One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (49 page)

A pinging noise brought her back to reality, reminding her of where they were. With a cushioned bump the lift came to a halt and the doors hissed open. He lifted his mouth a fraction, his forehead resting on hers, his breath ragged. ‘Oh my God,' he rasped, and Tegan knew without doubt that he was experiencing the same overwhelming sensations as she.

Then in one deft movement he scooped her up into his arms and, without saying a word, carried her from the lift. She gasped, at once shocked and yet grateful, certain she would never have managed to exit the lift on her shaky legs. The sheer thrill of being swept up into his strong arms—her body cradled next to his, the thump of his heartbeat reverberating through her body—was intoxicatingly heady. So heady that she barely registered that he'd failed to stop to let her down next to her work station. He didn't stop at the anteroom beyond, and when he swept her purposefully through his own office she began to have an uncomfortable sense that maybe today Maverick intended on finishing up what he'd been denied before.

He looked resolutely ahead, the set of his jaw firm, his expression grim, and a thread of panic wound through her and yanked tight.

‘Where are you taking me?'

‘Somewhere private, where we won't be disturbed.' Without letting go of her, he turned a door handle, kicking open the door in front of them.

‘Maverick!' she protested, squirming in arms that held her like prison bonds close to him. ‘I don't think this is such a good idea.'

‘Right now, I can't think of a better one.'

He had a point. But, while her body applauded his initiative, a part of her registered the core truth. It still didn't make it a good idea. This could
never
be a good idea.

He marched her through a large sitting-room that, like his office, overlooked the glorious stretch of beach that made up the long golden sweep of the Gold Coast. But this was hardly the time to appreciate the vista, not when he was heading still deeper into his private suite.

‘Put me down. This is a mistake!'

‘There's no mistake,' he replied, his voice sounding strained and dangerous. ‘But I'll put you down, seeing you ask so nicely.'

It wasn't the easy setting-down on the floor she'd been anticipating. With a strangled cry she felt herself launched through the air, landing with a thud in the middle of the wide, silken-covered monster of a bed, and she only just caught his jacket being tossed lazily in the other direction.

He placed one knee on the bed and looked down at her, his eyes like dark fire, his hands at his shirt cuffs popping his buttons free before starting on his shirt front, working his way down, button by button.

‘Oh, no,' she said, scurrying for the edge of the bed, even as a thrill of arousal shimmied through her blood.

She had to get out of here. So why did her muscles feel so unresponsive? Why was she so loath to leave this bed? And why did such a delicious heat curl warm and damp between her thighs?

He reefed out his shirt from his pants and hauled it off. This time her gasp was one of appreciation. He was simply beautiful, his chest and shoulders every bit as magnificent as they'd felt, his sculpted torso an artist's delight.
And every woman's.

‘You felt it back there,' he whispered, not letting go of the laser-like hold on her eyes. ‘You felt what was happening between us in that lift.'

‘It was just a kiss,' she pleaded, knowing she was lying, knowing he knew it.

‘It was more than just a kiss,' he argued, dropping his hands to his waist.

Oh God!

There was no air in the room, no oxygen, and no hope for her unless she did something soon. She forced herself to the side of the bed farthest away, pushing herself up on shaky legs.

‘But that doesn't mean…'

He rounded the bed to cut her off. He took one of her trembling hands and pressed it to his lips. ‘It means you want me.' He hesitated a fraction as he stared down at her, before taking her hand and moving it lower until her fingers cupped his length. Breath dragged through his teeth as her fingers found purchase. He was so big, so hard, the power evident. Power waiting to be unleashed within her.

‘And, God knows,' he hissed, as she couldn't help but test his firmness with her hand, ‘I want you.'

His mouth descended to hers once more as he crushed her to him, and she shuddered into the truth of his all-powerful embrace.

And it felt so right. It was so welcoming; so welcome and so right.

