Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Page 3

‘Don’t you agree, Liss?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Jerked out of her reverie by a question she almost hadn’t heard, she realised she’d better save the erotic daydreaming for another time and place. Better still she should stop it altogether.

  Idiot. Overcome by an impulse that had been too tempting to pass up. In the workplace she’d managed to hold back, maintain her dignity even. She’d just thrown all that away.

  All she had to do was do her job well, have a nice time in the evening—nothing too outrageous. Nothing the family could get too upset about. Succeed at the basics.

  So she concentrated on the party at hand, moving among her fellow guests, meeting people. She’d learnt a bit from those years in Paris—found that parties weren’t just about having a good time yourself. It was much more fun if everyone was having a good time. She found her natural curiosity about people helped. But she was most curious about James. She kept her distance but glanced at him often, watching as, oozing with finesse, he schmoozed everyone he was near. But it was a genuine wow factor. He was attentive, he listened. He seemed to care about the conversations and the people he was having them with. Oh, yes, he had it all.

  * * *

  From his own busy networking, he watched her work the party—drink in hand. Tiny sips—the sparkle in her eyes from pure pleasure, not from any alcohol or artificial stimulant. She had everyone’s name right, introduced people with titbits of info that would interest the others. She took the time to talk to everyone—including those clearly a little in awe of talking to a real live princess. Oh, yeah, she had the whole thing down pat—but with a grace so genuine it was dazzling.

  You’d think she was the hostess of the place, who’d been here for ever, known them all for ages instead of only having met most of them this very evening.

  His body was burning with the need to expend the pent-up energy. She’d coiled him up and then given him that one last little twist to ensure he was on the brink of exploding. He was going to have to get her for that. But he’d keep his distance for now. The paparazzi had turned up and the last thing he wanted was to be the latest escort printed in the papers. So he observed and simmered. He saw now why she liked parties—she was good at them. And that point got him to thinking. Most people liked doing what they were good at and maybe Liss would be better off trying to do a job that she’d actually be good at. Her trying to be a secretary was like a giraffe trying to roller skate—pretty much asking the impossible. But he had to give her credit—she was making an effort.

  Eventually, on his way out, he couldn’t resist. He was the moth, she the flame. He grimaced at the cliché. He refused to get burned, but maybe he’d get a little warm.

  ‘Need a refill? You’ve hardly touched your drink.’

  Liss turned towards him, away from the rest of the party. ‘I finish up all the bottles later in the night,’ she quipped, determined to keep things light, free from danger.

  ‘Ah. So you start the evening as the perfect hostess and end the evening as the wild child.’

  ‘Some habits are hard to break.’

  ‘So I should stick beside you later on, then. I’m interested in seeing how wild that side of you is.’

  Stick beside her? Temptation called again. ‘Never this side of midnight. It’ll probably be too late for you.’

  ‘How late do you go?’

  ‘As late as I like.’

  His smile was sharp. ‘And will you be shining with the freshness of a daisy at work tomorrow morning?’

  She froze. She should have seen that one coming. ‘My social life doesn’t impact on my work life.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Indeed.’ She caught that gleam in his eye and added for good measure, ‘I keep the two entirely separate.’

  His grin was wicked and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. ‘Is that so?’ He repeated the question, dripping in disbelief, slower and even more sarcastic than the first time.

  She could hardly blame him. After all, she’d been the one who’d attempted the whole near-miss-kiss thing. But she couldn’t wholly regret that either. Winning that momentary burn in his eyes had been one hell of a thrill. It was nice to pretend that for just one little itty-bitty second she’d had the power over him and he was the one dancing to her tune—well, almost. He’d wanted it.

  So now, having scored that point, she could let the matter go—entirely.

  She turned, aimed for professional. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  He called after her with a triumphant drawl. ‘You’ll be on your own, princess. Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  LISS would have slept in if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about James. One moment he was hot—looking at her as if he wanted her—the next coolly sarcastic and disapproving. The zing was undeniable but the circumstances were all wrong and she got the vibe he thought she was all wrong. Her only logical course of action was to retreat. Be cool and professional during the day and keep her distance should their social schedules intersect.

  But, oh, my, he looked so good in a tux—and in a business suit. Thank heavens she didn’t have to see him doing casual; she had the feeling he’d fill a pair of jeans jaw-droppingly well.

  She spent a long time in the shower, the noise of the streaming water blocking the oppressive silence within the apartment. She slipped on skinny jeans and a casual tee shirt. Not bothering with much in the way of make-up. After a scrappy lunch she decided to leave for her appointment early—especially as she was determined to master the public transport system this week and not have it beat her. The numerous taxis home at night were beginning to add up and she couldn’t afford to take them during the day as well. And after last week’s nightmare of getting it all wrong, at least now she knew exactly which train and which bus were the ones to get. All she had to do was make it to the station on time.

  She picked up her crate of goodies and headed out the door. By the time she was out of the lift and crossing the lobby she was ruefully thinking the crate was bulky and surprisingly heavy. She should have put it all in her wheelie case. Just then one of her slip-on shoes decided to slip off and skitter halfway across the floor.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She jerked her head around. James was walking across the floor—James?

