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Authors: Trish Morey
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press upon him one undeniable certainty.
He’d wanted her.
‘Eve,’ she’d told him when he’d cornered her during a break and asked her name. Breathless Eve with the lush mouth and amazing eyes and a body made for sin, a body all too willing to sin, as he’d discovered in that storeroom.
And he’d cursed when he’d had to leave all too suddenly for Santiago, cursed that he’d missed out on peeling her clothes from her luscious body, piece by piece. He’d had half a mind to return to Sydney after his business in Chile concluded, but by then something else had come up. And then there’d been more business in other countries, and other women, and she’d slipped from his radar, to be loosely filed under the-ones-that-got-away.
It wasn’t a big file and as it happened she hadn’t got away after all. She’d been right there under his nose, answering his emails, handling his paperwork, organising meetings, and she’d never once let on. Never once mentioned the fact they’d already met.
What was that about?
His hand drifted back to his pretend fiancée’s back, letting the conversation wash over him—something about an island the Culshaws owned in the Whitsundays—his fingertips busy tracing patterns on her satiny-soft skin as he studied her profile, the line of her jaw, the eyes he’d noticed and should have recognised. She was slightly changed, the colour of her hair more caramel now than the sun-streaked blonde it had been back then, and maybe she wasn’t quite so reed thin. Slight changes, no more than that, and they looked good on her. But no wonder he’d thought she’d looked familiar.
She glanced briefly at him then, as the party rose and headed for the dining area, a slight frown marring an otherwise perfect brow, as if she was wondering whyhe’d been so quiet. He smiled, knowing that the waiting time to meeting her again had passed; knowing that her time had come.
Knowing that for him the long wait would soon be over. She’d been like quicksilver in his arms that day, so potent and powerful that he hadn’t been able to wait the few hours before closing the deal to sample her.
There was no doubt in his mind that the long wait was going to be worth it.
So what, then, that he had a rule about not sleeping with his PA? Rules were made to be broken after all, some more than others. He smiled at her, taking her arm, already anticipating the evening ahead. A long evening filled with many delights, if he had anything to do with it. Which of course, he thought with a smile, he did.
Maybe it was the fact everyone so readily accepted Evelyn as his fiancée. Maybe it was the surprising realisation that playing the part of a fiancé wasn’t as appalling or difficult as he’d first imagined that made the evening work.
Or maybe it was the thought of afterwards, when he would finally get the opportunity to peel off her gown and unleash the real woman beneath.
But the evening did work, and well. The drinks and canapés, the dinner, the coffee and dessert—the hotel catering would get a bonus. It was all faultless. Culshaw was beaming, his wife was glowing and the Alvarezes made such entertaining dinner companions, reeling out one amusing anecdote after another, that half the time everyone was laughing too much to eat.
And Evelyn—the delectable Evelyn—played her part to perfection. Though he frowned as he caught her glancing at her watch again. Perfect, apart from that annoying habit she had of checking the time every tenminutes. Why? It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. Certainly not before they’d had a chance to catch up on old times.
Finally coffee and liqueurs had been served and the staff quietly vanished back into the kitchen. Culshaw stifled a yawn, apologising and blaming his habit of going for a long early walk every morning for not letting him stay up late. ‘But I thank you all for coming. Richard and Leo, maybe we can get those contract terms nutted out tomorrow—what do you
He’d wanted her.
‘Eve,’ she’d told him when he’d cornered her during a break and asked her name. Breathless Eve with the lush mouth and amazing eyes and a body made for sin, a body all too willing to sin, as he’d discovered in that storeroom.
And he’d cursed when he’d had to leave all too suddenly for Santiago, cursed that he’d missed out on peeling her clothes from her luscious body, piece by piece. He’d had half a mind to return to Sydney after his business in Chile concluded, but by then something else had come up. And then there’d been more business in other countries, and other women, and she’d slipped from his radar, to be loosely filed under the-ones-that-got-away.
It wasn’t a big file and as it happened she hadn’t got away after all. She’d been right there under his nose, answering his emails, handling his paperwork, organising meetings, and she’d never once let on. Never once mentioned the fact they’d already met.
What was that about?
His hand drifted back to his pretend fiancée’s back, letting the conversation wash over him—something about an island the Culshaws owned in the Whitsundays—his fingertips busy tracing patterns on her satiny-soft skin as he studied her profile, the line of her jaw, the eyes he’d noticed and should have recognised. She was slightly changed, the colour of her hair more caramel now than the sun-streaked blonde it had been back then, and maybe she wasn’t quite so reed thin. Slight changes, no more than that, and they looked good on her. But no wonder he’d thought she’d looked familiar.
She glanced briefly at him then, as the party rose and headed for the dining area, a slight frown marring an otherwise perfect brow, as if she was wondering whyhe’d been so quiet. He smiled, knowing that the waiting time to meeting her again had passed; knowing that her time had come.
Knowing that for him the long wait would soon be over. She’d been like quicksilver in his arms that day, so potent and powerful that he hadn’t been able to wait the few hours before closing the deal to sample her.
There was no doubt in his mind that the long wait was going to be worth it.
So what, then, that he had a rule about not sleeping with his PA? Rules were made to be broken after all, some more than others. He smiled at her, taking her arm, already anticipating the evening ahead. A long evening filled with many delights, if he had anything to do with it. Which of course, he thought with a smile, he did.
Maybe it was the fact everyone so readily accepted Evelyn as his fiancée. Maybe it was the surprising realisation that playing the part of a fiancé wasn’t as appalling or difficult as he’d first imagined that made the evening work.
Or maybe it was the thought of afterwards, when he would finally get the opportunity to peel off her gown and unleash the real woman beneath.
But the evening did work, and well. The drinks and canapés, the dinner, the coffee and dessert—the hotel catering would get a bonus. It was all faultless. Culshaw was beaming, his wife was glowing and the Alvarezes made such entertaining dinner companions, reeling out one amusing anecdote after another, that half the time everyone was laughing too much to eat.
And Evelyn—the delectable Evelyn—played her part to perfection. Though he frowned as he caught her glancing at her watch again. Perfect, apart from that annoying habit she had of checking the time every tenminutes. Why? It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. Certainly not before they’d had a chance to catch up on old times.
Finally coffee and liqueurs had been served and the staff quietly vanished back into the kitchen. Culshaw stifled a yawn, apologising and blaming his habit of going for a long early walk every morning for not letting him stay up late. ‘But I thank you all for coming. Richard and Leo, maybe we can get those contract terms nutted out tomorrow—what do you
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