But even as his hands stirred her body, sweeping up and down in a sensual dance of persuasion, tears of futility squeezed from her eyes.

Another time, in other circumstances, and things would have been different; she could have acted to satisfy this desperate yearning, this desperate need which saw her abandoning everything she'd ever thought of love or romance. It was insane; she'd known this man just two days and here she was so close to giving herself up to him. She wanted to give herself up to him. But it was too quick, it was too passionate, and it was too all-consuming.

It was madness.

A madness she couldn't give in to—not now, not with Maverick. Not when she was supposed to be someone else, and that someone else would be returning to this job, never expecting the mess Tegan would have been leaving for her.

‘I can't do this,' she pleaded.

‘But you want this,' he soothed, his tongue laving her throat, stirring her senses like nothing she'd ever known before. ‘You want me inside you.'

Yes!
she wanted to scream, shocked at her own wantonness but still coherent enough to know that if she admitted anything she was lost.

‘No,' she lied, searching for new stocks of resolve just as quickly as it flowed out of her. ‘I don't want you. I want you to stop.'

He stilled on a long exhale without letting go of her, the tension in his bunched muscles like a caged lion clawing to be set free. ‘You really mean that?' Then he lifted his head and stared at her, the heat in his eyes giving way to surprise. He touched fingertips to her cheek. ‘You're not crying?'

She took advantage of his concern and wheeled away, swiping at her face with one hand. ‘I have to go.'

He moved to bridge the gap, and she moved still farther away, closer to the door that would take her from this room, take her from Maverick—
remove her from temptation
.

‘Morgan,' he urged. ‘What's wrong?'

Me!
she wanted to scream.
I'm what's wrong, can't you see that?
But instead she said, ‘I don't want to make love with you. Don't you understand? Just like you really don't want me.'

‘What are you talking about?' he protested. ‘That's not true. I do want you. You know that.'

She shook her head. Morgan had told her exactly how things were between her and her boss, and Tegan knew exactly how Morgan would expect things to be when she came back Monday morning. The last thing she would be expecting would be her boss wanting to carry her off into his den at the drop of a hat.

‘It is true!' she flung at him, her chest heaving, her defences at breaking point—because if this didn't work she would be lost. ‘What was the line you used when I started work here?
“I don't do PAs.”
Isn't that what you said from the very beginning? So what the hell do you think you're trying to prove now?'

White-hot fury devoured him like a lava flow. Yes, he'd told her that—maybe not as crassly as the words she'd employed, but he'd made his position clear.

But it was
his
line. It had been
his
decision. And to have it thrown back at him by her…

‘Go home,' he said once the rush of blood in his ears had finally settled down to a dull roar. ‘Take the afternoon off.'

‘I have work to do—'

‘Go home!' he repeated, louder this time. ‘You've already done enough.'

More than enough, if it all came down to it. And she'd reminded him of too much in the process, of a woman who'd wanted everything and had left him with nothing, and of a vow he'd made never to let that happen again.

He picked up his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and did up his buttons with a hell of a lot less satisfaction than he'd undone them a few minutes before.

Damn that vow. But he'd had good reason back then to make a vow like that. He'd had good reason to make it clear to anyone who worked that closely with him that they shouldn't get ideas.

Which hadn't stopped him getting ideas.

What was happening to him? Morgan had worked for him for eighteen months and he'd never so much as looked at her, and now suddenly it was like he'd taken the blinkers off and discovered the woman who hid behind her ‘repel all boarders' outfits.

And he wanted her.

And why shouldn't he have her? She was nothing like Tina. If she had been, she would hardly have put up with him without making a move for the time she'd been with him. She would have been off to secure another, more receptive mark. And even now she wasn't racing to fall into his bed. She wanted him, he could tell, but she was fighting it.

Which made her all the more refreshingly attractive.

