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Be My Bride: The Right Mr Wrong / A Most Suitable Wife / Betrothed for the Baby
Natalie Anderson

Kathie DeNosky

Jessica Steele


Marriage made in Heaven!THE RIGHT MR WRONGVictoria Rutherford’s safe, steady boyfriend seemed like perfect husband material. Until she met scorchingly hot, rebel Liam! Now Victoria’s feeling crazy, lust-fuelled things she’s never felt before – and once you go bad, you never go back…A MOST SUITABLE WIFEMagnus Ashthorpe believed Taye Trafford was the mistress who caused his sister’s heartbreak – and he’s determined to seek revenge. But soon Magnus realises that Taye wouldn’t hurt a fly! In fact, perhaps she’d make a suitable wife…BETROTHED FOR THE BABYWhen handsome Hunter O’Banyon offers his hand in marriage to protect Cassie Marshall – and her unborn baby – she accepts. But his passionate kiss soon causes Cassie to forget that their arrangement is just a pretence…









Be My Bride

The Right Mr. Wrong

Natalie Anderson

A Most Suitable Wife

Jessica Steele

Betrothed for the Baby

Kathie DeNosky







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#u7f0652be-fc2a-5362-a2cd-51a23ac6008f)

Title Page (#u396e632e-70d5-5664-9ee7-071fa66c32ad)

The Right Mr. Wrong (#ulink_61ea089b-f9f4-510a-914e-69176648127c)

Back Cover Text (#u77480eac-26b5-56b2-911e-e7ff82742092)

Introduction (#u59b1445c-6c7a-517e-bfde-9f69bd4dc834)

Dear Reader (#ulink_46e48745-2b91-5e16-95e8-c5bcf9428a35)

About the Author (#ucd258df7-cf07-5a39-ac6b-deb67c34555e)

Dedication (#u2de243b3-26c0-5aaa-9ea3-4669ef8f9910)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_f0a48587-8574-5487-a13e-af463bf5b984)

BOOK ONE (#ulink_ff08054d-8ea0-5e7d-96b6-2a79d487f6a3)

ONE (#ulink_146c70ee-61c9-561b-ac71-b987276f03f6)

TWO (#ulink_81b442e5-d6f3-5543-93fd-d244fb130046)

THREE (#ulink_6f88c2f7-e507-5f77-bf6c-a056ede2ed32)

FOUR (#ulink_5c9d965b-cc0d-552a-a83e-3a065f97f7e3)

FIVE (#ulink_210128a9-dbf5-5579-9d61-ff3ce1f519a6)

SIX (#ulink_97001d5f-6045-5ecc-9b9a-0e032c27b1e5)

SEVEN (#ulink_4e0d51a5-a7f9-5753-a310-75b9b3b05217)

EIGHT (#ulink_7f2bc7e9-f62d-511e-ba16-21ec22bab5aa)

BOOK TWO (#ulink_29e5d3d3-3cbd-538a-b2a4-a270d72b4260)

ONE (#ulink_4abc2f30-5eb6-5c1b-8240-b51f05fd0f77)

TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

A Most Suitable Wife (#litres_trial_promo)

Praise for some of Jessica’s novels (#litres_trial_promo)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

Betrothed for the Baby (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#litres_trial_promo)

Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


The Right Mr. Wrong (#ulink_3e2989d1-1491-5cf5-8a02-ed4f71759eb1)

Natalie Anderson


“Will you marry me?”

Isn’t that the question every girl dreams of hearing? Victoria certainly used to think so. And safe, steady Oliver seemed perfect husband material. But that was until she met Liam, his rebellious, scorchingly hot best friend. Suddenly Victoria’s feeling things—crazy lust-fueled things!—she’s never felt before. But for the wrong guy… Then Oliver goes down on one knee, and it’s decision time—head or hormones?

Victoria’s about to discover the truth about guys like Liam—once you go bad you never go back!


‘I’m going to take my time and I’m going to savour every second I have. Don’t plan on sleeping any tonight.’

Oh.

He didn’t take his eyes off her and she couldn’t drag hers away, not when his eyes were deepening so quickly—and inviting. ‘Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

His hands loosened on her wrists. One finger ran up her arm while with his other hand he cupped her jaw. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

‘I think I was wrong and you were right,’ she whispered. ‘This is…passion.’ She chose her word carefully. ‘And I think it needs to be dealt with.’

‘You think you can deal with me?’

That old arrogance brought back her smile. ‘I think for one night. Yes. I can deal with you.’ She had to.


Dear Reader (#ulink_07baf97f-5ab6-588b-abb9-08a4faed8ee4),

I’m so thrilled you have this book, my first MODERN TEMPTED™, in your hands! I’m super excited to be part of Mills & Boon’s newest series. I love fun, sassy stories with style, spark and a whole lot of emotion! I hope you do too.

In this book I was very intrigued by the idea of ‘what if’—especially in relation to those ‘in the blink of an eye’ decisions that go on to have a profound impact on the rest of our lives. What if you had said yes to that invitation, or in this case that proposal? What if you had said no? When I think back to how my own romance played out there were definite ‘turning point’ decisions.

So what if we made the ‘wrong’ decision—might fate offer the chance to try again? In this book I decided to explore exactly that. But although fate might offer us a second chance, I think it is still the decisions we make as individuals that determine whether or not something is going to go the distance.

So what decision does my heroine Victoria make in this book? How does Liam react? I hope you’ll read on to find out!!!

I loved writing Victoria and Liam’s stories and playing at ‘fate’, and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve loved writing it for you.

With very best wishes,

Natalie


NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending, which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings, she loves peppermintfilled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook/authornataliea (http://www.facebook.com/authornataliea) and on Twitter @authornataliea (http://www.twitter.com/authornataliea), or her website/blog: www.natalieanderson.com (http://www.natalieanderson.com)

This and other titles by Natalie Anderson are available in eBook format—check out

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Dave. Always.


PROLOGUE (#ulink_6ab333bf-8050-5592-b2d4-de50a2f9e01c)

Christmas Day, five years earlier.

They were almost all there. Her parents. Oliver’s family. Oliver’s friends. The only one missing was Stella, her rebel sister, whose name hadn’t been mentioned once in the four years since she’d left.

Victoria Rutherford looked at the pile of presents under the tree. There wouldn’t be one for Stella, of course, but she hoped there was at least one for Oliver’s friend. She stepped closer, scanning the tags for his name.

Liam.

She really shouldn’t worry about it. He was Oliver’s friend, Oliver’s guest. Of course his parents would be polite enough to have something for the guy who’d only arrived in England this week.

‘You’re not going to start shaking the boxes, are you?’ a low voice murmured behind her.

She started, a smile irresistibly springing to her lips. It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t. But he made her laugh with his comments—even just the wry expression he could shoot from his way-too-warm eyes. She’d had to stifle shivers when he’d looked at her in a way he shouldn’t. Not that he did now.

Unfortunately he’d looked at her that way the first moment they’d met—when he’d not known who she was. She was still trying to get over the embarrassment of him coming across her in the guest bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel. He’d had clothes on but that hadn’t stopped her from noticing things she really had no business noticing.

‘Your streamers look awesome, by the way,’ Liam added.

‘Thanks.’ She’d stayed up way too late the other night to finish them. With a not-so-little helper.

She swallowed, suppressing the memory of the moment just before she’d taken herself to her small guest bedroom super quick. Nothing had happened. She had nothing to feel guilty about. And yet.

He was her boyfriend’s best friend. A guest in her boyfriend’s home for Christmas. The last person she should look at.

As everyone gathered around for the present sharing there were the usual joke gifts, a tradition in Oliver’s family, as well as the ‘proper’ gifts. And the gifts for guests—including Liam.

And then there was only one little box left. She figured it was one for Oliver’s mum. In the lull and under the cover of various conversations, she couldn’t help a quick glance at Liam. Massive mistake because he gave her a quick flick of his eyebrows from over his new ugly knitted Christmas jersey.

She turned away, biting back her giggle.

‘I think this might be for you.’

Victoria jumped as Oliver suddenly appeared in front of her.

‘You’ve already given me a present.’ Victoria blinked, taking a minute to pull back from the dangerous place her mind had wandered to.

Then she saw Oliver was on his knee in front of her. Why was he on his knee? His blue eyes were dancing and everyone around them had fallen silent.

‘Victoria, you know how much I love you.’

She smiled, but inside she was stunned. Was this—? No way was Oliver about to—

‘Will you marry me?’

Victoria stared at him. Somehow she kept the smile on her lips.

Oliver, her first boyfriend, who she knew and trusted. And here, in front of her parents, his parents and—

‘Victoria?’ Liam interrupted.

OMG. Don’t look at him. Don’t.

She couldn’t resist.

His eyes were fixed on her. His too-warm, gold-flecked intense eyes staring right through her as if he could read her every thought. Every doubt.

Every desire.

‘Do you mind?’ Oliver sounded more stunned at the interruption than annoyed. ‘I’m asking her a question.’

But Victoria’s eyes were locked on Liam. She should look away, but she couldn’t. She sensed restlessness ripple through the people surrounding them. Her parents. Any second now someone else would speak. Would question.

Oliver cleared his throat. Oliver, the one perfect for her, who had their future mapped out. She couldn’t hurt him, embarrass him. Him or any of them.

‘Victoria?’ Oliver said. Now he sounded slightly annoyed.

Victoria immediately, mutely, looked back to Oliver, the guy right before her. She smiled—automatically soothing because that was what she did. And she wanted to because she loved Oliver, right? She wanted everything that he wanted—what they all wanted and expected—didn’t she?

Oliver smiled back. And as she sat flushed, yet frozen, he repeated the question.

‘Will you marry me?’


BOOK ONE (#ulink_9078d964-569c-5a21-8081-b877d6e2c94b)


ONE (#ulink_c89c5008-0847-5301-8f8c-f7dd2159be9b)

‘Yes, of course,’ Victoria answered brightly, ignoring the burning muscles in her hand. ‘Absolutely.’

She’d do whatever it took. That was what entrepreneurs did, right? Made sacrifices. Worked all night. She’d read You Too Can Be a Billionaire months ago, so she knew. Not that she wanted to be a billionaire or even a millionaire. She’d settle for solvent—no more of that screaming red ink on her bank statement, thanks.

Anyway, writing another five place cards in flourished copperplate was nothing on the number she’d already done. So long as those passed their impending inspection. They’d better. So much depended on this.

Victoria watched her client, Aurelie Broussard, cross the ornately furnished room to the large writing desk where she nervously waited. Like everyone else who’d ever been in Aurelie’s presence, Victoria couldn’t help staring. The ‘in-another-realm’ woman glowed in a long white summer dress and navy shrug. Her hair fell to the middle of her back in long, loose curls. Its colour matched her eyes, as glossy and dark and sensual as hot fudge sauce. Athlete, model, businesswoman. And about seven months pregnant judging by the graceful swell of her belly. Victoria hadn’t known about the baby, but then she didn’t know much about the former world-champion surf star other than that she was getting hitched in five days’ time. Victoria deliberately didn’t take an interest in water sports—they flowed too close to deep-buried, sharp-edged memories.

She’d never met a more beautiful woman. Or anyone with the power to improve her business so drastically— or destroy it. If Aurelie liked her work, she’d be set. If she didn’t, Victoria was screwed. And brides were notoriously picky—especially brides with squadrons of celebrity friends and a ‘super wow factor’ wedding to pull off in less than a week.

Victoria slowed her movements to hide her nerves, carefully laying out some of the completed cards on the antique wood. Aurelie silently studied them. They’d taken Victoria more hours than she could count, working under bright lights all through the night to get them finished. She’d been contracted at the last minute—not ideal for a calligrapher whose craft required light, space, time and serenity to get it right.

‘They are beautiful.’ Aurelie finally gave her verdict. ‘Exactly what I wanted.’

Victoria rapidly blinked back burning tears of relief. Two hundred and thirty-four painstakingly calligraphed cards—so many in such a short time she was in pain. But she wanted to be sure all were perfect.

‘I’ve done them exactly as they were written on your list but someone will double check them?’ she asked. She didn’t want some A-lister offended by having her name incorrectly spelt.

Aurelie nodded. ‘My assistant. Perhaps you can do the extra five while you’re here?’ She slid open the top drawer of the desk and drew out a sheet of paper with a list of names typed on it.

‘Of course I can…’ She’d brought her pen and ink and spare card with her, but the implication of five more guests suddenly hit and caused tunnel vision. ‘Umm…with the extra guests…’ Victoria’s innards shrivelled. ‘Does that mean you’ve changed the seating plan?’

That plan had taken so very, very long already. One large board with all those two hundred and thirty-four names written yet again in flourished copperplate, plus titles for the table—surf beaches. The thought of redoing the entire thing sent Victoria’s brain spinning. The nerves in her hand shrieked.

‘Yes.’ Aurelie turned her beautiful face towards her, and drew up to her full height—almost a head taller than Victoria. ‘Will that be a problem?’

‘Not at all.’ Victoria somehow stretched her mouth into a smile and lied. She’d stitch back her eyelids and work round the clock for the next five days and nights to get this done—and she was going to need every one of those hours to do it.

She remembered being a bride, wanting everything to be perfect. She’d work as hard as she could to help Aurelie have everything the way she wanted. But while Victoria’s own ceremony had been fairy-tale pretty, her marriage to Oliver hadn’t been perfect. It had been a slow-imploding mess.

Working on Aurelie’s wedding would help her recovery, financially at any rate. There were so many privileged people coming, with her best work on show, she might get more commissions.

The irony of having a career where she helped people create their perfect weddings wasn’t lost on her, given her own spectacular matrimonial failure. But she wasn’t cynical. For the right couple, a wedding was a wonderful beginning.

Hopefully Aurelie’s fiancé was a decent guy. Victoria knew even less about him than she did about Aurelie. She hadn’t looked up any Internet info—the turnaround time was so tight she’d had to get straight on with writing. But she’d recognised the names of some of their guests—elite sports people, celebrities, models.

‘I’m sure I can count on you.’ Aurelie smiled.

It was one of those smiles with an ‘I’ll kill you if you screw up’ edge. Well, while Aurelie was counting on her, Victoria would be counting on coffee—dump trucks of it.

‘I can do the cards here and now if you’d like, but I’ll need to redo the table plan at home. I don’t have the supplies here.’

Aurelie nodded. ‘I’ll get my assistant to email you the changes for that.’

‘And I’ll bring it here as soon as it’s done.’

‘And when will that be?’ The ice cool question, the smile. No pressure at all.

Victoria hesitated, desperate to please but not wanting to over-promise. ‘Well in time for the wedding.’ Victoria clung to her smile as Aurelie looked at her for what felt like hours.

Finally Aurelie smiled back. ‘Thank you.’

Great. Victoria put her bag on the chair and took out her pen case and ink bottle. Five cards shouldn’t take that long and she’d please her client. Then she’d rest up on the train and study the seating changes at home. And call by the shop on the way to load up on stay-awake supplies.

‘Do you like the candles?’ Aurelie suddenly asked.

Victoria turned. Aurelie had opened the lid of a big box stacked beside the desk. It was filled with tissue-wrapped cylinders neatly packed end to end. Aurelie lifted one out and unwound the delicate covering and revealed a candle in a gorgeous soft white.

‘They’re surfboard wax scented.’ Aurelie giggled. ‘My favourite.’

Victoria grinned at the quirkiness. To be married in a French chateau by candlelight with handwritten calligraphy and lace and silk everywhere? Not to mention fireworks and orchestra and fountains? Aurelie might be doing some things slightly out of order, but there was a lot that was traditional in her plans—and fun. She was having it all. Good for her.

‘They’re beautiful. This whole place is beautiful. It is going to be enchanting.’ Victoria meant it, she really did.

Aurelie put the candle back. ‘It is going to be parfait!’

‘It is.’ Victoria drew in a breath for courage. ‘Now, the menu hasn’t changed, has it?’ she asked, mentally crossing every crossable part of her body as she waited for the answer.

‘No.’ Aurelie laughed—a peal of infectious amusement that had Victoria smiling again. ‘I see why you were recommended,’ Aurelie said. ‘You don’t get flustered. You just say yes.’

Victoria maintained her smile despite the tweak on her nerves. In two minutes Aurelie had nailed her. Victoria had been so good at saying yes. To her parents, to Oliver. To the people she’d been desperate to please more than anything—more than herself. And then what Aurelie had said registered.

‘I was recommended?’ Who’d have done that? She’d only been in Paris seven months—most of her income was derived from the secretarial work she got from an agency. She’d only recently relaunched her online calligraphy and personal stationery design business. Perhaps it was a contact from when her company had been flying high in London? Either way she was grateful—despite the last minute panic that Aurelie had just dumped on her.

But Aurelie didn’t answer, she’d swiftly crossed to the window. Now Victoria too heard the crunch of the gravel outside. A car.

‘Oh, no,’ Aurelie gasped. ‘He’s here. He can’t see any of this. If he comes in here, hide it. Everything.’ With superior athletic grace, even with that burgeoning belly, Aurelie ran from the room.

Victoria blinked at the suddenly empty atmosphere. Presumably he was the groom. Curious to see what kind of guy had landed the incomparable Aurelie, she walked over to the window and peered down the two levels to the grand entrance.

The discreet-but-gleaming black car parked right in front was empty. As she watched, one of the conservatively clad assistants strode across the courtyard towards it. No doubt he was going to park it somewhere where it wouldn’t ruin the picture-postcard perfection. While it might be a ‘miniature’ chateau, it was still one of the grandest buildings Victoria had ever been in. Surrounded by formal gardens with long avenues and hidden nooks and a selection of trick fountains, it was gorgeous.

She went back to the desk, picked up the completed cards and dropped them back in their protective box. She didn’t want any damaged; she had too much to redo already. She took out several blank cards from the other box she’d brought in case, frowning as she arranged them. The desk was beautiful, but it wasn’t angled like her one at home. It’d be better if she could do these there, but she wasn’t about to say ‘no’ to Aurelie.

She prepared her pen, drawing up ink, and worked on a practice card—warming up her fingers and getting the ink to flow smoothly.

‘Aurelie, you in here?’

Victoria froze, her pen digging into the card. Shock curdled her blood. Ink spilled but she hardly noticed. Because she knew that voice. That warm, laid-back, confident call.

She turned her head as he walked into the room. Her heart paused for a painfully long time between beats. She held her breath even longer.

Liam?

Utterly gorgeous, absolutely unattainable Liam?

Her eyes were so wide they wanted to water. But that wasn’t happening. Not in the presence of this particular guy. Never ever.

He paused, barely noticeably, before walking towards her. But, as always, Victoria noticed every tiny thing about him, so she saw that slight hesitation. She also saw his height—his tall, lean, muscled physique. He’d always been an athlete and more competitive than most. Dangerously competitive. Liam Wilson wanted to win, no matter the cost.

And he’d won the best, hadn’t he?

Aurelie.

His sunflower-flecked brown eyes locked on her. Staring right back, Victoria saw the trademark easy-going stubble covering that sharp-edged jaw. She saw the dark brown hair, cropped closer than it had been the last time she saw him. Only vaguely did she take in the jeans and white tee because she was fully mesmerised by his expression—that intense, purposeful focus.

OM freaking G.

Liam Wilson. She couldn’t believe it. Completely thrown, she looked down for a sec to collect her scrambled thoughts. How could he have grown even more attractive? How could she take one look and want all over again?

Pulling the plug on the visual didn’t work. Because now she remembered so much of a time that had been so short. Now she wanted to hide. No one had ever exposed her the way Liam once had—with just one look.

‘Victoria.’

She fixedly stared at the ink-splodged mess she’d made on the card, aware he’d stopped a few feet from her chair.

He cleared his throat. ‘Long time, no see.’

She heard the smile. He’d always spoken with that easy-as smile. That innate confidence had been part of what had drawn her to him. The kind of confidence she’d never had. She’d been jealous of his ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-all-think’ attitude too, because she’d never had that.

Focused, hungry, fascinating. Liam had an edge Victoria hadn’t encountered before or since. Tall, strong, determined to do what he wanted, he’d sliced through any opposition.

Until Oliver. And her.

Unable to resist, she chanced a glance back at him. That element of danger? It was still there—now lethal. Because, despite that smile, his eyes weren’t just focused and relentless, they were hard.

There was no point clearing her throat. It wasn’t going to work. Nothing in her body—especially not her brain— was working this second. Or the next.

‘How’ve you been?’ he asked.

