Mr. Temptation. Rachael Stewart

       CHAPTER THREE

      A DATE?

      She wasn’t simply asking for a date.

      She was asking for a whole lot more.

      So why wasn’t he straight on it? Why was okay suddenly so hard to say?

      He narrowed his gaze, searching her face, looking at those steely grey eyes, all smoky with suggestion, her head tilted to one side.

      Had he imagined her earlier vulnerability? Had she been playing him with that unexpected confession? But to what end? It was hardly the greatest come-on—Hey, I’m shit in bed—but then, perhaps that had been her game, to put him off. Only it had failed. Their chemistry was off the charts and she screamed of a woman in need of some fun. He suspected she’d not indulged since Charles had done away with her.

      She toyed with his buckle, her eyes locked with his. ‘One date.’

      And then he watched her lashes lower, her eyes travelling down his chest as her free hand came up to rest over his thundering heart, the heat of her palm permeating through his sweatshirt and rendering him speechless, utterly captivated. What would she do next?

      ‘One...’ she lifted her gaze, her eyes almost black as the pupils drowned out the grey, her enunciation bold as she leaned closer ‘...night.’

       A night—for fuck’s sake, grow a pair: you want her, she’s offering.

      But he didn’t do emotion.

      Not in his bed.

      Not now.

      Not ever.

      And she blazed with emotion.

      And didn’t that make her appeal all the more? Make her different. Make her special. Make her interesting.

      She lifted onto tiptoes, her lips coming up to caress against his own as she said, ‘Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.’

      And then she turned and headed for the door so quickly he was left in a shroud of her vanilla scent, and so confidently he was left seriously doubting the emotion he’d read in her earlier.

      This woman—vulnerable?

      He looked to the teasing sway of her hips snug beneath the trouser suit, the sureness of that walk on those steep stilettos, the entire motion purposefully provocative on her part, and he realised he had to have been an idiot. There was no way.

      Ja, he’d been played, all right, and he didn’t care what her intent had been, only what effect her luscious body was having on him right that second.

      ‘You’re on,’ he said, striding after her, his hand reaching on impulse to settle in the small of her back and making his palm tingle with the possessive contact. His eyes narrowed on the touch—how strange.

      ‘It’ll be the perfect opportunity for us to discuss what I need to without Julia in earshot,’ he said, drawing back his senses, telling himself the reason he’d given her made the perfect excuse to keep such a get-together platonic. If that was what he needed to do, what he had to do, to protect himself, to protect her.

      ‘So, it wasn’t just a ruse, you do have something you want to discuss?’ she asked, her surprise evident and making him grin.

      ‘I never lie,’ he assured her, ‘no matter how much I want something...or someone.’

      ‘Glad to hear it.’ She returned his smile as she pulled open the front door and gestured for him to precede her out. ‘Are you free this evening?’

      ‘This evening?’ He let his hand fall away from her back, ignoring how it itched to return as he stepped into the hallway and turned to watch her follow suit. ‘So soon?’

      ‘Why—you busy?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Complaining?’ she pushed, her smile becoming one of teasing as she closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

      ‘Hell, no.’ He wasn’t. Not really. But her earlier behaviour had left its mark, still bothering him in the aftermath of their kiss, devoid of her lips so close to his. But did he really want that worry to get in the way of the night they could potentially share?

       Fuck, no, he wasn’t an idiot. And he wasn’t sentimental.

      One night, and then he could go back to his usual careful selection.

      ‘Good.’ She flipped open her portfolio and extracted a card, passing it to him, her eyes confident, almost hard as she said, ‘My office, eight p.m.’

       Definitely played. She’s as sure as you are turned on—so why is that wavering doubt still clinging on?

      ‘I’m easy on what we do from there.’

      He raised his brow, unable to help himself, his thoughts going down a far more pleasing route. ‘Easy?’

      She sent him a smile that made him want to pin her to the wall, his unease obliterated by the rising desire, and then she turned and headed for the stairwell, leaving him to follow close behind, his mind alight with the varying degrees to which she could be deemed easy...

      * * *

      By the time eight p.m. rolled around, Zara was fizzing over with nerves and pent-up need.

      Spending the afternoon fulfilling the requirements of her job, knowing full well what the evening held, had been a real challenge. And she’d been flat out, right up until that second, the pressures of her start-up venture not waning. But now it was time for fun.

      She looked to the clock, reaffirming what she already knew, having glanced at it several times over. It had just gone eight and there was no sign of him as yet.

       Had he changed his mind?

      Was she about to get a call loaded with excuses? A text even?

       Shit.

      Disappointment sank deep in her belly, the familiar taste of rejection sitting bitter in her throat.

      ‘What did you expect?’ she muttered under her breath just as movement in the outer office caught her eye.

       Daniel!

      ‘How did you...?’ She stepped out of her office, trying to calm her pulse now tripping out and dancing over the disappointment.

      ‘Security let me up.’

      ‘They’re paid to vet visitors.’

      ‘You can’t blame them,’ he drawled. ‘Not when they’re faced with someone as charming as me.’

      ‘Charming?’ she scoffed, her hand hooking over EJ’s chair back, the move casual but in reality serving to hold her up, her knees already turning weak over the sight of him.

      He’d changed, she hadn’t—crap. She drank him in, even as her own feeling of inadequacy swelled. He wore a white shirt open at the collar, accentuating the golden hue to his skin, a dark suit that fitted his frame oh-so-beautifully and all she wanted was to strip it all away. A year of sexual abstinence and it was coming back to hound her unforgivably.

      He paused two strides away, his eyes raking over her, their effect as tangible as his fingers, and she felt her nipples prickle against her blouse, her jacket still slung over her office chair