One Perfect Night
One Perfect Night
By Rachael Johns
Peppa Grant’s fellow employees may call their new CEO Mr. McSexy, but she’s also heard that he’s aloof and distant. Cameron McCormac certainly seems cold toward Christmas when she meets him at the company’s annual party…but he’s also the sexiest man Peppa has ever seen. And when he offers to forgive the damage she accidentally caused to his expensive car in exchange for accompanying him to his family’s holiday get-together, she agrees.
Cameron needs a date to the family party to get his matchmaking relatives off his back. Their chemistry is instant and undeniable, leading to an incredible one-night stand. But Peppa wants love and family, while Cameron’s only interested in temporary pleasure. When their relationship takes an unexpectedly serious turn, will he run the other way—or will he give love a second chance?
58,000 words
Dear Reader,
I hope you’re reading this Carina Press story on the brand-new e-reader, tablet, smartphone or other fun device you got this holiday season. There’s something magical about the combination of a new toy and a new story, isn’t there?
But even if you didn’t get a new device for the holiday, this Carina Press story is still up to the task of helping you forget about holiday stress, bills, to-do lists and maybe even those few extra pounds you acquired thanks to the holiday cookies.
This December, let our authors sweep you away with stories of love, passion, lust, betrayal and revenge that run the gamut from erotic romance to historical romance to urban fantasy and science fiction.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
To Mum and Craig—for a zillion reasons but mostly the baby-sitting and the housework. Without you two this would not be possible.
Many people see writing as a solitary occupation—for me this is just not the case. I have so many friends who have come to me because of my writing. I chat with my writing friends numerous times a day and would not be without any of them. I’m scared to name them all because I’d probably miss someone really, really, really important and that just would not do. But I want to say thank you to you all—especially those whom I’ve met through Romance Writers of Australia and “blog land.” You are all so generous with your knowledge, time and talent. Published or unpublished I am constantly astounded by the generosity of romance writers. But the best thing about you all is you understand that only dull women have immaculate houses.
“Don’t look now, but Mr. McSexy just entered the building.”
“Blast.” Peppa Grant spun round and did exactly what her best friend and colleague Izzy had ordered her not to. Her breathing faltered at the sight of six foot plus of unadulterated male who now towered at the entrance to the company’s function room. An anxious hush fell over the previously buzzing room. As all eyes snapped to him, she tried not to quake in her costume’s fairy shoes.
Until half an hour ago, Cameron McCormac had meant nothing more to Peppa than the new name at the very top of the office food chain. Now he was the man who owned the car she’d sideswiped in the car park tonight.
The dangerously handsome man who was making her pulse spike simply by standing in the doorway. “Oh, God.”
As Peppa pushed her barely touched glass out of reach and let her head fall onto the table in front of her, Izzy giggled.
“It’s. Not. Funny,” Peppa declared when she finally looked up. Her eyes sought the company’s new CEO again and she felt her heart collapse into her stomach.
“You’re right,” Izzy said, reaching out and stroking Peppa’s hair like a mother over a sick child. “If
I’d
just put a prize-winning dent in the big boss’s red, convertible pride and joy, I’d probably be at Sydney airport boarding a plane or planning to hitch a ride with Santa back to the North Pole.”
“Hilarious.” Peppa shot her friend a sarcastic smile. “Please tell me McSexy has just vanished up a chimney?”
Izzy took a sip of her chocolate mocktail, her sea-blue eyes sparking with laughter as she peered theatrically over Peppa’s head. “No can do. Looks like he’s doing the rounds, handing out candy canes or something to all the children. Molly must have put him up to it.”
Molly, although old enough to be his mother, was Mr. McCormac’s personal assistant. Rumor had it when he did anything remotely human, she’d put him up to it. She’d been with the company longer than anyone and was the brains behind this event, the annual Christmas party for children of Lyrique Recordings’ employees. Peppa had a fleeting fantasy of leaving a message with Molly about her little misdemeanor in the car park but that wouldn’t be right. And she hadn’t been brought up to take the easy option.
“I’ll do it now,” she said, resting a hand on her queasy belly as she pushed herself off the stool and onto quaky feet. Although whether her shakiness was from trepidation or her gorgeous boss’s sexy gait and air-of-confidence, she couldn’t be sure. “Confess before I’m due on stage and then, if he has any sympathetic bones in his body, he’ll let me entertain the kids before the crucifixion.”
“You’re such a drama queen,” sighed Izzy. “The top job pays well. He has enough money to line his undies drawer in gold. You apologize. You give him the details of your insurance company. You get on with your life. Simple.”
Simple. Right. But Izzy didn’t know that Peppa had just switched to a budget insurance provider. As she had never needed to claim in seven years of driving, the switch had seemed a good decision at the time. The upside was low monthly rates. The downside? A mammoth deductible on claims.