Oh, he had to be kidding. Five years since she’d last seen him, five years since he’d interrupted her own wedding proposal and here he was five days from his wedding and he was greeting her like some old schoolmate?

Then again, how else to handle it?

She looked at the blank cards on the desk, glad she’d packed the others away. Aurelie hadn’t wanted him to see them.

Aurelie. Liam.

Aurelie Broussard was marrying Liam Wilson.

Liam was the father of Aurelie’s baby.

Liam was getting married.

Why was it so hard to compute?

She’d once had the chance to say yes to Liam. Not to marriage but to something. She hadn’t. She’d said yes to someone else and life had moved on for all of them. And she was okay with that, wasn’t she?

Yes.

She straightened, ignoring the churning riot of recollections and emotions inside. She was happy. And she’d act like it.

‘Fine, thanks.’ Score. Her voice sounded almost normal. ‘How are you?’

‘Stunned to see you.’

Hardly stunned. He was still standing, tall and fit in those blue jeans and soft leather boatshoes and an eye-wateringly bright white tee with seams that had to cling hard to contain his broad shoulders. It ought to be impossible, but the guy was more gorgeous than he’d been back then. But what really stunned her was the glint in his eyes. He blatantly stared—at her hair, over her face, seeming to take in each feature—lingering on her mouth and then dropping below, taking in her figure. Was he sizing her up as he had that very first time they’d met? Back then it had been excusable—he’d not known who she was. But now?

Victoria tensed beneath his inspection, willing her body not to let the remnants of that old attraction show. Because that was all it was, like muscle memory—an imprint of an old infatuation. Not real. Certainly not worse. It couldn’t be.

‘It’s been a long time,’ he said. ‘And, as impossible as I’d have thought it, you’re even more beautiful now.’

Her breath quickened as her body absorbed his words— words that mirrored her thoughts of him. Her system responded so inappropriately. Heat shot everywhere—most of all deep and low in her belly.

Her brain clicked more slowly, taking too long to realise that it was meaningless, just his usual flirt talk. That was all it had ever been. Talk. But he had no right to tease her. Not that she could put him in his place the way she wanted to. Not when it was his fiancée she was working for. No, she was going to remain calm and professional and brush him off politely.

‘You’re looking good too,’ she said crisply. She even smiled. She could handle this unfortunate coincidence and she could handle him. Of course she could.

He leaned against the table right next to where she sat. Her feet tingled, her legs itched. But she wasn’t running, not showing how badly he got to her. She knew he was playing. He’d played with her before. She remembered that exact roguish expression from the first night she’d met him in the guest bathroom at Oliver’s parents’ place. Then, as now, Liam looked like a wicked cat who’d just spied a juicy mouse and he was going to have fun devouring it ever so slowly.

Victoria Rutherford was never going to be a mouse again.

‘Thank you,’ he drawled.

Her eyes narrowed as anger seeped through her polite armour. He really was the same game player? After all this time? Even now he was about to get married?

‘Victoria,’ he murmured softly, as he’d once murmured her name before. Now, as she had then, she steeled her heart.

How could she be this affected again by his mere presence?

Victoria froze as he moved, leaning across her—far, far too close. She held her breath but it was futile. He still smelt of ocean spray, sunshine and freedom. A heady, intoxicating mix that had once made her almost crazy high. The ultimate, forbidden temptation. Her boyfriend’s best friend.

As her client’s fiancé, he was even more forbidden now. So her suddenly over-excited hormones could just go back into dormant mode. Liam Wilson—even if he was single—would never be hers.

‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked—totally mouse— as he came closer still.

His gaze didn’t leave hers; his mouth curved as he moved into her space. She was transfixed by that intense, challenging look. And he was so close now, she could see the individual, unfairly long lashes that framed his dangerously warm eyes.

‘Mind if I take this?’ He pulled the pen out of her clenched fingers with a sharp tug. ‘It’s looking a little like a weapon there. You stabbed me in the heart once. I’m not chancing it again.’

She gaped. As if she’d hurt him? Quite the reverse. He’d hurt her. And Oliver. He’d thrown a spanner between them—damaging the bond that was never fixed quite right after. But he didn’t need to know how much he’d mattered.

‘I hurt you?’ She pulled herself together and faked a light laugh. ‘No woman has ever hurt you.’

A single eyebrow lifted. ‘You think?’ He shook his head. ‘Aren’t I as vulnerable as anyone else?’

‘No,’ Victoria said bluntly.

‘Come on,’ he drawled. ‘You know exactly how human I am,’ he purred.

‘Are you hitting on me?’ she whispered—utterly amazed—and aghast. ‘Seriously?’

When his seven-months-pregnant fiancée was in the building and he was getting married in less than a week?

Screw the prospects this job might bring. As far as Victoria was concerned, Aurelie didn’t need flourishes. She needed a new fiancé.

‘Liam!’ There was a squeal and a vision in white darted across the room. Aurelie really was too swift for a heavily pregnant woman, not to mention perfectly chic and elegant even in her third trimester.

‘Hey.’ Liam wrapped his arms around Aurelie for a tight hug before pushing her back to arm’s length and gazing at her adoringly. ‘You. Look. Amazing.’

‘I look huge but I don’t care.’ Aurelie laughed and leaned closer, smiling openly up at him. ‘And I’m so glad you’re here.’

Victoria’s stomach twisted. Because he was a flirt cheat—not that she was jealous. There was nothing to be jealous of. She was happily divorced. Happily single. The last thing she wanted to do was revisit past mistakes and Liam Wilson had been an almighty mistake.

A mistake that Aurelie was about to make. Aurelie, whose features appeared brighter—her lips shinier. She’d disappeared for those few moments to touch up her makeup? Someone had to warn her about him. Only Victoria couldn’t—she could never go there. Instead she loudly scraped together the blank cards on the table.

‘Don’t worry, Aurelie,’ Victoria interrupted the scene, not wanting to watch them indulge in more PDA. ‘He’s not seen anything.’

Aurelie and Liam turned, the spell between them broken.

‘All the surprises are safely hidden,’ Victoria continued with determined firmness. Why were they looking at her as if she were speaking Martian?

‘I’ve put everything away…’ she faltered.

Something had flashed in Liam’s face—a frown? A flicker of anger? It had passed so quickly Victoria couldn’t decide. And now came the smile—the one that charmed everyone.

‘Yes, don’t worry, I left the groom downstairs.’ Liam jerked his head to the door. ‘But he’ll be up here in a second if you don’t hurry to see him.’

But Aurelie didn’t hurry. She gazed up at Liam, her palm flat on his chest. ‘It is so good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

‘I didn’t want to miss it.’

‘Yes, you did.’ She laughed again and patted his chest a couple of times. ‘But I am glad you’re not. Thank you.’

‘Anything for you.’ He winked and gently brushed the back of his hand along the edge of her fine-boned jaw. ‘Now you’d better go stop him from coming up and spoiling any of your surprises.’

As Aurelie left the room Victoria sat in a swelter of confusion and defiance and embarrassment.

‘You thought I was Aurelie’s fiancé?’ Liam walked back towards her, his smile had widened yet he managed to look less friendly.

Could he blame her when Aurelie had said ‘he’d’ arrived and then Liam had walked in as if he owned the place?

‘You thought I was marrying her?’ He stepped closer, suddenly very tall and a lot like a roadblock. ‘And playing you?’

Victoria tried to glance behind him but it was impossible. He was fully in her face and expecting an answer with his eagle eyes. The only thing to do was play it cool. Frigidly cool. ‘Do you blame me for thinking that?’ She arched her brows as if that could make her taller. ‘You have form.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I could spend some time arguing that, but why bother?’ He stayed in place, right in her space. ‘Just as I was five years ago, Victoria, I’m here as a guest.’

A guest. He truly wasn’t Aurelie’s fiancé.

For a second relief flooded her. But then mortification screamed back. Her cheeks burned under his mocking scrutiny.

Of course she’d thought he was the groom. In the rare moments she’d ever let herself think of him in the last five years, he’d always been the groom. The guy she’d never said yes to and refused to ever regret.

‘Your name wasn’t on the guest cards,’ she said defensively.

‘I didn’t think I was going to be able to make the wedding,’ he explained. ‘That’s why I’m one of the late additions.’ He pointed to the sheet of paper Aurelie had put on the desk.

He hadn’t made it to Victoria’s wedding. She wasn’t sure he’d even been invited. Not after what had happened. It was the only time she’d seen Oliver uncontrollably angry. She’d gone upstairs and the rest of the family had retired to change for lunch. Oliver and Liam had gone outside. Victoria had pressed close to her bedroom wall, secretly peering out of the window.

Liam had taken the blow without putting up any physical defence. The spot on his jaw had reddened, but all the while he’d quietly insisted to Oliver that nothing had happened. That she’d done nothing. That his interruption wasn’t her fault. It had been his mistake alone.

He’d been facing the house. He’d glanced up, seen her. Their eyes connected for one split second.

Withdrawing. Apologising. Leaving.

He’d never looked at her again. Until today.

But had she done nothing? Really? Who had made the bigger mistake? Whose fault was it really? She’d been scared. She’d never had the strength to stand up to any of them—her parents, Oliver. Even Liam. She’d always done as they bid because she’d needed their approval. And all of them had steamrollered over her. But she’d let them—she’d helped them. That wasn’t happening again. Only now she did look at the list Aurelie had handed to her. The third name down?

Liam Wilson.

‘Oh.’ She faked a bright smile. ‘I thought—’

‘I know what you thought,’ he said, easing back into position against the desk. ‘You never thought much of me, did you?’

That wasn’t true but she couldn’t reveal what she’d thought of him all those years ago. She couldn’t admit it then, she couldn’t now.

There were five names on that list: three men, two women—one of whom had the same surname as another of the guests. The other woman’s name was written last, beneath another man’s name. Liam’s name stood alone in the middle there. Was he coming to the wedding without a partner?

She didn’t need to know. She really didn’t. Because it didn’t matter.

That didn’t stop her glancing at his hands—his fisted fingers. Bare knuckles didn’t mean anything for men. Many guys didn’t wear wedding rings or, if they did, only when convenient. And even if they did wear them?

Victoria knew all too well how a wedding ring wasn’t necessarily an obstacle as far as another woman was concerned. Or for a husband who was no longer satisfied in his marriage. Liam’s lack of ring meant nothing. Nor did his lack of date.

But still that unwanted excitement heated her blood and anticipation zinged through her veins. What was she, some teen girl going to meet her fave ever boyband?

But he might be free. And now? So was she. There was nothing to stop them from finally exploring this thing…

Only the ten tonnes of baggage she was constantly pushing in front of her. And the baggage he’d worked into some kind of bullet-proof vest that he wore beneath that easy-come, easy-go attitude.

‘I’m sorry.’ She looked up at him. For today, for all those years ago. For what could never have been and never could be. She’d moved on; she didn’t want to go back to the doormat she’d been. She had plans and they didn’t involve anyone else. Not him. Not any man.

Liam looked right back at her, his mouth curved in that slight, sexy smile. Time shifted—five years disappeared in that unspoken communication. She was drawn right back into those feelings that should have been forgotten—warmth, want, desire.

And she had to get out of there before she did something really dumb.

He wrapped his fingers right round her wrist—halting her just as she moved. ‘I’m not anyone’s fiancé.’ His grip was sure and warm. ‘That means I’m free to flirt with whoever I want,’ he added.

‘Not with me,’ she said huskily, swallowing to ease the dryness in her throat. She didn’t want to flirt with anyone.

‘Yes, you.’ His smile was oddly gentle. ‘You’re not anyone’s fiancée either, or wife.’

So he knew her marriage had ended.

‘I can’t believe you still blush like this—’

‘I’m not here to flirt,’ she interrupted him quickly. ‘I’m here to work.’ The emphasis was for herself as much as for him. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by this quirk of fate.

His gaze rested on her for a long moment, as if he were weighing the truth of her words. His grip remained firm— could he feel her pulse accelerating?

He let her go. ‘Then let’s see you in action.’ He handed back her pen.

As if.

‘I can’t do this with you watching.’ Her palms were damp; she’d already smudged ink everywhere just from hearing his voice. She’d be less competent than a two-year-old with a pack of finger-paints right now.

‘You always had a problem with me watching.’

She tensed, hoping to stop him from seeing her all-over tremble. She had always been aware of the way he watched her. ‘It’s not you,’ she lied sassily. ‘I don’t like anyone watching me work.’

‘In case you make a mistake?’

‘Not at all.’ She lied yet again. ‘I’m not afraid to make mistakes. I’ve made many.’ Too, too many.

‘Then you’re fine to write in front of me. Write my name.’

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to make more mistakes. She had to focus now.

‘You’re still a chicken,’ he jeered.

‘You’re confusing cowardice with being sensible.’ She had always tried to do the sensible thing. No shame in that, right? ‘And with these smudges?’ She held up her fingers. ‘Why would I waste my time and resources?’

He glanced at the table. ‘You’re really into all this?’

‘I want Aurelie to have what she wants.’

‘So you’ve not been put off weddings and all that’s wonderful about them?’

‘Of course not,’ she mocked. He was the cynical one, not she. ‘You think because my marriage didn’t work out, I’d go all bitter and anti?’

His lips twitched. ‘No. I just…wouldn’t have expected you to be so into weddings, I guess.’

‘I’m into other people’s weddings,’ she said smoothly, putting her pen back into its case. ‘And you’re still not into weddings at all.’

His shoulders lifted. ‘And yet here I am. Happy to enjoy someone else’s wedding.’

‘That’s an improvement on the last time I saw you. You didn’t seem to want anyone to marry then.’

‘And I was right, wasn’t I?’ He casually picked up a candle and breathed in the scent.

She took that hit. ‘You couldn’t have foreseen what was going to happen.’

‘Couldn’t I?’

No. She rejected the idea totally.

‘You and I both knew it wasn’t right,’ he said softly, lowering the candle and coolly looking at her. ‘Even Oliver knew it wasn’t right.’

‘I think it’s best if I go home and work on these in my studio,’ Victoria said through gritted teeth.

‘Where are you staying? Paris?’ Liam asked, his lips curving in that suspiciously sinful way. ‘I can give you a lift.’

‘You’re not staying here?’

He shook his head and straightened, looking all man-of-action. ‘I have some things in town I need to do.’

She couldn’t possibly get a lift with him. Never. The train was the only option.

Victoria looked up to meet his gaze and saw the mockery written all over him. But as she was about to answer he laid a finger over her lips.

‘What are you so worried about?’ he taunted slyly. ‘You’ll be stuck with me for less than an hour. What harm can come?’

To be stuck in a car with the guy who’d once tempted her so completely? She’d be mad to contemplate it. She had to think of some excuse.

‘With you driving?’ she tried to tease archly. ‘You always travelled too fast, Liam. So I’d say all kinds of harm could come.’

‘Oh, well.’ His answer came lazy and insolent. ‘If it’s speed you’re afraid of, why don’t you drive?’


TWO (#ulink_f120d061-ef87-5ef7-9349-f23e6a5bbd4d)

Liam tried not to hold his breath as he waited for her answer. Victoria Rutherford—the only woman he’d wanted, but had never had. The one who’d got away. It was such a cliché, but face to face with her for the first time in five years?

He still wanted.

She was even more beautiful now. Until today he wouldn’t have thought that was possible.

‘Sure.’ Her very pretty chin tilted upwards as she finally gave him an answer.

Liam had to suppress more than a sigh of satisfaction—there was a burn in his blood and in his gut as well. Last time he’d asked her something it had been a denial she’d issued. Not today. And, as crazy as it was, Liam had more to ask of her. Much more. He wanted to hear ‘yes’ from her mouth many times over.

Maybe then his mind would be freed from all those memories.

Victoria willed confidence. Of course she could drive that big black car. It might have power but it’d also have every safety feature ever invented. And no doubt it had a fancy sat-nav system and automatic clutch. It’d be a cinch. ‘I’d love to drive.’

Yeah, she just oozed faux confidence—refusing to show how flustered she was.

She carefully packed her gear into her bag. Shame she didn’t have some light leather driving gloves to don with chic aplomb. Gloves would hide the almost permanent ink stains. ‘Let’s get going. I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

But the car that an assistant brought to the front entrance of the chateau wasn’t the big black machine she’d seen from the window. It was a tiny two-seater.

Victoria eyed the sleek gleaming silver with its explicit promise of speed and seduction and turned to Liam. ‘Who do you think you are—James Bond?’

Even she, no car fiend, recognised a vintage Aston Martin when she saw it. No automatic clutch, no sat-nav, no airbags. No roof even. And no chance she was driving it.

He held open the driver’s door for her. ‘You don’t think it’s gorgeous?’

That wasn’t the point. ‘Is it yours?’

Of course he had some zippy racing thing. The guy only knew one speed—supersonic.

He shook his head. ‘It’s a rental. But I figure that’s no reason to be boring.’

As if he could ever be boring. Still, the ownership gave her an out from the nightmare. ‘Then insurance won’t cover me. I’m not taking the chance of damaging a rental car.’

‘But you wouldn’t mind damaging mine?’

Her gaze clashed with his. He didn’t look away. Nor did she. Like swords crossed to the hilt, their eyes were locked. Neither would disengage.

‘You’re driving,’ she spoke through lips that barely moved.

‘See, you are a coward,’ he answered equally softly.

‘I choose not to take unnecessary risks.’ She broke the fierce challenge by walking round to the passenger side, yanking open the door and sliding into the seat. She really couldn’t afford a bill if she pranged. And given how shaky her hands were right now, a prang seemed inevitable.

After a minute that felt like an hour, she glanced over to where he still stood by the open driver’s door. He was smiling as he stared at her.

‘If you’re not willing to drive either, please let me know so I can catch a train,’ she said impatiently. ‘I need to get home to get on with my work.’

‘Of course,’ he answered ever so politely.

Frankly, she didn’t see how a guy with legs as long as his could actually fit into a tiny roadster like this. But he did with a way-too-sensual ease, pulling sunglasses from a small compartment and putting them on. That was when she registered the next problem. The two-seater was a close fit. It wasn’t big enough for her to be able to slink into the far corner. Instead his shoulder was merely inches from hers.

Too intimate.

Swallowing, she glared out of the window. She’d focus on the external view, not the Greek-god-gorgeous guy sitting so close.

He revved the engine and cruised down the gravel driveway. Victoria breathed again, inhaling the fresh summer air. They’d be on the motorway and he’d put his foot down and they’d be back in Paris in no time and this would all be over. As they reached the end of the drive she braced herself for the acceleration. But when they hit the road, Liam didn’t quit the leisurely pace.

‘What’s with the speed, Grandpa?’ she finally asked. She wanted away from him as soon as possible. ‘Are we anywhere near the speed limit?’

‘If I drive too fast, I won’t be able to hear you.’

Hear her what? Breathe? She wasn’t about to have any kind of deep and meaningful conversation with the man. As far as she was concerned, the less they talked, the better. Her overly sensitive nerves didn’t need to hear more of the laughter that was always audible in his voice. So she sat silent, keeping her eyeballs glued to the window. After five minutes they were still going at that ridiculous pace.

‘You’ll get pulled over for holding up the traffic,’ she finally muttered.

‘There aren’t any cars behind me and, if there were, there’s a lane for them to overtake me.’

See, there it was. That latent lazy humour. As if everything was warm and easy with him. Well, if he was going to insist on the snail’s pace—and he clearly was—then she might as well quench some of the curiosity burning out her brain. ‘Why are you at the chateau so far ahead of the wedding? Isn’t your life so busy you could only fly in the day before?’

‘I’m on holiday. Thought I’d help her out with some arrangements.’

As he’d helped prepare for that Christmas years ago? He’d worked alongside her—helping out in all kinds of ways. As if he, like she, couldn’t cope with sitting around idly all day. She’d always wanted to feel needed. But she didn’t think he craved other people’s approval in the same way she did. ‘You don’t want to laze on the beach?’

He shook his head. ‘I’d want to be on the water.’

‘You’re not good at having a holiday.’ He’d always sought out something to do.

‘I prefer to keep busy.’

‘Why’s that? You can’t relax?’

She glanced at him. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but his mouth curved into that wicked grin.

‘I can relax,’ he said softly.

‘By ‘getting busy’, right?’ she asked sarcastically, knowing that was exactly what he was thinking of. ‘But you can’t cope with quiet? You scared of being alone with your thoughts?

‘I’m a professional sportsman, right? Therefore I don’t have thoughts.’

