Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request) (49 page)

‘Temporarily.’ Tom Russell shrugged, slipping off his
jacket. Without it, the power and grace of his big, athletic frame was clearly apparent. She tried not to visualise the bronzed muscular arms and chest beneath his shirt. Focus on the Saturday edition, she warned herself. Concentrate on her responsibilities.

‘Temporary until—when?’ she enquired, noticing a stereo and stacks of CDs in one corner.

‘Who knows?’ He dropped some ice cubes into two glasses. ‘Drink?’ he said with a lazy, sensual glance.

Surely her imagination was going overboard? A highly respected businessman like Tom Russell wouldn’t try to seduce her, just like that. ‘No, no, thank you. I have to work, as you know. Soon. Very soon.’

He extracted a bottle of tonic from the fridge, poured some, then unfastened his tie and shirt collar. Her mouth dried, and she delved into her bag for her water bottle and took a quick swig. Surely he wasn’t intending to undress?

In an effort to maintain the illusion that everything was calm and normal, she plunged into some bright, snappy chat. ‘I had no idea you lived here. I—would’ve thought … All my colleagues seem to think you live in a mansion at Double Bay.’

He leaned against the bar, watching her replace her bottle with an ironic expression. ‘That could be because I don’t often feel a desire to confide in your colleagues.’ His long fingers tightened on his glass, then, as though regretting his terseness, he added, ‘They’re probably thinking of my father’s place. I don’t—’ He broke off, then shrugged and lowered his gaze to his drink. ‘High stone walls and steel grilles are not to my taste.’ He gave his glass an idle swirl, then glanced up at her. The edges of his mouth crept up a little. Was that challenge she could read in those steel grey eyes?

With his tie hanging loose he looked relaxed and seductive, like a big dangerous animal. A supremely confident dangerous animal.

Still, she could play it cool too, she thought with a wild pang. If he went as far as taking off his shirt she would walk to the door, make a dignified exit and dash for the lifts.

‘Don’t—get me wrong.’ Though she tried to sound offhand, she could hear her awareness of him add unmistakable colour to her voice. ‘This is a great suite, with the views and everything, but it’s not exactly homey, is it? Aren’t you worried about rising sea levels?’

‘I live for the moment.’

‘But don’t you find it lonely?’

He smiled. ‘It has all I need. A roof, and a bed.’

She cast the bed a sideways glance and gave a nervous laugh. In fact, she’d never seen so many gratuitously unnecessary places for lying down in one apartment. ‘It certainly has that.’

He straightened up and strolled into his bedroom, drink in hand, his tall, lean sexiness still, for the moment, safely clothed.

‘Anyway,’ she persevered, to fill up the charged silence, ‘the point I’m making … I mean, hasn’t there been stuff written about this sort of thing? About how the homes that people choose are very significant? You know, for their emotional well-being, their psychology and all that?’ He flicked an amused look back at her, and she swallowed. ‘Wouldn’t you like to have a home of your own? A house, or a flat?’

He set his glass down on a carved mahogany chest, sat casually on the end of the bed and slipped off his shoes.

‘This is lovely,’ she said huskily, hardly able to drag her eyes from his long, naked feet—how could a man’s feet
be
so beautiful? ‘But still very impersonal. And then there’s your carbon footprint.’

He spread his hands in lazy acquiescence. ‘I have a few houses here and there. Impersonal suits me fine. As for my footprint …’ He extended a bronzed, elegant foot and inspected it with a bored expression, then shrugged.

She was staring at the gorgeous foot, trying to remind herself of how typical, how arrogant, how environmentally
selfish the rich were, when he cast her one of those amused knowing glances that implied they had some shared understanding. Some deeply intimate mutual recognition.

Despite herself her heart thudded with an instinctive rush of acknowledgement. It was true, primitive instincts whispered all along her nerves. There was something in the air between them. It was like a highly incendiary spark that threatened to explode into flames at any moment.

Perhaps because her sexual sensors had overloaded her brain synapses, she hurried breathlessly on, ‘But you must see the implication.’

‘What implication?’ He still smiled, but through his sleepy dark lashes his eyes sharpened.

In the effort to sound careless, her voice came out deeper than expected. ‘Baggage.’