  ‘To the station,’ she blurted, totally nonplussed.

  ‘Carrying that?’

  She ignored the question, too busy picking up her jaw. She’d been right about the jeans—fit and firm and with that not-too-tight-not-too-loose tee shirt he was stealing all her breath. ‘What are you doing here?’ she half whispered, half hysterical.

  ‘I live in the penthouse.’

  ‘Oh.’ She tried to process that while juggling the crate and attempting to slip her foot back into the misbehaving shoe. She failed at all three.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Cool and professional. That was the way. Not ogling. Not imagining what his apartment must be like. Not feeling completely thrown.

  But he’d already taken the crate from her and was frowning. ‘Which part of town are you headed to?’

  ‘Oh. Um. Just the other side of Chatswood.’

  ‘Why are you going there?’

  She shrugged, getting her grip back. ‘I have some things to do there.’

  His frown deepened. ‘I’ll give you a lift. I’m going out anyway.’

  ‘Oh, no, thanks, James…’ She broke off, finding herself talking to empty air. He was already at the lift. She righted her shoe and fell into line, going with him to the car park in the basement and to the sleek two-seater convertible he’d just unlocked.

  To her relief, he didn’t speak as they drove. She gave him the address and that was it—giving her time to recover, and to surreptitiously check him out some more. After five minutes she knew she was best off staring out the window. Her heart rate would never get back to normal otherwise. Wh
en they pulled up at the house, she saw him looking it over—critical all the way.

  ‘Are you going to be long?’

  Liss nearly giggled. He was acting like some control-freak bodyguard.

  ‘A couple of hours, I think.’ She’d just sit and hang with the girls, talk a little, more importantly listen.

  ‘I’ll be done about then too so I’ll come back and pick you up.’

  It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement of intent and she already knew there was no point arguing. Might as well just enjoy the ride. ‘Thanks. That would be great.’

  Two hours later James sat at the wheel of the car outside and waited. Twenty minutes after that he got out. She’d be fine of course, he wasn’t really worried. He’d got into the office and Googled the name of the place as soon as his computer had powered up. Atlanta House—a safe shelter for young mothers to stay while they waited for their babies to be born. A place where they could try to keep up their schooling and learn basic parenting skills too. A place to go when no one else would take them in.

  He figured it was a charity stop for her. Of course she’d be keen to be seen doing ‘her bit’—especially with her brother Alex putting the hard word on her. It was the done thing for a wealthy socialite—to be known as a great charity supporter. James walked up the path, eyeing the building with cynical disfavour. Liss’s interest here could only be about appearances—only to further her own cause. His mother was exactly the same—on the committee for this, fund-raising for that…but the primary purpose had been to maintain the façade.

  Liss was probably faking her way through every minute of her time inside there. Doing it out of a sense of duty, not any real desire.

  He did wonder about the plastic crate, though.

  After he knocked, the door was answered smartly by a very pregnant teen whose eyes grew even rounder than her tummy as she stared at him, and then at his car parked illegally right outside. He asked for Liss.

  ‘She’s in the common room. I’ll get her for you.’

  He took a step through the doorway, lingering in the hall as the young woman headed towards the sound of giggles. He looked at the notice board covered with pictures of young mums cradling newborn babies—cards and postcards and letters of thanks and progress reports. He half expected to see a picture of Liss sitting in a circle of beaming girls—their most famous visitor. He figured one would be up there soon. She’d sign some saccharine message on it and it would be framed and hung proudly. Then it would fade in the light and gather dust and she’d probably never darken their door again. Irritated, he walked away from the brightly coloured board and further along the hall.

  The high-pitched tones of the teenager carried clear back to him.

  ‘Liss, there is a seriously hot guy here asking for you.’

  He heard a muttered, ‘Oh, hell, is that the time?’

  More laughter, sounds of disruption, comment.

  ‘Wow, you can move faster than lightning.’

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’ Liss’s answer came quick and loud.

  ‘Is he your bodyguard?’ another girl asked.

  James stilled as he felt a ridiculous spurt of pleasure in that idea—all the vulnerability in the place must be making his protective male instinct rise.

  ‘Actually he’s my boss.’

  ‘Do you have to work, Liss?’

  ‘Everyone has to work, Sandy.’ Her tone was light.

  ‘But you’re a princess.’

  ‘I still have to eat.’

  She appeared then, in the doorway, seeming to float in on the laughter. The girl who’d answered the door followed close. Then a collection of faces filled the frame.

  James stayed statue-still and stared—hardly aware of the others, only her. He was barely conscious of his smile stretching wide. Her colour was high again and the blush grew when she saw how far he was along the hallway. For a moment their eyes met. Her colour deepened yet more. Her gaze slipped as she walked towards him, concentrating on balancing the crate. He drank in her appearance like a parched man who’d been stuck in a desert for months. She looked slim next to the pregnant girl and in her skinny jeans and casual tee she didn’t look that much older, and there was something different about her hair. Fresh and shining, she was even more attractive now than her glam-girl look of the night before. And for a crazy second he wondered what she’d look like with the blossoming curves of impending motherhood.

