The Millionaire's Seductive Revenge. Maxine Sullivan
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after that and now they were out of control. Totally out of control.
Glancing at Brant, she saw a muscle pulsating in his lean cheek. Then, as if he’d had enough of her, he turned away to talk to one of the others.
She felt a spurt of anger at his dismissal. Was this the way he treated women when he had enough of them? Did he use them to amuse himself, then get rid of them once they’d passed their use-by dates? Of course he did. So why did she feel surprised? Did she think she was any different just because she shared in this intense physical attraction?
Schooling her features, Kia sipped at her champagne and watched the couples dancing out on the floor. She could hear Phillip talking about going home to Queensland to be with his family for Christmas. It reminded her of her own plans to fly south to Adelaide to spend Christmas with her mother and stepfather. She was looking forward to having some downtime with her family. She badly needed time away from the office—and the men who ran it.
All at once, Phillip leaned forward and said loudly across the table, “Hey, Brant. How would you like to dance with Kia for me?”
“Wh-what?” Kia said before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to be in Brant’s arms. Close to him. Touching him.
Brant’s eyes narrowed slightly, but was she the only one to see the flash of hunger in them? “Maybe Kia doesn’t want to dance,” he said, giving her an out, telling her that as much as he wanted her in his arms, another part of him didn’t.
She managed a short laugh. “Phillip, don’t be silly. I don’t need to dance.”
“I saw your foot tapping to the music,” he said, surprising her because she hadn’t been aware she’d been doing that.
She opened her mouth to say she really didn’t feel like dancing but then noticed all eyes upon her. Making a fuss would only make them wonder why she objected to dancing with Brant. And if that happened…
“Okay, Phillip. Anything for you,” she emphasized, making sure Brant knew it wasn’t for him.
And then, like a gentleman, Brant stood beside her, helping her out of her chair. She tried to smile, but already his closeness affected her. Every nerve in her body suddenly started to tingle as he led her out onto the dance floor and straight into his arms. Knowing she was in danger of melting against him, she stiffened and pulled back.
“We’re only dancing,” he mocked, knowing full well the effect he had on her.
On any woman.
On women in general.
“Mr. Matthews—”
His mouth thinned. “I’ve told you before. Call me Brant.”
“You’re my employer. I prefer to keep it formal.”
“Why?”
“I was brought up to respect my elders.”
His laughter was low and throaty, his lips showing the tip of perfect white teeth. All the better to eat you with, my dear, she thought.
He moved his hand more comfortably against the small of her back. “Thanks for putting me in my place.”
“I try.” She moved to dislodge his fingers. They were an inch too low for her liking.
“I know you do.” He tilted his head. “It makes me wonder why.”
She looked somewhere past his shoulder. “Because you’re the boss.”
His hand moved imperceptibly lower, snatching her breath away, drawing her eyes back to him. “If I’m the boss, then you should do what I say,” he murmured, making the simple statement sound very, very personal.
Recovering, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was beginning to feel as if she were some sort of puppet to be manipulated. “I never was good at doing what I was told.”
“Shame.” His eyes hardened. “But I bet you know how to get your own way now.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped, not sure where this was heading.
“Every woman, you mean.”
Ah, so the womanizer had a low opinion of women. Color her surprised.
“Actually, I meant every person. Man. Woman. Child. Even animals—”
“I hear you’ve got a new car,” he cut across her. “A Porsche.”
Her mind reeled in confusion, not only at what he’d said but at the hint of accusation in his tone, though what she was being accused of she had no idea.
“Yes, I do have a new car.”
His lips twisted with a touch of cynicism. “We must be paying you well.”
His animosity was growing in leaps and bounds. “You get what you pay for,” she pointed out coolly.
“I’m sure we do.” He leaned closer so that his lips were practically pressed to her ear. “Or should I say Phil gets what he paid for.”
She stiffly drew back. “What do you mean by that?”
The corners of his mouth curved in a smooth smile that didn’t match the piercing glint in his eyes. “Merely that you’re a top-notch PA. I’m sure Phil believes he’s lucky to have you.”
“That sounds like a backhanded compliment.”
“Does it?” He pulled her slightly closer again, making her feel his heat.
Well, if he could be hot, she would be cold. Let him think she couldn’t care less about his little games.
“Serena seems nice,” she said, pasting on a cool smile.
He appeared casually amused by the change in subject. “I’m enjoying her company.”
“Naturally,” she said somewhat sourly. No one was safe from a womanizer like Brant.
The amusement left his face and he scowled. “What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” Two could play at this.
“Are you going to answer all my questions with a question?” he said, the scowl still in place.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
His glance sharpened. “You thought I’d ignore her, didn’t you?”
The thought had briefly crossed her mind, but she knew he would never miss an opportunity to charm a woman, whether young or old, beautiful or plain.
But she had to admit she was still annoyed with Phillip. “Actually, I know Phillip meant well, but I wish he hadn’t put her in this predicament. Believe me, I know what it’s like being an ugly duckling.”
His head went back in shock. “You? Never!”
“It’s true. I was always very plain-looking.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not. Ask my father. He was very good at telling me how plain I was.” She smiled grimly, remembering all the hurt. How many times had she looked into the mirror and wished she was beautiful? “Naturally he was delighted when I suddenly started to blossom into something resembling a female.”
Brant’s eyes probed far too deeply. “Shouldn’t a father’s love be unconditional?”
“Not my father,” she said, on some level surprised she was telling him so much. “He only likes being with women who are beautiful.”
“Women?”
She pretended not to care. “My parents are divorced. Luckily my mother settled down to a life of bliss with a man who truly loves her. Dad’s on his third marriage, to a model half his age.”
“How do you feel about that?”