Oh, he was no brainless jock type. He was smart, successful—you didn’t need to note the expensive watch and discreet-but-mega-expensive clothing labels to know that.

‘So what have you been keeping busy with these last five years?’ Once more she gave into her urges and asked.

‘You don’t know?’

She sent him a cool look. ‘No. You left on Christmas Day and that was that.’

His brows waggled above his sunglasses. ‘You mean you didn’t Google me?’

‘No.’ Laughter bubbled out at his irrepressible arrogance. ‘I’m sorry to deflate your ego, but I haven’t spent the last few years cyber-stalking you.’ Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t ever thought about him. But she’d resisted curiosity then and pushed him from her mind. Now his answer made her wonder. ‘Did you ever Google me?’

He smiled at the road ahead, his fingers rhythmically tapping the steering wheel.

Oh, my. ‘You did.’ She twisted in her seat and stared at him. ‘When did you Google me?’ It would have been easy to find her. She hadn’t changed her name—something that had really bothered Oliver. She had a website—it even had her picture on it. And she was on Facebook like anyone. She frowned, drew her lip between her teeth. What had Liam found out about her online? What info was out there that she didn’t know about?

‘When I heard you and Oliver had broken up,’ he said.

All that time later? A lone butterfly fluttered in her stomach. ‘How did you hear about that?’

‘I’m still in touch with some people in London.’

But not Oliver? ‘You know he’s gone to Canada.’

He nodded.

So he probably also knew Oliver hadn’t gone to Canada alone. What else did he know?

Suddenly cold, Victoria didn’t want to find out. She didn’t want to think what some of her old acquaintances might have said about how it all fell apart.

‘How do you know Aurelie?’ She turned back to stare out of the windscreen, folding her arms across her tummy.

There was a pause. ‘I’m one of her ex-boyfriends.’ Victoria clenched her fingers into fists, glad they were hidden under her arms. She kept her eyes firmly on the window. So he had wanted Aurelie. He’d had Aurelie. Then she remembered the expression that had briefly flared in his eyes when she’d interrupted him hugging Aurelie. Was he hurt because his former love was marrying someone else?

Victoria released the breath she’d held too long. ‘You’re still friends?’

‘We’re close.’ He inclined his head and briefly glanced at her. ‘Is that hard to believe?’

Frankly yes. What woman could be ‘just friends’ with Liam Wilson? He was too intensely attractive.

And what surprised her more was that he chose to remain in touch with Aurelie. He’d been the burning bridges type a few years ago.

‘Is she the one who got away?’ She tried to joke but it sounded flat to her. ‘Do you still hold a torch?’

‘I care very much about Aurelie, but—’

‘You care about yourself more?’ She couldn’t help interrupting rudely—she regretted asking anything now. She didn’t want to know.

He chuckled. ‘What is it about me that threatens you so much?’

‘Nothing. You don’t. I’m not bothered by you.’ Lord, could she sound any more flustered?

She tilted her head back and hoped the breeze would cool her cheeks.

‘No? I bothered you once. I made you want something you thought you shouldn’t.’ His smile was still there but all sense of joking was dead.

‘As arrogant as ever, I see.’ And a game player. He’d considered her sport. He’d done it because he couldn’t help himself—consumed by that driving need to win. Even over his best friend. Oliver had told her about the new sailor who’d come into the team—that he was driven like no one else.

He was driven to win in everything.

But even though she knew that to be the truth, her heart puckered. Surely it hadn’t entirely been a game? That attraction had been intensely fierce. Surely there was no way it had only been her feeling it for real?

And the night they’d first met, Liam hadn’t known she was Oliver’s girlfriend. Not until that heated look and those soft, searing words had already been exchanged.

‘You’d be disappointed if I wasn’t.’

She rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help those urges again. ‘So you and Aurelie?’

The wry smile on his lips told her he was amused by her curiosity. She lifted her chin and ploughed on anyway. Because, damn it, they’d shared something. They weren’t mere acquaintances. A moment of connection had forged a thread between them. Incredibly, she almost felt a right to know. He’d once interfered in her personal life—didn’t that give her certain leeway in return? ‘How long were you together?’

‘On and off, almost three years.’

She snapped her mouth shut, almost as shocked as when she’d first seen him walk into that room at the chateau. He’d been with Aurelie longer than she’d been married to Oliver? He must have loved her.

Liam chuckled. ‘I’ve surprised you.’

‘Yes.’ She drew a breath and nodded. ‘You have. But in a good way.’

‘Why good?’

‘You committed that long.’

‘You didn’t think I could commit?’ His brows shot high, an odd note sounding in his voice.

‘It doesn’t fit with your image.’

There was a pause. ‘What’s my image?’

Victoria swivelled in her seat again to look directly at him, determined to play it up and ease them back into that slightly wary, almost joking mood. ‘Untamable. Challenging. Arrogant.’

There were so many more adjectives she could add to his definition. But she wasn’t going to feed his ego any more.

‘And that makes me seem like I wouldn’t commit?’

‘Well, you’re such a flirt,’ she said bluntly.

He laughed and his hands tightened on the wheel. ‘Only with you.’

‘Yeah, right.’ That was a prime example of his flirt talk just there. And it totally wasn’t true. He’d had them all eating out of his hand all those years ago. She’d seen how the other girls there had watched him. They’d looked at him the same way Victoria had covertly looked at him. With dazzled hunger.

She couldn’t believe he’d been with Aurelie three years. What had happened to break them up? Why was she marrying someone else? Victoria thought she already knew. Liam wasn’t the marrying kind. Not even to a total dream-girl like Aurelie. He’d never be pinned down by any woman—not for life. No doubt there were too many other challenges—races, trophies, women.

‘Are you in a new relationship now?’ That curiosity got her once more.

‘No,’ he answered with a soft drawl. ‘I have commitment issues.’

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Even though she knew it was the truest thing he’d said all day.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you with someone new?’

She shook her head. ‘I have commitment issues too.’

Now his laughter rolled.

‘Well, you can’t blame me for being wary now.’ She smiled wryly.

He stopped laughing immediately. ‘No.’ He turned his attention to the road ahead. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

‘I thought you were all ‘I told you so’?’

He shook his head. ‘He was an idiot.’ There was a silence. ‘We were all idiots.’

Victoria shrank in her seat. She’d been the biggest idiot. She’d been unable to stand up for herself and say what she’d really wanted. And in some ways, what she’d really wanted had been neither of them. She’d needed freedom and independence and she’d been too afraid to reach for it. But she had it now and she wasn’t giving it up.

‘The calligraphy’s going well for you?’ He changed the subject.

‘Yes,’ she said proudly. It mightn’t be world famous but it was doing okay.

‘It’s an interesting way to make a living. Doing the purely decorative.’

‘It’s nice to make things beautiful for people. Life shouldn’t just be functional,’ she declared, knowing he was deliberately provoking her and responding regardless. ‘Anyway, it’s no less meaningless than sailing from point A to point B as fast as possible. You’re hardly securing world peace with that career.’ She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an affected gesture. ‘At least what I do makes a difference to a few people—it makes them smile.

‘I make people smile too, you know,’ he said slyly. ‘I make people cheer. And scream.’

She bet he made many women scream. ‘Is that why you do it?’ She couldn’t resist a little provoking either—asking him in terribly polite tones, ‘You need the adulation?’

His resulting chuckle made her smile inside. ‘I just like to win.’

He hadn’t won with her. He still wouldn’t.

She looked at him. ‘Not everyone can win all of the time. Not even you.’

‘That’s not going to stop me trying.’

No. Hadn’t he made a play for her even when he knew she was with someone else—someone who was supposed to be his best friend?

But once more her conscience niggled because he could argue he hadn’t made a play. He’d not said or done anything out of line once he knew who she was. Then again the man was so devastating he hadn’t needed to do or say. He’d only needed to look. And when he had finally spoken? In front of everyone? She sighed. He was the one who’d got away.

‘This the street you meant?’

Despite his determined effort to fly well under the speed limit for the entire journey, they were indeed finally in her neighbourhood.

‘Yes.’ She directed him to her apartment and he pulled up outside.

Her heart thundered. Her silly hands were actually sweating as she unclipped her seat belt. She was going to say goodbye to him again. For ever. Good, right?

He turned in his seat and faced her. She should get out of the car. She should open the door and walk away. But she couldn’t; somehow she needed to see him—see his eyes. See if that look was there.

And he knew it. He took off his sunglasses, meeting her eyes. His were serious, but there was that glint of laughter and of something else.

Determination. Desire. Challenge.

She recognised them all. But she couldn’t let this happen. Even if she was dying of curiosity inside. She’d resisted him once, she could again, right? She had a new man-free plan and she was sticking to it.

‘Victoria—’

‘No.’ She pre-empted him. She was not inviting him in. She was not touching him. She was not letting him—

He smiled. Reaching out, he touched her burning cheek with just the tips of his fingers.

She clamped her jaw together.

‘Even now you want to resist it?’ he murmured.

‘You can’t just pick up with five years in between when we last saw each other.’ Did she have to sound so breathy?

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ So much had gone down between then and now.

‘I’m single.’ He glanced at her hands in her lap. ‘You’re no longer attached.’

‘And you’re pleased about that,’ she said tartly.

He clamped his hand over hers, a quick frown pulling his brows. ‘Of course I’m not. Believe it or not I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you both to be happy.’

She swallowed, conscious of the strength of his hand pushing on hers. The heat of it. ‘We were,’ she said hoarsely, but honestly. ‘For a while.’

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But it not working out was nothing to do with me.’

‘I never said it was.’ And she wouldn’t. But the edges of her heart shrivelled because, while Oliver had been the one who’d cheated, she’d been the one who’d withheld part of herself. She’d not been honest with him. Or herself. Or anyone.

Liam leaned closer. ‘Don’t make me pay the price of him hurting you.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What is it you want to do?’

‘What I’ve always wanted to do.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘From the second I first saw you in nothing but a towel and steam. At least I’m honest enough to admit it.’

She felt the steam now as heat surged through her body.

‘This thing between us?’ He shook his head. ‘Still the same, even after all this time. You can’t deny it.’

Of course she’d deny it. Self-preservation was a basic instinct. ‘I can.’ Because she knew all that was important to know about Liam, yet he knew nothing of what was important about her. Like the fact she wasn’t about to let herself get distracted. ‘You don’t know me now, Liam. You don’t know what I want.’

‘So you’re going to take the easy option and avoid it? You’re good at that.’

She shook her head. ‘You thought you were so clever. That you saw it all. But you saw nothing of what was really going on with me. You didn’t know me.’

‘I knew enough,’ he argued. ‘I still do.’

‘And what do you think you know? That I was sexually attracted to you?’ She kept her head high despite another flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘You intrigued me then, yes, I admit it. But I’m not interested now.’

‘Then prove it.’ His gaze locked on hers. ‘Come closer without blushing.’

‘Oh, please.’ She covered up with a laugh. ‘I don’t need to prove anything to you.’

‘What about to yourself?’ he challenged right back, his expression wicked and tempting. ‘Isn’t that part of what you’re doing now? Isn’t your move to Paris all about proving things to yourself?’

‘You still think you’re so smart.’

‘No, but I know when I’m right.’ He brushed that strand of hair behind her ear for her. ‘You’re out here on your own. Proving you can do it. You can handle it.’

‘And I can,’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘Yet you won’t even try to handle me.’


THREE (#ulink_ae3f76e8-6a4e-5321-b83a-d50da90940a1)

‘You do not have to see me to my door.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Liam wasn’t letting Victoria walk out of his life again. At least, not yet. Not when there was this much unfinished between them. He was going to get something from her today. Even just an admission. He wanted to hear her say it only the once, a whisper even. She reckoned she didn’t want him? She reckoned wrong. He knew that as well as she.

‘I have to work.’

He knew that too. ‘I’m not asking to stay the night.’ Though he would if she offered. One night was all he’d need. Why she could do this to him, he didn’t know, but from the first second he’d seen her it had been there. That hot response in every cell of his body.

Want.

But he wasn’t the kid he’d once been. He wasn’t going to lose it as he had back then—he was in control of everything now, right?

He’d experienced lust plenty of times. Course he had. Had acted on it too. But it had never been as extreme as it had that night he’d first met Victoria. When she’d opened her mouth and answered him back? When she’d been as enthralled as he had?

She still was. He’d seen it flash in her eyes when he’d walked into that room, before she’d had a second to school her face. He saw it now in the way she went out of her way to avoid touching, or even looking at, him.

But he looked at her. And he wanted to touch. In fact he wanted to provoke—that would only be fair. Because that rampant lust was back as bad as it had ever been.

He followed her up the stairs, trying hard not to stare at her sweet curves. Instead he glanced around, checking out her digs. The distraction was not good.

The stairwell was poorly lit but he could still see the grimy, peeling paintwork and he could smell something horrendous—like several stale dinners mixed with the stench of wet wool. How many tiny apartments were squished into this ugly building? They passed a million doors as they marched on. No wonder she was looking fit given all these stairs she had to climb.

‘So you’re doing the garret-in-Paris thing?’ He ground the feeble joke out. This place was hardly the Left Bank and giving her a nice view of the river.

‘I’m not starving. I’m doing very well,’ she said as they finally got to the top floor. She unlocked her door and paused. ‘And calligraphy is a craft as much as it is an art. I’m happy.’

‘Good for you.’ He ignored the ‘goodbye’ in her tone and walked right past her, into the shoebox of an apartment— a child’s shoebox at that. ‘But there are better garrets. With better views.’ He frowned, learning all there was to know in a swift glance. One room with a cupboard for a kitchen and another for a bathroom. The place sucked.

‘I don’t need a better view. I only need good light.’

She’d set up a small workspace in the room. The biggest bit of furniture was her desk. Angled and pushed against the window to maximise use of the natural light. On a flat desk beside it was her computer. Against the far wall—as if it were an afterthought—was the smallest single bed he’d ever seen.

The place wasn’t miniature doll’s-house cute, it was cramped.

‘How can you work in here?’ He looked away from the itty, bitty bed. ‘It’s hardly a ‘studio’ is it?’ It wasn’t big enough for anyone to be comfortable in. Not even petite blondes with leaf-green eyes.

‘That’s exactly what it is.’ Her chin lifted high, as if she was just waiting for the criticism.

Confronted with that expression, much as he wanted to criticise, he found he wasn’t going to. She was trying—­independent and alone. Far more than she’d been five years ago. Good for her, right? Except for some reason it annoyed him more. Why should it matter? Couldn’t he, of all people, understand the need to succeed?

‘Why don’t you come to my hotel and work there? I have a suite—it’s three times the size of this place.’ He knew before he’d finished saying it that it was a mistake. He knew how she’d react—call him worse than a flirt. Thing was, he meant it. Grudgingly. It wasn’t a line.

‘Oh, please, that was so unsubtle.’

Yep, she boxed him right back into flirt mode.

‘But we wouldn’t have to share a bathroom this time.’ He walked up to her, giving into her expectations—and his own need to provoke. And stand closer. ‘Unless you wanted to.’ He smiled and lifted a hand to her jaw, unable to resist touching her again. ‘Now, that was unsubtle.’

He’d never forget the time he’d walked in on her in the bathroom. It had been his first night there that Christmas break. To his relief she hadn’t screamed the place down. She’d been mortified. In truth so had he. He’d covered up by joking, of course. But he’d soon got derailed. The towel had covered her most private parts—parts he’d ached to see. But there’d been so much damp skin on show and with the steam and the sweet scent of her soap? Of course he’d made a play. A huge one.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d learned she was Oliver’s girlfriend—the one he’d been with for a couple of years. Who Oliver’s family loved and expected him to marry. The good girl who slept in her own room when she stayed—not Oliver’s. It was all so perfect.

But it was already too late. Liam had been young and dumb and so callow. He’d mistaken insta-lust for love at first sight. He’d been unsubtle in his attention. Unable to stay away.

‘That wasn’t just unsubtle.’ Victoria lifted her chin sharply, so his fingers slipped from her skin. ‘That was sledgehammer.’

‘This is a dodgy neighbourhood,’ he said, wishing he could see her out of here.

‘Don’t try to get me there under the pretext of caring for my welfare.’ She looked amused.

There was no shifting her. And—albeit reluctantly— he respected that. ‘So where do you see it—’ he waved his hand at her desk ‘—in a few years?’

‘You want to know my business goals?’

Yep, oddly he did. ‘How are you going to expand when it’s so dependent on you? What happens if you sprain your wrist or something?’

‘I have business insurance. In terms of expansion—is it necessary? I only need to make enough for me to live comfortably.’

A single bed was never comfortable, no matter how slight she was. She clearly needed to make more than she currently was. ‘How are you going to factor in holidays? When you own your own business, it’s very easy to forget about holidays.’

‘How do you factor in holidays?’ She laughed at him.

‘I love my work. Work is a holiday for me.’ Sailing was and always would be his first, his ultimate, passion. He loved the challenge on the water. It was his home—the place he felt safest. And the most free.

She turned and looked at him. Her green eyes were very bright—he felt their power right into his bones.

‘And you don’t think it’s possible for me to feel the same about my work?’ she asked.

Frankly? No. ‘Not in this environment.’ This place was stifling at best. ‘But maybe it doesn’t matter to you. Maybe you only see what you’re working on.’ He walked over to the scrupulously tidy desk. ‘You’re very good at what you do.’

Victoria couldn’t get over his nerve. He couldn’t try to make it better now with flattery. Not when he hadn’t even seen her work. He’d only seen that mess on the card at the chateau. She’d boxed the others away and right now her desk was completely clear. So he had no idea how good she was. Unless—

A horrible suspicion occurred to her. ‘Did you recommend me to Aurelie?’

He stilled.

‘You did. You Googled me. You found my website. You—’ She broke off.

For once the self-assured expression was wiped from Liam’s face. He looked guilty. He was guilty.

Victoria gritted her teeth. She couldn’t back out of Aurelie’s job now, but a huge part of her wanted to.

‘I didn’t think I was going to make it to her wedding.’ Liam offered an explanation. ‘And I never expected to see you even if I did. But, yes, I wanted to help.’

Help who—her or Aurelie?

It shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to feel beholden to him. And she’d felt so stupidly proud to have gotten this commission. That she was succeeding independently and on her own merit. Oliver had implied that her early success in London had only been because of his contacts. Not the quality of her work. She’d thought this job an antidote to that bite.

‘I mentioned your name when she was boring me with wedding details one day.’ Liam fiddled with one of the tins she had on her desk, pulling out the pencils one by one and dropping them back in. ‘She looked you up herself and decided whether or not to hire you. She likes your work.’

Victoria swallowed. She couldn’t let pride ruin this. She could still get business off the back of Aurelie’s wedding. Her work would speak for itself.

He glanced at her, his sharp eyes assessing. ‘You’re unhappy with me.’

‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘It was very nice of you to suggest me to her. I’m amazed you could even remember my name.’

‘Come off it, Victoria.’ He stepped closer.

She instinctively retreated. Because sometimes he saw too much—past her polite veneer to what she was really thinking. And wanting.

‘You’re so determinedly independent now?’ he asked, his brows lifting at her attempt to put distance between them. ‘Can’t accept anyone’s help?’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Least of all mine?’ He let his gaze slowly lower— trailing over her body.

She stood her ground, hoping to school her response and this time truly hide her thoughts from him. But once again he seemed to know.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ he baited. ‘You have nothing to fear from me. It would only be the once.’

Victoria smiled, keeping the rest of her expression smooth. ‘Why? Isn’t it going to be very good?’

His attention snapped back to her face. ‘I’ve done the convenient relationship. It doesn’t work. One-night stands do.’

The ‘convenient relationship’? So he hadn’t been in love with Aurelie? Or was this his way of hiding his own deep hurt?

‘I’m not a one-night stand person,’ she answered honestly.

‘Maybe you should try it. Once.’

She held his gaze—still feeling that pull towards him, but she was older and wiser and stronger now. ‘You don’t like to give up, do you?’

There was a slight hesitation. ‘No. I told you I like to win.’

‘And that’s what this is?’ She gestured—fluttering her fingers towards him and then herself. ‘Like an event to be won?’

‘If we don’t explore it, there’ll always be that curiosity. Be honest,’ he drawled, taking another step closer. ‘You’re dying of curiosity. That burning wonder of what might have been.’

‘So poetic?’

‘It’s the Irish ancestry in me. And I’m right. We both know that.’ His voice dropped. ‘We also both know how good it’s going to be.’

‘Liam.’

