Caught on Camera with the CEO (7 page)

Alex winced. Yeah, he should have seen this one coming. ‘She is.'

‘Not exactly due next month, though, is she?'

‘No.' More like seven or so months. Cara had told them a couple of weeks ago, too effervescent to keep the news to herself any longer. She'd bounced off the walls when she'd blabbed it, while her husband had been all teasing protectiveness—warning that she wasn't to work too hard. Ironic when he was the CEO of one of the country's biggest accountancy firms and worked dog hours as bad as both Alex and Lorenzo.

‘She's had terrible morning sickness.' Alex said, amazed at his inventiveness. Then he panicked, knowing the way women talked to each other. ‘But don't mention it. She's very private. She doesn't want us to think she can't cope.'

‘Oh.' Dani nodded. ‘Of course. And is that why she works part-time hours at the moment?'

‘Yes.' Lying was allowed when it was to help someone, right?

 

‘You nearly ready?' Alex hollered.

Dani gave herself one last despairing glance in the mirror and fully regretted declining the use of the stylist.

Style—of the Carlisle standard. Could it be bought? Fashioned from the rawest of material? The dress was good, she knew it was good—it fitted perfectly. But the body beneath wasn't perfect, and there was no glitz or glam to dazzle the eyes and blind them to those imperfect bits.

She turned her back on her image and walked down the stairs to the lounge. He wasn't there. She took the few steps into the kitchen. He had his back to her. His perfectly fitted, perfectly pressed suit gleamed blacker than ink and oozed expense. He looked lean and long and definitely strong—could his shoulders be any broader? Then he turned around.

It took several moments before she could drag her gaze all the way up his body to his face. Even so his mouth was still hanging open, still another beat before he shut it. The surprise written all over him stung. Had he really expected her to walk in wearing some ill-fitting off-the-rack budget-chain number?

She was so glad she'd packed it. She'd laughed at her mother for making it. Argued she'd have been better off making her some more work shirts and skirts. Her mother had always altered her clothes for her—her breasts were too ample and her shoulders too narrow for store-bought to sit right. But she'd wanted to make her a dress—‘to look beautiful' in. She'd despaired of Dani's jeans and tee habit. Just as Dani had despaired of her mother's ‘must have a man' complex.

‘Where did you get it?' He swallowed.

‘My mother made it.' She cleared her throat. ‘She was a seamstress.'

‘A very good one.'

‘Yes.' It was as beautifully made as his suit, which frankly she couldn't bear to look at a second longer. But the sting from his shock had gone now and left the heat of relief. She pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘Should we get going?'

He walked over to her. ‘I have something for you.' He reached into his pocket. ‘To keep that bit out of your eyes.' He uncurled his fingers.

She had a quick peek and resolutely looked back up at him. ‘I'm not wearing that.' And she wasn't going to look at it again. Her retinas were suffering enough already—bright spots danced the rumba before her.

‘It's just a hairclip.'

It wasn't just a clip. It was a very grown-up piece of art. She might not have money but she wasn't stupid. Those weren't zirconias or even crystals. Only diamonds sparkled like that. It was an iris, wrought in a fine gold setting, some petals studded with diamonds, others decorated with yellow stones and a long slender gold stem. It was so, so pretty. Exactly the sort of totally feminine thing she secretly adored. How could he have known that? She couldn't deny she was thrilled. But even so, she couldn't possibly wear it. ‘Where did you get it?'

He tilted his hand so it caught more light.

‘I've never seen a clip like that.'

‘It's a brooch—I got them to convert it.'

‘Got who?'

‘The jeweller.'

Oh, no. Her instinct was right—and no way could she accept something so expensive. ‘Alex, I—'

He moved so close she could smell him—fresh and citrussy and so yummy she had to shut her mouth to stop herself drooling over him. His hands were firm on her head as he swept her hair back and pressed the clip into place.

He didn't move away once it was done. His hands dropped but he stayed.

She looked up at him. His eyes were a vivid green and a small smile tweaked his lips—as if he knew how much she liked it. She shook her head but he spoke first, not giving her the chance to say no.

‘It looks better on you than it would on me.'

 

Alex marched five paces away from her—putting the stainless-steel bench between them. Breathing space—he needed it
now
. But he couldn't stop staring. He'd seen many black evening dresses in his time. He'd seen them long, short, high cut, low cut, backless, strapless, sleeveless, braless, sequined, sparkly, matte, smooth, velvet, silk, satin. He'd seen them twirl and he'd seen them creased. He'd helped slide zips both up and down. And he'd seen many of them slither to the floor.

