Wilde Forever (Wilde Women Book 1) (60 page)

Thankfully she was alone in the elevator so shoving the folder under her arm and holding the pen between her teeth she vigorously shook the tension from her hands. Unbelievably, she felt her body temperature increase, a sure sign that the anxiety was winning. Reminding herself that she was an adult, not a silly nineteen-year-old with shadows of cupid obscuring her commonsense, Rhiann straightened, pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
Screw Liam Ashforth
. This was business and she was damn good at what she did.

Unfortunately, the second the elevator doors swooshed open it felt like she’d been sucker punched in a pillow fight. Damn her imagination. There was no way she could realistically feel his presence just by being on the same floor, could she? Crushing what was left of the mint in her mouth, Rhi swallowed, licked her lips, tried tilting her chin again and headed for the double glass doors that led to his secretary’s imposing desk.

The woman guarding the new inner sanctum of BPG’s chief executive was in her mid-fifties with the sort of coolly assessing exterior one would expect in her position. Rhiann felt like she’d been subjected to an ocular pat down by the time she came to a halt at the woman’s desk.

“Ah, Ms. Wilde,” the woman drawled as she rather testily consulted her watch as if to imply Rhi was late, or worse, wasting her precious time. Good grief. Liam’s gatekeeper was a fire-breather. A slow trickle of damming sweat escaped down the back of Rhiann’s neck while her nervous smile fell off her face.

“I’ll inform Mr. Ashforth that you’ve arrived. Please, have a seat,” the testy secretary indicated with a curt nod at a single chair placed along the far wall that made Rhi feel like she was being put in a time-out.
Shit.

A good ten minutes passed during which Rhiann sat there, rigid and unyielding, while the fire-breather completely ignored her.
Ooooh, this lady is good
, she thought. Not only was Rhi practically hyperventilating with anticipation, she could feel smudges of nervous sweat gathering behind her knees, under her arms, and between her legs. If something didn’t happen soon, she’d be able to swim her way into Liam’s office. Damn him.

The phone never rang yet somehow Mrs. Scary Doubtfire was communicating with her boss, made eerily obvious when eventually, she casually nailed Rhiann to the spot with a caustic glare and announced, “Mr. Ashforth has time for you now.”
Holy fucking crap
. Suddenly the meeting felt like a parole hearing.

Standing with a quick glance over her shoulder at the chair she’d just vacated to make sure a puddle wasn’t visible on the upholstery, Rhi strode forward with confidence she wasn’t feeling, toward the double doors where the secretary stood. The woman rapped lightly, pushed on the handle, and walked in ahead of Rhiann.

“Ms. Wilde from the marketing department is here to see you, sir.” This announcement met with complete silence as a frisson of unease slithered down Rhiann’s spine. As the woman turned to leave she looked at her with an expression that bordered on pity and whispered, “Don’t sit until he says you can.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. This show of power and intimidation was really taking things too far. After all, she’d been naked and sweatier than she was right now with the CEO of Black Phoenix Group. She wondered how the intimidating gatekeeper would react if she knew that little tidbit of insider information. Unfortunately, the reminder of the naked and sweaty thing was a very bad move when memories of that fateful night exploded in her head.

When she stepped forward and made for the ridiculously imposing desk, Rhi kept her eyes focused on anything except the man who sat in stony, unmoving silence watching her every move. Thank God she had something to hold onto for if she didn’t, she was sure she’d be wringing her hands.

Through the muted sunlight shining from the bank of tinted windows behind the desk, she found a breathtaking view of the city skyscape that offered the perfect frame for the man staring her down. His shoulders were broad, encased in a black suit with a shirt so white it was blinding. Unable to look at his face she concentrated on the details such as the fact that his tie fed into a vest while the handkerchief peeking from the breast pocket on his jacket was the same bright white as the shirt. When he reached up and smoothed his hand down the tie, she noted crisp cuffs accented with silver and black links and his hand of course. Those beautiful strong hands with tapered fingers that had, once upon a time, cupped her breasts and stroked her trembling body, seeking out her desire and doing things, intimate things that refused to stay hidden in her memory.
This meeting is doomed
, she realized.

