Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request) (48 page)

However self-serving his protective impulse, she was so thankful for it. She forgave him everything on the spot. Gazing up at him, she couldn’t prevent her gratitude from bursting out in her warmest, most glowing smile.

It was astonishing how, even in a life-threatening situation, she could be so aware of the excitement of his big, masculine body in contact with hers. That lean, angular hardness ignited a sensual, pulsing blood-beat in her veins.

Perhaps the sensation flooded her brain, because even after they drew a little away from each other, she felt insulated against the sneers of Malcolm Devlin and his kind. Tom had in fact been speaking the truth. He and she were in the same business.

Unfortunately, their brief moment of connection didn’t last. As the small group broke up and people drifted away one of Tom’s stepmothers clutched at his wrist and said, ‘It’s good to see you with someone new, Tom.’

For an instant Tom Russell stilled. His lean, strong face grew rigid. Then he muttered a few polite, frozen words of farewell, grabbed Cate’s arm and steered her through the dining room, where most people were now milling about and
seating themselves. Heads turned in surprise, and some people waved and called goodbye to her as he hustled her straight past them, into the hall and out to the foyer.

As soon as they were out of earshot he spun around to confront her. ‘Why did you have to tell people what you do?’

‘Well, why shouldn’t I? It’s the truth. I have no reason to be ashamed of my profession.’

He raked her up and down with his smouldering gaze as if he’d like to rip her apart with his teeth. ‘Do you honestly think Devlin …
anyone
… would believe I could be attracted to some hard, rapacious little dirt digger?’

Anger tore through her, hot and furious. ‘Oh! The hypocrisy of that. I’m sure Malcolm knows as well as you do that there are fine and honourable people in journalism, as there are in every profession. Even
yours.
There are probably even some real journalists trying to fight their way through the sludge you expect them to churn out every day so you can rake in your billions.’

A muscle twitched in his lean, clenched jaw and she knew she’d hit home. But she was too fired up to stop there.

‘And if you want to know if I think you could be … Yes! I think you could!’

His big body clenched, and his eyes flared with such anger she had to restrain herself from taking a backward step. Then he made a visible effort and controlled himself. He closed his eyes, and his jaw and the line of his wide shoulders relaxed. He breathed deeply several times and ran a hand through his pitch black hair.

After a few suspenseful seconds he opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, all right, I apologise. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m sorry, honestly. I don’t know what it is about me today … or
you
…’ He exhaled slowly, then reached out and grazed her cheek with his knuckle. ‘You know, I might just have to throttle you in the end.’

Before her mesmerised stare his expressive mouth edged
into a rare, reluctant grin. The grin warmed his eyes and crinkled them up at the corners, seeped through her skin like ultra-violet rays, and straight through all her defences. And when he took her arm and ushered her towards the door, she went with him like a lamb. A breathless, light-headed lamb.

He smiled down at her. ‘So what
did
you and Malcolm talk about?’

‘Hospital waiting lists.’

His eyes lit with laughter. ‘I’m sure that’s a subject he finds fascinating. What else, homeless people and the poor? I’d love to have seen his face.’

His amusement was genuine. As she took him in, sleek and elegant in his imported fabrics and handstitched shoes, it was clear he’d never been touched by poverty in his life. He’d never have to make do with accommodation in a boarding house so as to be near an ailing loved one. Neither he, nor Malcolm, nor any of their friends would ever know what it meant to struggle.

Despite the break in hostilities she felt a faint chill of depression. Never had she felt so far from home, not even when her parents had been buried and Gran had taken her over the Blue Mountains to Sydney. It was more than time for her to get back to the real world.

The glass doors slid open. With relief she saw the limo’s long, sleek body drawn up before the entrance. ‘Ah,’ she said, striding for it, ‘do you mind stopping on the way back to work so I can pick up a hot dog?’

About to open the car door, he paused, his eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘What makes you think you’re going back to work?’

She looked sharply at him. ‘Well, I have to. I have to write my story and talk to Mike. I’m expected to file by five. And then there’s—’

As if she hadn’t spoken, he said, over her head, ‘The hotel, Timmins.’

