Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Page 8

  ‘If we’re going to do it we’re going to do it properly.’

  ‘Hallelujah,’ she quipped, only half joking.

  He sort of smiled but his delivery was soft and serious. ‘It’ll be slow, in a bed, with plenty of space, and no one nearby so you can scream away.’

  She suppressed the thrill of the image and aimed for cool and sarcastic. ‘What makes you so sure I’ll be screaming?’ It was too breathy to be believable.

  His eyes held hers and told her to quit trying to hide it. ‘I won’t stop until you do.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LISS stood no chance. Her mind was spinning. James Black on flirt offensive? With his playful side unleashed, he was far more dangerous than when in lecturing-boss-man mode. He’d made his decision and now was embarking on a slow, deliberate assault. And she was about to cave. It was too exciting not to, too much of a temptation not to, too much of a need not to.

  Under the blanket his fingers touched her breast. She shivered as her nipple tightened even harder.

  ‘Damn air-conditioning,’ he murmured and pulled the blankets higher—to their necks. Then his fingers went to play some more.

  ‘James,’ she warned.

  ‘What? All I’m trying to do is warm you up a little, princess. You’ve gone all taut and goose bumpy.’

  She was only going to go even more taut the way he was working her. ‘James. I will retaliate.’

  His hot laughter on her neck only turned her on more. ‘I’d like to see you try.’

  ‘You don’t know who you’re playing with.’ Bravado all the way—and how she was aching for him to take her all the way.

  ‘Go on, then. Try me.’

  She turned more towards him, got as close as the damn airline seats would allow, and slid her fingers under his tee—just as she’d dreamed of doing in the departure lounge. She smoothed palms across his chest, exploring the breadth and warmth. Then, impatient as always, she slid them lower, tracking down the arrow of hair that felt slightly rough beneath her fingertips. To the belt of his jeans. It was surprisingly easy to push the tongue of the belt through the loop one-handed, without being able to see it under the blanket.

  His breathing deepened.

  But there was no way she could get the fly of his jeans undone—it was pulled too taut by the straining ridge beneath. She had to be content with stroking the length of it—up and down through the material. Quite desperately she wanted to feel him bare in her hand. She’d take him in her mouth if she thought she could get away with it, if they could somehow be discreet.

  He must have read her mind because he looked into her eyes, his own slightly glassy. And his hand moved under the blanket, covering hers, not gripping harshly but firm enough to stop her from her task.

  ‘I can’t let you do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ she muttered, excited by the feel of him, the thick length. She wanted him free, right up against his stomach, and she really wished she could take a good look because it felt fantastic—big and hard.

  ‘You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?’

  ‘I think so.’ She smiled.

  And then he smiled back at her—a smile of warmth and want and no hint of mockery or sarcasm. And while she was melting he stole the advantage back.

  He easily gripped both her hands in one of his, dragging her half across the seat and almost into his own. He angled her so her shoulder and upper back rested on his chest, so they were both looking towards the windows. Then, under cover of the blankets, he slipped his fingers under her top, pushed aside the lace of her bra and teased her nipple. He nuzzled her neck and she closed her eyes—wanting, wanting, wanting more.

  He knew. He moved, worked his hand down the front of her pants, easily slipping between fabric and skin. They didn’t kiss again, not wanting to draw attention from other passengers—not wanting the intensity broken. Instead his hand moved, with almost imperceptible movements—tiny rubbing ones, which she matched with tiny rocking. And his other hand held both of hers and she felt bound to him, to the sensual spell he had her under. He was leading the dance and she seemed to have no option but to follow. There was no escape; she could only ride on the storm he was brewing.

  Suddenly the inevitability of it oppressed her and she filled with the need to fight, to gain some control over her raging desires, some control over him.

  She clamped her upper thighs together. ‘I’m not going to have an orgasm on an aeroplane surrounded by passengers.’ She choked the words out.

  ‘No?’ His voice was rough. ‘But you’re close.’ Statement not question.

  His breath stirred her ear and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips tighter together, trying to stop the moans, trying to stop the sensations from overwhelming her. How could she want him so badly?

  ‘You really are built for pleasure, aren’t you?’

  Something in the way he said it made her freeze completely. What was she doing having a grope in public? This was a cheap and easy thrill—was that all he thought she was? What about him?