His lashes lowered. ‘It’s always going to be like this,’ he muttered. ‘It’s inevitable. It always has been.’

No. She’d ceded control of her life for too long—always doing what others wanted. She was in control now.

He’d stepped near enough to touch her and now he did. Reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers on her shoulder.

‘Only once, you say?’ she asked, letting some tease out. Determined to make him pay for this casual attitude. As if all this was was sexual curiosity that could be assuaged in one hit.

‘Feel free to make me change my mind.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Love to see you try.’

She stepped back.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not happening.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Feel free to make me change my mind,’ she threw at him. ‘Go on. Do your worst.’

Startled, he stepped after her. ‘Victoria—’

‘Was this only ever lust? You’re so driven by base urges you ruined your friendship with Oliver? You almost broke up a relationship? For a quick fling?’

Or was it even less than that? She took another step from him, using the last bit of space behind her and bumping the backs of her knees against the small cot she called her bed.

‘Was it just your overblown need to win?’ she continued. ‘You’re so insanely competitive, did you need to get one over him? Was I nothing more than the trophy of the day?’ She kept her smile on but it was slipping. Quickly.

‘No.’ He frowned.

That didn’t satisfy her. ‘Then don’t cheapen this. Don’t cheapen me.’

Now he looked angry. ‘I didn’t betray Oliver.’

No?

‘I didn’t seduce you,’ he argued, standing so close she could feel his warmth and almost taste the salty ocean breeze that he always seemed to evoke. ‘And I could have.’

‘You think?’

‘I can’t give you everything you want. I can only—’

‘You don’t know what I want.’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Marriage, babies, Labradors.’

‘I tried that. It’s not for me.’ Maybe she just wanted acknowledgement of what could have been between them. That this had been more than just a sexual attraction. That somehow, unbelievable as it might have been, there had been a real connection between them that week.

‘So what do you want?’

‘A career. My business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I was making headway before the divorce. Oliver hated that I was more successful than he was.’ The banking crisis had hardly been her fault. Hundreds in the city had been laid off—Oliver had been one of them. But for whatever reason, her little enterprise had gained traction. But after his affair and the divorce she’d lost it. Now she was back at the beginning. But she believed in it. In herself. ‘I want to build this up into something great. And to do that I need to finish this for Aurelie. That’s what I want. To have work coming out of my ears. For people to love my work.’

He was silent, his eyes boring into her, for a long moment. Then he glanced around her small room again. The plain, utility style room with her neatly lined tins and stacks of paper and materials.

‘That’s all you want?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I have time for.’

‘No time for anything else?’ He suddenly smiled, wicked-incarnate again. ‘Not even one night?’

‘Typical.’ She rolled her eyes, her good humour lifting at the swift return of his. ‘You just want to bang the one who got away.’

‘What, and you think you’re unaffected?’ he teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

His smiled broadened.

But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

‘Victoria?’

Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

‘Liam, I—’

He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

Silence. Heat. Sensation.

Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

It was going to be more than okay.

Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.

He shifted, planting his feet wider. Both his hands were at her back now. Bending her into his heat. Saying nothing in words but everything in actions. She felt the impact right to her toes.

I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.

She heard the words in her head though his mouth hadn’t moved. Nor had hers. Did he say it? Did she? Or had she just dreamed it?

Her throat was tight; she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. But she felt the most intense yearning deep within herself. And within him.

She was so hot. And that heat slid in greater waves over her skin as he teased, pulling her closer, closer, closer. Stringing out that searing tension. Tormenting her with his steel-strong body.

Until she could no longer bear it.

Until she lifted her chin.

Until her lips broke apart as she gasped in defeat.

Until in hunger she pressed her mouth to his.

He instantly moved, wrapping his arms right around her, locking her fast into his embrace. One hand held her core against him, his other swept firmly up her spine, to her neck and into her hair. Tangling there. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and warm and possessive. His tongue teased—a slide across her mouth, then a stroke inside—tasting, taking.

She quivered at the intimacy. Her nerve endings sent excitement hurtling along her veins and deep into her belly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring their breadth before smoothing her palms on the back of his neck, his head. Holding him. She’d dreamt of holding him so many times—but never had she imagined she’d feel as hot as this.

Her breasts were pressed to his chest. She shivered in delight as her taut nipples rubbed against him. Her pulse sprinted. It was too quick, her heart thumping too fast, too hard. She couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to break the seal of her lips to his. The moan came from some place buried a mile within her.

Such a long time.

The kiss grew hotter, wetter. So did she.

Her body weakened, strengthened, slid. She wanted to fall to the floor and lock her legs around him. Wanted the weight of him, all of him on her, inside her. Most of all she never wanted it to stop.

He held her close, taking her weight with his large, strong hands. Kissing her the only way a woman should be kissed in France—stroking her tongue with his, nip-ping her lips. She felt the spasms inside, the precursors to physical ecstasy. It wasn’t going to take much—but she wanted it all.

She felt flayed, so hot it felt as if her skin could be peeled from her. It was so much more than a kiss.

Nothing sounded in the room but roughened breathing and the occasional moan pulled from that locked place inside her. It threatened to burst out of her completely. He pulled her closer, crushing her against him. Her fingers tightened on him as uncontrollable desire smashed into her. She wanted him. Everything. Now.

‘Liam.’

He broke away, his head snapping back with a violent jerk. His eyes went straight to her mouth. ‘I’ve bruised you.’

He hadn’t. She liked the kissed-to-full feeling. She wanted more of it. She wanted him to fill her in every way imaginable.

His eyes were wild and wide, but his face was surprisingly pale. He coughed. ‘I’m leaving now.’ His breath came fast and uneven.

‘Okay.’ Her wits were completely scattered. And it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want him to go.

He cleared his throat. ‘You have to work.’

Work? Oh, yeah. She did. ‘Okay.’

‘So I need to go. Because if I don’t go now…’ He looked at her.

‘Okay.’

‘Victoria?’

‘Okay.’ She just sat where she was, landing on her miserable, single bed. Her legs felt wobbly, her brain fried.

He hunched down in front of her and looked into her face. ‘Okay if I stay or okay if I go?’

She stared at him. Then her glance slid past, to her table—and she remembered all the ink and pens and pretty card she had to spend hours over.

‘I’m going to go,’ he repeated roughly, standing.

She looked back at him—encountering his long, strong, legs. ‘Okay.’

Cold descended on her. If he hadn’t made that decision, if he hadn’t pulled back, she’d be beneath him right now and not caring at all about the deadline hurtling towards her. Well, not ’til she’d come floating back to earth.

Then she’d feel bad.

‘Your timing is so lousy,’ she said softly. ‘It always was.’ He whirled away, scooping up her small bag from where she’d slung it on a chair when they’d first got in.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

He’d unzipped the bag and pulled out her phone. Now he tapped the screen. ‘If you don’t want people playing with this, you should put a password lock on it.’

‘That slows me down.’

‘And you don’t like to go slow?’ A whisper of a chuckle. ‘We’re not so different, you and me.’ He tapped the screen a few more times, then walked closer, stretching out his arm to hand her the phone but staying well out of touch zone.

She took it, watching his face but unable to determine a thing.

He looked back at her. With a small sigh he took one step closer and ran a finger along her lower lip. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘Okay.’ Victoria tossed the phone onto the bed before she dropped it from her trembling fingers. How was she supposed to work now? How could she possibly hold her pen with a steady hand? She clenched her fists.

He’d gone already. The door banged, she could vaguely hear the thuds as he headed down the kazillion steps. And what was she doing sitting here like a lemming?

All she’d been able to say was okay. Okay, okay, okay.

She punched the jelly feeling from her legs and stood. She was as pathetic as she’d been all those years before. So meekly acquiescent. All her progress had been obliterated in less than a minute. From what—some kissing? To just swoon in his arms and say okay? It was beyond pathetic.

Why hadn’t she shoved him away and said enough? Or, given she’d really wanted it, why not haul him close and have him completely? What was with the passivity? Why had she let him make the decision for her?

She wasn’t the malleable, eager-to-please girl she’d once been. She couldn’t revert to that type. She had more focus and strength than that now. But that weak part of her whimpered—so good. It had been so good.

Fantasy, she told herself. Just fantasy. Even though she’d blocked him from the forefront of her brain, she’d built him up. Finally being in his arms, it was sensory overload. Anyway, it had been so long since she kissed a man. Over a year. Maybe it wasn’t him; maybe it was hormones? Her body saying she needed to get out more, score herself something of a social life?

Or just score.

She closed her eyes and pulled on some strength. She’d work. She’d fake it. That was what she did these days. She’d get this work done. Then she’d find a love life.

And she’d never see Liam Wilson again.


FOUR (#ulink_67c7b186-0ba5-5ada-862e-5e3504de974a)

Cold showers. Many, many, cold showers. Showers to wake her up, showers to keep her awake and—most importantly—cool her down and keep her thoughts from straying into the forbidden hot zone. But that part of her feeling socially deprived needed some happy thoughts, so she mentally planned, listing the nightclubs she’d go to once the job was done. She’d head out on Saturday night when Liam was at that wedding. There’d be hotter looking guys than him at those clubs.

Liam.

Damn, she was thinking about him again. She bent closer to the huge sheet of card in front of her, narrowing her eyes as she prepared to write the next, the forty-fifth, name on the seating plan. She almost had the nib down when her phone rang.

Surprised, she lifted her pen quickly and checked. No blot or mark. Good. She scooped up her phone and put on her ‘professional’ voice.

‘Victoria Rutherford Design.’

‘How many have you done?’

She squeezed the phone hard so it wouldn’t slip from her fingers. Her heart squeezed harder. He’d always been an early riser and even over the scratchy connection she could hear his smile. ‘Pardon?’

‘Names on the table plan. How many?’

‘A few.’ Not enough.

‘How many?’

‘Who do you think you are?’ she said, trying to recapture some smarts. ‘I don’t have to report to you.’

He chuckled. ‘You never used to argue back. I remember you used to do everything anyone asked of you. Obedient and unquestioning. Eager to please.’

Victoria braced herself against the subtle suggestion in his last sentence. She hadn’t done what he’d asked her to. But she was hardly going to remind him of that. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve grown up a bit since then.’

She only did what others asked of her now if she wanted to. Like this work for Aurelie. Ultimately it was Victoria’s choice. But she knew part of her was still eager to please. She’d been so weak in Liam’s arms last night. If he’d asked she’d have done everything, and let him do anything. She’d wanted to please—and be pleased.

Not going to happen. Not with him. Not at this time. She straightened up from bending over her desk and twisted from side to side to ease the kinks and literally strengthen her spine.

‘Do some stretches,’ he instructed.

She froze. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’ll get stiff if you don’t take regular breaks. Walk around the room while you’re talking to me.’

She immediately bent back over her desk. ‘I just told you I don’t do everything anyone asks of me now.’

‘But this is for your own good.’ His amusement sounded louder. ‘Don’t take the independence thing too far. Just because it’s not you but someone else who suggests something doesn’t automatically make it a bad idea.’

Victoria tried to stiffen, to resist the sound of his smile. Him calling her like this was not good for her. ‘You don’t need to do this, you know.’

‘Do what?’

‘Act like you’re interested.’

‘Victoria,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s no act.’

Yeah, but it was only the one thing he was interested in. One thing, one night. He couldn’t have made it clearer. ‘Well—’ she gritted her teeth ‘—I’m only interested in finishing my job. And I need to get back to it now.’

She ended the call, afraid that if she didn’t she’d say something she shouldn’t. She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out in a sharp, frustrated sigh. She didn’t want him to phone and distract her. Yet part of her was glad he had. That part of her wanted him to think of her. To want her.

Because she still wanted him.

Fool.

She mocked herself. She wasn’t going to act on it. Instead she looked at the board.

One letter at a time.

Three hours later her phone rang again.

‘Time for another break,’ he said before she’d finished giving her name.

She pressed a fist to her chest, as if the pressure could settle her skipping heart. ‘What makes you think I haven’t been taking regular breaks already?’

‘I know the lengths you’ll go to, to keep someone happy. I remember you staying up almost the whole night to make enough streamers for Oliver’s mother to hang in the hallway.’

Oh, Lord. Victoria chuckled. She remembered that. The endless rolls of crêpe paper had nearly killed her. In the end Liam had come and helped her. He and Oliver and the others had gone down to the local pub for a few. Victoria had opted to stay and help. She’d needed some space from the stranger who made her feel so self-conscious with the way he watched her, teased her, tempted her.

The boys had got home late. Oliver had staggered straight up the stairs to his bed, drunk. Liam hadn’t. He hadn’t been drunk. He hadn’t left.

Victoria had determinedly kept on going with the darn decorations, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. But Liam hadn’t let her. He’d chatted—easily maintaining a one-sided conversation for the first fifteen minutes, until she’d got over herself and actually giggled. Then it had been a fun tease.

Until she’d tried to move out of the chair. She’d not realised how stiff she’d got sitting still so long, folding ribbons of the thin paper over and over.

That was when Liam had come to help. That was when he’d rubbed her shoulders to ease the ache. That was when he’d stood too close and touched too much and that ache had become a burn.

That was when he’d turned her in his arms and looked at her—

Don’t.

Victoria closed her eyes and banished the memories. ‘I’ve learned to take care of myself better now,’ she said briskly. ‘I even use a timer.’

‘So efficient.’ The old amusement was audible.

She didn’t want to hear that tease. It had always melted her, always made her smile. She should hang up—but she couldn’t yet. ‘How is your holiday going?’

‘It’s pretty frustrating.’

‘Oh?’ Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

‘There’s no water.’

‘Are you drowning on dry land?’

‘Pretty much.’

She laughed. ‘You get itchy when you’re away from the water too long.’

‘Yep.’

‘Why is that?’

He was silent for a moment and she knew he was actually seriously considering the question. ‘It’s my home.’

‘You’re a merman? Mr Atlantis?’ she joked lamely.

‘It’s where I’m free. It’s where I can be in control of my own destiny.’

‘You can’t be in control of your destiny on land like normal people?’

‘On land there are other people. In my boat, I’m alone.’

Solo sailor. He’d gone for months at a time without seeing anyone as he’d circumnavigated the globe solo. In his team events, he was the captain. Reliant on his crew, yes, but ultimately the one in charge.

‘You don’t want to have to factor anyone else into your life?’

‘I am that selfish, Victoria.’ There was none of the tease now, none of the amusement. It was a warning—as loud and clear as a foghorn.

But she didn’t know whether to truly believe him. The Liam she’d met five years ago had been fiercely competitive, fiercely determined. But he’d also been helpful. Yes, he’d been on the fringes, watching how Oliver’s family— and her family—played out. But he’d helped, he’d wanted to be involved. Was it merely to have something to do?

‘Why don’t you ask Aurelie if there’s something you can do to help her get organised?’

‘Not necessary. There’s a wedding planner here. She’s scary.’

‘Scary?’ Victoria chuckled. As if Liam would ever be intimidated.

‘Seriously scary. Check this out.’

A second later her phone pinged. She swiped the screen and smiled. He’d sent her a picture of the chateau. Uniform-clad minions were busy constructing a big marquee. There were white chairs everywhere. There was one ultra-efficient-looking woman in the middle of it all with clipboard in hand, wireless phone piece in her ear and her hair ruthlessly scraped back. She was very attractive in a headmistress sort of way.

‘She’s not scary.’ Victoria cleared her throat. ‘She’s gorgeous. And she looks like she’s fabulous at her job.’

‘She’s a robot,’ Liam answered shortly. ‘And she has everything under control. There’s nothing that needs doing.’

‘It looks like it’s going to be amazing,’ Victoria said.

‘It will be.’ He suddenly sighed. ‘So you’d better get back to your writing.’

Victoria held onto the phone for a couple of minutes after he’d rung off. Was his abrupt switch from joke to sigh because of that in-his-face wedding scene? Because of Aurelie?

Her skipping heart ached.

* * *

A few hours later Liam couldn’t help placing another call just to hear her voice. Over the phone she sounded blood-pumpingly breathy yet brisk at the same time. Just hearing her got him hard and he couldn’t resist it any longer.

‘I think you should take twenty minutes and come and see me,’ he said the second she answered. And what he really wanted was to see her come.

He’d been deliberately bold the other day. He’d wanted to bait her. Get a reaction from the woman who provoked him to insanity with just a glance. Get her to admit the vibe between them for once.

But he’d done more than provoke. He’d unleashed them both. He’d had to stop when he’d realised she wasn’t going to say no. It had nearly killed him to pull back, but it hadn’t been the right time. He didn’t want either of them to have regrets. But the right time was going to have to be very soon.

‘Twenty minutes?’ Victoria answered in an unim-pressed tone. ‘That’s all you want?’

He grinned. It’d be more like two given the state he was in. And frankly? He’d settle for anything now.

‘For the first round,’ he amended for form’s sake. ‘Then we could settle in for the rest of the night.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘You know I don’t.’ The way his father had drunk? Obliterating reality from his mind? He hadn’t been an abusive father in a physical sense, he’d simply been negligent. Never there. Either at the wharf or at the pub, he couldn’t have been less interested in his only child. Liam shook off the memory and focused on his much more appealing immediate future. ‘Why try to ignore the fact that the genie is out of the bottle?’

She’d said yes the other night. Not in words, but in actions—she was all the way to yes.

‘Throw another cliché my way,’ she answered snappily. ‘That one doesn’t work for me.’

He laughed. ‘When did you get so tough?’

‘I told you, I finally grew up.’

Had she? She’d been so sweet back then, soft and pretty and pleasing. She’d been all things to all people. She’d had to be—her parents had demanded perfection. Liam looked out over the gardens, his eyes narrowing as he wondered about how that whole thing had played out for Victoria. ‘How are your parents? Do you see them?’

There was a moment before she answered. ‘I see them occasionally.’

Her answer was too diplomatic, too reserved. ‘Are they unhappy about you and Oliver?’ He pressed the phone closer to his ear, trying to catch the nuances.

‘Very.’

Did they blame her? He bet they did.

Oliver had told him that Victoria had a sister who’d left home as a teen. A total rebel who’d fallen in with the kind of people Victoria’s family would have nothing to do with. So they’d then had nothing to do with her. The sister had become persona non grata—her name never mentioned, memories of her life expunged from the family home. And then Liam had watched Victoria—seen the way she’d deferred and smiled and obeyed. Too afraid to ever rock the boat. But she’d spoken up with him that first night when she hadn’t known who he was. Without fear she’d been a spitfire. In company, she’d been meek. It still annoyed the hell out of him. His annoyance grew at the thought of her parents blaming her for her marriage break-up. But he couldn’t resist asking her one last question. ‘Do you ever see your sister? Did you ever track her down?’

She’d wanted to. Working late on the crêpe decorations that night, she’d mentioned the sister—and that desire— so briefly after she’d asked about his background. Then they’d both changed the subject.

Now there was silence.

‘Victoria?’ he prompted.

‘Yes, we met up a while ago.’

She spoke too cheerfully.

‘Was it okay?’

‘It was fine.’

‘Are you still in touch?’

‘We’re very different people. I send her a Christmas card.’ Her words came faster and lighter. ‘Look, I’d better go now, I’m still behind on where I need to be.’

Two seconds later Liam pocketed his phone and looked at the almost luminous green lawn. Knots turned in his stomach as if he were land-sick. He hurt for her—she was alone and she shouldn’t be. He wished it didn’t bother him. But it did.

* * *

Victoria’s phone rang the next morning at five-thirty. So he knew she’d be awake and working already? She answered on the first ring, an unstoppable smile leaping to her lips. ‘You must be really bored.’

‘I’ll come and pick you up. You have to stop for a food break some time.’

‘Food? You’re going to take me to lunch?’ ‘I was thinking sooner than that. Breakfast in bed, actually. Good idea, don’t you think?’

‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘I think of you, sex comes too. It’s like peaches and cream, cheese and crackers. Victoria and sex—inextricably linked.’

She giggled but a weird disappointment pressed heavy into her chest at the same time. It would only be the once and then he’d disappear from her life again. ‘So this is the only reason you’re calling me three times a day?’

In the resulting silence her discomfort grew. Because she liked talking to him. She liked laughing with him. But was all this merely a means to an end for him? He was putting in the spade work to get what little he actually wanted?

But she didn’t want to sleep with him once and then lose him from her life for ever. She wanted more of this. It dawned on her that since the move to France, she’d been lonely. She wanted to laugh more—and she laughed when she talked with him.

‘I want you to get this work done,’ he finally answered, no smile in his voice this time.