Well, that faux-pas may not only have cost Peppa her car and her job, but paying back the damage to the boss’s vintage Lamborghini would seriously endanger her ability to pay her mortgage. Not to mention she’d have to put her plans for an overseas holiday on hold—a holiday that had been all about helping her mind and emotions recover from the battering of the past few months.
“I think he’s looking at you.”
Izzy’s words broke Peppa’s reverie. And of course she looked up, across the room, only to find her gaze colliding with the Head Honcho himself. Her heart hitched a beat. Despite the distance she could see the roguish tilt of his lips, the slight frown of his distinguished black brows and that his devilish licorice eyes were trained on her. Dark-chocolate hair, speckled with naturally sun-kissed spikes, framed a face so chiseled it could have been carved from stone. A man so in-control of his world he had no reason to question it. Heat flooded her cheeks and, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, Peppa forced herself to break her gaze.
Her fingers sought the stalk of her wineglass and she gulped the liquid down, wishing its contents were alcoholic and could not only quench her suddenly parched throat but also numb her quivering insides. Perhaps he’d been in the car park and witnessed her misjudged swerve.
Perhaps he already knew.
“Peppa. Thank God.” Molly’s breathless voice penetrated her panic.
She felt the PA’s pointy, manicured nails against her forearm. “How can I help you, Molly?” she asked, snatching the opportunity to distract herself.
“Santa Claus is running late.”
Peppa nodded at Molly’s announcement, trying to appear sympathetic while her own predicament threatened to unravel her usual confidence. She didn’t
want
to look at Mr. McCormac—at the impressive breadth of his shoulders or his dark, ruggedly beautiful face—but she had to work hard to keep her focus on Molly.
“Some lout stole his motorbike and he’s finding it hard to find a taxi this time of the afternoon on Christmas Eve. The kids are getting restless.” Molly took an exasperated breath. “Do you think you could work your magic a tad earlier?”
Before Peppa could reply, Molly thrust a wriggling, chocolate-covered toddler into her arms.
Peppa’s heart melted in her chest at the soft, warm feel of the tiny body—a bitter reminder of what she might never have. The last thing she wanted to do right now was be at this party—where every little cherubic face felt like a knife twisting in her all-but-barren womb. “Hi there,” she said, trying to smile as she positioned the girl on her lap. She couldn’t let the emotional train wreck that had been her life of late stop her from doing her bit for the kids. “What’s your name, precious?”
“Annabel is my granddaughter,” Molly explained. She patted at a brown smear on her white, linen suit. “Do you two mind watching her while I make arrangements for Santa?”
“Sure, not a problem,” Izzy chirped sardonically to Molly’s retreating back. She put out her hands for the child. “Here, you’d better give her to me. Even you won’t be able to sing and do your magic balloon sculpting with your hands full of brat.”
Glaring at her friend, Peppa reluctantly parted with Annabel. Izzy and she didn’t see eye to eye on the adorableness of little people. Where Peppa longed to go forth and multiply, Izzy joked on a regular basis about having her tubes tied.
Although when it came to having children, Peppa’s medical woes were possibly the least of her worries. First she had to find a man willing to take the chance. Her eyes drifted to
him
of their own accord—the second she realized, she gave herself a mental cold shower, shook her head and looked back to Izzy. Even if he weren’t her boss, such a striking example of male perfection would never want a flawed model like she was.
“Be nice,” ordered Peppa. She turned away to focus on gathering the exuberant masses currently wreaking havoc with green and red balloons. She owed it to them to at least try and forget the problem of Mr. McCormac and his dented convertible.
She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Loudly.
The amber contents of Cameron’s glass rippled as an ear-splitting whistle cut through the room. Small bodies froze as if deafened by the sonic boom and then came to life, streaming toward the hired entertainer. The
very attractive
entertainer who, with glossy golden hair cascading down her back, sparkling eyes and a fairy costume from some grown-up male fantasy, had caught his eye the instant he’d entered the room. He’d had to force the breath through his lungs when she’d looked up and met his gaze and, for a brief moment, he’d glimpsed wariness in their depths before she’d quickly hidden her reaction behind the bowl of her wineglass. And although the air between them almost visibly sizzled, she’d glanced away quickly instead of returning a flirtatious grin which was the habit of most women of his acquaintance.
Her response—or lack thereof—piqued his interest.
He took a sip of his beer and edged away from the group he’d been mingling with, giving him the chance to watch her, unhindered by office small talk. She was like some female, glitter-infused Pied Piper. With a few softly spoken words, she had all the kids in a circle, staring up at her as if mesmerized.