But he had never, ever seen a black dress like hers. It fitted so perfectly. Utterly emphasising her petite, hourglass frame—cupping her full breasts, hugging her deliciously narrow waist and sweeping over those curving hips. Her short bob was sleek and glossy and there was that lock that slipped from behind her ear and curled on her cheekbone and he'd just had to deal with it—because if he didn't he'd spend the night tempted to swish it back with his teeth. His trawl of the jewellery stores had paid off. Now the clip sparkled, but not half as much as her eyes.

She was stunning.

‘We should get going.' He didn't recognise his own voice. Apparently he had laryngitis now.

Ten minutes later Alex looked for the fiftieth time from the road to her, his head clear of all the confusion that had fogged
it for this past week. His focus was sharp—on one thing: getting close to Dani. The urge to conquer was all-consuming. Driving every other thought beyond the mountains and into the sea. Right now, having her was all that mattered and damn the stupid complications.

It was amazing how someone so small could inspire such a big reaction in him. Although she wasn't that small—not where it counted.

‘You look beautiful.' Such a useless cliché. And not nearly enough. But he was incapable of more.

‘Not as beautiful as you,' she said.

She might think she was being flippant, but he knew she actually meant it. He'd seen the way she'd looked at him—the way her attention clung, the way her brown eyes darkened even more when he moved closer. And he was determined to move closer still. The frustration was immense. If it hadn't been for them getting caught on camera he could have had her already—couldn't he? Taken her on a date and ended up in bed. Surely she wouldn't have resisted?

But in his bones he knew she would have. The look she'd given him as she'd left the lift? Terrified. Turned on, yes, but terrified too. Fortunately her head had been away from the camera because he wouldn't have been crowned an online Don Juan if those in the blogosphere had seen her expression then. In his office she'd said it was nothing—a moment. Frankly he just didn't believe that. Sarcasm was her favourite form of defence—it had taken him only minutes to learn that. So he wanted a real-life replay of the lift kiss to prove his point—that the spark didn't get better than the one between them.

He steered the car with one hand, curled the other in a fist on his thigh. He wasn't going to drink tonight—that
would only inflame the heat coursing through his body. He was on the edge of control as it was. It would need only the smallest provocation to tip him over the edge. Alex had never been on an edge quite like this before and he didn't like feeling so close to it now. And Dani was nothing but provocative.

‘Where is this thing anyway?' She fidgeted—running her fingers over the edge of her dress. He really wanted her to stop because he was watching and all he wanted was for it to be
his
fingers feeling the transition from smooth silk to soft skin.

‘Sky City.' The laryngitis was back.

She turned sharply towards him. ‘I can't, Alex.'

Her voice was so panicked he nearly drove into the gutter.

‘I can't go up in that lift.' Her huge eyes were even bigger and
so
dark.

Oh, dear, he should have thought of that. But damned if he could be bothered climbing however many million flights of stairs it was to get to the top of the tower that overlooked the city. He was just going to have to help her through the thirty-second ordeal. And just like that he had a plan. ‘It'll be OK. I'll help you.' It would be his pleasure to.

She said nothing more but he felt her tension mounting as they drew closer to the brightly lit building and turned into its basement car park.

He could see her breasts rising too quickly as they waited but she walked in, head high. She stood with her back against the wall of the lift. He followed her but didn't turn to face the door, just stood bang in front of her—only an inch between them.

‘I'm getting a sense of
déjà vu
.' He looked her over with deliberate boldness.

‘Don't even think about it,' she croaked.

Oh, yes, he totally wanted to distract her that way again.
Press her against the wall and kiss her senseless so she wound herself round him again. Was that all it had been for her? A way of escaping her stress about riding in an elevator?

Her chest was still rising abnormally fast, but he saw her nipples had peaked now too. So he had her a little distracted.

‘You can't stop me thinking, Dani.' Unfortunately he couldn't stop himself thinking, either—and he was thinking about it all the time.

She flicked a look up over his shoulders, lost colour as the door slid shut. He couldn't stop her thoughts, either, but maybe he could get her even more distracted—to think about something other than her fear.

He lifted a finger, traced the full curve of her lips. She hadn't plastered them in thick lipstick, but they did have a shine to them. Very pretty, very full, totally kissable. The colour returned to her cheeks in a sweep.