Her work? That was what he cared about really? She stopped. Her work was for Aurelie. Victoria winced, so glad he couldn’t see the mortification staining every inch of her skin red. Of course, he wanted his ex-girlfriend, the woman he’d been with almost three years, to have the wedding of her dreams. He was just passing time flirting with Victoria while keeping an eye that things were on track. A bit of fun, that was all. He didn’t mean it— well, okay, he was sexually attracted. But that was all. He didn’t want anything more. And his primary concern was for his ex. The one he’d liked enough to spend years with, not just one night.

Fair enough.

‘Well,’ she said, smiling brightly at the telephone so he wouldn’t hear how hurt she was. ‘I’d better get off and get it finished, then.’

* * *

Liam frowned as he slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. There was a vibe hurtling along the ether that he couldn’t ignore. But she had to get her work done. He couldn’t go see her—much as he wanted that breakfast in bed. He wanted Aurelie to have her nice cards and more than that he wanted Victoria to be paid and have her work noticed. He wanted what was best for Victoria.

Truth? He wanted this weekend to be over so he could go to her and finish what they’d started the other night.

She was right; his timing was lousy.

He paced. He only had a few days before he was due back on the water but he didn’t want to leave until he’d had what he wanted.

He hated himself for that. She didn’t want what he wanted. She didn’t want him to cheapen whatever she thought this was. But lust was all this was, right? Nuclear-hot chemistry. The other night it had exploded. But he’d had to walk—to let her get her work done, to let her cool down from that kiss. Because he didn’t want the regrets that a spontaneous, quick tumble would have brought.

Truthfully that insane, insatiable need had taken him by surprise. The overwhelming compulsion to bury himself inside her and stay there had been so sharp he’d run from it. Because Liam never stayed anywhere for long. He couldn’t. Not for Victoria, not for anyone. She wanted and needed more than he had to offer. He ground his jaw, clenching his muscles—because that desire was still so incredibly strong.

And he’d seen her anxiety before he’d kissed her—the flash of self-consciousness, her admission that it wasn’t going to be that good. Oliver had done that to her. He’d betrayed her by going off with another woman. Liam wanted to punch him, as Oliver had once punched him.

Oliver had let her down. Liam wanted to fix it and in that one small way he could. He could give her that relief, restore that confidence in her sensuality.

Bitterly he mocked himself. What, he thought he’d be doing her a favour?

He’d told her the truth. He was selfish. All he really wanted was her. Wanted to have her so bad he was almost certifiable.

He changed and went for a run to burn off the energy accruing inside, but he couldn’t find his rhythm—couldn’t shut his thoughts down. She’d been hurt. Not just by Oliver, but by her parents, her sister. No doubt her friends too. She didn’t want to be hurt again.

He couldn’t blame her for that.

All he could offer was one night. Nothing more. Was that fair to her?

No.

Calling her so often this week had been a mistake. He’d drop contact completely—go back to the stalemate of the last five years. Some things just weren’t meant to be.


FIVE (#ulink_105d4ef5-514d-572c-b6d3-e6cf6c6426d7)

‘Good,’ the Rottweiler disguised as the wedding planner said to Victoria.

Coming from her, the one word was effusive praise. Thank heavens. It was all Victoria could do not to collapse into the nearest chair and cry in relief.

She’d done it. She’d worked all through the night because she couldn’t sleep for thinking about Liam anyway. Work had been a distraction. She’d focused on nothing but and she’d finished it.

He hadn’t called again. No more scheduled work breaks and instructions to swing her arms around and flex her fingers to prevent cramp. He’d clocked off. He was probably busy catching up with other, real friends who’d arrived for the wedding now. Maybe he’d met another woman. That was fine. Of course it was. Excellent in fact. All she needed to do was get out of here as fast as possible.

‘If you would like to, you’re welcome to look at the set-up on your way out,’ the wedding planner said. ‘But, please, no pictures.’

‘Of course.’

She couldn’t resist a peek. There was no risk. Liam would be out chatting up some other woman, taking his mind off Aurelie’s upcoming marriage. And she needed a walk. She’d been cooped up in her apartment for the last four days.

Outside she turned away from the more formal area where the marquee was set, instead walking into the narrow alleyway that led to a small grotto.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the figure ahead. She swallowed hard, but there was no denying the burst of excitement in her belly.

He walked towards her with that charismatic grace. As if everything was easy for him. She figured it actually was.

‘You’re helping?’ she tried to ask brightly, as if his presence hadn’t just sent her senses into overdrive.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing for me to do. Everything is sewn up by that wedding planner from hell. She has a legion of minions and doesn’t need another.’

Liam was no minion. But he was restless; she could almost see the energy sparking from him.

‘I don’t think you being here is a good idea,’ he said roughly.

‘I delivered the dinner seating plan and the last place names,’ she said proudly, wanting him to know she’d done it.

‘Right here, right now. You shouldn’t be here,’ he repeated, a frown spreading over his brow.

He didn’t want to see her? He was angry with her? With a muttered growl he took her hand and tugged, twisting her towards the other side of the path. ‘They’re testing the fountains—you’re about to get really wet.’

Too late. As he spoke a whooshing noise all but drowned his words. Suddenly water showered in all directions.

‘Oh, it’s so pretty.’ Victoria stared as light refracted in the droplets, creating rainbows in the air. She turned to smile at Liam.

One look and she froze.

She’d been spared the soaking. He hadn’t.

His white tee bore the brunt and was now drenched on one side. The fabric had gone transparent and clung to his chest. Victoria didn’t know where to look. Actually, she did. The chateau and the grounds weren’t anywhere as majestic or enthralling any more. All she could see was Liam. Her mouth dried. Her cells shrieked for his touch.

She wanted to murmur his name. It was on the tip of her tongue. The desire to call him closer, to touch him, to tumble in this long alleyway—behind the ornate pillars and symmetrical archways. She wanted to steal the moment she’d always wondered about and explore the chemistry that had always drawn her so compulsively to him. Did it matter that his heart was elsewhere? Wasn’t it his body she wanted? But something pulled inside her— stretching to a dull pain.

‘Victoria.’ A low warning.

She snapped out of it, lifting her hand to brush her hair back and take a moment to recover her equilibrium. ‘What?’

‘You really ought to go.’

‘Am I bothering you?’

‘You know you are. And you don’t want what I’m offering.’

Actually she didn’t know what she wanted any more. But it was something more than this. She was heartsore for all they didn’t have. ‘Why can’t we just hang out together? Why can’t we just walk through this beautiful garden and catch up like old acquaintances? Why can’t we be friendly?’

‘Are you that naive?’ He glared at her.

‘You can be friends with an ex-lover, one you were with on and off for three years,’ she pointed out. It hurt. It was stupid, but it hurt. ‘But you can’t be friends with me? A woman you’ve kissed once?’

She caught the flare in his eyes as he strode towards her, but she was so taken by surprise at his speed she just stood there as he captured her face between his palms and planted his lips on hers.

Hard.

His body collided with hers a split second later—his taut, fit length sweeping against her so forcefully she grabbed for something to stop herself from falling backwards. She got two fistfuls of tee. No matter that the shirt was wet and the water cold, his skin beneath burned through. It fired her blood as much as the demands of his mouth on hers were.

She pushed back to balance, opening for him at the same time. He took total advantage, his tongue plundering and tasting in total dominance—overwhelming her with the intensity of his passion. But that intensity sparked her own—she found the strength to push back again, twirling her tongue around his, across his lips, into his mouth as she sought to explore him with equal rapaciousness. She felt the low rumble in his chest and he dropped one hand from her face to wind his arm around her waist in a grip that was gargantuan in its strength. She shifted, reaching up to curl her fingers into his hair, eager to clutch him closer and hold him as tight. His wet tee dampened her dress but their skin sizzled. She widened her legs so she could feel him more intimately against her. She loved the sensation of his denim-clad, granite-hard leg between hers and rubbed against him, suddenly wanting the fabric to disintegrate so there would only be sweat and steam and skin.

But as she rocked he suddenly let her go, lifting his hands as if there were a twenty-strong SWAT team aiming their guns on him.

‘Now it’s twice,’ he growled, stepping back to put distance between them with an insulting speed. ‘Two times too many. No, we can’t be friends. Not until—’ He broke off.

Until they’d had sex and this tension would be broken?

Breathless, Victoria watched him. His fury surprised her. His lazy tease had disappeared altogether. All that remained was one lean, hungry, angry man. One she suddenly, instinctively, knew she could push. ‘You only want what you can handle?’ she taunted, putting her hands on her hips at a provocative angle. ‘What’s with all these boundaries? Why do you have to be so in control?’

His biceps bunched as he fisted his hands and shoved them into his back pockets. He took in a deep breath, his chest expanding. He stood with his feet wide apart on the grass. His jeans emphasised the length of his legs, the strength, the absolute raw masculinity.

But as he exhaled that mask slid down again—smoothing out the lines of need that edged his mouth. Now it was the smile that returned.

‘Women like it when I’m in control,’ he drawled.

And that was so not true. Not for her.

That kiss had ignited something in her. Want, yes, but also, like him, anger. Her fury rose to meet his, because this desire was so strong it was irresistible.

For her.

Now his tease—something that usually made her smile—goaded her. Could he really step back so easily? She saw red—refusing to believe it. Anger propelled her to act like the vamp she’d never been.

‘I think I’d like it best if you weren’t in control at all.’ Deliberately shameless, she stepped towards him, bunching a bit of her dress so more of her thigh was exposed.

The sudden flare in his eyes filled her with sexual confidence. He did want her. And she wanted him to want her badly.

His mouth compressed, his brows pulled together, his eyes were riveted on her.

‘Victoria.’ He spoke slowly, his voice spliced with a rough thread. ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

Through his wet tee she could clearly see his nipples. Despite the summer heat they were diamond hard. She boldly looked lower to see how the front of his jeans was sitting. Stretched. Yeah, she’d felt that straining erection and she was sure it wasn’t going down in a hurry.

She smiled.

He’d walked away so easily the other day. While she was grateful in some ways, she’d also been put out. How had he been able to think? How had he found the strength to make such a decision? She wasn’t letting that happen again.

Wild excitement burned every one of her doubts to cinders. She took another fateful step forward and fearlessly pressed her pelvis against his jeans, lifting her chin defiantly as she slowly circled against him. She was so taut with need, so tired of fighting it, there was no resisting the urge. She wanted what they’d started the other night. Hot sex?

Yes, please.

His hand clamped on her butt, holding her in place hard against him. She shivered at the fierce, close contact. His eyes hadn’t left hers—his were dark, the pupils like black tunnels and she wanted to go the length.

His other hand slowly slid up the back of her thigh, his palm pressing firm but at the same time his fingers massaged her muscles—as if he couldn’t help but caress. Hot, tight, yet softening inside, she gazed up at him. His expression seared as he stroked higher up her thigh, stealing up under her skirt—still not high enough. She wanted absolute intimacy. His erection dug into her stomach and twisted her tighter so she leaned right against him, letting him take her weight, letting him feel how pliant and willing she was.

He cupped the curve of her butt with both hands now—one outside her skirt, one underneath. She wanted him to slide his fingers inside her underwear, wanted him to tease her, take her. She’d lie with him on the sweet-smelling grass and satisfy this elemental longing. Here, now. They’d finish it.

But she didn’t move more, didn’t lift her mouth up to kiss him. She didn’t sweep her hands over his chest. She was spellbound, lost in the glittering intensity of his eyes and the banked ferocity within them.

There was so much control in him. But it was close to tearing. She wanted it torn. The other day she’d been the one to break. It was his turn and she was waiting for it, holding his fierce gaze with a defiant dare in her own. Something rippled through him—surely not a tremble? A split second later he flinched, every muscle hardening. The spasm hit his hands too—his fingers pinched and he swore.

Victoria gasped but smiled as he thrust against her. Satisfaction surged as he bent his head—a kiss, completion, was only a sigh away.

‘Victoria?’ A row of trees over, the wedding planner’s high-pitched call pierced. ‘Has anyone seen the calligrapher? Is she still here?’

Once again Liam’s fingers dug into her flesh. He thrust against her in another powerful move before stepping back and releasing her completely. She only just caught her balance.

‘Lucky escape,’ he ground out through gritted teeth.

Not lucky at all. ‘Lia—’

‘You want more than this,’ he whispered harshly. ‘But this is all there is.’

‘Victoria?’ The wedding planner sounded closer. ‘I’m here. Just coming,’ Victoria called out.

Well, she would have been. Instead she stood watching Liam stride away from her, from the chateau, his broad hand kneading the back of his neck as he went. Anger apparent in every line of his body.

A thin thread of satisfaction pulled her mouth into a frustrated curve. Yes, he might have wanted her to get Aurelie’s work done. He might still hold a torch for Aurelie. But he still wanted her, Victoria. And he wanted her a lot.

Who was she kidding to think it had been anything more than sex? What drew them together was fire. Rampaging lust and hormones. Where, for whatever reason, their bodies were feverishly attracted.

It was just sex. And wasn’t that all she wanted? Just sex. She didn’t want another relationship. He most certainly didn’t. It didn’t fit with his lifestyle. He’d been right to offer the one night. He’d been honest.

She hadn’t. She’d been confused. But things couldn’t be clearer now.

Did she really want to spend the rest of her life wondering? Was she going to pass up the chance to be with him—even for a short time—a second time?

This wasn’t roses and rings and happy ever after. That wasn’t in her plan. She wanted to build her company. And she wanted to be like any other normal woman in her twenties. She was free. If she wanted a fling, she could damn well have a fling. He was here for a few days. There’d be no anxiety about seeing him unexpectedly in the future. What better chance did she have of some fun? And of getting rid of this old ‘what if’ obsession.

Her blood zinged. High on the hit of sensual confidence and assertiveness, she went back into the chateau.

‘Is there a problem?’ She found the planner.

‘Not at all, I wanted to know if you had some business cards on you. I might find them handy.’

Victoria’s confidence multiplied more. ‘Of course.’ She gave the woman a stack, but she couldn’t ignore the sizzling sensation in her blood. Not any more.

She went into the marquee, the tables already set for the wedding. She found the card that she’d had to write five times before getting it right—Liam Wilson—in that flourishing swirl. She flipped it over to the blank side. And in very ordinary writing, with a ballpoint pen she borrowed from one of the minions, she wrote a bald message.


SIX (#ulink_cf75e899-4834-5c9a-9099-a47c4f892d62)

In the foulest mood imaginable, Liam pulled on his jacket. He’d actually tried to do the right thing. He’d left Victoria to get on with it. She didn’t want complication—not even for a night.

Only she’d come onto him in the alleyway of the garden and torn his resolve to bits. She wanted to spend time with him. Really? What a horrific joke. Sure, he could text her. Tease her. Talk to her over the phone. But get him into the same airspace as her and all he wanted to do was kiss her. He couldn’t see straight for wanting her. Lust in another league from anything he’d ever experienced.

He’d enjoyed his relationship with Aurelie. But in truth most of the time they’d been a couple, they’d been apart. Him competing in one ocean, her surfing in another. It had been convenient and easy and he’d always been able to walk away.

It had nearly killed him to walk away from Victoria in the garden this morning. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling tied. Even if it was only a sexual bond.

He frowned at his reflection. Today his suit gave him a social veneer, but in reality he worked in a competitive, ruthless, isolated world. He was away for weeks, months at a time. The only relationship that could possibly survive that was with one very tough chick. Victoria wasn’t anywhere near tough enough. He feared he’d tangle up her emotions. He knew he’d done that to Aurelie for a while— by taking what he wanted and not giving her enough. It eased his guilt, and pleased him, that she’d gone on to find what she needed with another, better man. Love— and that security and grounding.

Liam didn’t do grounding. Liam did freedom—sailing fast over the water. He didn’t want to feel as trapped as he had all his childhood. All he’d ever wanted to do was sail and keep on sailing. It wasn’t a family gig. It wasn’t a safe gig. And he didn’t want to be dependent on anyone else. He liked to be alone. Just like his father. They were not family men. He wasn’t having a kid only to ignore him the way his father had ignored him. And he would, because being on the water was the most important thing to him.

Victoria had always tried to give all of herself to everyone else—doing what she thought she had to to keep their affection. She had needs he couldn’t meet. She’d be unfulfilled. And more importantly, she knew what she wanted now and she was going for it and he wasn’t going to get in her way.

But he still wanted. And so did she. She’d wanted him back then—he’d seen it written all over her face. There was the irony. To anyone who’d bothered to look, her emotions were obvious. It was just that Oliver hadn’t looked— not hard enough. Nor had her parents.

Oliver had cared more about himself than he did about her. And as a result her confidence had been crushed. She’d got less than she deserved.

But Liam too was so much less than she deserved. He couldn’t give her the security he believed she still wanted. She’d been hurt already. Any kind of a relationship with him would see her hurt again.

But he could give her physical pleasure. He could show her. He ached all over wanting to give her that. He snorted at his own arrogance. So shallow. The best thing he’d done was shut it down and walk away.

Two hours later he watched Aurelie and Marcus exchange vows and wondered about Victoria’s wedding. How had she looked on that day? His stomach cramped. He’d never been able to imagine it. He’d avoided all mention of it amongst his friends of the time, certainly avoided any pictures.

Now jealousy of that past wedding boiled in his gut. He really needed to sort his head out. He’d go back to the coast early and train hard.

He followed the other guests through to where the tables were set, the silverware gleaming in the candlelight. Her calligraphy marked each guest’s place. It was overwhelmingly romantic. He sat and picked up the card bearing his name. Victoria’s letters were pretty and polite and flourishing. He ran his thumb along the edge of the card and then flipped it over. He suddenly felt as if he’d been shot straight into the sun. What was written on the back was penned by the same hand, but the flourishing swirls were absent.

One night. Tonight. Everything. Agreed? V.

* * *

Victoria poured herself a glass of wine. So much for hitting the club scene and finding a social life. Or even a sex life. She didn’t get dressed up, she stayed in her old shorts and work tee with a thin cotton robe over the top and sorted her desk. She had a new project, she’d get on with that—forget the past and take on the future. But she couldn’t help wondering what Liam was thinking as he watched Aurelie say her vows to another man. Victoria’s stomach twisted. How hard that must be. She shouldn’t have left him that message. As if he’d want to see that at Aurelie’s wedding? What had she been thinking?

And she’d not heard from him. What if someone at the table read it? They wouldn’t understand it, right? Good thing she’d only left her initial, not her full name.

Mad with her idiocy and annoyingly one-track thoughts, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and gathered the materials needed for the two-day job that she had all of the next week to do. But she needed to keep busy tonight. She’d keep very, very busy.

Forcing concentration took huge effort. She took her watch off, put her phone in a drawer in the bathroom, put her favourite song on replay and wouldn’t let herself move from her desk. For hours.

Eventually she settled into it. For this project she needed to be extra precise and neat. It was just what she needed.

The thud on her apartment door who-knew-how-long later killed her heart. Three seconds later it started beating back at a frenetic pace that had her breathless. She stood, glancing out of the window as she did. It was still reasonably light, not that late into the evening at all. So it wouldn’t be Liam. The wedding party would only be starting.

Whoever it was pounded on her door again just as she got to it. She opened it, took one look at him and had to lean against the jamb because her legs went so weak. Tuxedos made any man look good; the effect on Liam was mind-blowing.

‘It’s early.’ She sounded as if she hadn’t spoken in years.

‘You thought I’d stay there when you left me this?’ He lifted his hand, flipping the place card in his fingers.

‘I didn’t mean for you to miss the party.’

He gazed at her, his expression dark. ‘I’m not.’

‘How was the wedding?’ she asked, suddenly nervous about his answer.

‘Beautiful.’

She bit the inside of her lip—anything could be read into the way he’d said that. And suddenly she needed to know exactly what he was feeling. ‘Do you still love her?’

Liam put his hand flat against her belly and gave her a little push so she stepped backwards. He followed and then carefully closed the door behind him. Only then did he turn and face her. ‘There’s a part of me that will always love Aurelie.’

Victoria pressed her lips together, trying to stay strong and not let that stupid, unwonted hurt at his words show.

‘She was as different from you as I could get,’ he said. ‘It should have been the perfect set-up. She was busy with her career, happy to let me get on with mine. We met up whenever our schedules let us. It was fun—and carefree. I thought it was all I needed and all she wanted. But she became unhappier, wanted more. Then one day she called to say she’d met Marcus. I wasn’t heartbroken—in fact I was happy. We were more friends than we were lovers. And I’m happy to see her so happy. I’m not hurt.’