  ‘Sorry, James, I lost track of the time. Have I kept you waiting?’

  James shook his head as he took the crate off her, clearing the wayward images, as careful to avoid any contact with her hands as she was to avoid contact with his eyes. In the face of so much fertility he couldn’t help the way his brain was working. The thought of S-E-X was screaming to him in capital letters. And all he could see was Liss in the centre of the action—with him.

  He gave himself a mental pinch. Grow up. Act mature. Stop thinking X-rated thoughts every time you so much as glance at her. But it was impossible not to when she looked so relaxed. He wanted to magic her away with him and start to play.

  ‘I’ll be back again, soon, OK?’ Liss called to them from the door after the chorus of thank-yous and goodbyes from the girls.

  He noticed she didn’t specify when—and the bitterness that had been blown away at the sight of her began to fester back. She’d return some time at her convenience, no doubt—probably when she didn’t have something better to do. It wasn’t about them, it was all about her. He worked his scratchiness up some more—it was a good way of fighting off the lust, and he felt more in control of it when he kept his cynicism to the fore.

  They loaded into the car and as they pulled out he couldn’t help the sarcastic cut to his question. ‘Was it good fun?’

  She kept looking out the window but he could have sworn her shoulders jerked—had she just flinched? ‘I enjoyed it. Hopefully they did too.’

  The insecurity in her voice made him feel mean. He softened. ‘I’m sure they did. All I could hear was giggles when I got there.’ Princess Elissa had charmed again.

  The stiffness in her shoulders eased a little. ‘Yeah.’

  A quick glance showed a soft smile curving her lips—as if she was remembering something funny. She looked unbearably sweet and he resolved not to talk any more—not to interrupt her happy thoughts, and not to be drawn under her spell and charmed himself.

  By public transport it could easily take over half an hour to get home, but in his car, with the way he drove, it was a little under fifteen. But it was still too long for James—and yet, not long enough.

  He drove the car into the basement park beneath the apartment block, need eating at him—not just for the obvious, but simply for more time with her. Quiet time, quality time. He wanted to know what was going on in her head—what made her smile like that.

  ‘Thanks so much for the ride. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ She slid from the car.

  ‘No problem.’ He moved quicker, beating her to the boot, lifting her container out and keeping a firm hold on it. He swiped his key card to summon the lift, pressed buttons. She leaned back against the wall of the lift and her eyes closed. Her mouth had drooped. Her full lips looked pouty, way too kissable—and sad.

  ‘You look tired. Come up and have a coffee.’ The words were out before he thought further.

  Her eyes flashed open and she looked at the lift controls. He hadn’t pressed the button to her floor so by the time she was about to say no—and he was sure she was going to refuse—the lift had flown up past it and the doors opened onto his lobby.

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  He entered the pin, diffusing the alarm, opened the door and walked ahead of her, heading to the kitchen.

  Liss trailed behind him, more certain with every step that this was a bad move but one she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t quite sure what mood James was in—sarcastic or maybe a more gentle one. In some ways it would be better if he was all sarcasm. It would st
op her from wanting to get closer—and she badly wanted to. The way he wore jeans should be illegal, and the way he’d smiled so genuinely at those girls had been criminal. He was a thief of hearts. Alarms rang loud in her ears—she should be back in her own apartment where she would be safe. But he’d been kind enough to give her a lift; she couldn’t be rude. A quick coffee couldn’t hurt, could it? She’d keep her distance—admire from afar.

  She stopped in the living area, with him in the kitchen, fussing over a gleaming coffee machine.

  ‘Great view.’ It looked out over the harbour, the water sparkled and the skies were blue. The quintessential, stunning Sydney view. She turned and took in his apartment—the quintessential, also stunning, bachelor pad—complete with neutral colourings erring to the darker shades, a large modern but comfy lounge suite, the requisite high-tech entertainment system and high-tech gadgets. There was also one wall of shelves—clearly the repository for anything and everything: books, CDs, DVDs and papers, magazines, a coffee cup and a three-quarters-empty bottle of red. The mishmash of colour and content was the only hint of maximalist in the whole minimalist look. She stepped closer to check out his choice of reading and viewing material, fiddling with the string of beads one of the girls had threaded onto her hair.

  ‘Don’t take it out. It looks nice.’ He handed her a coffee and she lifted it to her lips quickly, not wanting to smile at the compliment. The scalding-hot liquid was nothing on the perils of James Black in conciliatory mood. She retreated to the window and the safety of the view outside.

  ‘You go there often?’ He moved to the window too—the other end of it.

  ‘I’ve been there a few times.’

  ‘So what—it’s how you do your bit?’

  ‘Yeah, my charitable effort du jour.’ Her sarcasm matched his—but was totally made up of defensiveness. So he thought she was a cliché. Sure, she couldn’t do much. But she could try.

  ‘So why this? Why not cancer kids or the starving people in Africa or something?’ Could he be any more cynical?