Rebellion rose up in her. She’d kept her part of the deal.
She just wanted to get back to her desk where she could think things through. ‘But—

‘No buts.’ He urged her into the car. ‘You and I need to talk.’

She resisted the pressure to get in. ‘You seem to have forgotten I have a job to go to. And then I have to see my grandmother.’

‘Bloody hell,’ he said, throwing up his hands. ‘Your grandmother, for God’s sake. What does your grandmother have to do with anything?’

Well, hello
déjà vu.
She’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before. It was the look she’d caught in Steve’s whenever she’d had to cut short their time together so she could visit Gran. Exasperation, which in Steve’s case had soon changed to contempt. It was crystal-clear that frail little old ladies were nothing but a nuisance to men with worlds to conquer.

A sound behind them drew her attention, and she saw with annoyance that Malcolm Devlin had just emerged from the glass doors. And, as if that weren’t enough, the sly triumph of his expression made it clear he’d overheard.

He advanced on them, and opened his hands, his voice rich in bemusement. ‘But, Tom,’ he exclaimed, gazing from one to the other with apparent confusion, ‘surely …
surely
you must know about Gran.’

Caught out! She felt herself blush bright red.

Tom Russell stood blinking rapidly for a minute, clearly thrown off guard. Malcolm advanced on them with a gloating, curious smile. ‘How well did you say you know Cate?’

Cate gave Tom’s sleeve an urgent tug, and he snapped from his momentary mental wanderings, and drew her to face him. ‘We know each other, don’t we, Cate?’ he said.

The grey eyes frowning into hers were strangely intent. She made a sharp intake of breath as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a charged little sexy kiss.

Though brief, its erotic power was electrifying. Afterwards, fire-sparks still danced along her lips, and her breasts were left tingling and aroused. It was as though her body, having
had one taste of him, could now be reignited by his slightest touch. And that seductive brush of his hand on her throat was so welcome to her weak flesh that as soon as it was gone her skin regretted its loss, and for a second she would have done anything,
anything,
to get it back.

Her heart was thundering so wildly she nearly stumbled from his grasp and into the car. He clambered neatly in after her, and lounged back against the cushions, his big, lean body angled towards her. Close. Far too close.

She fought to quell her seething pulse behind a cool face, crossed her ankles, clasped her trembling hands in her lap in a bid to seem composed and unaffected.

‘Was that really necessary?’ Her voice had turned hoarse.

‘That trivial little performance?’ He gave an amused shrug, and tucked some hair back behind her ear. If only the casual touch weren’t so pleasurable to her skin.

How humiliating, to be so easily aroused to desire by a man who didn’t approve of her. Who didn’t even like her. Who was only
acting.
She really should get back to the safety of the newsroom. Immediately.

But Tom Russell’s instructions were implacable. ‘Hotel, Timmins.’

Hotel?
What hotel?

The car started and purred forward. After a long, tense moment in which her heart’s blood drummed a jungle beat, he leaned across to her and murmured, his voice tickling her ear, ‘Did you know your eyes glow greener when you’re excited?’

‘Excited? Who’s—excited? I was only acting.’

He gave a low, sexy laugh.

She felt an overwhelming need to arrest the pace before things veered wildly out of control, and directed her gaze through the darkened window at Malcolm Devlin. Malcolm was still standing in the same spot staring after them, with his head tilted to one side, stroking his flimsy little goatee, his pale eyes narrowed.

‘That was a serious slip in front of Malcolm. Do you think he bought it?’

Tom Russell brought his sharp, intelligent gaze back to connect with hers. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then down to where her breasts rose and fell a little too fast beneath the cloth of her vintage Zampatti. ‘I’m not sure he did. He
is
a very astute man. That’s why it’s imperative that we spend some time together now and work out some way of repairing the damage.’

Her heart skittered. ‘But you do know—I can’t stay long. I have to get back to my desk.’

His eyes veiled. ‘Oh, I know.’