‘I told you not…' Her feeble whisper died away as he stepped closer.

He ran his fingers up her cheekbone, turning his hand to brush the back of his fingers on her soft skin. She had a sweetheart-shaped face. Those big brown eyes dominated it. Her nose he'd barely noticed because of her drown-you-deep eyes and then there was the lush mouth beneath. But now, as he stood so close, he saw there were two freckles—one off to the left of the bridge of her nose, and one right near the tip. The tip of his finger circled them. He was going to have to kiss them.

Yeah, she was sweetheart pretty all right, with a body soft and curvy and built to contrast with his hard one. And when she opened her mouth it was all sarcasm and sass. The combination had him caught tighter than a fly in a spider's web—and he wanted her to suck him dry.

Wide-eyed, she gazed back at him, her breathing growing
choppier—but he liked to think it wasn't all about being shut up in a lift. Maybe she was reading his mind. If she was, then she knew she had far more to worry about than any stupid lift.

He heard the doors slide. They were there.

He took her hand in his, tightening his grip when she'd have pulled it away. ‘Time to have a ball, Dani.'

D
ANI
was so hot she could barely breathe. All the people she'd met tonight must think she was an idiot. She'd hardly been able to talk. It had been full on introduction after introduction, conversation and speculation and adoration—of him. But he hadn't left her side. Had turned to her when people asked questions, included her in the answering, not speaking for her but supporting her as she'd quietly replied.

He was doing it deliberately—touching her, looking at her like that—making it feel as if they were the only two in the room when in reality they were surrounded by hundreds. It was obvious everyone thought they were together. Not surprising given he was acting as if they were. And like a mythical beast it uncoiled between them, flexing the kind of strength no human had a hope of beating. It was the one thing that would reduce even the most sensitive, erudite, highly evolved person to the animal they really were—
lust
.

They moved together on the dance floor—his eyes glinted, teasing as he drew her closer then spun her away again. Oh, he would have all the fancy dance moves, wouldn't he?

‘I need a drink,' Dani begged, needing a breather from him more than anything.

He chuckled as if he knew and led her by the hand towards the bar, letting her have her little respite.

‘Alex.'

Dani turned at the unfamiliar voice, at the urgency with which it had spoken. But just as quick she looked at Alex because his hand suddenly crushed hers—his grip had gone boa-constrictor tight.

He'd frozen. His ready smile wiped. He didn't even say hello to the man who'd threaded his way to where they stood. He was about an inch shorter than Alex and dressed in a suit that Dani recognised as made to order. Flecks of grey peppered his dark hair, but despite his age he was still a good-looking man—a hint of charisma in the smooth face, his smile practised.

‘I hoped you'd be here tonight.' Yes, the smile was definitely practised, because his eyes were too watchful, betraying a hint of uncertainty. ‘I've tried calling you.'

Alex didn't even blink.

The man shifted, glanced at Dani and offered her a wider version of the smile before his attention flicked back to Alex. ‘Aren't you going to introduce me?'

The silence stretched. The awkwardness excruciating. What was the problem here? Didn't Alex want to introduce her? But instinctively she knew it was this man that he had the problem with, not her. And it was some problem—she'd never have guessed a master of people skills like Alex could be so impolite.

‘Dani, this is Patrick. Patrick, this is Dani.' He finally spoke. No qualifiers, no descriptors, no other info. Just names. Totally different from how he'd spoken with any of the others they'd mingled with tonight. His face had gone totally mask-like. ‘I didn't realise you were in New Zealand.'

‘I thought it would be a good idea. I take it you've had the results back.'

‘Yes.' Alex's mouth barely moved as he replied, his eyes like stones.

Dani felt goose bumps rise over every inch of her skin. Alex's voice was blowing a chill direct from Antarctica.

The two men stared at each other. Alex stood ramrod straight and still, unrelenting in his cold scrutiny.

‘It would be good to talk.' Patrick shifted his feet, his tongue touching the corner of his lip.

Was that the faintest touch of a plea in his comment? Dani almost felt afraid—the undercurrents swirling between the men seemed dark and downright dangerous.
Alex
seemed dangerous. The aggression she could feel mounting in him was raw. And this silence was too horribly long.

‘Not now.' Alex shattered it. Brutally dismissive. Unbelievably cold. Then he turned, practically dragging Dani away with him.