Victoria released the breath she’d been holding—the blockage in her throat eased. ‘For what it’s worth, I think she’s crazy to marry someone else.’

Her words dropped between them—leaving a sudden silence in their wake. She bit her lip, holding back from admitting more.

‘I couldn’t watch you marry him.’ His voice was so soft it was almost a slur.

Victoria’s breathing quickened as she tried to hold back the emotional storm building inside her. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. They should be in a tumble already. ‘Because you knew I was making a mistake.’ It wasn’t because her marrying Oliver had hurt Liam. Not really.

‘You both were. You weren’t the right woman for Oliver.’ Like a statue, he remained a few feet from her. But his soft words carried as clear as the sound of a glass shattering on a stone floor. ‘Why didn’t it work out?’

‘You know why,’ she said simply. ‘That I even looked at you?’

‘So why did you say yes?’

‘How could I say no to him? How could I humiliate him in front of everyone? And I wanted to please him, to please all of them…’ She swallowed. ‘They cast Stella out. She became nothing to them. I didn’t think I could cope with being nothing. Having no one.’

He stepped forward, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘Would that have happened?’

It had happened—almost. While she wasn’t as shunned by her parents as Stella was, it wasn’t far off. The relationship was icy; they disapproved of her current choices. Blamed her.

‘He was supposed to have been the safe bet,’ she answered in a sad whisper. But he was human. As much as she.

‘I’m sorry,’ Liam said.

‘Don’t be.’ She smiled. ‘I learned lots. And I like this me better than the old me.’ She had some backbone now. She had her plans.

‘He was an idiot.’ Liam’s expression clouded. ‘I’d never have done that to you. Never would.’

‘No.’ She actually managed a laugh. ‘You’d never have married me in the first place. You’ll never marry anyone.’

His lashes dropped. ‘You’re right.’ He lifted his head and intently looked at her again. ‘But I’d never cheat on you.’

She believed him. He had honour. All those years ago he had wanted, he had asked, but ultimately he had resisted. There was no real reason to resist now. She touched her tongue to her lips, her mouth dry. She wanted this conversation to be over. She wanted what she’d always wanted from him.

Touch.

He stepped closer still and she felt his magnetism pulling—urging her to move nearer too. But he still didn’t reach for her.

‘Why now?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want to make the same mistake.’ The mistake had been not saying yes to him.

‘Are you sure?’

‘You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.’

‘I thought you didn’t do one-night stands?’

‘I can’t fight it any more.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘It’s what I want.’ She wanted to be released from the passion that imprisoned her—that made her think of nothing and no one else.

He looked at her—his gaze lifting to her hair and then down her body. That old smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

‘What have you been doing?’ He lifted a finger and pressed it against her forehead and then pulled it away and held it in front of her eyes. A sparkle of gold glinted on his finger.

She wiped her forehead herself and looked at her fingers, grimacing wryly when she saw more of the sparkles on her hand. ‘I’ve been working on a poem for an anniversary. Using gold leaf.’

‘What anniversary?’

‘Fiftieth—the golden.’

‘Wow.’ He nodded.

‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a lovely poem too.’

‘You’re not tired from Aurelie’s work?’

Of course she was.

His smile quirked. ‘You’re a gold-flecked angel.’

‘I’m not that much of an angel.’

He traced the spots of gold on her face with his finger and then leant forward, pressing his lips to each marking. ‘You’re gilded.’

Victoria shivered and took a step back. She hadn’t expected such tenderness and didn’t know if she could handle it. She wanted fast, furious passion—carefree, right? ‘You’re just feeling soppy because you’ve been to a wedding.’ She reached for his belt buckle, her intention clear. ‘Enough talking.’

‘No.’ He grabbed her wrists and pulled them away, locking them behind her back. It forced her chest right into his so she wasn’t exactly disappointed. But why was he saying no?

His gold-flecked brown eyes drilled into hers. ‘I’ve wanted this for a long time and even though we have only one night, I’m not going to have it over in five seconds. I’m not going to just strip you and screw you and walk out the door two minutes later.’

She swallowed, sure he could feel her heart pounding against him.

‘I’m going to take my time and I’m going to savour every second I have. Don’t plan on sleeping any tonight.’

Oh.

He didn’t take his eyes off her and she couldn’t drag hers away, not when his eyes were deepening so quickly— and inviting. ‘Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

He released her wrists, lifting his hand to cup her jaw. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

‘I think I was wrong and you were right,’ she whispered. ‘This is…passion.’ She chose her word carefully. ‘And I think it needs to be dealt with.’

‘You think you can deal with me?’

That old arrogance brought back her smile. ‘I think for one night. Yes. I can deal with you.’ She had to.

His eyes flicked to her hair. The way he looked at her made her so hot. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to go slow and savour; she thought she might incinerate first. She needed to cool off. And suddenly she was conscious of the ratty shorts and tee she had on—and the even rattier cotton robe she’d shrugged on as the evening cooled. ‘I was going to shower.’

‘Later,’ he said, his voice husky.

His fingers traced over her skin—her jaw, down her neck—causing her to shiver even though she was hotter than she’d been in her life. She drew in a deep breath and shifted her feet—so restless.

‘Slow,’ he reminded her with a smile.

‘I don’t want slow.’

He kissed her neck, his teeth giving her a scrape before his tongue and lips soothed the sensitive spot. ‘Yes, you do.’

Frankly she wasn’t going to be able to do slow if he kept touching her like this. She was embarrassingly turned on already, suddenly desperate for him to be inside her. She wanted that intimacy—and that orgasm—right this second. She inhaled deeply and stepped back. ‘Let me undress you.’

His eyes widened. ‘I want to. I have to. Otherwise…’ She trailed off. ‘Okay,’ he answered. ‘If that’s what you want.’

She wanted so many things, but doing this first might help her settle into it.

She started with his jacket, working one sleeve and then the other. He bent his head as she passed in front of him, briefly brushing a kiss on her jaw. She glanced up at him and smiled but said nothing. Slowly she undid the buttons on his shirt and opened it to reveal his chest. Sleek, hewn muscles, smooth strength. The kind of definition that was only built from daily training. And sweat.

Yeah, the guy was fit. So fine.

She hadn’t realised she was holding her breath and she released it now in a harsh sigh. He was silent now too but his chest rose and fell a little faster than it had before. His belt was leather and soft and her fingers struggled to work the fastenings. But he didn’t offer to help and she was glad. She wanted to do it all, discover it all.

She dropped to her haunches as she pulled his trousers down. He wore clinging black boxers beneath, fortunately made from that stretchy stuff as they were straining now. She slid her hands into the waistband. She pulled out the elastic, sweeping the boxers wide past his erection and down his muscled thighs. He stepped out of them. On her knees she glanced back up at him—practically agog at the magnificence of him.

‘Now you’re the one overdressed,’ he said roughly. She didn’t care. She just wanted to put her mouth on him.

But he drew in a hissing breath and stepped forward, bending to haul her to her feet.

‘My turn.’ He didn’t smile. He looked tense.

He pulled the belt of her robe right through until he’d tugged it completely free. She glanced at the length hanging in his hand. ‘What do you plan to do with that?’

‘I know how to tie knots.’

‘Yeah.’ She knew that; he’d had her in knots for a long time now.

But he tossed the belt to the side. ‘This time, I want to feel your hands on me.’

But another time he wanted to tie her up?

‘Ditto.’ She glanced at the belt. ‘But just so you know, I know how to tie some knots too.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ He stepped closer and took the hem of her tee in his hands. His fingers were trembling. She didn’t think he could fake that.

In a second her shirt was over her head and had landed somewhere on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra—often didn’t at home. So now her painfully tight nipples were bared and screaming out for his touch.

He’d frozen—staring at her. She put her hands to the fastening of her shorts—that got him moving.

‘No.’ He put one hand over hers and pushed them out of the way.

He undid the button and slipped her shorts down. Then, so slowly, he slipped her thin knickers down too.

She stepped out of them both. For a fleeting moment she was surprised she wasn’t more self-conscious. But how could she be when he was on his knees looking up at her like that? He reached out, putting strong hands on her legs—one just above each knee. She stilled, her legs parted.

‘You’re even more beautiful than—’ He stopped, suddenly pressing close, his tongue swiping over her. She cried out and bent forward to put her hands on his shoulders for balance. Instinctively she pressed her hips close to him again.

It wouldn’t take much for her to orgasm. Another touch? It was crazy how close she was just from being stripped by him. But suddenly she didn’t want that—to come in a nanosecond. He was right to want to take this slow—to savour it. To indulge fully and finally complete what had been started so long ago. But she wouldn’t feel as if it was complete until—unless—he was right there with her, every step of the way.

She wanted him to feel this as strongly as she was.

‘I want to come when you’re inside me,’ she said in a quavery voice. ‘When you come too.’

His hands tightened on her legs as he lifted his chin, kissing her right there again. But then he stood, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close.

‘I’m not entering you until you’ve come.’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘You heard.’

She snapped her spine and tilted her chin to look into his eyes. ‘Well, I’m not coming until you’re in me and on your way yourself.’

A smile stretched across his face. ‘Gonna be a fun night, isn’t it?’

She rose onto tiptoe and kissed him—openmouthed, wet, demanding. He shifted, widening his stance so he could keep them upright as she thrust against him, pushing her weight onto him. She could feel his erection slammed against her belly. She felt the way he kissed her back—as hot, as hungry, his hands sliding over her body, touching every part of her.

She smiled. So much for slow.

He lifted his head; his own smile was wicked. He kissed her again and his hands went to her breasts. She gasped at the touch. He didn’t dive straight for her nipples, instead he cupped the full weight of her breasts, gently pushing, fingers circling. She felt the tug deep inside as he kissed her again. The guy had the most incredible sense of rhythm—sweet, carnal torment.

Suddenly she couldn’t stand any more. Literally. He caught her as her knees sagged and he lifted her to her hideously narrow bed. She breathed out in relief, her legs parting, holding her arms out to him as he knelt over her.

But he didn’t put his weight on her, didn’t line up his pelvis with hers the way she really wanted. Instead he put his mouth and hands to work in tandem again—repeatedly, rhythmically sweeping over her until she was hot and writhing and so ready. She arched her hips, thrusting them against him again and again.

‘Liam,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

He leaned back on his arms to look into her face. ‘I’ve always wanted you,’ he said, his expression strained. ‘Always wanted this.’

‘Me too,’ she confessed shamelessly. ‘Please, please, please get on with it.’

To her immense relief, he left her, efficiently scooping his trousers from the floor and pulling a new pack of condoms from his pocket. A minute later she heard the snap as he sheathed himself.

She lay back on the bed and spread her legs in welcome. But he wrapped a hand around her ankle and started all over again—kissing from her toes, all the way up the length of her leg. It was torture. But it was bliss.

Why had she thought this wouldn’t be a good idea? This was the best idea she’d ever had. She writhed beneath him, almost in tears, almost laughing, and totally furious that he could still hold back from plunging into her. She rolled, deciding to take matters into her own hands—to mount him and initiate the ride herself.

He let her on top—but he didn’t let her slide onto him. Instead he laughed and caught her hips, using his insane, superior strength to keep her in place just above him. But still he didn’t penetrate.

‘Tease,’ she groaned.

‘Not ’til you come first.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Not without you inside me.’

He laughed. ‘Then we’re at a stalemate.’ He bent his knees and slid down the bed while lifting her so she remained in place—now higher above him.

‘You know how much I like to win,’ he muttered, lifting his hands to palm her breasts again. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to win.’

He shifted a little more so he could kiss her right where she needed him to. His tongue swept into her.

She cried out, her head falling back at the extreme intimacy. ‘Liam.’

‘Come on me,’ he muttered. He licked again and then fastened his lips around her clitoris and sucked.

Her thighs quivered and she pressed her fists onto her knees. He reached up, filling his hands with her breasts. She breathed hard, knowing there was no way she could beat him at this.

‘If I come…’ she panted.

‘Yes.’ He broke the rhythm of his tongue for only a split second to answer.

‘If…’ She couldn’t get it out. ‘Yes.’ He manipulated her breasts more—perfectly in time to the sweeps of his lips and tongue.

‘I…’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh—yes!’ She shuddered as the orgasm hit. Unstoppable. Delightful. Her prolonged groan escaped through gritted teeth.

A satisfied sound rumbled from his throat as he kept tormenting her, so the waves of pleasure kept rippling through her in intense contractions.

She gasped, panting for breath. ‘Please.’

He released her and she slid, bumping her head on the wall as she tumbled to the side of him.

‘Careful.’ He pulled her into his arms, moving to slide her beneath him, but her stupid bed was too small.

They gave up on it, falling to the floor in a tight embrace. Victoria felt consumed by fire. Hooking her legs around his body. Her hands knotted in his short hair.

He looked down at her. His eyes gleamed. Wide, focused. Desperate.

A sense of power filled Victoria. ‘Now,’ she commanded.

Immediately he bore down on her, driving so deep it almost hurt. And it was so incredibly good she wanted more. She arched, urging. He pulled back and pushed into her again. Again. She grunted as she took the brunt of each powerful thrust.

‘Okay?’ he asked, his face creasing in agony as he paused.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, grabbing his butt in her hands and squeezing to push him closer. ‘More…’ She groaned again. ‘All.’

He resumed his punishing, perfect rhythm. She wound her limbs round him and just hung on. She couldn’t stop the feral moans as he ground into her, closer and closer with every pounding motion.

‘Liam!’ She screamed as she was tossed into the intense waves of pleasure. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her heels into his lower back.

He roared. His body stiffened, his hands gripping her hard and painfully tight as he shouted again as the tension mirrored in him was released just as violently.

A long moment later he lifted his head from where he was slumped over her. ‘Don’t go to sleep.’

In answer she tightened her grip on him so he couldn’t lift away from her. She didn’t think she’d ever sleep again. Every cell and nerve in her body was so wired she didn’t think they’d ever calm enough for sleep to claim them. She was so hypersensitive she was afraid she might cry. She really didn’t want to do that.

He lifted his head again and looked at her—nose to nose. ‘I’m starving—you?’

His easy return to reality made her laugh. Relief swept through her as she relaxed. ‘You didn’t eat at the wedding?’

‘Funnily enough I didn’t feel like eating much after I got your message. Too tense. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

His honesty kept her smile wide. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but there’s nothing in the pantry.’

He rose up from the floor and walked over to the kitchenette area of her studio. He opened the one cupboard and sighed. ‘That’s because you don’t have a pantry, you have a shelf. But—’ he turned and winked at her ‘—you’ll be amazed what I can conjure out of nothing.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve come up with some desperate options in my time. Bet you’ve never had frozen-pea sandwiches the way I make ’em.’

‘Nice.’ She laughed but her heart tugged at the same time.

But he was laughing easily. ‘Especially with stale bread.’ In the end he found some rice and cooked it up with the few vegetables he found lurking in her fridge. They had some almond biscuits for afters. It was an odd meal for one in the morning. She didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to miss a minute.

She watched him as he ate, wondered how many dinners he’d thrown together out of limited supplies in isolation. ‘You don’t get lonely when you’re alone at sea for so long?’

‘No. I’ve always been alone. That’s the way it is.’

‘But you wanted to join in that family Christmas.’ She’d felt that longing in him. She’d recognised it because, if she was honest, it was echoed within herself.

‘I was trying to be a good guest. Helpful.’ He winked. ‘And I wanted to be near you.’

It wasn’t just her.

Liam picked up the belt from her robe and wound it round his hands, then unwound it. Now he’d refuelled, he was ready to have every inch of Victoria all over again. He’d glanced at the clock on the computer and felt a surge of panic. One night didn’t seem so long at all this side of midnight.

‘What are you planning to do with that?’

He smiled as he heard excitement tinge her not-quite-­innocent question. ‘Play with you.’

‘Only if I get to do the same to you.’

‘Sure. After me.’ He turned to look at her.

Gold leaf still glittered on her body, but it was nothing on the glitter in her eyes.

She’d switched her lamp on to partially light the room. The beam from the bulb highlighted a patch on her thigh. He reckoned he’d start there.

‘Why do you want to tie me up?’ she asked as she offered her wrists for him to bind to the headboard of her bed. That she trusted him so implicitly gave him an immense kick of satisfaction. That she was so willing to be so physically intimate with him. Finally.

‘I want to explore you without distraction,’ he answered honestly. He wanted to caress every curve, every inch of her skin. ‘It’s hard to keep control when you have your hands on me.’

He wanted to give her pleasure again and again. To discover her body, her secrets. To understand what it was she liked. Never had he wanted to please a lover more. And that competitive part of him wanted to ensure he was the best she’d ever had.

She shifted—experimentally moving her legs. But she was smiling as he bent over her. ‘So I nearly won, then?’

If he was honest, she’d won everything.

‘You okay?’ He checked again long minutes later as he finally did as she was begging and worked his fingers into her, his thumb circling over her most sensitive spot until she came wet, hot, screaming.

‘I’m so doing this to you,’ she panted.

‘Soon.’ He was pushing her over the edge again first.

It was over an hour later when he let her tether his wrists. She smiled at him with such wicked intent he was hard again in a second.

She swept her hands over him, looking at him as if he were something she’d wanted to toy with—and devour— since for ever. She bent over his body—kissing, caressing every bit of him with her hands, her lips, her hair. When she licked her lips and her gaze zeroed in on his erection he knew he was in trouble.

‘Victoria.’ Part of him wanted her to do it so much, but he also wanted to come inside her again.

But in the end he had no choice. She sucked him so hard, her hands working in tandem, there was no way he could hold back. No way he could resist diving head-first into the generous, seductive attention she was gifting him.

She didn’t untie him after—even though he was as limp as a dishrag. Dazed, he lifted his head with a huge effort as she slipped away from the bed.

‘Victoria?’

A couple of minutes later she came back to him. She had a fountain pen in her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked lazily.

‘You’re missing something all sailors have.’ She carefully touched the nib of the pen to his chest.

‘What’s that?’ He twitched at the tickling sensation.

‘A tattoo.’ She chuckled. ‘A heart with ‘mother’ or something across it.’

He flinched.

‘Perhaps not ‘mother’,’ she said quietly and lifted the pen from him.

‘It’d be okay,’ he said, feigning ease. ‘She died when I was very small.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ The pen tickled him some more.

‘Did your father find anyone else?’

‘No. He was a rough man. A stevedore who loaded and offloaded ships. He worked hard, drank hard. Frankly he stank. He didn’t have a lot about him to attract another woman.’ Except for the ones he paid for.

‘So what did you do?’

‘Found boats and sailed on them. As often as I could.’

He’d skipped school to sail. Until he’d become so good the schools had come to him wanting him to sail. Scholarships. Performance.

She ran a line down the side of his stomach. He flinched again because it tickled so much. She laughed softly as she dipped the pen in the well again and turned back to him. ‘Your abs are amazing.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m glad you appreciate them. They don’t come easy.’

‘Oh, I appreciate them.’ She blew, drying the ink.

‘Don’t put that any lower,’ he warned.

She laughed again. ‘You don’t want me to ink—’

‘No, I do not.’ He wondered what she’d written. But he wanted to feel her some more first. She clearly ached for more too, as suddenly she tossed the pen and straddled him.

‘Release me.’ He needed to hold her now—was desperate not just to cup her breasts and stroke her to ecstasy, but to embrace her. He wanted to hold her close. She still had gold leaf in spots over her skin and in her hair. His gilded, branded lover.

She slid off him and reached forward to untie the knots. On her way back down, she writhed her hips, teasing, freely expressing her enjoyment of him—of his touch, of his body. He shifted again—so his aching need was hard against her lush, wet heat. He arched up into her again and watched the burst of rapture on her face. He inhaled deeply, holding back the urge to dive into the mindless, exquisite release. Not yet.

She pushed on him, levering so she could ride him tighter. He rested his hands on her thighs, letting her. Until he felt her tiring—yet desperate.

‘Liam.’ Her call came, broken, needy.

He slid his hands higher, cupping her butt and supporting her as he thrust upwards, maintaining her tempo, then pushing it further, faster.

She cried out—pleasure bursting in brief phrases and then moans as words could no longer be formed. He watched the deepening flush and glow of her skin, the red, tight nipples, even redder plump lips and the wild, big eyes.

This was the Victoria he’d wanted—the one he’d caught a glimpse of all those years ago. The lusty, pleasure-bent, hungry woman who’d take what she wanted. Not aiming to please him—but taking pleasure, enjoying herself. Able to give so much—yes. But also able to receive. The woman made for loving.

