Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Page 5

  He pressed against her and his body was as hard and strong as she’d imagined. Hers grew softer, shifting, making space for him, her curves melting into his planes. Yet inside the tension of desire was pulling ever tighter and her muscles wanted to move. The kisses grew even more fiery. Passion, more raw, more extreme than she’d known.

  She couldn’t stop the instinctive rocking of her hips, only able to make tiny movements she was so squashed between the concrete wall behind her and the even harder pressure of his body up against hers. The pleasure and the torture were too exquisite. She thought he was as turned on as she, his body was so rigid and she was sure she could feel him shaking while he took possession of her mouth with his tongue. Oh, his tongue and his lips tasted of paradise and they alternately nibbled and devoured her. She moaned again under the onslaught of sensual pleasure, the promise of carnal delight and she couldn’t wait much more. She wanted that tongue everywhere; she wanted him everywhere. She wanted it all, right now.

  And then he was gone. Wrenching his head free of her hands, which were roughly tugging through his thick hair, he stepped back, whirled round and planted his back on the wall next to hers. He rammed both fists beside him onto the cool concrete. It must have hurt. Side by side they stood. Silent save for the rush of breathing and the fight to get it back to normal speed.

  Finally James spoke. Quick, rough, all banter banished. ‘You were right.’

  Bemused, she turned her head, wanting to read his expression. But side on she saw nothing but the set of his jaw and lowered lids as he scrutinised the stairs going down ahead of them.

  She just wanted him to step closer again.

  His frown deepened and when he spoke again the words impacted much more clearly. ‘That wasn’t a good idea.’

  A chill feathered over her—making goose bumps rise on her overheated skin. For all her supposed wild-child ways she’d never contemplated sex in a stairwell before. And one minute ago she hadn’t just been contemplating it, she’d nearly begun to beg. She’d been the one moaning; she’d been the one rocking against him; she’d been the one to incite it all. He’d just stayed tight and hard—right up against her. Except for his tongue, which he damn well knew how to use, he hadn’t been moving at all.

  And he was regretting even that already. Here she was feeling both shattered and completely turned on and he was thinking, uh oh, bad move. It was written all over him—in the way he’d thrust away from her, not into her as she’d wanted.

  Humiliation seeped through every cell. Had she turned him off? He’d only asked for a kiss and she’d offered him everything on a platter. Side order of fries and free dessert included—all at once. Too far, too fast.

  And he wasn’t interested. Right now he wouldn’t even look at her.

  ‘Then let’s just forget it ever happened.’ That sure was what she intended to do. With cold precision she moved forward, up the last flight of stairs to where their offices were.

  He didn’t reply, didn’t follow. Didn’t appear in the office for another twenty minutes—during which time she’d managed a side trip to the bathroom to fix her face and hair. She winced at her reflection—all big eyes and puffy lips and hard nipples.

  When he walked back into the office suite he didn’t acknowledge her. Just nodded generally in the direction of her and the temp secretary, stalking straight into his office and closing the door. Clearly he’d paid a trip to the little room too because his hair wasn’t sticking up the way it had after she’d had her fingers through it.

  She’d never had an experience where she’d slipped so out of control. As far as he’d be concerned she’d have proved herself right on one thing only—that she was pretty fast. But he’d never know that that was only with him. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself like that again.

  Utterly mortified she sat and forced herself to focus and work hard on the arrangements. She refused to fail now. It was precisely what they all expected her to do. Even James. Especially James.

  Now more than ever, she needed to prove him wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE exhibition opening at the contemporary art gallery was a do that many of the socialites had been hyped up about for days. It was going to be the most fabulous party, darling, everyone who was anyone was going to be there—the Premier of the State, the actors, the models and, yes, even the newest princess in the city.

  Liss had been looking forward to it simply for the fun it promised, but now she was even keener given her current task. If it was that fabulous then she wanted to know why. What was it that made one party so much more successful than another? She intended to start analysing, not just enjoying.

  She arrived only a little late and looked around, taking in the décor, the drama of the entrance, the ambience and atmosphere as well as the practicalities—who took the coats and bags and where they put them, how the drinks were being served and the nibbles were being presented. She slowly walked around the perimeter, for once not going straight into the centre of the action. Instead she stood back, trying to take in the whole picture.

  ‘Taking notes?’ An all-too-familiar sarcastic voice at her shoulder finally made her pay attention to the other guests—well, one in particular.

  She turned slowly to face him, giving herself time to hide the involuntary smile. The sight of him in a tux would always make her smile and her body sizzle—she mentally dove into a tub of ice. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ She registered the wariness in his expression and chilled down further.

  ‘Tell me what you see, then. What can you learn from this party?’

  She decided to take the question at face value and ignore the suggestion of cynical disbelief. ‘I like the way there are so many wait staff no one is going to have a problem getting a drink or something to snack on.’

  He didn’t look overly impressed. ‘I guess it’s always good to satisfy appetites. You wouldn’t want anyone to be left hungry for more.’

  She shot him a quick sideways look but his face was bland.