‘Baggage!’ His eyebrows swooped up and stayed hovering for an infinitesimal moment longer than they might have, before resuming control position. ‘I have no baggage whatsoever.’

‘Oh, right. I think men always say that. I find it impossible to believe someone could live beyond a certain number of years without
some
baggage. Surely everyone experiences a broken heart somewhere along the way, failed relationships …’

He tilted a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Speaking from your wide experience?’

‘Well …’ Her hands fluttered around her. ‘Certainly. I admit, I’ve had disappointments, although nothing of course, like your … your …’ She felt herself begin to flush. ‘I was actually engaged for a short time, quite recently.’

There was an alert little flicker in his eyes. ‘How recently?’

‘Well, perhaps not—not that recently. But it takes time to get over things, doesn’t it?’

He considered her with his cool grey gaze for a long, nerve-racking moment, then with laconic ease rose to his feet. ‘Would you excuse me while I get rid of these funeral clothes?’ He strolled into his dressing room and closed the door.

She sagged, then tried some serious fast breathing to help herself get a grip. She could have groaned out loud. How could she have alluded to the loss of his wife like that, on the same day as his father’s memorial service?

Still, she could hardly be blamed for being slightly off her usual game. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a sophisticated adult with enough worldly experience to hold her own with any drop-dead gorgeous man on his own ground. More that recent events had shaken her nerve. She put her fists to her cheeks, wondering if her long deprivation of masculine appreciation had driven her insane.

Anyway, if she’d wanted to kill the mood, her tactless words would have done the trick. She could almost certainly relax.

She moved over to the wall to study a framed pen-and-ink drawing of the stadium at the Sydney Cricket Ground. Another sport-crazed Aussie male, she grimaced to herself, then started as she heard him emerge from the dressing room. She turned and the breath was knocked out of her. The full animal impact of his gorgeous physicality hit her with adrenalising force.

He was wearing blue jeans and a white polo-shirt satisfyingly filled out by his bronzed, muscled arms and chest. He was all long, lean lines, wide in the shoulder, narrow at the waist and hip, coiled power in every honed muscle and sinew. At least, she thought, when her reeling insides had struggled back into recovery, his feet were now safely encased in leather and out of her lustful sight.

She glanced behind him into his dressing room and saw, beside a large laundry hamper, what looked like a waste-paper basket overflowing with something. She narrowed her eyes, trying to distinguish what it was. Surely that was his tie trailing on the floor. And wasn’t that the sleeve of a shirt? With a curious sensation she realised that it must have been the clothes he’d been wearing.

He’d discarded them as if they were trash. Suit, shirt, everything.

With his long, lithe stride he prowled across the room to peer between the slats, then turned to lean idly back against the window to survey her, his hands resting on the sill either side of him. ‘I’ve given it some thought, and I think the best way to be certain we’ve made up for that unfortunate slip is for us to invite Devlin over here tonight for dinner.’

‘Tonight?’ She tried to think, but it was hard to, in the presence of such raw, vibrant masculinity. ‘But our agreement doesn’t cover—the
night.
’

The word sounded so packed with sexual connotations she could barely restrain a blush.

Beneath his dark brows Tom Russell’s eyes glinted. After a charged second he said, ‘One of the terms of our agreement was to convince Devlin we’re a couple. I don’t think we can be sure we’ve achieved that.’

‘But … I don’t know if I can …
tonight.
I mean, what sort of thing were you suggesting?’

With the light behind him his eyes were as unsettling as a stormy sea, but his dark velvet voice reached her with quiet, measured potency. ‘I think it’s best if Malcolm sees you living here.’ His eyes locked with hers across the room.

The wind was knocked out of her. She stared at him, incredulous. ‘Living. You mean—sleeping?
Here?’
Her voice came out as a squeak.

‘That’s what it usually means.’ There was the barest twitch to one corner of his sexy mouth.

‘Oh, but—’ she glanced about her, flinging out her hands ‘—this is small. Where would I sleep, here? What if it got out to the newsroom? My God, I’d lose my credibility.’

His big frame relaxed and he laughed with frank amusement, his eyes flickering over her. ‘You’re not exactly the most massive bulk I’ve ever accommodated. I’ll find somewhere to fit you in. If necessary, Timmins can hunt up an extra bed.’