It satisfied him immensely that she was open, receiving pleasure from him. He arched, his spine stiffening as he realised how much he wanted to give her. Passion rushed in his ears as a piercing cry broke from her. He saw it as she shuddered, bearing down on him as the convulsions racked through her body. And he felt it as she collapsed forward, lax in his arms, blanketing him with her soft warmth.

He wrapped both arms around her, gripping her shoulders hard, his forearms pressing down on her back so she was squashed even tighter against him as he finally allowed himself to come.

He found he liked the tiny bed after all. The only way for them to fit on it was if they were locked together, either side-by-side or with one on top of the other.

Mid-morning he fell asleep like that. Still inside her.


SEVEN (#ulink_736b3b89-106d-5b2e-ad56-7933440ced1d)

Sweat had smudged the ink—the words she’d drawn on him, mingled in a mess of blue on both their skins. Liam stood in the shower behind Victoria who had her eyes closed as she rinsed frothy shampoo from her hair. While she did, he scrubbed at the ink with the palm of his hand. He could still see the anchor on his hip.

Stupid to be so bugged by such a common, naval theme. A million guys out there had tattoos just like it. There was no underlying meaning in that symbol. Yet, impossibly, he felt bound—just by the play of last night.

He didn’t want to be weighed down. He didn’t want permanent ties. Nothing anchoring him—not any one place. Not any one person.

Suddenly a flannel-filled hand pushed his out of the way and tried to scour away the image.

‘It’s fine.’ He grabbed her wrist, uncomfortable that she’d noticed his attempt to wash it away.

‘It clearly bothers you.’

He automatically released her on hearing that cold edge to her voice. He made himself meet her eyes. ‘We want different things.’

‘Not so different.’ An almost-smile twisted her lips. ‘Your career is everything to you. So mine is to me. But they’re not compatible. We’re not compatible.’

Except physically. They were so compatible there. But that wasn’t enough. ‘I’ve stayed too long already.’

One night was all he’d offered her. All he could offer her. Yet here it was, late in the day already. He’d not been able to drag himself from her bed and body. The second night was already approaching.

‘Yes.’

He hated that she agreed with him. Stupid to feel rejected all over again, as he had those years ago. Even though this was what they’d agreed—what he’d insisted on. ‘We can’t do more than this,’ he repeated.

‘No.’ She glanced at the ink mark again. ‘Some turps might help with that. Or nail-polish remover.’

‘It’s fine. It’ll wear off.’ Just as this gnawing ache to be near her would wear off.

This was the right decision. They did want different things, in different places. But he didn’t like that remote look on her face. He drew her close under the streaming water and kissed her until she relaxed against him. Until she took him one last time.

He left the shower first, needing to recover alone, resenting the power of this pull towards her. He had to run.

Victoria wrapped a giant towel around her. She wanted him to leave. There was nothing she could do or say to make him change his mind and she didn’t want to try. A reluctant boyfriend was not what she wanted. She didn’t want a boyfriend at all. So it was fine.

When she emerged from the bathroom he was already dressed, lingering by the door, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him.

‘It’s okay, Liam,’ she lied.

He tugged at his creased jacket. ‘You know it was better than I’d ever believed it could be.’

She looked away. ‘But not enough for either of us.’ And she’d been a fool. She’d been wrong. This was more than sex. So much more. But only for her. And it wasn’t enough to change things for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She put on an unconcerned smile. ‘Don’t be.’

She wouldn’t embarrass them both by asking him to stay. She didn’t want to ask him for something he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—give.

She didn’t want him to feel bad, or, worse, pity her. She had more pride than that. She wasn’t a pushover any more.

She’d had what she hadn’t taken all those years ago. It was done. Finished. She’d get on with her business. She had a new priority in life. She was in control of her life. She was not going to wish or wonder ‘what if?’. What was, was. And she’d make the most of every minute.

‘It was great.’ She forced herself to sound airy. ‘But it’s all I wanted too. It’s time for you to go.’

She just held onto the smile until the door closed behind him. Only then did she release the painful, jagged breath. She looked around her apartment—suddenly it felt spacious without him in it. Anger slowly trickled into the huge gap he’d left behind. She was not changing her life for anyone else. Not trying to do anything and everything for someone else.

Never ever.

She had what she wanted—her independence. The strength to do what she wanted to do. And she wanted this. She would love this.


EIGHT (#ulink_ead3881e-0044-5c46-8d05-75d0ab4af3a4)

The early morning sun streamed in through the window, the sky as brilliant and as clear as it had been the day before and the day before that. Liam rolled and buried his head under the pillow, totally over the relentless perfection of the weather. Why couldn’t there be a storm to challenge him out in the boat? He had energy to release, adrenalin to be used. With a growl he thrust out of bed, tossing the pillow to the far corner of the big mattress. He rubbed his face; his eyes ached, his brain fogged. Yet his muscles leapt and twitched under his skin.

Never had he felt so unfulfilled. He’d sailed for hours this past week, but not even a marathon on the water soothed the inflammation scored deep into his heart. He’d scrubbed every inch of every boat in the shed. Then the shed itself. Even though it was someone else’s job, he’d needed the activity—hoped the relentless grind would wear him out enough to sleep.

It didn’t.

Nothing could exhaust him enough to stop thinking about her. And it wasn’t the permanent hard-on causing the restless agony. It was the hurt in his heart. He missed more than her body. More than what they’d shared in bed those too few hours.

The inked image had long since washed away but it was as if the nib of that pen had been poisoned. Leaving him with an uncomfortable—invisible—scar. He didn’t think it would ever ease.

Frustrated, he snapped at his crew as they trained. She had him questioning everything. What he was doing, what he wasn’t doing, what he wanted in the future. Hell, he’d never thought too far into the future. He’d always lived for the next race, the next event. Loving the achievement— the solo endurance. The success—sporting and financial. And emotional.

He’d thought he had it so together. His life was perfectly set up.

To fail.

Because less than a week with her back in his life, here he was aching for all the things he’d sworn he’d never want. And the thing that hurt most of all was that she didn’t want him. She didn’t want his lifestyle. Didn’t want anything other than what they’d shared.

Illogically—when he’d insisted the same—he wanted to know why. Why didn’t she want him? He’d never known. She’d been attracted to him from the first moment she’d seen him—just as he’d been attracted to her. But she’d refused him—more than once she’d rejected him. And now, even once they’d shared that incredible night, she still rejected him. It burned his insides as if he’d swallowed a bottle of acid. She hadn’t argued, hadn’t fought. She’d just so civilly agreed.

Liam stopped winding up the coil of rope as it dawned on him—Victoria always agreed.

She always did what she thought the other person wanted. So how was he to know for sure that this goodbye was what she’d really wanted?

He shook his head at his fantasy. She’d been so businesslike, so seemingly determined. Matching him in the ‘career-comes-first’ persona. She’d been legit, right?

But the idea took hold—hope took hold. Had she just been making it easy for him? Doing what someone else wanted the way she’d always done?

His heart thumped at the ridiculous eagerness spurting inside him. He was going to have a coronary if he didn’t sort himself out. And it was his own fault. He’d been an idiot—too blind to see what was staring him in the face, too scared to admit even to himself what he’d really like. If he’d given them just a little more time, thought things through instead of bolting—

He tossed the rope to the ground and pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t spending another day avoiding the biggest challenge of his life.

* * *

Victoria couldn’t believe the uplift in her business. It was absolutely as she wanted it—and keeping her busy. But being the scribe who recorded the love notes of other people? Right now it hurt.

But it also kept her faith alive. She’d survived betrayal and divorce and isolation. She could survive this too. Other people did. Other people went on to find happiness. And one night was only one night, right? So she shouldn’t be this hurt. Only this wound was deeper than any other. It wasn’t only the death of that secret fantasy long locked away—it was the death of the incredible reality of being with him. It had been so much better than she’d ever believed it could be too. But she wasn’t thinking only of sex. She’d laughed with him, talked with him, felt so content in his company, so inspired. It was so much more than sexual. She was drawn to him on many levels. He worked as hard as she. Was as determined as she. He helped out—and she’d helped out too. They had so much to share.

Only he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her.

In the early evening she sat outdoors at a café in a trendier part of town, glad to get out of the oppressive feeling of her studio. She had a portfolio with her and a laptop to show pictures of some of her larger assignments. It was safer that way, plus it got her a little ‘Parisian café scene’ fun.

Her prospective client was a guy wanting to do something romantic for the woman in his life—a beautifully printed series of clues that were going to be part of an elaborate proposal. Lucky woman.

‘Do you think she’ll like it?’ he leaned forward and asked for the fifth time.

‘I think she’ll love it. And I’d be honoured to do it for you.’

His entire face lit up. ‘Merci. Perhaps if she says yes you could do the invitations. I like your work. I think she will too. It’s unique.’

‘Thank you.’ Victoria felt the heat bloom in her cheeks, pleased she’d shown him her personal stationery portfolio as well.

‘I must get going or she’ll wonder where I am.’ He stood and Victoria rose too, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

He stepped around the table and leaned forward to kiss her on each cheek in that polite, Parisian manner. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ And she would. She smiled as she watched him walk down the street.

‘Victoria!’

She turned, put a hand out to grip the back of the cane chair.

Liam was striding towards her. Looking icy. He swiftly got to where she stood superglued to the footpath. He was more tanned than usual, his eyes burnished. Gorgeous.

‘It didn’t take you long to move on.’ He glared after the guy who’d just left her.

Coolly Victoria glared at him; the excitement that had burst into being only a second ago was instantly doused at the implication of his words. ‘No.’ She let the word hang ambiguously.

A muscle in Liam’s jaw twitched. ‘He’s not your type.’

‘Who is?’

He looked at her directly, eyes aflame. ‘Me.’

She was furious. He was only interested because he’d seen her with another guy—someone he saw as a competitor. ‘This was a business meeting, Liam,’ she snapped. ‘That guy’s about to propose to his girlfriend of four years.’

‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, I—’

‘Anyway, you’ve no right to comment on who I meet or talk to or sleep with, should I choose to,’ Victoria interrupted. ‘We had our one night. You left. It’s over.’

‘You wanted me to leave.’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t want someone ruining her career prospects. She didn’t want someone who wasn’t going to be there most of the time. She didn’t want someone who didn’t love her. Not again. And she’d agreed never to see him again because it was what he’d wanted. He didn’t want more.

He’d gone pale beneath his tan. ‘I had no idea it was a business meeting. I misread the signs and thought—’ He broke off and visibly regrouped. ‘I’d never want to jeopardise your work,’ he continued stiltedly. ‘That’s why I stayed away the week of the wedding. I knew you had to concentrate. Your business is amazing. You’re talented. You’re making it work and you deserve every success.’ He backed up a pace. ‘I’d never stand in the way of that.’

Unlike Oliver. Who’d been resentful. Who’d been as competitive.

‘So you only called out because you thought that other guy was flirting with me?’ She felt even more furious. Because that was it, wasn’t it? The only time she got serious attention from guys was when there was more than one on the scene. ‘You know, Oliver only wanted to marry me to keep me from finding someone else,’ she said bitterly. ‘Protecting his investment rather than looking at me.’ He hadn’t really loved her. Wanted her, yes, but more than that he’d wanted no one else to have her.

Liam’s eyes widened—and a second later he frowned. Big-time frown. ‘You think I was that someone else?’ He leaned closer. ‘That my presence somehow forced his hand?’

Had Oliver sensed the attraction between her and Liam? He had to have. ‘He hadn’t planned that proposal. The ring was a family heirloom. He had access to it any time—it was in the safe in the house.’

‘But you said yes.’

‘Because they were all sitting there. Because they expected it. Because I wanted to please them, and him. Because I was a coward.’

Liam breathed in deep before stepping forward and taking her by the arm, drawing her away from the café and around the corner into a quieter side-street.

‘I didn’t come over because I saw you talking to that other guy in some random quirk of fate. I’m not supposed to be in Paris. I just abandoned my training and drove for hours to talk to you. I came to find you.’

This wasn’t a chance meeting? Victoria stopped walking, so he did too. ‘How did you know where I was?’

There was a long moment of silence. Victoria watched— fascinated—as colour slashed across his cheekbones. Don’t-give-a-damn Liam was blushing?

‘I put an app on your phone.’

She frowned. ‘What kind of app?’

‘I have the matching app on mine—our phones can track each other. It comes up on a map.’

‘You basically bugged my phone?’ With some kind of GPS tracking thing? ‘That’s a first-class stalker thing to do.’

‘Yep.’ He stared into the distance. Eventually he brought his gaze back to meet hers head-on. ‘I didn’t want to lose you again.’

Victoria’s heart thundered. No. No, this couldn’t be. She killed the hope making her heart skip double-Dutch style. ‘Liam, I know you had to fight. You’ve competed against extreme odds to get to where you are. But I’m not some challenge. I won’t be a prize.’

She didn’t want to be a possession again—someone there to look good and support and not ‘be’ someone and something in her own right. She wanted to be valued for herself. Wanted. Supported in her own endeavours and not just the one supporting. She didn’t want to be a sexualised object or fought over like two dogs did with a bone. Because in the end the bone wasn’t of interest. The bone wasn’t actually what was wanted.

‘Is that how you think I see you? How I treat you?’ He frowned. ‘What am I to you? The bit of rough from your past? Am I not good enough for you? ‘

‘How dare you?’ she challenged, her voice low and raw as angry tears burned the back of her throat. ‘You were the one who said we could only have one night. You were the one who said he couldn’t give up his lifestyle for any woman.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘It’s easier not to get emotionally involved when it’s only one night,’ he said stiffly.

‘Well, we couldn’t have emotional involvement, could we?’ she said sarcastically.

He almost laughed at that; she saw the quirk to his mouth and the flash in his eyes. ‘The less expectations, the better. I don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘How considerate of you.’

‘I like to think so.’ A low purr, filled with that old arrogance.

She angled her head and pulled the strap of her bag more tightly to her shoulder. ‘Of course,’ she said conversationally, ‘I wouldn’t say that it was because you don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘No?’

‘I’d say it was because you don’t want to be hurt yourself.’

‘No.’

‘No, you don’t want to be hurt? Or no, I’m wrong?’

‘You’re wrong.’

‘I’ve been wrong about many things, but I’m not wrong about this.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You’re afraid of intimacy.’

He laughed outright at that. ‘Not sex,’ she sighed. ‘IN.TIM.ACY. Letting someone in your life. Trusting someone. Being brave enough to rely on someone. You can’t do that. And the work thing is just the excuse you give. You don’t want to commit to anyone. You even admitted that once. And the reason is because you’re too scared.’ She snuck a breath, starting to get upset. ‘But don’t make excuses with me. Don’t come back and bother me. Don’t do that to me.’

‘I bother you?’

Of course he bothered her. She hated him for it. For not loving her the way she wanted him to. But she could be okay with it, she could get over it, so long as he stayed away. ‘All I’ve ever been is another prize for you to win. And once you’ve won, you’re done—’

‘You were never a prize to me,’ he suddenly shouted. ‘You were always—’ He broke off, closing his eyes. ‘Perfect.’ His eyes flashed open again, serious and wide and riveted on her. ‘You were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. And the sexiest. The way you looked at me? And then I really saw you. Got to see and know the person you are. The way you did things for everyone. You cared so much for everyone. I wanted you to care for me. You were so lovely. You’re still so lovely. Not a prize, but the most precious thing. And hell, yes, I feel scared around you— when you only have to look at me to pierce through to my bones. You have always mattered to me.’ He paced away from her, then spun on his heel.

‘I never wanted to care about what people thought of me. I already knew what they thought of me and where I came from.’ He shook his head. ‘But I knew that was irrelevant to what I wanted. I’m proud of the way I’ve made a success of my life. And I won’t ever give that up—those wins are mine for ever. And I’ll keep winning. But I knew I didn’t fit in. Frankly I didn’t care. Then I met Oliver and he didn’t care at all about my background. No looks or comments. This from a guy who came from a background of such privilege—not just money, but family. He invited me to his home—the first real Christmas I’d ever had. Snow and everything—a fairy tale. And there was an angel there too. A porcelain doll with green eyes and blonde hair and her heart on her sleeve. Sweet, compassionate, caring. And when she looked at me? It wasn’t disapproval or distrust that I saw. It was desire. Raw, adult desire.’ He swallowed. ‘I wanted her. I wanted everything she had to give. Like I’ve never wanted anything from any other person before.’

The pain in Victoria’s chest spilled over. ‘Did you want her? Or was she just a symbol of it all—the family, the Christmas—that whole scene that you’d never had?’

‘I just wanted her. And I gave up what I’d found—that brotherly friendship—to try to have her.’

‘No, you didn’t. You didn’t take what you could have taken. You said it yourself—you didn’t seduce me. All you did was ask a question and I was too scared to answer it honestly.’ She shook her head. ‘I was supposed to be perfect,’ she said sadly. ‘I thought I’d lose everything. And then I lost everything anyway.’ She sighed. ‘So I’m not what you thought I was. I’m no angel. I’m not some perfect thing to be put on a pedestal. I make mistakes. I can be mean. I can’t be perfect.’ She couldn’t live up to whatever image he had of her in his head. She’d only disappoint him.

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I know you. And I just want you all the more.’

Victoria drew a shaky breath. ‘Other women had wanted you.’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Other women had. But you were different. You were genuine. You had a softness in you. You were so attuned to other people. So empathetic. So aware of how they were feeling. You care about how other people are feeling. You want people to be happy.’

‘It’s a weakness. I put off things that I wanted for fear of what other people might say or think or if they might treat me differently. You’re so fearless. You don’t give a damn.’

‘I’m full of fear. And I do give a damn. Both are related to you.’

‘This can’t work,’ she whispered. ‘You said yourself relationships don’t work with your lifestyle. And you can’t change, you can’t stop doing something that you love because of me. I couldn’t live with that.’

‘I’m not going to stop, I’m going to adjust. I want to set up a sailing school. I actually want to settle. If I’m with you. But I don’t want to hold you back. I know you’ve held back because of other people in your life. I know you didn’t do things because of your parents and what happened with your sister, and Oliver. I don’t want you doing that because of me. But, Victoria, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve found myself in tricky situations before—we can find a solution to this. But you have to tell me what you want. Don’t say whatever you think I want to hear. Be honest. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want me to stay, I can stay. Whatever, wherever you want.’

‘I want to work.’ She blinked back tears. She couldn’t give up her job. She needed the stimulation, the security. But she also needed love. ‘And I want to be with you. I want you. I love you too.’

His arms wrapped tight around her, pulling her in close. Noses bumped before lips touched and clung and her tears fell. He leaned back against the wall, taking her with him, so they both rested against the solid structure. The most incredible feeling of relief swept through her. Relief—and disbelief too.

‘I understand you don’t want to move.’ He spoke fast, his warm breath stirring her hair. ‘I have money. We’ll get an apartment with a nice view of the river.’

Left Bank? She pressed her face against his tee before pulling back to shake her head and laugh—albeit a bit watery. ‘I’d prefer an apartment with a view of the sea or the ocean. Whichever one.’

He frowned. ‘But what about your work?’

‘It’s transportable,’ she admitted. ‘I just need a workspace with good light and an Internet connection and a post office nearby.’ She looked at him. ‘I don’t want to lose you again either.’

‘You never will.’

She curled her fingers into his tee. She nearly had lost him again. But he’d come after her. He’d held onto her.

His heart pounded against hers. She felt his tension, realised that he truly had been afraid. As vulnerable as she. She leaned closer into him and let him soothe her with the gentle strokes of his hand down her back, the light kisses he pressed into her hair.

‘It’s taken us so long to get here,’ he said softly.

‘I can’t regret it. I won’t. I don’t. I’m not the girl I was when I first met you. I couldn’t have handled you then. I can now.’ She lifted her head and looked at him, brushed her fingers on his jaw. ‘We weren’t right for each other then.’

‘You agree we are now?’ He pulled her closer. ‘I’m not letting you go again. Not ever.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Don’t doubt it.’ He shook his head. ‘There was always something about you. There was always just this. Just us. You make me want everything.’

He kissed her. Exquisite tension built between them—­delicious torture, free of undercurrents and uncertainties. Nothing forgotten, but now, there was nothing forbidden, nothing hidden. Glorious desire surged as pure happiness filled her. She loved him. And he loved her.

She leaned closer, positively clinging. His hands clamped on her hips, an iron grip, stopping her instinctive circular sway against him.