Dani swallowed and half skipped to keep up. Stunned by this facet of Alex she hadn't known existed. He went straight to the bar, ordered her a wine and himself a neat whisky. He knocked it back in one swallow. It was the first drop of alcohol he'd had all night. Dani sipped her wine slowly, wondering if he was going to have another, wondering what it was about the Patrick man that had him feeling so lethal. But he turned, looked her over, his eyes nothing but fire now.

‘Dance with me.'

She couldn't refuse, her heart thudding as she felt the barely leashed emotion in him. He held her close—much closer than when they'd danced before. The music was loud, the tempo fast, but all the energy zinged from him—electrifying her nerves. And then she felt the change within him, from anger, to passion—but no less intense. He pulled her closer still, his hands firm on her body—moulding her to
him. The way he moved was incredible, intoxicating, dizzying—indeed she stumbled.

He took her by the elbow and led her to a secluded table on the far side of the dance floor. He poured her a glass of water from the carafe on the table.

Dani took a sip of the cool liquid and asked before she lost the nerve. ‘Who's Patrick?'

His eyes were dark, unreadable in the flashing lights from the dance floor. ‘No one.'

She had another sip of water, unsurprised by his answer. It wasn't any of her business anyway. He pulled his chair closer, facing her rather than out to the floor. And then his hands disappeared.

‘What are you doing?' She could hardly move her mouth enough to ask.

‘Nothing.' Beneath the table his fingers were lightly caressing her knee—rubbing over the silk hem of her dress and onto her skin.

Nothing? Nothing like the lift?

His fingers moved higher.

‘I'd have thought a high-society fundraising dinner wouldn't be the place for public displays of lust,' she choked. ‘Aren't you too well bred for that?'

‘Who said I was well bred?' His hand slid higher up her thigh, the touch suddenly far more insistent.

Dani gulped. ‘I thought you were staying away.'

‘Was I?'

‘Stop it.'

Make me.
He didn't say it. He didn't need to. He was so used to getting his way, wasn't he? He understood the power of his charm. The way people had fawned over him tonight proved it. He thought he could get away with anything.

And maybe he could.

But Dani was suddenly filled with the urge to better him—just the once. The thrill of the challenge was irresistible, and what better way to drive away the shadows in his eyes from his frosty encounter with Patrick?

‘All right.' She turned towards him. ‘If this is what you want.'

She lifted her hand to his face, ran her hand down his smooth jaw. Leaned closer and breathed in. She loved the light, crisp scent of his aftershave. She dropped her hand to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and its acceleration, the heat of his skin burning through the shirt. Sizzling—that was Alex.

She moved her hand again, placed it lower—far higher up his thigh than his fingers had ventured up hers. She twisted her wrist, spreading her fingers, stroking his already rigid length, encircling it and then squeezing.

She was unable to stop her smile as he stopped breathing. His discomfort registered even more on his face. His mouth snapped shut, jaw went militarily square. She saw the ripple in his muscles as he struggled for control.

She leaned closer, her mouth a millimetre from his skin, and teased him some more. ‘Dare you to walk across the dance floor now.'

His breath hissed out between his teeth as he jerked, flinging far back into his seat and out of her reach. No, he wasn't really into public displays at all, was he?

Triumphant, she met his eyes, her smile widening with the thrill of the dangerous line she was treading.

But then he moved. His grip on her upper arm was hard and he stood so fast that she stumbled as he hauled her up beside him. His other hand went around her waist, clamping her so she was just in front of him. He pressed his hot, hard body against her back. Insistent, he pushed her forward.

She walked. She had no choice. Right across the dance floor.

But he didn't release her once they were clear; instead he guided her out of the room completely, down a corridor, and left, down another corridor.

Halfway along that he swiftly turned her, his arms powerful as he pulled her close. He pressed her against him, one hand slid beneath the hem of her dress. Her knees sagged at the touch and he pushed her until her back hit the wall. But he kept pushing until his body was sealed hard to the length of hers. Save a scrap of satin, a whisper of silk and his strained trousers, they were as intimate as two people could physically be.

Her gasp rasped in her ears and her most feminine muscles clenched instinctively, the hungry ache down low unbearable.

‘Don't play with me and think you can win.' His words dropped into her ear like sparks of wildfire—igniting frustration, temptation and anger. He felt so good against her. So incredibly good. She gazed at him, anticipation smothering any chance of thought.