So why was she holding back? It wasn't like they didn't know each other. So what that in the past he'd barely got past ‘Good morning' and ‘Type this up' on the conversation scale, it wasn't like they were strangers. So what was her problem? Why should she drag up something he'd said so long ago and use it against him?

He tucked in his shirt and raked his fingers through his hair, feeling a familiar tension curling inside him. He needed a woman, and there was more than one way to skin a cat.

He strode into his office, picked up his PDA and threw himself into his chair. He had a list of phone numbers as long as his arm. He'd find someone more accommodating with no trouble.

He scrolled through the numbers, finally coming to a halt when he found one that halfway appealed. Sonya—all short, sleek black hair and greyhound leanness—she'd do fine. And she'd never been able to say no to him. He was halfway through dialling when he slammed the phone down in disgust.

He didn't want Sonya. Not when he had a different face taunting him, a different body telling him she didn't want him, turning him down flat.

And all because of something that had happened years ago.

Damn it! Tina was still finding a way to ruin his life. That damned promise he'd made because of her was coming back to haunt him. As far as he was concerned, it was his vow and nobody else's. It was up to him if he damn well broke it.

And Morgan had just better get used to the idea.

She'd come around. He'd give her to the end of the week. All he had to do was wait…

W
EDNESDAY
dawned bright and sunny all along the Gold Coast—unless you happened to be in Tegan's head. If only she'd insisted on Morgan coming home when she'd called Monday night, and had not let herself be talked out of it, this charade would be over now. Instead she had another three days of Maverick to endure, another three days of trying to ignore his heated presence, another three days of fighting this inconvenient attraction.

And as the day wore on she waited for him to make another move on her. But it didn't come.

Instead all Wednesday he hovered like a dark angel, brooding and intense, finding any excuse to leave his office to ask her a question or to drop something on her desk, and watching over everything she did. Watching her until she wanted to scream with the tension.

Five p.m. had never looked so good. She practically fled from the office, but she'd survived.

Thursday his mood was blacker, his efforts redoubled. When he emerged from his office, for what had to have been the third time in the space of ten minutes, she felt like throwing her hands up and screaming,
‘Enough!'

‘What is it
this
time?' she asked instead, unable to keep the aggravation from her voice.

But instead of rummaging through her files, searching for some mysterious document before slamming the cabinet shut and marching off discontentedly as he'd done so many times previously, he surprised her by dropping some pages on her desk. ‘Rogerson needs this chart, but we both want some changes made first. Get on to someone in Projects and have them get this back to me on the double.'

He turned as Tegan looked at the project-development chart and Maverick's handwritten notes and wondered what the drama was. She'd cut her teeth doing such tasks in her previous office job before she'd felt the need to do something more hands on and had joined GlobalAid. ‘There's no need. I can do this for you right away.'

He looked back at her. ‘Since when have you used project-development software?'

She blinked. ‘Since I did a course. At night. Didn't I mention it?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘All right,' he said, his voice heavy with doubt. ‘Get Projects to send you the file. Then I want it on my desk in ten minutes.'

She had it there in seven.

Not that it improved Maverick's disposition. That and the fact she'd done it all perfectly only seemed to further foul his mood. ‘Well, well, well,' he muttered, regarding her steadily over the pages of the chart. ‘You appear to have many hidden talents. I wonder what other surprises you have in store for me?'

She swallowed under his leaden scrutiny and made a mental note to enrol Morgan on the next available project-development course.

‘If that's all, then…' she suggested, just wanting to escape.

‘No, it's not all,' he barked, launching himself from his chair and rounding the desk towards her.

She took a step backwards. It had been two days since he'd tried anything. Two days of praying he wouldn't touch her, knowing she couldn't trust herself if he did.
Two days of secretly wishing he would.

He came to a halt in front of her, his wide shoulders blocking out the vista, his gunslinger dark looks becoming the view, and she trembled in anticipation.

His eyes scoured her face, settling on her mouth. His own lips looked like an invitation, parting slightly as she waited.