‘We need a room. Now.’ He groaned, muttered a short swearword or three. ‘I can’t breathe for wanting you.’

She laughed, enjoying the heated agony in his eyes. ‘Don’t stop breathing.’

He frantically dug a hand into his pocket. ‘I’ve got an app on my phone.’

She lifted her brows and teased, ‘Another one?’

‘Hotel finder.’ He swiped and tapped at the screen. ‘I’m locating the nearest.’

‘Liam,’ she chuckled. ‘We’re leaning against the wall of a hotel right here.’

‘We are?’ He glanced up at the flag hanging on the corner of the building. ‘Thank God. Let’s get in there.’ He peeled away from the wall and took her hand in a death grip—but she was the one who led the way.

‘Together.’ She turned her head back to smile at him.

He stopped, tugging on her hand so she stopped too. He planted a kiss on her lips and then whispered, ‘Finally and for always.’


BOOK TWO (#ulink_2af7e6a6-fc6d-52a4-b9fb-2031e0622381)


ONE (#ulink_382231d6-fa96-5ae0-b114-b6c529fb568b)

‘No. No, no, no, no, no.’ Vivi Grace shook her head at the woman who owned every minute of her existence.

‘Too bad,’ Gianetta growled, stretching out her hand, her fingers crab-snapping. ‘No option. She’s throwing one of her worst.’

No kidding. The current hissy fit would be heard three streets away and Vivi was only five feet from ground zero, her ears basically bleeding. Gritting back a helpless giggle, Vivi unclasped her bra and wriggled the straps out from the sleeves of her shirt. Good thing she stayed out back—she’d never be seen in public without boob containment. ‘The things I do for you.’ And for the spoilt brat who was the bane of her life.

‘You’re paid ridiculous amounts of money to do them.’ Gia took the bra and glided across the room in her inimitable hovercraft style.

Vivi watched, grinning at the woman’s élan. Impossible as it was, Gia was more mesmerising and unique than her million-dollar creations. But what she’d said was true and, not only did Vivi need the money, she was driven to nail every aspect of this job. It might be completely crazy at times, but she loved her work. And given her relative youth and inexperience, Vivi still felt compelled to prove herself. She had to be better than brilliant and she worked hard to be—twenty-four/three-sixty-five.

So if the brat wanted to wear Vivi’s bra, she’d wear her bra. Definitely one of the more mortifying things Vivi’d been asked to offer up in the last four years, but no real surprise. For the biggest events of the season—New York, Paris, London and this, Milan—she did whatever it took. Tonight Alannah Dixon, global supermodel du jour, would wear the ultimate haute couture design of Gianetta Forli, supreme fashion queen and Vivi’s ‘every-minute-you’re-breathing’ boss. It was the grande finale of the most fab collection and not a thing would go wrong. Not on Vivi’s watch.

As Gia handed Alannah the bra Vivi was unable to stop herself from stating the obvious. ‘You’ll need to sew it or something, I’m way wider round the ribs.’ She really shouldn’t apologise. Only an eight-year-old starving orphan would be narrower.

‘The point is you’re fuller,’ Gia muttered, already working a needle. ‘The dress needs breasts.’

So why had Gia designed it for boobs when she’d known it would be ironing-board Alannah wearing it? Vivi bit back the bitchy thought. ‘Got some stuffing?’

‘Plenty.’ Gia growled. ‘You’ve lost weight, Alannah.’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ Alannah whined as Gia deftly sewed a few last stitches into the fantasy frock. ‘I couldn’t eat last week.’

Vivi rolled her eyes. It was a guy. Alannah had lost her heart and her appetite with it. Again. She was master of the ‘crush from afar’, actors or musicians her favourite objets de lust, but when she actually met the guy in question, she was invariably disappointed in the reality. As a result, the world knew she was impossibly hard to please—which made her all the more attractive to many, many successful and overly assured men. Alannah the Unattainable.

If anyone bothered to think about it, they might call Vivi unattainable too. She didn’t do crushes, flings or full-blown affairs. She didn’t do anything. Definitely not during Milan Fashion Week. And she’d not eaten that much these last few days either, she’d been wired on nervous energy and a ‘to do’ list centuries long.

Braless and feeling as if she were bouncing all over the place, she stepped out to the main changing area to ensure everything else was going to plan. Some of the stylists saw her and immediately straightened and moved faster.

Good.

As Gia’s personal secretary she had serious kudos. She was the person responsible for organising absolutely everything and everyone knew it. If anyone wanted to get to Gia, to impress Gia, even talk to Gia, they had to get through Vivi first. She was Girl Friday, Bouncer, Therapist, Exercise Buddy, Travel Agent, Punch Bag, Publicist, Chauffeur, Cook, Calendar, Cleaner, Censor, Enforcer, Enabler, Receptionist and more, all rolled into one.

Vivi turned away from the hordes of hairdressers and stylists, mentally preparing for the clean-up and post-show party mayhem. She rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable without her bra. Not physically, but because she worked hard to maintain her scary ‘fail-me-and-you-die’ persona. There was only success or failure and she ensured all staff and contractors knew it—from her attitude, speech and image. Her crisp white shirt and tailored black skirt reflected her all-business approach. Inoffensive, unobtrusive, efficient—it wasn’t her job to look outrageous. Although just this second Vivi wished she’d worn some scarlet lace number that would’ve shown through the dress. But Gia knew Vivi always wore skin-coloured support under her starched exterior. She was nothing if not reliable.

Right now A-listers lined the front row, trying not to rip into the goody bags Vivi had ordered. She always had her pick of gifts to include; many companies sought an affiliation with Gia’s label. Most were rejected. Only the elite were accepted—ensuring they became even more sought after. For another company, getting Gia’s nod was like striking gold. Vivi didn’t go to watch their glee, she stayed out back, clipboard, laptop and phone in hand—one eye on the security screens, one eye on the models before they went to Gia for final inspection, one eye on the technicians, one eye on the clean-up already. Yeah, she needed a lot of eyes, a few ears and several extra arms as well.

Quickly checking the nearest monitor, Vivi saw the models strutting evening-wear. One second ’til Alannah claimed centre-stage with her Vivi-bra boobs. She walked back to the private dressing room to get ready for the next phase. The monitor in there didn’t capture audio but she could hear the applause thundering through the walls anyway. She paused from her manic paper-shuffling and smiled at the screen as Gia then appeared, owning the catwalk alongside Alannah, taking the adulation.

Vivi frequently pinched herself, still unable to believe she’d had the luck to land a job with Gia and then be promoted to such a coveted position. Hundreds would kill—or worse—for her job. She met amazing people, went to incredible places. But as the applause faded she sat on the leather sofa, more than a little tired. Her post-show crash was hitting too soon.

‘Vivi!’ Gia’s strident tones echoed down the corridor. ‘I need you.’

Naturally. Vivi inhaled deep, hoping for a hit of energy. Gianetta needed her for the most basic things. Not merely organisational skills and people management—being secretary to a creative genius meant hand-holding on a whole new level.

Other voices grew louder. A burst of Alannah giggles was underscored by deep male laughter. Great. Vivi frowned. Guests were coming already too? She glanced round for her jacket but it was nowhere to be seen and her bra was still sewn to Alannah’s dress.

‘We need drinks, Vivi!’ Alannah sang. ‘I’ve found a friend.’

Of course. Vivi shook her head. Time to forget about her boobs’ bounceability. She lifted one of the already opened bottles and filled a couple of the flutes on the nearby tray, briefly wondering about Alannah’s human appetite suppressant. Was he her usual elite A-list actor type, or an extremely wealthy benefactor? To be invited into the exclusive room meant he was someone. But still, he ought to have been vetted by security.

The door opened.

‘Champagne?’ Glasses in hand, she turned to offer one to the latest five-minute-flirt—and nearly fainted with shock.

Oh, no. Oh, definitely no, no, no.

Rigid—to stop her faint—she stared at the tall figure who’d stepped in after Alannah.

‘Thanks.’ Alannah pried one of the glasses from Vivi’s clawed fingers.

Vivi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She just kept on staring.

‘This is Vivi. She does everything.’ Sweeping past, Alannah didn’t bother to tell Vivi her date’s name—managing to compliment and insult Vivi at the same time. But Vivi didn’t need Alannah to tell her who he was.

Liam Wilson.

Her long-time-ago lover. The one she’d worked relentlessly hard to forget about. Entirely. Yet faster than the burst of a champagne bubble, every memory, every sensation, every sigh, flooded back.

They’d run away together. A reckless, passionate impulse. She’d turned her back on everything—her family, her almost fiancé, her carefully planned future. And for what?

Her affair with Liam Wilson had changed the course of her life. Mostly for the better, right? But it had also brought heartbreak.

He’d broken her heart.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ Alannah purred, walking further into the room and pulling across a small screen that she’d get changed behind. Gia disappeared behind the screen too. Alannah was usually completely at ease with nudity, but never with a possible flirt in tow. She knew how to work mystery.

So Liam was Alannah’s latest crush? That’d be right—because Liam loved nothing more than a challenge. And that was fine. Of course. Because Vivi was so over him—light years over him. She’d not given him a thought in aeons.

But now he was right in front of her, a smile slowly curving his lips. Vivi remembered that smile and it hit her exactly as it had five years ago. Like the loud beat of a bass drum, one stroke set her heart on a new rhythm—led by him. But she wasn’t listening to it this time, certainly not dancing.

She turned, looked at the glass in her hand, tempted to lift the thing and drain it—and then the rest of the bottle. But that would be telling and she wasn’t letting him know how much his appearance had thrown her. Nor was she ever letting him know how badly he’d hurt her—not when he was here chasing someone else. Not when he was looking so, so...fine.

She turned back and offered him the glass. ‘Champagne?’ she repeated, pleased her voice sounded almost normal.

He was still looking right at her and his smile deepened. ‘Thank you.’

The tips of his fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. She suppressed the shiver, turning to pour herself a glass with a slow, careful hand. She took a very small, very controlled sip. She drew a breath but her throat was totally dry—as if the liquid she’d just swallowed had evaporated. Actually it probably had, because she was unbearably hot.

So hot.

It would be rude not to look at him, right? Not to talk. Swallowing, she went back to staring.

Tall, dark—and, you got it, handsomer than any of those pretty guys who’d been strutting it down the catwalk all week—Liam Wilson exuded more masculinity than all of them put together. More rugged, more raw—nothing but muscle and determination, all but breathing fire. He was slightly thinner than when she’d last seen him and his hair might be longer, but his edges had hardened—leaving him leaner and, yeah, meaner. His smarts were still visible—splinter sharp in his gold-flecked brown eyes. More than intelligent, he’d been calculating. And, in the end, ruthless. Doubtless he still was.

Mr All or Nothing. The ‘all’ had been fierce intensity. The ‘nothing’ had meant absolute abandonment. He’d enticed her—claimed her completely. And then ditched her.

Well, that was okay. She’d moved on—higher, further than she’d ever imagined she would. So she had pride, right? Good defence. She’d argue the heat in her cheeks was because she’d been working hard.

‘Hold still,’ Gia snapped louder than the steel scissors she was using to free Alannah from the frock.

Neither Liam nor Vivi moved. But the amusement in his eyes deepened, as did the intensity of colour. Too gorgeous for any woman’s good.

‘Did you enjoy the show?’ she asked, trying to suck back some cool. Failing.

‘It was stunning.’

How had he come to Alannah’s attention? Vivi didn’t know what he did any more. Five years ago he’d been on the competitive sailing circuit. Teaching on the side, taking wealthy types like Oliver out, getting them some skills and himself money, status—building a reputation that led to demand. Alannah didn’t seem the type to want to learn to sail.

But Liam had other talents. And he was clearly good at whatever he did now, given the fabric and fit of his suit. Bespoke. Emphasising the bold, beautiful body beneath.

Hot enough to combust, Vivi wrenched her gaze from him, hideously aware that beneath her white shirt her breasts were unfettered and right this second straining towards him.

Stupid body.

But it remembered. Everything. She’d had the hottest sex of her life with this guy—incandescent passion fraught with guilt. Three weeks of burning up bedroom after bedroom, barely surfacing to breathe and travel on. Intense. Insane.

Unsustainable.

Because it ought to have been forbidden. She’d broken all the rules and she knew it. Doubt had wormed its way into her heart. In the end the old cliché was true: lust was not enough. It was no foundation for anything solid to be built on. Even though she’d given him everything. Given up everything for him.

But he hadn’t wanted it. All he’d wanted was—

‘Don’t move too fast—you’ll wreck it.’ Gia’s words rang in the scorching room. Vivi snapped back to the present.

‘Gia’s work is incredible.’ She produced a smile, determined to break the hot-ice moment and fill in the wait for the others to re-emerge.

‘Yes, she’s amazing.’

‘As are the models, of course.’ Vivi couldn’t help an acidic tinge filtering through.

‘Indeed,’ he agreed, his voice deepening.

Of course. Back then she should have known he was nothing but a flirt, but she’d been so young—she’d believed in the happy-ever-after fairy tale. Fool.

‘So, you’re Vivi now?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin. It had taken a long time and a lot of effort to become Vivi and she was proud of what she’d achieved.

He angled his head, watching her far too close for comfort. ‘You’ll always be Victoria to me.’

She froze at the friendly tease. ‘Naturally you’d be unable to do something that I’d prefer. You’ve only ever done what you wanted to.’ She covered the slight bite with a laugh and a superglued-on smile.

His smile also flashed wider, but his eyes sparked. ‘Well, I’m still Liam. In case you’d forgotten my name.’

As if she could ever forget his name. As if she could ever forget his face, his mouth, his hands, his body and the way he used it...

She blinked and halted her thoughts. She’d been there, done that, burned the tee shirt. She had self-control now. Grown up, mature, she wasn’t the bowled-over idiot she’d been. And once bitten, she was now ninety-nine times shy of this guy. She should turn tail and run. She couldn’t lose herself again.

Except she was no longer a coward. She was a highly paid, valued and skilled assistant to one of the world’s most iconoclastic talents. And she wasn’t going to let him get to her or cause trouble at a time that was far too important. And that was the point. She was being paid to be here and do a freaking awesome job. So here she’d stay. But she sure wished she could get her bra back on.

‘It’s been a while.’ He offered another easy conversation starter with another too easy smile.

Okay, that was how they’d play it—like vaguely friendly, old acquaintances. ‘I suppose,’ she agreed, as if she’d not really noticed. As if she couldn’t tell him down to the last minute.

He looked amused. ‘You look different.’ His attention lifted to her hair. ‘And yet the same.’ His lids fluttered as he swiftly looked down her body and back to her face. There hadn’t been a blatant stare at her boobs, but she knew he noticed them—she felt it in their response.

‘Still beautiful,’ he added quietly.

Oh, hell. She wasn’t going to let him seduce her with his soft-spoken, smiling wickedness—especially when she knew all it ever had been was words. No matter how sincere he could sound, there was no genuine emotion behind them.

‘While you’re looking as wolfish as ever.’ She deliberately glanced at the screen Alannah was changing behind. ‘You still love a challenge and a chase?’

He laughed. ‘Possibly.’

There was no ‘possible’ about it.

‘So you work for Gia?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m very fortunate.’ Vivi maintained her composure. She hadn’t spent the last few years working around models not to pick up a few points—like the ability to smile on demand no matter how you were feeling inside.

At that moment, Gia materialised, the steel scissors still in her hands. ‘Tell me more about your plans,’ she said to Liam.

Vivi leapt at the opportunity to duck behind the screen. Alannah was just pulling on a stunning minidress that should by rights be a tee shirt. She had no bra on either.

‘It seems to be the look tonight.’ Alannah winked.

Yeah, well, it was all right for Alannah—she was the definition of pert’n’petite.

‘Where’s my bra?’ Vivi violently whispered.

‘That ugly thing was a bra?’ Alannah answered excruciatingly loudly. ‘No idea.’ She breezed out from the curtain to sing at the others. ‘Comfort stop, won’t be a sec.’

Vivi stayed hidden, hunting for her bra and acutely aware of the quiet—inaudible—murmuring between Gia and Liam. How had Liam met Gia? Victoria had control of the calendar; she knew everything Gia was up to, didn’t she?

He had to be here for Alannah. He must be the guy the model reckoned was the love of her life. Vivi grimly hoped that the usual pattern was followed and the ‘Unattainable’ would eat him up and spit him out.

Finally she found remnants of her bra on the floor. Unlike the dress, no time and care had been taken to preserve it from the sharp shears. There was nothing for it but to go back out there and face him—headlights on full. Straightening her shoulders in pure defiance, she stepped out from the small screen.

‘Vivi, hurry up.’ Gia frowned.

She had no intention of hurrying anywhere with them. She still had work to do—thank heavens. ‘Gia, I can’t come with you now. I need to supervise the—’

‘One of the others can do it.’

Oh, she had to be kidding. But Vivi recognised the hard light in Gia’s eyes. The woman might be a genius but she was notoriously difficult when consumed by her latest idea. It seemed inspiration might have struck in the last ten seconds. Vivi kept her tones calm and sensible. ‘All right, but I need to go by the hotel to—’

‘There’s no time for that,’ Gia snapped. ‘I need you with me now.’

No mistaking that tone. While Vivi was used to Gia’s imperious orders, others were often shocked by her supersonic switch to demanding Diva-Of-Them-All. Vivi glanced at Liam and saw the slight tightening around his eyes. But he looked from Gia to her and his momentarily forbidding expression shattered as he turned on a smile.

Vivi turned away and drew breath. Great, so now she got to go to the glamorous after-party in the clothes she’d been wearing all day, without half her underwear, and in the presence of an ex-lover whom she’d never quite got out from under her skin. The one guy in front of whom, if she had to ever see him again, she’d want to look hotter than hot.

Well, doubtless she looked hot—her face felt as flamed as a tomato on a grill. Her frigidly efficient persona had melted and she was mortified. Given the field she worked in, maybe she should be less conservative sartorially, but her attire was part of her armour and at this moment she needed all the steel she could get her hands on. What she really needed was a chastity belt. She wasn’t getting sucked under by the tsunami of sensual power that was Liam. Not again.

A bunch of paps loitered by the limo. Vivi put on her best secretary face and acted as bodyguard for Alannah. She’d long since learned the best way to ensure the photographers didn’t bother taking a picture of her was to look as if she were on a mission and hold a clipboard or something. Tonight she clutched her bag to her chest.

Liam had also stepped ahead of the two stars and now held the car door for them—looking like a much more efficient bodyguard than she as she brought up the rear. Clearly amused, he looked right at her bag as if he knew exactly what it was she was really trying to hide. She got into the limo, painfully aware of him getting a face full of her butt as he waited to get in after her.

He took the seat opposite hers, the one next to Alannah. So she got to watch as he conquered the Unattainable? Okay, she didn’t need the chastity belt, but a paper bag to stick her head in would be really welcome right about now. Because he would succeed where all others had failed. Wasn’t that what Liam was all about? Winning what no one else could.

‘So, what’s so special about this boat you were telling me about?’ Gia picked up on the conversation she’d been having with Liam while Vivi had been bra-hunting behind the screen. ‘Sell it to me.’ She went into bottom-line businesswoman mode.

‘Everything. Sleek lines, luxurious fabric, simple design. You get comfort but elite performance. The speed over the water is unlike anything in its class. I think you’ll find it an exceptionally good fit.’ Liam didn’t do plain business-speak. The way he spoke evoked the sensuality of the design he was discussing. It was obviously still boats for him, then. Still that ‘freedom’ that was so important to him and that he could never find on land. Glancing at Gia, Vivi could see his effect in action. He always spoke with that smile in his voice, with the kind of confidence that had everyone leaning forward and listening.

‘Will you take me out on it?’ Alannah asked with one of her coquettish giggles.

‘I’d love nothing more.’

Goosebumps feathered over Vivi’s hot and cold skin. She was hyper-aware of him sitting so close, but she point blank refused to look at him. She studied the plain fabric of her skirt instead. Once she’d had the freedom to touch him when and how she liked. And she’d liked—too much. But it wasn’t just the possibility of touch making her squirmy; he managed to attack all her other senses too—most especially with that scent.

Vivi wasn’t wearing perfume, nor were Gia or Alannah. The models used nothing to stain the delicate fabrics used, nothing that would interfere with the understated scent in the catwalk salon—Gia’s shows were carefully designed multi-sensory experiences. So that subtle scent in the car wasn’t coming from anyone but Liam.

Musky, masculine, delectable.




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