Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (3 page)

“And there you have it,” she muttered aloud to her image as she twisted and turned, this way and that,
for a three-sixty view.
Oh, hold on,
she thought, quickly dabbing a bit of her favorite scent behind each ear and on her wrists. It was the best she could do.

After a final glance in the mirror, Rhi gave her reflection a crooked grin. She looked for all the world like the professional she was. Now, all she had to do was keep her shit together and ignore the rapid pulse that reminded her who she was about to meet with.
Liam fucking Ashforth.
The guy she’d given her virginity to as a foolish college sophomore. The same one who walked away from her without so much as a backward glance.

Eh, crap.
Her nerves were starting to somersault. Not good or helpful. Grabbing a presentation folder off her desk from a recent team meeting, she popped a breath mint into her mouth, picked up a pen, and started for the elevator. Finding it helped if she focused her thoughts, she counted her steps as she walked along, nodding at those she passed in the hallway and reminding herself to keep breathing.
Dammit.
This was going to be a lot harder than she imagined.

Thankfully, the elevator was empty so she leaned against the back wall, stuck the folder under her arm, and held the pen between her teeth while vigorously shaking the tension from her hands. Chagrined, Rhi felt her body temperature increase, a sure sign the anxiety was winning. Reminding herself that she was an adult, not a silly twenty-year-old with shadows of cupid obscuring her common sense, 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. And damn her imagination! There was
no way
she felt his powerful presence just by being on the same floor, right? Crushing what was left of the mint in her mouth, she swallowed and headed for the double glass doors that led to his secretary’s imposing desk.

The woman guarding the hastily created inner sanctum of
Passion’s
new owner and reclusive chief executive of BPG was in her mid-fifties with the sort of coolly assessing vibe one would expect of someone 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 desk.

“Ah, Miss Wilde,” the woman drawled, impatiently consulting 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 damning sweat escaped down the back of Rhiann’s neck while the 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. It 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 dragon lady was good,
she thought. Not only was Rhi practically hyperventilating with anticipation, but she could also 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.

The phone never rang, yet somehow Mrs. Scary Doubtfire was communicating with the boss, a fact made obvious when 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 simple business 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.

“Miss Wilde 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 Rhiann with an expression that bordered on pity and whispered, “Don’t sit until he says you can.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Really?
This guy was unbelievable.

The arrogant attempt at power and intimidation was really taking things too far. After all, she’d been sweatier than she was right now and buck-ass naked with the CEO of Black Phoenix Group. Rhi wondered how the intimidating gatekeeper would react if she knew that little fact. Unfortunately, the naked and sweaty reminders made a riot of unwelcome memories from their volatile history explode 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 approach. Thank god she had something to hold on to so she didn’t anxiously wring her hands.

The muted sunlight shining from the bank of tinted windows behind the desk offered the perfect frame for the man staring her down.
And he was a man,
she reminded herself. Not the grad student she remembered. Rhiann swallowed hard and tried to calm her breathing.

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 fact that his dark grey tie fed into a vest while the handkerchief peeking from the breast pocket of his jacket was the same bright white as the shirt. A loud bell went off in her memory—taking her back to the immaculate white shirt he’d worn when they first met.

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 robbed her of sense as a teenager. “Rhiann.”

Almost choking on the painful constriction in her throat, she dipped 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, 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 be that foolishly naïve again.

She heard the sound of his body sliding against leather as he sat forward in his chair and bit out a grumpy, “Have a seat.” Then he 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, and 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 hung in the air like a fog surrounding him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It had always been this way with Liam. He exuded a virility that shredded her damn nerves. In no way was it helpful that she could feel an intensifying pulse building in her core or ignore the dampness forming in her panties.

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

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 is that this man, of all the billions 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.

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

Rhiann couldn’t help it when his reaction brought her eyes swinging quickly to his face where they collided with his smoldering gaze. She gasped. For the briefest second, she found the old Liam looking back at her with an expression that bordered on primal longing. It vanished quickly, though, to be replaced by something that looked an awful lot like smug triumph.

L
IAM WAS HAVING ONE HELL of a time staying in his seat. The minute Rhiann stepped through the door, he’d experienced a blinding rush of visceral emotion—a one, two punch in the solar plexus—tightening his chest and setting off uncontrolled detonations of heat and possessiveness in every fiber of his being.
Shit.
Even his fingertips were tingling.

Scowling, but then again when wasn’t his face contorted with a black look, he fought the compulsion to leap over the desk and pin her to the floor with his body.
Fuck.
Nothing had changed, even after all these years. He still wanted Rhiann Baron-Wilde and wanted her in a way that made a lie of the carefully contrived air of arrogant disinterest he’d become so damn good at.

He wasn’t all that surprised that she’d attempted to dish some of that indifference back in his direction—only her version was dripping with boredom while his reeked of conceit. A rare smile tugged at his mouth. They were both terrible actors.

When she’d pursed those delectable lips and made the little face that read
Eat shit, Ashforth
—he nearly lost his cool completely. Sparring with this woman made him feel alive—something that was sorely missing from his world. So, at least that much hadn’t changed.
Only thing was,
he thought soberly,
she hadn’t exactly been a woman when she’d blown into his life the first time.
Rhiann had been a girl on the brink of womanhood, and when he’d finished with her, she was no longer an untried teenager. He’d certainly seen to that. The uncomfortable reminder had him grinding his teeth.

She was starting to piss him off with her little prim and proper act. Hell—if she sat any straighter, he’d be able to use her as a level.

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

Rhiann, ever the smart mouth, replied, “Sorry,
sir.
I thought the peasants were supposed to avert their eyes in your presence.”

Liam choked on a harsh gasp at her words. “Fuuuck,” he ground out, his voice dark and menacing.

Yeah—that got a reaction because she blinked then swung her gaze to his face. He didn’t even try to disguise the covetous look he knew was burning in his expression. She looked—
shocked.
And rattled. Now probably wasn’t the time to take a victory lap, but that was how he felt.

“Was that necessary, sir?” she bit out.

The emphasis she was placing on the
sir
was funny as shit, but who the fuck was she trying to kid? The Rhiann he knew didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.

Best to get control of this conversation before all hell broke loose. “M
mm,
actually Miss Wilde—I think it was,” he responded coolly.

Her shoulders tightened. Fixing him with an enigmatic gaze, he saw her grasp the pen in her hand so tight it was a wonder she didn’t snap the damn thing in two.

“I’m not accustomed to my employer resorting to vulgarity,” she mumbled icily.

Her employer? Oh, for god’s sake. He was a fuck ton more than just her employer. Forgetting why he’d called her into his presence in the first place, Liam stood suddenly and approached her. He’d show her what name-calling really sounded like.

Noting her startled reaction as he drew closer, he stopped an arm’s length in front of her, painfully aware that his groin was at her eye level. Reaching for the button on his suit jacket, he flipped it open and watched with satisfaction when her expressive green eyes dipped briefly.

The charming blush that appeared on her cheeks when she saw the unmistakable ridge announcing his arousal reminded Liam of their first encounter when he’d thought her shy and naïve. Apparently—nothing much had changed, although he knew from experience that the shyness crumbled the second he touched her. He highly doubted after the horrendous way he’d treated her at the end that she had much in the naïve category going on.