Then he offered her the papers she hadn't realised he was still holding. ‘Fax this to Rogerson right away.'

On Friday she was over her momentary weakness. Friday had never felt better. It didn't matter that Maverick had been in the worst mood he'd been in all week, a bad mood that seemed to have gotten progressively darker by the minute, because in just sixty short minutes she'd be out of here, out of the office for ever and away from Maverick. No more brooding tension; no more putting up with long, loaded looks; no more repressing urges that longed to be satisfied.

And Tegan couldn't wait.

She'd made it. She'd lasted an entire week with Maverick without him suspecting a thing. Morgan's job was safe, and any and all debts she owed her sister were now well and truly paid in full.

She was humming to herself when Maverick emerged from his office, a stack of paperwork in his hands. ‘What are you so happy about?'

She looked up at his scowling face, and once again felt that jolt that hit her every time she looked at him. She also felt something like a stab of disappointment. Life would be a lot simpler from now on but she was going to miss the electricity. Likewise, she'd miss the sparring and the heat. But those things didn't stop her smiling now, not when she was so close to achieving her goal.

‘It's Friday.'

Maverick's scowl deepened. ‘And?'

Like she was going to explain it?
She shrugged, belying the sheer intoxication of it all. Success fizzed like champagne in her veins. ‘Everyone loves Fridays.'
Especially me,
she thought,
especially today.

‘You have plans?'

Just picking up my sister tomorrow from the airport and reclaiming my life!
She couldn't help but smile up at him, despite his scowl. Or maybe because of it. ‘Just the usual,' she said.

He made a sound like a snarl and headed back to his office.

Maverick had never seen her smile so much. He threw himself into his chair and regarded his desk solemnly. Instead of warming to him like he'd planned, in the last few days she'd kept her distance, keeping any and all contact with him to a minimum, her hazel eyes chilled to ice chips. For days she'd never sent so much as a smile his way. Now her face was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.

And he had the uncomfortable feeling she wasn't smiling with him—she was smiling
at
him.

And he didn't like it one bit.

His computer registered incoming email. Half-heartedly he glanced over, sitting up in his chair when he recognised the sender. He opened the mail and read.

‘Yes!' he yelled, slamming his fist onto the desk before picking up his phone and dialling.

She'd closed down her computer and cleaned up the desk. Her glance moved over a wad of papers sitting in the filing tray and Tegan smiled to herself.
Welcome home, Morgan.

She pulled her handbag strap over her shoulder and sighed, a long, cathartic ‘glad to be done' sigh. It was over. All that remained was to say goodnight to Maverick and she'd be gone. She'd never have to see him again. She'd never have to put up with his dark gunslinger good looks or hot and heavy glances. She'd never more have to endure his heated magnetism.

She'd never have to endure another kiss.

Something squeezed down tight inside her. Who was she trying to kid? His kisses had never been something to endure. Instead they'd been like an awakening. And now, for ever, she'd be left wondering how it might have been if things had been different and she'd been in a position where she didn't have to reject his advances, where she could have allowed Maverick to awaken every last part of her.

Now she'd never know.

She took a deep breath. It was for the best. She knew that. Taking care of her sister's job for the week had never included taking care of her boss.

It was time to go. She headed through the anteroom to say goodnight and slammed into a wall coming out.

‘Morgan!' She felt his big hands steady her momentarily, before feeling herself lifted from the ground and spun around in his arms. He set her back down without letting go of her, leaving her breathless and dizzy, and looked down, his dark eyes glinting, his mouth curved into a wicked smile. ‘Giuseppe Zeppa's regained consciousness and demanding to know why the deal hasn't been stitched up. He's giving them hell over there.'

She couldn't help but smile back at him, knowing what it meant to him, his excitement infectious. ‘That's great. I'm really pleased.'

‘And I've just been on the phone to Rogerson, who can't wait to get started.'