‘My turn to dare,' he taunted.

Her awareness surged to new heights, her body supersensitive.

‘Kiss me.' He'd loosened his hold yet she couldn't escape, couldn't make herself push away the heat. Instead she wanted him closer again.

Pleasure and satisfaction—his promise of both beckoned her. His fingers stroked her thigh, inching higher, then higher, delicately tracing across her soft skin and sending ripples of sensation out to the rest of her body—especially those secret parts.

‘Kiss me.' He flexed—closer—a minuscule movement with maximum impact.

Her lashes drooped as she studied him up close, no longer
conscious of anything else but him. He tilted his chin at her, just the way she had at him in the lift that day, and his lips twisted into that irresistible smile.

And she couldn't resist him. Not when he looked so good, smelt so good, felt so good. Her lips parted, her body going on instinct now, her brain defunct. All she could see was his mouth—almost parted, waiting—and the desire in his eyes. All she could hear was the thunder of her heart as it sent hot blood racing through her body.

As her head lifted, her lashes dropped, blocking everything so she could focus only on the sensation of his mouth against hers. Even so just the briefest touch overwhelmed her; she shivered. His whole body tensed. He lifted his hand from her back, tangling his fingers in her hair, keeping her close to him so she wouldn't break the contact of their lips. Not that she could. Not now, no. She threaded both her hands through his hair too, clinging, so eager for more than a taste of him. She moved her lips over his. He had full lips, firm and yet soft. She touched them with her tongue, tasting, then pushing closer, exploring the heat of his mouth. More. And then more still.

He let her dominate for a moment, but then rewarded her hungry searching with a deep thrust of his own. Involuntary spasms racked her as he held her close and plundered. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she tumbled headlong into his stormy passion.

The hand between her legs coasted higher, skimming across the satin of her knickers, making her squirm, making her wish she could arch against him freely. His hand spread wide against the back of her head, holding her even more firmly to him. She felt his groan vibrate through his whole body as he stroked her intimately. His fingers gently moved
back and forth as he savoured the damp evidence of her desire for him—desire hurtling her to abandonment.

She opened deeper for him, the kiss almost savage now as the full power of their physical attraction was unleashed. She pressed against his chest, trying to please her painfully taut nipples with contact against his hard heat.

The high-pitched laughter and the tinging of glass on glass screeched over the roar in her ears. Her eyes snapped open, shattering the moment. Suddenly she was aware of where they were.

‘Stop, Alex,' she panted against his mouth. She could see the sheen on his skin and fiercely suppressed the urge to lick the salty flavour of him.

His breath gusted across her face as he pulled back.

‘Not here.' As close to a plea as she'd ever uttered. They were in a public space. A minute or two more of that kind of kissing and she was going to be coming loud and wild only a thin wall away from Auckland's most rich and famous. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it must be about to blow apart in her body. The physical need burned through to her bones. She tore her gaze from his, made herself look along the corridor— Oh, hell, someone had just walked past. They'd only have to turn their head to see them. Alex's broad body partially protected her privacy, but even so.

Lust had made her forget everything—who she was, where she was, and what she was supposed to be doing. A different kind of heat engulfed her.

Humiliation.

Dani refused to let desire turn her into such a mindless
slave
.

‘Let's go.' Temptation personified murmured into her ear.

If she went with him this minute they'd end up in the back seat of his car, or in the loo on the way, or a cleaning cupboard, or down an alley, or something equally tacky but con
venient. So she had to claw back her self-control fast because having sex with Alex wouldn't just be reckless, it would be dangerous. The feelings he aroused in her were too strong. She couldn't let herself drown in them. Her response wasn't just physical, it would be over-emotional too. All Alex was up for was a little playtime—she needed time out to get a grip first. ‘Aren't you supposed to draw some prize or something?'

‘Lorenzo can do it.'

‘You can't let them down.' She pushed him away. He moved and she smoothed down the front of her dress in a quick gesture.

‘It's your turn to dare,' he said too coolly, too confidently.

She shook her head. ‘I'm all out of challenges.'

He chuckled. ‘I don't believe that.' He stepped closer again. ‘Maybe you just need some provocation.' He leant forward and kissed her again, his mouth seeking, demanding. She bit back the moan. He wasn't touching her anywhere else but she ached to ride him, to rock her hips back and forth and take him inside her. If they were alone she would do just that. Shed her clothes and his and have all of him hard and fast and right
now
.