O
RDINARY
billionaires might live in houses or apartments. Tom Russell chose to reside in a hotel, though his was no sleazy downtown dive. It was a converted old maritime warehouse at the The Rocks, built on one of the piers which speared into Sydney Harbour. It had been part of a chain of so-called châteaux, this one designated the Château Bleu. While its interiors were light and modern, the high ceilings and cedar panelling in the ground floor rooms evoked its heritage.

She could see why it had been named Blue. Walking into the foyer was like boarding a ship. The wide windows revealed water views in almost every direction. As Cate approached the lifts the polished cedar floor seemed to shift and sway under her feet, in harmony with the gentle slap of waves against the pylons.

She accompanied Tom to a suite that appeared to occupy the entire third floor, her mind teeming with defensive ploys. She’d take care not to touch him. She’d avoid direct eye contact, and try not to argue, since it seemed to be their clashes that sparked the danger points.

As he opened the door and stood aside for her she hesitated, giving her watch a meaningful glance. ‘I can only stay a few minutes.’

If she left now she’d just have time to write her story and file before she went to see Gran. ‘There’s my deadline, and then I must …’

She saw his eyes sharpen, and the words withered on her tongue. She’d already taken his measure about grandmothers. And after the care he’d been able to lavish on his father, with floating hospitals and personal physicians, she could imagine what he’d think of Autumn Leaves.

Tom heard the hesitation, and his curiosity was alerted. ‘Must—?’ he prompted.

‘Oh, nothing … just—some things I have to do.’

He scrutinised her expression. Did she have a rendezvous planned for later? Her sensuous mouth was grave, the clear sea-green glance she cast him from beneath her lashes apparently innocent. She’d
said
she didn’t have a boyfriend, but it was hard to believe guys wouldn’t be queuing up.

But why would she lie? His instincts to believe the best of her battled with his intelligence. If he hadn’t had first-hand knowledge of the deceits some women were capable of …

In spite of himself, though, his blood stirred, still fired with the effects of her sweet, wanton lips and their delicious surrender. Her response—and not once,
twice
—hadn’t been his imagination. There’d been a hot synchronicity in the chemistry between them. Even now, the feel of her supple, vibrant body was still with him.

He watched her walk in ahead of him. As her graceful, feminine steps carried her through the hall her reflection bounced back at him from the mirrors on either side. He couldn’t see her face in full, just the curve of her creamy cheek, but the impact was immediate. The distinctive tilt of her head, those cheekbones. His pulse made a leap. Volatile, dangerous, and …

He drew a deep, steadying breath. It seemed impossible that such a woman wouldn’t have a lover. Wouldn’t
need
a lover.

She cast a wary glance back at him, and a dangerous buoyancy arose in his blood, as if he’d had gallons of champagne to drink instead of the mineral water he’d kept to at the lunch. Cool down, he warned himself, aware of an urgent
need to divest himself of his over-warm jacket. Chill. This was purely business.

Conscious of a heightening tension, Cate paused in the middle of a sitting room awash with blue light. It was furnished with massive sofas, curlicued couches, and soft, capacious armchairs.

Through a doorway off to her right a bedroom beckoned, its king-sized bed low, sleek and inviting. Piles of books spilled from the bedside tables onto the floor.

With the casual authority of a man in control of his territory, Tom Russell strolled across to open a column of windows beside wide balcony doors. Sounds from the harbour floated in on the salty air. He touched something, and cedar blinds switched silently down, reducing the views of bright water to enticing glimmers through the slats.

As the room dimmed it seemed to shrink, while Tom’s presence loomed larger. The sea-laden air grew heavy with a languorous, intimate feel.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Perfect.’

Perfect for what? An afternoon interlude between consenting adults? Was it her imagination, or was the air zinging with vibrations?

‘This is very—spacious,’ she said, extending her arms and twirling in an attempt to seem poised and in control. She came face to face with the doorway to the bed and turned quickly from it.

It was that first kiss that had done the damage. If she hadn’t ever experienced his ability to raze her to the ground …

She glimpsed a mirrored dressing room larger than her room in the boarding house. There were racks of suits, shelves stacked with masculine apparel, and rows of shoes, all polished and immaculate. On the other side of the kitchen she saw a dining room, and beyond that a hallway to more rooms. ‘Do you actually
live
here?’ she exclaimed.