  ‘Actually hungry for more is a good thing,’ she declared, determined not to agree with him. ‘Having enough, or, worse, overindulging, can leave a sickly taste. You want them to look back on the night wishing they could have had more, could have stayed for longer. Wishing there was another party just like it the next night.’

  ‘But there won’t be, will there? The situation can’t be replicated. So aren’t you in danger of everyone leaving with a feeling of disappointment?’

  ‘All good things must come to an end.’ She fell back on cliché. ‘Better to have everyone finish on a high rather than overtired and no longer wanting the indulgence.’

  He stared at her for a moment too long and her discomfort increased. They were just talking parties, right? Because if they weren’t, she felt the need to point out he was the one who’d broken up their own little private party the other day a tad early for her liking. She was the one left disappointed. She was the one reliving humiliation now with warming cheeks.

  Rapidly she moved on to another point. ‘But the music is too loud, that’s a basic no-no. People can’t hear each other talk.’

  ‘Do they really want to talk, though? And if they do, they have to get closer to hear. Isn’t that a good thing?’

  She looked at him, realised he was standing closer than convention and felt the heat rise more. ‘It rather depends on what you want to get out of the occasion. What’s the point of the party?’

  ‘All the best parties are the ones where people hook up.’ His smile made an appearance—the caustic one. ‘And it gives the other guests something to talk about. They all love a little gossip.’

  He looked around, seeming to enter the spirit of analysis while she tried to figure him out. Was he flirting? Quite what they were analysing and why was a little fuzzy to her. That, combined with the aftermath of the kiss earlier in the week, had her on the defensive.

  ‘What about the lighting? It’s a little bright, isn’t it?’ he asked.
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  ‘It’s an art gallery, James.’ She relished the rare opportunity to make a comment as witheringly as he so often did.

  ‘Yeah, but it could be more subtle. More intimate. Intimate at parties is good.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So people can relax, get to know each other. Have a good time.’

  She decided his provocative talk was deliberate, knew she should ignore him, but she couldn’t help biting. ‘Tell me, James, is it a party I’m planning for you or an orgy?’

  By now the wary look had completely vanished and his eyes were brimming with appreciation. She refused to look at his mouth with its broad smile and white teeth and the glimpse of tongue—now she knew what that tongue could do.

  ‘An orgy? There’s a thought. Lots of nymphs on order?’

  That really got her back up. She wasn’t interested in being at a party where his main aim was to eye up the talent. ‘I’m not sure I can do this job for you, James. It seems it’s a dating service you want.’

  ‘Actually, no, I don’t need help getting dates. But I am surprised to find you standing alone like this. Where’s your posse of admirers?’

  ‘Posse?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Suddenly all humour was gone. His eyes had gone like daggers. ‘Ever thought you might be better off with quality rather than quantity?’

  Liss clammed. Exactly what was he implying? She’d learnt to be careful when it came to men. There were guys out there more than happy to kiss and tell—packs of lies. While she didn’t much care what the rest of the world thought, she did find it easier to go out with an assortment of men—allowing none of them too close. It kept them, and everyone else, guessing and none of them were able to assume privileges or presume intimacy.

  But it did upset her that those who were supposed to be closest to her—who ought to know her better than anyone—chose to think the worst. This was why her brothers’ heavy-handedness rankled. She might be a party girl, but she wasn’t promiscuous. Was that what James thought?

  That kiss had been a colossal mistake. She’d never reacted like that before—never wanted someone with that rough and ready and right-now-before-the-excitement-kills-me kind of wanting. Did he think that she’d be like that with just anyone? Staggered at the idea, she painfully recognised what it meant—he really did only see her as a shallow party princess.

  The silence had gone on and she was too thrown to think of a comeback. But then it seemed he lowered his sword. He looked back around the room again. ‘OK. What else can you tell me? How else could this do be better organised?’

  She focused on the question. ‘There isn’t enough seating—the age range here is wide and frankly most women like to sit down and have a good old gossip now and then. Getting the balance right between too much seating and making the guests move and mingle can be tricky. I don’t think they’ve got it right here. And not only is the music a little too loud, it’s not a great selection—I know we’re in an avant-garde gallery and they’re setting the scene, but even a little melody would be good. This stuff is just noise and it’s not helping people relax. On the other hand, I think the lighting is excellent—it draws your eye to the pieces on show, which is the point of the party after all. Lastly I think the cocktails are delicious.’

  She actually saw a smile on his face—a genuinely warm one. But in the next instant the softness left his eyes and caution re-entered.

  ‘About the other day…’ His voice lowered, became serious.

  He wasn’t going to do a post-mortem, was he? She’d dissected and analysed every moment of that kiss enough already. That and his subsequent speedier-than-lightning escape. She wasn’t about to have him shovel another pile of dirt on an episode she’d already tried to bury. So she cut him off.

  ‘Like I said, let’s forget about it.’ She spied someone she could beaver over to and engage in meaningless conversation. ‘I already have.’

