Soliman, Wendy - The Name of the Game (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (7 page)

Ashley had never much cared for Charlie. He was the company’s Sales Director, a position that suited his exuberant personality. Intelligent he might be, good-looking, certainly—what with his artfully arranged blond hair and the Templeton rugged features. He had quicksilver charm by the bucket load, but there was something about the way he presented himself—the swagger, the over-confidence and the slightly scathing attitude he adopted toward others, especially Matt—that disquieted Ashley.

On this occasion, however, she was happy to let him take her over. Happy because she was conscious of Matt’s gaze frequently resting on her since she’d entered the room. She knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking, too. Although they’d never discussed the volcanic nature of his relationship with his cousin, there was a tacit agreement between them that Charlie was not entirely trustworthy. Matt wouldn’t like what he was seeing.

Tough! Let him see how it felt to be on the receiving end for a change. She threw back her shoulders, looked up at Charlie, placed her hand on his arm, and laughed at whatever it was he’d just said to her. She had no idea what it was.

Another man joined them.

“Ah, Philip, how’s it going?” Before the other man could speak, Charlie cut him off. “Let me introduce you to Ashley Wilde, our office manager here in Reigate. Ashley, this is Philip Roker, Marketing Director for Stevenson’s.”

Ashley shook hands with him. “Nice to meet you,” she said, resisting the urge to wipe the hand that had touched his on the side of her dress.

“Likewise. I’ve heard good things about you,” he said.

Ashley knew of Roker by reputation but had never met him before. He had to be approaching fifty, with slicked back silver hair, angular features, and a rake thin body. But it was his opaque eyes that unsettled her. They examined her for far too long and, frankly, gave her the creeps. It was as though he could see inside her head and read her thoughts.

“Phil is almost a member of the family,” Charlie said. “He worked for Interactive for years before decamping to the opposition.”

Ashley thought she saw a shadow pass across Roker’s face at this rather crass but typically Charlie-like reference to Roker’s employment history. Before the situation could become embarrassing, dinner was announced, saving Ashley the trouble of thinking up something diplomatic to say.

Charlie pulled out all the stops, and when they took their seats, Ashley, who’d been hoping to get rid of him, found that she had been placed on his right. Deliberately, or by some deft rearrangement of place cards? Surely she should have been seated between two of the Stevenson’s lot? Still, it wasn’t her problem.

Matt was on the other side of the table, several places down from her. She hadn’t spoken one word to him since entering the room, nor did she intend to. He was seated next to Giles Yardley, Stevenson’s CEO. On his left was an attractive woman, who had earlier been introduced to Ashley as Stella Rawlings, her opposite number at Stevenson’s. Matt chatted with Giles but bestowed an equal amount of attention on Stella, apparently engrossed by whatever she had to say for herself.

Ashley reminded herself that shining in social situations was second nature to Matt. She watched as he treated Stella to that full on look of his, probably making her feel like the only person that mattered on the entire plant. She was certainly eating up the attention. Ashley felt a bolt of raw jealousy streak through her, even though she knew that beneath those polished manners Matt would be sparing less than one-tenth of his attention for his dinner companions. The diamond hard gleam in his eye, the smouldering anger he couldn’t entirely conceal from someone who knew him as well as she did, told her all she needed to know. She caught him watching her on several occasions, impotent to do anything about the way she responded, quite deliberately, to Charlie’s flirtatious banter.

Matt, she suspected, was quietly seething.

Ashley ought to be pleased to have extracted such an extreme reaction. Instead, she felt spiteful and cheap. Revenge, she was fast discovering, was not always as sweet as people would have you believe. Charlie refilled her glass yet again, and she knocked back its contents without a thought for the consequences. She was competing in the most important dressage competition of her life the following day, but that didn’t prevent her from getting progressively tipsy. It was the only way to quell the overwhelming desire she still felt for the formidably smooth, disconcertingly angry male sitting just across from her, the planes of his handsome face locked in a combination of helplessness and disgust whenever he looked her way.

The meal finally came to an end, and the representatives of the two firms left the table to mingle at the bar. Charlie still didn’t leave Ashley’s side, which was odd. He ought to be up there networking, and she told him so.

“I’ve done my bit,” he said. “There’s such a thing as overkill.”

“Well, I ought to make a move.”

“Not yet, surely. The night is young.”

He whispered outrageous suggestions that would, under normal circumstances, have earned him a swift elbow in the ribs. But not tonight. She laughed freely, pretending not to notice that he continued to dart challenging looks at Matt, eyebrows raised in innocent triumph.

Half an hour later, steering her toward some people she hadn’t yet spoken to, Charlie’s guiding hand slid from the small of Ashley’s back to the top of her buttocks—and remained there. It was the final straw. She excused herself on the pretext of visiting the lavatory.

She remained in the bathroom for a long time, pondering her predicament. Surely Charlie didn’t seriously expect to take things with her any further? He’d just married for the second time, some sort of photographic model quite a bit younger than him, by all accounts. But if even half of what she’d heard about his reputation was true, she doubted that something as insignificant as the acquisition of another wife would prevent him from trying to add another notch to his bedpost.

