Naughty Or Nice. Rachael Stewart
so willingly instead of—
‘Are you ready, Eva? The floor awaits you.’
It’s her father. He appears by her side from out of nowhere. Fuck her red lips. If not for those I would have sensed his approach. Been ready for it. Instead I’m forced to look straight from them to him, and I can see displeasure in every hard-cut line to his face.
It’s as if he can see inside my soul to the ingrained need I have for his daughter and is telling me where to shove it.
‘Mr Beaumont.’ I say it smoothly and raise my glass, giving him the half-smile I reserve for business.
His eyes flash. I can see he wants to ignore me, and Eva positively thrums with tension as her gaze flits between us.
‘Yes, of course—thank you, Dad.’
She lifts a hand to her father’s chest, clearly telling him to stand down, and it riles my blood. I’m not a man to tell tales, and I’m not about to start now, but the truth of what happened five years ago is burning to get out.
I wash it back with champagne and turn to Eva, my hand falling to the curve of her back as I move to speak and feel the words evaporate on the heat of her skin beneath the silk.
She turns to look at me, her mouth parting in what I think is surprise—until I see the flush to her cheeks, the flare to her eyes, and I know, in that moment, that she feels it too. The desire. And if I were a betting man I’d put money on it being stronger than ever before.
‘Let’s talk later.’
I don’t wait for a response. I turn and walk away. Seeking out the shadows where I can regain my prized composure in peace.
I’m not used to losing my cool. I depend on it to face the many challenges that come my way. But something tells me that working with Evangeline would be a challenge like no other—because, regardless of my intentions when I set out tonight, I want her.
Her and her business.
Trouble is, I know which one I want more…
I watch as she takes to the podium, her entire body glinting under the fairy lights of the tree, and my body stiffens with a need so fierce I know it should have me running in the opposite direction and yet I’m rooted.
I owe the Beaumonts nothing.
But I owe her a ten-year-old debt. And suddenly I can’t wait to pay up in full.
I DELIVER MY speech to the room and my words flow. I’ve rehearsed them a zillion times over and could do it in my sleep. Which is a good job, considering my attention is off the product and on the dark corner of the room where I know he waits. Listening…
I can feel his intense stare, his hunger. It was there in his touch, in his eyes that burned into my back all the way to the podium, and it’s still there, fuelling my own.
The audience is enraptured. I’ve been reeling them in for the last twenty minutes. But still my mouth dries with anticipation. For him.
I pause to sip some champagne, my smile sweeping the entire audience before coming back to him. I need this to be sated. Before it consumes my every thought, drives my every action.
I raise my glass and offer a toast to the future. It’s an excuse to loosen my vocal cords further, before I leave the stage and do what’s expected of me—circulate the room.
Most people I’ve spoken to already. But now it’s about verbally agreeing to meetings and having my PA follow them up. Sealing their interest.
I know he will be on that list of interested parties. I owe it to my product.
It won’t sit well with my family, but I’ll deal with that as I do any business dealing—with professionalism. My parents can’t fault me for that, and whatever deal I sign will buy them out. It’s money back in their pocket and the business wholly my own. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for so long. And if that money comes from a deal with Lucas, so be it.
Yeah, and what about Nate?
I bury the instinctive snort. I’m sick of him getting a free ride. I love him. I do. But I’m almost certain that whatever happened five years ago had more to do with him than the tale I’ve been given: that Lucas simply ran when the going got tough, leaving Nate and my father to clean up the mess.
But what about what he did to you? What about your heart?
Now my tummy turns over. My heart has no place in this. Not any more. I will consider his business offer, but as for the unvoiced part of his proposition…
I find him in the room. He leans against a pillar, one leg crossed over the other, his body relaxed. But his eyes as they lock with mine are anything but.
I moisten my lips. For that my body is already willing—my eighteen-year-old self still craving satisfaction, longing to experience what he cruelly refused all those years ago. Only this time it’ll be on my terms. I’ll show him what he’s been missing, get this carnal need sated, and then it can all be about business.
If I choose to sign with him.
‘You were amazing, Eva.’
I drag my eyes away to smile at Clare. She’s a fabulous assistant—her excitement bubbles over as if it were my own. ‘Thank you.’
‘If anyone had the slightest doubt they’ll be utterly convinced now that they want it—even if it’s to gain a piece of you.’
I know she means it professionally, but I can’t help thinking of Lucas, and again I’m distracted, my eyes hunting him out. And then a crazy urge takes over.
‘Clare, do me a favour and hold the room for five. I just need to take care of something.’
‘Sure.’
I’m already heading for the exit, the restrooms, giving a polite ‘I’ll be back in just a moment…’ to anyone who pauses to speak to me.
I know I don’t need to beckon him, that he’ll be hot on my tail. And he is. As soon as my hand presses into the restroom door he’s at my back.
‘Escaping?’
I turn and smile up at him. ‘Wait here.’
His brow pinches together. He’s unaccustomed to being commanded—that’s obvious. But he does as he’s told and I walk through the door, scanning the stalls. They’re all empty and I don’t hang around. I pull open the door and reach for the skinny black tie that reminds me so much of the defiant teen I loved.
‘Come.’
I walk backwards and he moves with me, feeding the power swimming like liquid heat through my veins, my core.
‘What is this, Eva?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I hope it’s you calling in a ten-year debt.’
I keep moving, ignoring the brief spike of pain, of heartbreak. Knowing I’m about to replace it with something far more satisfying.
‘Do you remember that night?’
His jaw clenches, his eyes ablaze, and I know he’s reliving it.
‘Yes,’ he grinds out.
His tension is palpable and I take conceited pleasure in it.
‘I remember.’
I push open a stall door, thankful for the opulent finish, and nudge him inside. A toilet wouldn’t be my ideal place to feed this need, but it’s certainly the most convenient. And, as far as toilets go, this is designed for a certain clientele—a