She shut her eyes briefly in an effort to think.
If necessary. ‘
Timmins. Is Timmins here?’ She threw a confused glance towards the foyer.

He shrugged. ‘Somewhere. A few of my personal staff have rooms here.’

Visions of valets and shoe-shiners, maids and manicurists and silver-salvered butlers paraded through her boggling brain. His personal staff. ‘But—what about the other guests? Don’t you have security issues?’

He looked surprised. ‘What other guests?’

She stared at him, marvelling at such unselfconscious complacency. He was so confident and satisfied with his rich man’s lot. He could command whatever, whoever, he desired. ‘Aren’t you concerned about the tabloids having access to you here?’

A tinge of amusement crossed his face. ‘Since I own most of them, no.’ He gave a lazy wave of his hand. ‘And don’t worry about Olivia’s. I’ll make sure they aren’t a problem. Your friends will never have to know you’re living with me.’

She ignored the sardonic inflection. It was the last bit that stuck.

Living
with him.

As soon as the words were out sultry images insinuated themselves into her imagination. Lying naked in his arms. Kissing and more kissing … The dark heat, the passion …

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. ‘No. No, look, I don’t think so. If you had a house like normal people, I might risk it. But I can’t see myself in this
suite,
at night with all this—’ she made a sweeping indication of Sydney Harbour glimmering through the blinds ‘—and your staff—and
you,
and …’

Tom Russell rubbed his ear. ‘Look at it this way. You want your interview—I want Olivia to go on with the merger. It’s in both our interests to persuade Devlin that we’re lovers. Can you think of a more effective way?’ Despite his lazy posture,
his tone managed to be quietly forceful. ‘It would be a pity to lose this opportunity.’

‘We-e-ll …’ She drew a long quivery breath. ‘I don’t know. Although … perhaps for one night. If it’s the only way.’ Thoughts of those kisses, still warm on her lips, and her eager, uncontrolled responses, seethed in her mind. ‘But only if you promise on your absolute, sacred honour, cross your heart and hope to die, not to … on no
account
to try to—to—’ She broke off to drag in an agitated breath.

His brows shot up in amused surprise. ‘To what?’ He scored her face with his sharp, intelligent gaze, then strolled over and gripped her shoulders. Her thudding heart began to race as he said softly, ‘You’re not as cool as you pretend, are you, Goldilocks? Do I make you nervous?’

‘No,’ she blustered. ‘Of course not. Why would I—? How—how ridiculous …’

He frowned, studying her face, then said almost dreamily, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ His eyes shimmered into hers, as mysterious and affecting as the sea at first light, then he raised his hand to smooth her hair back from her temples.

The touch of his fingertips on her skin sparked a shock wave through her nerves, but when he spoke his deep voice had a hypnotic, soothing quality. ‘Just relax. When you do you’ll see that this is an obvious and necessary part of our deal. Sleeping here isn’t such a frightening thought, is it?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘Shh, now.’ He placed his finger over her lips, and she held her breath. The sensual light in his eyes intensified as he stroked the hair from her forehead with a mesmeric rhythm. ‘You seem very tense,’ he soothed. ‘Just let yourself chill.’

Chill? How could she chill? He was so achingly close, the mingled scents of his clean male skin and freshly laundered clothes filled her head, stirred her senses and made her blood race until she was unbelievably
hot.
A virile little pulse was
beating in the strong, bronzed column of his neck. Somehow, the sight of it trapped the very breath in her throat.

‘If we’re to convince anyone,’ he murmured, ‘it’s important for us to become used to touching each other. Body language is such a telling form of communication.’

He was so persuasive, his stunning eyes so piercing and compelling, that when he slid his hands into her hair and fiery little tingles crept all over her scalp, she didn’t argue. She closed her eyes to savour the sensation.

His fingers caressed her nape with a tenderness that imposed a delicious paralysis on her limbs. The silence was disturbed only by her heartbeat and occasional sounds from outside. There was the muted hoot of a ferry, then the room fell preternaturally still.

Her senses spun in a tumultuous confusion, and she opened her mouth to tell him something important she had to do, then forgot what it was because his hand slipped to her throat and, as if she were made of silk, caressed her skin with soft, sensual strokes.