Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas. Rachael Stewart
the body I work hard to hone.
But you don’t care about other women. You only care for her.
Cared—not care. Because that would be damn stupid.
Ten years ago she was forbidden. As the sister of my best friend, as the daughter of the closest thing I had to parents—real parents.
But, let’s face it, here I am now, her family’s worst nightmare, and all that loyalty no longer applies.
Just think what you can do with that.
I look her over, slowly, purposefully, and before I can hold back it’s out. ‘It wasn’t my intention—I came here tonight to secure a deal, to offer you a very lucrative contract… But now I find myself wanting a whole lot more.’
Her eyes widen and the glass quivers beneath her chin, not quite lowering but not quite lifting either. She’s shocked and I seize the advantage.
‘What’s it been, Evangeline—seven years?’
‘Six.’
She says it so certainly it makes me wonder. Has she counted it down to the exact day, the exact moment? Because I sure as hell have, despite my intentional miscalculation. And even then it had been a brief passing—a moment at the Beaumonts’ home before Nate and I flew out on business. But it’s ingrained in my memory. The sight of her with another man—her fiancé. Happy.
‘How is Peter?’
I don’t know why I even ask it. I can see she isn’t married—her bare finger gives that away. And there’s no reason for me to think he’s still on the scene, so why I need the added reassurance is beyond me.
‘I have no idea. We broke up not long after that night.’
My question hasn’t even jarred her, and that tells me enough. She remembers the occasion.
I don’t want to feel the pleasure-filled rush that comes from this, but it’s there anyway—as is the burning need to taste those lips that keep goading me with their illicit colour, their inviting sheen.
‘And Nate?’ I manage to ask. ‘I can’t see him here.’
Her lashes flutter at my change in focus. Moving from one unsettling topic to another. But the need to talk business, to get back to safer ground, is lost on me.
‘My brother had some work to tie up in Hong Kong. He’ll be back for Christmas.’
I nod and ignore the weird ache her mention of Christmas kick-starts inside me. Christmas at the Beaumonts’ was my tradition for so long. I never dwell on how much I miss it, but in that second I feel it. The cold, dull ache of what once existed but is no more.
And Nate still has it all, whereas I—
For fuck’s sake, Lucas, get with it!
‘Good for him.’ I crush the ache, but the bitterness is there in the chill of my tone.
Her eyes narrow and I look away, forcing my shoulders to relax as I sip at my drink, wanting to quash the past just as much as I want it brought to the fore and dealt with.
But what would that accomplish? Nothing.
‘I see your parents made it.’ I gesture to where they’re standing together at the bar, their eyes drawn to us as inconspicuously as they can manage. But I know they are watching. I can feel their penetrative stare as much as I can feel the heat of her proximity.
‘They wouldn’t miss it. It’s in their interest to see me and my business do well.’
‘I understand they have a twenty-five per cent share?’
‘You’ve done your research.’
‘I always do my research.’
I trust no one. Not any more. What little trust I ever gave was destroyed by her brother five years ago.
‘I make it my business to know all there is about the companies I wish to work with and the people who run them.’
‘And what does your research tell you about me?’
‘You or your business?’
‘Both.’
If it had been any other woman I might have thought she was fishing, but looking into her eyes I see she is not. That fierceness is still there, that sense that she has proved herself over and over again, and knows I won’t have found her wanting. And it drives me to the brink.
Would that confidence extend to the bedroom too?
‘Your product has an eager market, but its patent will only protect it for so long. Time is of the essence, and you need a ready production line and a route to market that is as speedy as we can make it.’
‘We?’ Her brows rise. ‘That’s quite presumptuous of you.’
‘You know my company can give you both.’
She hums low in her throat and it resonates through me. My eyes fall to her lips, to their provocatively tight line. How I want to probe it with my tongue…make her yield…
‘And what of me, Lucas? What does your research tell you about me?’
I want to tell her that I’d value her business, but more than that, I’d value her. I want to tell her that I’d trust her. That everything I knew of her all those years ago hasn’t really changed…that all I’ve learned in the intervening years only reinforces that view. That there is nothing in her to spark my doubt.
Except my experience with her brother—an experience which has made me an outcast of her family…
You’re getting personal. This is business. You only have to trust her as far as the contract you draw up dictates.
Yet already I can feel myself wanting more. Wanting to see how far I can push the perfect, composed businesswoman before me and make her crack. Make her desire me like her eighteen-year-old self did.
If only I could go back, take what she offered 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