you’d be easy to intimidate when I chose you, but I have to admit your frightened little virgin act is getting rather annoying. Unless you are actually a virgin?’ He raised his eyebrows, the question in his eyes turning to a feral gleam before he continued. ‘It’s too late to back out, Chandler, so stop having second thoughts. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve made sure of that.’
Lizzie’s fingers bunched the sheet. ‘How?’
‘Or perhaps I should say you’ve made sure of that. You’ve played the game long enough for no one to believe you.’ His teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Your credibility is ruined.’
‘I could still…’ Lizzie began, and Cormac chuckled.
‘Walk out of this room and tell Jan what you’ve been up