And, although not usually able to find anything in common with children, this time he could hardly blame them. From the most impractical shoes he’d ever laid eyes on rose sensational legs wrapped in red fish-net stockings. Just looking at her made his blood pump hot through his veins, especially in certain places.
Hell, he prided himself on steely resistance, but a few minutes in his sights and she’d done more for his libido than any woman had in a long while. Especially when she bent over to retrieve something from her sparkly hot-pink bag.
He reached to his neckline to loosen his tie, wondering if her lime-green tutu could possibly be any shorter. Not that he was complaining. If his matchmaking-obsessed aunt and cousins had a habit of setting him up with
this
kind of woman, perhaps he wouldn’t be dreading the annual family Christmas party this evening quite so much.
The last place he wanted to be was a house too small for its visitors, where everyone was drinking far too much punch and spouting about how blessed they were. Where people who called him uncle but were actually his second cousins clamored for his attention. Where somehow he got suckered into playing with dolls every year on the anniversary of the very day his nightmares had begun. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tension crunching his shoulders.
At least the fairy had taken the boredom out of
this
function. He generally loathed the idea of a room full of happy families but Molly insisted throwing a Christmas bash for his employees’ kids took only a little effort and would reap a whole lot of rewards. He’d have been fine with the idea if she hadn’t insisted on him making an appearance.
A stumbling shadow appeared at his side.
“Great bash,” slurred Stanley, the exec in charge of voice talents. Judging by the stench of his breath, he’d obviously begun partying well before his regulated knock-off time.
“That was the idea,” replied Cameron, forcing a smile and trying his hardest not to sound annoyed when Stanley’s larger-than-average, bald head blocked his view.
Stanley turned, following Cameron’s gaze. “She’s something else, ain’t she?”
“Looks that way,” he answered, stealing another mouthful of his drink as he watched the entertainer sing and dance with the children. The sound of her angelic voice offset against her fresh face and contagious smile sparked a rush of response in his groin.
“We trekked around town for half a day looking for that dress,” continued Stanley. “Had to have ribbons, had to have wings…”
“You bought
that
dress? For
her?
” For some reason the idea of Stanley shopping for clothes with this woman pierced him like barbed wire, the sharp points snagging him in the chest. He slammed his glass down on a nearby table and rubbed his temple in an aim to banish the sensation of tribal spears stabbing into his skull.
“Had to be pink!” Stanley chuckled.
“Huh? Oh.” Cameron’s heart rate decelerated as he realized Stanley was talking about his daughter. Talk about foolish. If he recalled rightly she was the auburn, ringlet-headed
cherub
now in the center of the circle. At least he’d never have to endure the agony of fashion shopping for little girls. Fate had seen to that. He strangled a sudden sense of loss. “I’m sure it was worth the effort.”
“Look, here comes Santa.” Stanley pointed to the doorway where Molly, looking flushed but smiling, was busy ushering in her husband who was dressed in a red suit and ample padding. Luckily the man already had impressive facial hair, and years of living under Molly’s obsessive routines had turned his hair a nice shade of Father Christmas white.
Thank the Lord.
Once the presents had been dished out, the families would likely disperse at a rapid rate and he could focus on getting the next torture over as quickly as possible.
Stanley trekked off to join his wife and daughter, and Cameron scanned the room wondering where his fairy had escaped to.
The
fairy, he meant
the
fairy. Just because he fancied the idea of making her acquaintance and getting her a drink for all her hard work, didn’t make her
his.
With Kristen’s death, he’d given up on a lot of ideas. Having a relationship was one of them. But he wasn’t averse to a bit of casual flirting.
“Can I get you a refill?”
Peppa looked up from where she was leaning against the bar, her shoe in one hand and the other hand rubbing the aching arch of her left foot, to find the chief of Lyrique Recordings staring down at her. His smoky eyes seemingly shimmered above a delectable, dangerous grin that almost made her lose her grip.
She’d never been this close to those eyes but she’d heard plenty about their renowned owner. Rumor had it many a woman had lost sleep, dignity and more at his hand. Men in suits usually did nothing for her—she preferred her guys clad in denim and tight black T-shirts, casual attire—but he had the kind of body that would get Armani excited. The kind of body that made business sexy and her insides roil. Suddenly she understood all the hype.
“Cameron McCormac.” He introduced himself with a playboy smile as he reached out to steady her.
Replacing her shoe and straightening up, she dragged her eyes off his chest, over broad shoulders and forced herself to meet his gaze as she willed her lips to form a reply. She fought the urge to place her hand against her thundering heart.
She would
not
be overwhelmed.
“Yes, I know, and thanks, a drink would be lovely,” she replied, summoning her most professional tone, “but first there’s something I need to get off my chest.” The minute she’d uttered the sentence, she silently cursed her choice of words. But with her heart still galloping, it was hard to think of anything else.