Silence came in many forms. It could be soothing in the right setting. Or as it was now, terrifying. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but her access to his thoughts had been ruthlessly cut off a long time ago. As it was, she could only stand there and try not to fall apart as he rather cold-bloodedly used his powerful advantage without a thought to her feelings.
Fucking asshole.

Just when she was certain the silence was going to kill her, she heard him mutter in that dark, sexy, smolder that had robbed her of sense as a teenager, “Rhiann.”

Swallowing the painful constriction in her throat she inclined her head in a respectful nod and answered, “Mr. Ashforth.”

From the periphery of her consciously muted vision she saw his mouth draw into a grim line at her response. What? He thought she’d giggle and twirl her hair and fall at his feet like an adoring puppy, desperate for his attention? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Hell would offer skiing lessons before she’d ever be that foolishly naïve again.

Sitting forward in his leather chair, he bit out a grumpy sounding, “Have a seat,” then immediately ignored her while she sat down on the edge of the chair in front of his desk, with the folder she’d brought carefully balanced on her lap while she held the pen in a death grip. Tension kept her spine rigid, but she was uncomfortably aware that the necklace hanging down the front of her dress was acting like a beacon indicating the rapid, nervous rise and fall of her chest with every breath she took.

He kept her on pins and needles while shuffling papers, picking up one or two to read, then tossing them aside with a deep sigh. She could feel his annoyance, it was radiating off him like a damn heat wave. That and the other thing she was desperately trying to ignore. No matter how hard she tried to block it, Rhiann could almost taste his potent masculinity. It practically hung in the air like a fog surrounding them both.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It had always been this way with Liam. He exuded a formidable virility that shredded her damn nerves. In no way was it helpful that she could feel the pulse building in intensity in her core or the dampness forming in her panties.

“Are you ever going to look at me?” he growled.

Ah, dammit. He wasn’t playing fair. Actually, none of this was fair by any stretch of the imagination. Wondering for the thousandth time how it was that this man, of all the millions of people on the planet, came to be her boss, Rhiann struggled, searching for a reasonable way to deal with the situation and keep her dignity.

The imp in her personality chose that moment to make its presence known when she pithily replied, “Sorry, sir. I thought the peasants were supposed to avert their eyes in your presence.” She heard his sharp intake of breath and mentally placed a hash mark under her name on the internal scoreboard in her mind.

“Bitch,” he ground out, his voice sounding dark and menacing.

Rhiann couldn’t help it when his answer brought her eyes swinging quickly to his face where they collided with his smoldering gaze. This time it was her who took a deep breath. For the briefest second she found the old Liam looking back at her with an expression bordering on primal longing that shocked some damn sense into her. It vanished quickly though, to be replaced by something that looked a lot like self-righteous victory.

Want more of Rhiann and Liam’s story?

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Without question, I must express my gratitude to
Jenny Sims
, the best editor any author could hope for

She keeps me honest
::gigglesnort::
and handled a meltdown crisis with calm professionalism while facing down an oncoming train wreck

And then there’s my intrepid team:

Ella Fox
–
She-Who-Does-Everything

Ashley Bauman
–
Cover Designer

Stacey Blake
–
Formatter

Rebecca Bennett
and
Nicole Huffman
–
Personal Assistants

And always, always, always…..

My grandkids
– for the laughter, hugs and love

Suzanne Halliday
writes what she knows and what she loves – sexy adult contemporary romance with strong men and spirited women. Her love of creating short stories for friends and family has developed into a passion for writing romantic fiction with a sensual edge. She finds the world of digital, self-publishing to be the perfect platform for sharing her stories and also for what she enjoys most of all – reading. When she’s not on a deadline you’ll find her loading up on books to devour.

Currently a wanderer, she and her family divide their time between the east and west coast, somehow always managing to get the seasons mixed up. When not digging out from snow or trying to stay cool in the desert, you can find her in the kitchen, 80’s hair band music playing in the background, kids running in and out, laptop on with way too many screens open, something awesome in the oven, and a mug of hot tea clutched in one hand.

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