Salvation (4 page)

“Maybe.” Admittedly, someone like him wanting me had given my fractured ego a minor boost. Then the hammer of self-doubt slammed it down again, mindful I was merely one of a long line of women and nothing special at all. “But, he’s our boss for God’s sake.”

“Well,
he
doesn’t care.”

“Why should he? He won’t be trying to climb the career ladder with everyone assuming they’ve slept their way to the top.” I picked up a paper clip and started bending the metal into one crooked line.

“We both know this is nothing to do with that, and everything to do with your past. Go have some hot, steamy fun with the man.” Mai covered my hands with hers. “You deserve some happiness, Kara. It’s time to move on.”

I smiled uncertainly as Mai retreated to the safety of the doorway. “Wear something sexy tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder as she strolled out, “oh, and your raciest underwear.”

BY the time I parked outside my building, I was miserable. My gym workout had done nothing to lift my mood either. I sat in the car, staring at the palm fronds brushing the window of my neighbour’s apartment. At only five storeys high, it was small compared to the newer high-rises surrounding it. There wasn’t a communal pool or garden, but it was the only place I’d lived on my own since arriving here, and I loved it.

Wearily, I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and let myself in. I placed my keys and glasses on the kitchen counter, and carried my bags the short distance across the open floor plan to the bedroom. I flopped onto the bed, my limbs weighted with memories of heartbreak and deceit. I moved here with hopes of finding myself again, desperate to rediscover who I used to be before my world crashed down around me.
Bastard
.

After a long, thought cleansing shower where I scrubbed the pain from my skin, I threw on my satin camisole and shorts and had a light bite to eat before selecting my outfit for tomorrow. Having a well-paid job meant I could afford the occasional luxury item and indulge in my passion for vintage accessories. Half of my built-in wardrobe was crammed with clothes I loved but seldom had the nerve to wear; the other housed more conservative tastes that I habitually gravitated towards. That was my ex’s fault, and I hated that I still allowed his perception of my body to influence my choices.

I dug out some unsexy black La Perla underwear. Who was I kidding? My appreciation for nice clothes extended to enjoying wearing good underwear, too. Even my sports bras were pretty. I tossed them back in the drawer and shoved it shut.

I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed with my iPad to check my emails, eagerly opening the message from my father first. With him in England, time zones restricted when we talked. I missed him terribly, especially when I needed a hug, or some words of wisdom only a parent could offer, like now.

When I first informed him I was leaving London, he’d worried, insisting I was emotionally unstable and needed people close to support me. I suspected he also knew I was running away. That made me more determined to prove him wrong. In six weeks, I was returning home for the first time since leaving, when he’d see firsthand I was coping well.

I plumped my pillows and shifted onto my side, preparing for sleep. My thoughts returned to Nate Blake. We would never work. He exuded confidence, was borderline arrogant with it, and oozed raw sexuality. Any self-confidence I once had got shot to pieces years ago.

And I was far from sexy.

Hooking one leg outside the sheet—my favoured sleeping position—I shut my eyes. That impression of command and success, combined with his wealth and good looks, would be a heady aphrodisiac to some. He’d probably found a willing dinner companion, and by now was enjoying
dessert
.

That disheartening thought weighed heavily on my mind as I gradually drifted off.

AFTER a restless sleep, Thursday dragged forever. I’d spent most of the night awake, regretting my decision to meet Blake. After the failure of my last relationship, I’d made it a rule to never date someone I worked with again, let alone the boss. There were too many complications when it all went wrong. Too many people who knew your business and were all too willing to pass judgement.

A short run in the cool of early morning helped put our meeting into perspective. This wasn’t a date. We’d meet for a drink, I’d politely tell him he was wasting his time pursuing me, and that would be the end of it. Blake might see tonight going differently—drinks, possibly dinner, followed by some hot sex—but that was his problem.

Mai had gone home, but not before imparting some words of wisdom—“do what you want, have some fun.” Then, as she discreetly slipped a packet of condoms in my bag with a wink—“don’t let a hot date become a due date.” I powered down my computer and headed to the bathrooms to freshen up.

I’d decided against an entire outfit change, opting to wear the simple cap-sleeved black shift dress I’d worn for work to maintain a purely business approach to the evening. That was an act of defiance—a subconscious rebellion to my past—to prove I could wear a dress and feel confident about it. Last night I’d felt brave, but now, as I swapped my work shoes for crimson suede peep-toe heels, I was regretting my impulsive decision.

I retouched my make-up, hiding the lack of sleep well with a little concealer, and tidied up my French twist. My berry red lipstick was bold, but not too harsh, and drew out the natural pout of my lips.

I walked to the bar, deciding I needed some air. When I spotted the familiar hedging shielding the bar from the road, my stomach flipped, churning with a mix of nerves and excitement. It was a dangerous blend of emotions. I didn’t want to feel this way about a man—but Nate Blake wasn’t like any other man.

I shyly avoided eye contact with the valet man as I passed and made my way up the path. Exposed red brick walls and dark floorboards complimented the long mahogany bar greeting me when I pushed open the heavy glass doors. Keeping my head down, I squeezed through a group of businessmen crowding the floorspace between me and the quieter lounge area. When I looked up…

…
Nate Blake.
I wanted to arrive first, but he’d beat me to it.