Ashley didn’t know what to do. She had no interest in Charlie. In fact, she didn’t like him much and definitely mistrusted him. But she’d deliberately egged him on all evening and could hardly blame him if he thought his luck was in. In her own defence, the agony of separation from Matt had guided her actions. She’d gone with the flow, without thinking about the consequences. The trauma of spending an evening, so tantalisingly close to the man she still loved but who was now denied to her, was enough to make anyone act out of character. The excess of wine and Charlie’s outrageous flattery hadn’t made things any easier.

Whatever, she couldn’t remain skulking in the loo forever. She’d created this situation and somehow would have to extricate herself. Applying fresh lip gloss and perfume, she prepared to return to the bar, vowing to keep Charlie at arm’s length for the rest of the evening. She also planned to escape as soon as was politely possible and endeavour to sober up before tomorrow’s competition.

She left the lavatory, which was situated in a narrow, dimly lit corridor behind the dining room, and walked straight into an outstretched arm. She cried out, half-afraid that it might be Charlie. She knew immediately that it wasn’t. She’d recognize that touch anywhere. She lifted her gaze to Matt’s face, half-concealed in an alcove. He didn’t look happy.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he asked savagely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

His arm was still stretched across in front of her, braced against the opposite wall, preventing her from passing him. She attempted to brush it away, but his taut muscles didn’t relax. He effectively held her captive.

“Let me through, Matt.”

“Why, so you can continue to show yourself up with that bastard?”

“It’s nothing to do with you how I behave.”

A fleeting smile graced his lips, clearly not driven by humour. Ashley knew him well enough to realize just how close to losing his temper he actually was. She’d never seen this side of him before, and it frightened her. The assumption that he could still control her actions made her want to strike him. The subliminal sexuality, the bruised vulnerability, the expression of naked longing that broke through his anger, filled her with an overwhelming urge to fall into his arms and forget everything that had gone before.

“You know better than that. Nothing’s changed.”

He moved so swiftly then that she had no time to react or to realize what he intended. His arms closed around her, forcing her against him in an embrace too tight for her to even attempt breaking it. He captured her mouth possessively, kissing her with crushing brutality, forcing her lips apart with his tongue and plundering her mouth with savage disregard for her wishes. She struggled violently, pushing against his chest with her hands and, when that made no difference, beating against it with clenched fists. How dare he do this to her! How dare he attempt to overpower her with this brutish display of ownership? How dare he make her yearn for what was no longer hers to take?

Her fists abruptly stilled as passion overcame righteous indignation. God help her, she could already feel desire spiralling through her at a disgusting rate. If he didn’t stop this straight away, she’d finish up responding and all the agony of the past nine days would have been for nothing.

Fortunately, he did break the kiss, but not his hold on her.

“You’re mine, Ashley,” he said, his eyes gleaning possessively, his breath coming in short gasps. “We both know that, but it seems like you need reminding.” Holding her against him with just one hand, he ran the other down the length of her body. She inhaled sharply. His hand reversed its journey and slowly came to rest on one of her breasts. He squeezed it through the silk of her dress. “I could take you right here and now in this corridor,” he breathed into her ear, his voice husky and several octaves lower than usual, “and you wouldn’t do a thing to stop me because you want me as much as I want you. Admit it, Ash. Go on, I want to hear you tell me it’s true.”

“Not anymore,” she managed to say, her voice far from convincing even to her own ears. She could feel her pulse racing out of control and looked up at him, helplessly aroused. Matt, of course, knew precisely what he’d done to her. His lupine smile made that much evident. Ashley despised herself for capitulating so easily but, overcome by the effervescent passion lancing through her veins, was powerless to do anything else.

“No?” He was mocking her, his smile now a tight and brittle challenge. “Are you sure about that?”

He kissed her again, grinding his erection into her stomach, his desperate need to possess her never more evident. One hand still gouged at her breast, and Ashley, hating her weakness more with every second that passed, moved her hips against him, responding to his kiss. She simply couldn’t help herself, aware of the dampness between her legs, embarrassed by the extent of her need for him. More than that, she was ashamed by her shallowness, her inability to control her desires.

When Matt broke the kiss this time, the tension had left his face and the smile he offered her heated the already sizzling temperature between them. His hands moved to her forearms, and he shook her gently.

“You have to tell me, Ashley. I want to hear you say it.”

“No!” The word came out on a tormented sigh.

“No, is it?” One hand left her arm and drifted beneath the hem of her dress. As it crept up her thigh, it left every nerve end tingling with a kaleidoscope of glorious sensations. Caught up in the sort of pleasure she’d only ever known with him, she was powerless to stop him. He slipped two fingers inside her panties and delved into her wetness. His eyes, hooded now and heavy with passion, bored into hers. “Liar!”

“Matt, don’t do this to me,” she sobbed. “Don’t make me want you. What is it you want me to say?”

“You know.”

“It’s too late for that.”

His fingers were still inside her, and he moved them in a slow, provocative dance, his eyes never leaving her face. “You look beautiful tonight, Ashley.” He sighed and brushed her lips with his, lightly this time, tantalizing and teasing until she thought she might very well lose her mind. “You’re driving me crazy.” She was driving him crazy? “I can’t stand much more of this.”

“Stop it!” Her head fell forward on his shoulder. She trembled with the vortex of desire, overwhelming and intense, that cascaded through her. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “Just stop it. You’ve already done enough damage.”