His eyes crinkled and he looked her over, taking in her bag at her shoulder. ‘What are you doing?'

‘I'm going home. I was just coming to say goodnight.'

‘Not now, you're not. This calls for a celebration. We're going out for dinner.'

She tried to take a step back, but he still had hold of her arms. ‘Maverick, I don't think—'

‘Rogerson's expecting you to be there. I promised him you'd come along.'

‘You had no right!'

‘Why? You said you had nothing special happening. What have you got to lose?'

Just my resolve.
She looked down at her clothes. ‘I can't go out like this. I'm not dressed for dinner.'

‘It's still early. I'll drive you home and you can get changed.'

Her arms tingled where he held her; every part of her seemed to hum with his proximity, and temptation hung thick on the air. She'd almost escaped. She'd almost been home free, and now she was facing one last evening with him.

But why did the thought of that thrill her more than it should? It was a business dinner—admittedly a celebration, but with Phil Rogerson and the legal and financial teams there what could possibly happen? And yet still she felt a bubble of glee that her time with Maverick need not come to an end just yet.

‘Okay,' she agreed on an impulse she hoped she didn't live to regret. ‘Seeing Phil asked me too, I'll come.'

Maverick was waiting outside the car taking a call when she emerged nervously from the townhouse. She saw him glance up at her and still before snapping shut his phone and standing to attention, the look in his eyes one of unadulterated appreciation.

‘You look fantastic,' he said, swinging open the passenger door for her and suddenly she halted as warmth bloomed inside her. She felt afraid again, afraid of what might happen, afraid of what she couldn't deny.

‘What is it?' he pressed. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I'm just not convinced this is such a good idea.'

His eyes revealed nothing of the frustration he had to be feeling right now. He tilted his head indulgently at her. ‘Rogerson felt the same way this week. He wasn't sure whether he should commit to the deal. But you convinced him that sometimes it's worth taking that risk. Maybe you should take a spoonful of your own medicine?'

She shivered. It wasn't the same, she wanted to argue. Rogerson stood to gain by taking a risk on Maverick. Whereas she…She stood to lose everything—Morgan's job, her own sanity and, most of all, she feared, her heart.

Was it a risk she could so easily brush off?

No.

Was it a risk she was willing to take?

Oh, yes.

She shivered as she slipped past him and lowered herself into the car, his eyes doing crazy things to her blood and her breasts at the same time.

Business dinner
, she persisted in telling herself,
it's still only a business dinner
. But that hadn't stopped her finding the most feminine dress she could find in her sister's wardrobe, a soft floral pastel with crossover bodice and pleated waist that gave way to a floaty skirt that shifted when she moved, revealing glimpses of leg. After the dull business suits she'd been wearing all week, this dress felt soft, feminine—and, the way it felt against her skin, even a little sexy.

The way he looked at her made it even more so.

He climbed in alongside but didn't drive away. Instead he just looked across at her. ‘I've never seen you with your hair down,' he said, touching a hand to the waves that cascaded around her face and over her shoulders, twisting one tendril around his finger, a gentle pressure that had her whole scalp tingling. ‘I like it.'

Their eyes connected and for the space of one hitched breath the world stopped. She drank him in with her eyes, the early-evening light turning his features into a play of light and shadow, of dark depths and rich promise, and she realised that just one evening with this man would never be enough.

She forced her eyes away as a stab of regret lanced her heart.
Because one last night was all she had.

With a sigh he let go and started the engine. ‘Do you mind if we make a brief detour on the way? I've just had a call and there's someone I need to drop in on.'

She shrugged. ‘Sure,' she said, already enjoying the scent of fine leather and an even finer driver, and not in any particular rush to put an end to the sensual pleasure.

It was only when he pulled into the gated car park of the Green Valley Rest Home that her curiosity was piqued.

She looked up at him, her question unspoken.

‘My grandmother,' he simply said.