WEARING BLACK TROUSERS and a white shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, he sat tucked away near the back wall staring right at me. The sight of him caused my heart rate to quicken and a storm of butterflies to flit around my stomach. He was even more glorious than I remembered.

Piercing blue eyes slid over me, seductively drinking me in, his lips slightly parted. In a drawn out action, his tongue licked over his upper lip before he dragged his eyes to meet mine.

It was so sexual. My sex clenched, heated desire running all over me. Nate Blake wanted me.

Naked. In his bed. Tonight.

Drawing every bit of strength I could muster to my now skewed intentions for the evening, I fixed a confident smile to my face and tried to refocus as I approached. Blake stood, squaring his shoulders, and ran a hand through his thick hair. It made me want to tease my own fingers through the glossy, luscious lengths.

“Kara,” he murmured.
How did he know my name?
And how could he make it sound so provocative, like it meant so much more than a simple greeting? “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He pulled out the other burgundy leather wingback chair, gesturing for me to sit down.

“Hello.” I placed my bag beneath the drinks table, then sat and crossed my legs. Blake’s eyes drifted hungrily to where my dress had ridden up my thighs.
Damn.
What had possessed me to wear a dress? I tried, unsuccessfully, to tug it back down. “How are you?”

“Getting better by the minute.” He sat, angling his body towards mine. His face glowed with humour, eyes dancing with pleasure. “How about you? How was your day?”

“Distracting…” In fact, the entire work day had interfered with my building anticipation of this exact moment.

“Oh?” Blake tilted his head and pursed his lips, clearly confused by my response.

“Busy,” I rushed out, trying to conceal my thoughts, “but good.”

A light growth of trimmed stubble covered his strong jawline, and because he’d recently run a hand through it, a few strands of hair had fallen sexily over his forehead. It gave a slightly roguish edge to an otherwise well-groomed appearance.

“The wine list is impressive,” he noted, offering me the menu. “Anything in particular you like?”

You.
The word came unbidden to mind. “Red’s fine, thanks,” I flushed, without taking it from him.

Mischief swept across Blake’s face. He caught the attention of a male server who came rushing over. “The 2002 Lonely Oak Cabernet, please.”

The server nodded, glanced briefly at me, then stumbled on a chair leg as he made a hasty retreat to the bar. I winced sympathetically. The poor man could probably feel the pheromones emanating from Blake as much as I could.

Blake lounged back into his seat, amused. “You always have that effect on people?”

Me?
“Do you?” I countered. “He was obviously intimidated by you. You’re very disconcerting.”

Blake looked puzzled as the server returned in record time. He was desperately trying to concentrate, flushing as red as the wine he poured with his trembling hand. I knew how he felt. I wanted to sit on my hands so Blake couldn’t see them shaking.

Taking pity on him, I smiled and said, “Thank you.” The server mumbled incoherently, placed a bowl of pistachio nuts on the table, then scurried away with a harried smile. I glanced at Blake. The index finger stroking rhythmically back and forth across his top lip as he watched me was very distracting.

“
You
intimidated him, not me. Not to mention the heads that turned when you passed the gentlemen at the bar.” He calmly sipped his wine. “You’re exquisite.”

Unsure how to respond to his compliment, I laughed uncomfortably and smoothed my hair around my face.

“Tell me about yourself, Kara.” A frown flit across his face, then he relaxed. I hated talking about myself, so decided to have some fun with him.

“Well, you already seem to know my name.” I raised a brow. “I’m twenty-four, five-nine tall, green eyes…” I hid my smile with my hand.

Blake smirked. “That’s not what I meant. You’re more than just a beautiful face.” His eyes scanned the length of my body. “And unbelievably long, long legs.”

My tongue darted out to wet my lips. His gaze darkened as he leant closer and murmured, “Those luscious full red lips are begging to be kissed. Keep licking them? See what happens.”

The enticing promise of his kiss made me lightheaded. The sensual scent of his cologne smelt like a drug I could quickly become hooked on. He settled back and casually took a sip of wine, whilst I felt like I was going to pass out from sensory overload. Without realising until it was too late, I licked my lips again. His eyes narrowed. I dived for my glass and brought it to my lips, not believing for a second it would deter Blake from carrying out his threat.

“Why choose LA?” he asked, balancing his glass on the arm of the chair. “Not that I’m complaining.” His left hand brushed my arm, the tiny bit of contact enough to cause a buzz throughout my body.

It took a second to compose myself before I could reply. “An old school friend lives here. I needed a change, she invited me to stay, and…here I am.” Millie had been my lifesaver when I needed it most. I’d jumped at her offer without hesitation.

“A fresh start?”

“Something like that.” Blake didn’t need to know about my baggage. I straightened, determined not to sink into another self-pitying moment, here of all places.

“Were you alone?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes, my brother is currently on a gap year travelling. New Zealand, last time we spoke. Our father still lives in the village we grew up in.” I smiled fondly, thinking of them both so far away.

He waited for me to fill in the glaring omission of my mother, but when I offered nothing else, asked, “How long have you lived here?”

“Ten months,” I answered, sipping my wine.

Blake frowned. “That’s pretty fast to get a visa.”

“I have a US passport. My father worked for Steelman Group back in the day.”