  For a moment something flashed in his eyes, then he battened whatever it was down, so the light dimmed and it was all cool darkness staring at her.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Of course.’ She dug deep for a synthetic smile. ‘It was just a kiss, James. Nothing to get too excited about.’ With that flippant remark she left him, off to find a few of those cocktails and drown the taste of the great big lie she’d just told.

  James stared after her for a few seconds and then turned away in disgust as she nabbed a glass from a clearly wowed waiter and walked, all smiles, up to some jerk with purple spiked hair. If that had been ‘just’ a kiss then he was more of a fool than he’d realised. How could she be so blasé? As if that sort of meltdown happened any old day? Not to James it didn’t. Kisses sure, but not a full-throttle combustion that had nearly had him on his knees and begging for more.

  Hell, she really was just like his ex, Jenny. Shallower than an inflatable paddling pool and more fake than half the boobs in Brazil. But she hadn’t felt like a fake. Her kiss had been hot and surprisingly sweet and he’d immediately wanted more—more kisses, more contact. The feel of her lithe body, tight but softening against his, the way her fingers had held him close, the little moans of lust—all had combined to make him lose it completely.

  It hadn’t been ‘just’ anything. She’d gone up in flames and he’d nearly been burnt alive. He’d been shaking with the effort to stop ripping clothes aside and plunging deep into her body the same way he was thrusting his tongue into her hungry, melting mouth. She’d been willing and compliant and offering everything. He’d wanted to take her up on it in a way that was instant and painful. It had only been the cool concrete he’d been pressing his curled fists on that had stopped him—the hard reminder of where they were. Once he’d been free of her wild embrace, reason had returned.

  And thank God he had stopped. When she now claimed it to have been so meaningless, so everyday, so forgettable. The thought of her bestowing kisses like that on just anybody made his blood boil. Stupid. He knew this already—she was the type to be ready and willing to turn it on with whoever she fancied in the moment and with no concept of loyalty or depth.

  How good a time did she have with all those guys she was photographed out with? He didn’t want to think about it. That way, torture lay—he’d been through that before and he’d be a damn fool to set himself up for it again.

  Seeing her at the centre of yet another adoring crowd, he decided he wasn’t going to stick around to watch any longer. She was still in full flight—not looking at all worse for wear, not a hint of tiredness about the eyes. Right now he felt tired just looking at her. Vivacious, sparkling, drawing everyone to her—men, women, gay, married, straight. They all flocked to her. And it wasn’t just the ‘princess’ factor. She was a fabulous guest. She didn’t dominate the conversation but she sure kept it sparking. Somehow she made everyone around her feel good.

  Everyone except James.

  He could see how she thrived on it—the brightness in her eyes was evidence of her enjoyment. Why was it she needed this so much? To be celebrated. To be adored. It seemed such a false sort of existence. Did she really think these people were all offering true friendship? What if she weren’t beautiful, if she weren’t a princess? Did she really think they’d still be there for her?

  And her assessment of the event tonight had been pretty astute. He’d played devil’s advocate partly for the fun of it, partly to test her. And she’d done well. It added to his impression that she was more capable than she gave herself credit for. That added to his vexation.

  It really was time for him to leave. Not intending to talk to Liss or anyone else at the party again. His convivial spirit had gone into hiding. But just as he hit the exit she came up to him and this time her smile was the one dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘Has the clock chimed? Is it pumpkin time already?’

  ‘I have to work in the morning. I take that seriously.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday, James.’ She smiled in triumph.

  ‘I know, princess, but it’s still
Friday in Europe, so in the morning I work.’

  She actually looked concerned. ‘It is possible to work hard and play hard, you know.’

  ‘Maybe. But you know you can do more than this, Liss. You should do more than this.’ He didn’t know why she bothered him so much. Why should he even care? But he did and it pissed him off even more. ‘You’re wasting the talents you have. You’re wasting your life.’

  Liss just held back the gasp. Froze over, trying not to let her face or body reflect the strike of hurt. Wasting her life? In other words she was a waste of space.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘All you’re interested in is whatever feels like fun right now, and don’t you give a damn about consequences or tomorrow.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a party, James.’ He could never understand what her life was like. How alone and lonely she increasingly felt. Homesick for a home she no longer had. All the most fabulous parties in the world could never make her feel better about that. But they helped. And the people welcomed her with open arms—unlike her family.

  ‘But that’s all you do, isn’t it? You’re spoilt, Elissa. A lost little girl.’

  At that point her temper became stronger than her grip on it. ‘Must you be so patronising? Who are you to pass judgment on me anyway? What business is it of yours?’

  ‘None. Except when the way you party impacts on my business.’

  ‘I’m at work on time every day.’

  ‘And doing a sterling job.’ Devastatingly sarcastic.

  ‘You don’t think I can do it, do you?’

  ‘Well, I have yet to see much evidence to the contrary. You say you can work hard, but you’re still showing up barely on time, leaving the minute the clock strikes, spending every spare moment shopping.’

  ‘What I do outside of work hours—’

  ‘Spare me. I already know. But you’re not putting the effort in work hours either. You’re playing at it. In between reading magazines and surfing the Internet, you still haven’t even figured out the phone system.’