  ‘James. Stop.’

  He did immediately. Got the ice in her tone and got his hand out of her pants. She turned. His frown was almost imperceptible but it was there.

  ‘And here was me thinking you were a wild child,’ he said. ‘A hedonist. Someone who’d take pleasure any chance she could get it.’

  She moved, going to the far side of her own seat—putting what little distance she could between them. ‘I’m not everything you think me, James.’ She smiled and bluffed. ‘It has to be the right place, the right time.’ She paused. ‘The right person.’

  ‘The right person, for the right moment.’

  Momentary. She rebelled against his automatic assumption that this would be short-lived. Why did everyone think anything she was involved in would be transient?

  But his attention was still on her body. ‘What will you be like? Will you close your eyes or will you let me see you raw in your ecstasy?’

  ‘You’re wondering what kind of performance you’ll get?’ Her frustration moved to anger.

  His eyes lifted, trapping hers, and it was all serious intensity. ‘I’m not interested in performance. I’m not interested in the princess thing or anything of the trappings. I’m interested in what’s underneath.’

  She knew he didn’t mean her clothes. ‘What if there’s nothing?’

  That stopped him. Their eyes met—stripped of desire, forced to reveal painful honesty.

  He spoke, the words ground out slowly as he frowned. ‘I don’t want to believe that.’ He reached his hand across the seats and spread his fingers slightly to the left of her breastbone. The palm of his hand pressed against her heart. His hand was big and strong and she knew he could hold her heart in that one hand alone. The thought was scary.

  He pushed, fingers digging a little into her breast as he emphasised his words. ‘I’d like to think there might be things in there that you don’t let anyone see.’

  ‘Why, James.’ She laughed, wanting to push him back, not wanting him to feel how much faster her heart beat when he touched her, when he pried too close. ‘You’re a romantic.’

  The momentary openness in his gaze was shuttered. His hand withdrew. ‘I’m not, princess. I’ve already told you the way I play it. So don’t delude yourself about me. You do enough of that in other areas of your life already.’

  It was OK for him to challenge her, but not for her to question him? All she wanted was the same as what he wanted from her—to find out what was underneath. Yes, he was charming and witty and urbane, but not very far under the surface was this layer of steel that hid a depth to his personality. She wanted to understand why he kept it so reserved. But he wasn’t going to let her. So why should she grant him things that he wasn’t about to give her?

  She knew he wanted her. But she also knew he didn’t want to. And while she knew the reasons why an affair with him was a bad idea for her, she didn’t know his reasons. Couldn’t understand why he d
idn’t want to want her so badly. She didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

  All the heat faded and she truly did feel cold.

  He draped his blanket on top of hers, giving her the extra layer. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve got a big night ahead of you tomorrow.’

  She felt the finality of his words and got the message. The fooling around was finished. Light, naughty talk was all it was—he might have said he wanted to see what was beneath her surface, but it was just words. He certainly didn’t see her real self, not right now—and she’d never be able to show him. Not when she knew he wasn’t interested in anything more than burning out the flame.

  But she still wanted him. And if she was going to have him, then she would make sure he was a slave to it as much as she was.

  When they finally arrived on Aristo it was early on the morning of the party. James headed straight into meetings with the contractors and Liss buzzed straight to the ballroom to make sure all the plans were in place. The catering company had use of the kitchen and she was pleased to see all the food had arrived and was being prepared with the finishing touches she’d requested.

  With a satisfied air she watched for a while as the army of florists worked. The building itself was spectacular. She’d just added some exquisite details. There was no way it wouldn’t be a success.

  In the late afternoon she dressed with care but with speed, hyped on adrenalin. Underneath she bubbled with the kind of excitement that came only from anticipation of what delights the evening might bring. The evening when James would be wearing a tux and, fingers crossed, be totally wowed by all her efforts. Surely, once the party was done, she deserved a little reward? Technically her work for him would be done, so she could kind of argue that he was no longer her boss. And no one else from the Sydney office was here. No one would know…

  She paused in the doorway, the earliest she’d ever arrived at a ball, but as she was effectively the hostess she had to be here to greet her guests. She ran her hands over her hips—smoothing the sensuous fabric with satisfaction. She’d gone with black—classic, elegant. A one-off designer number—sexy and sophisticated, and she’d been saving it for just such an occasion.

  James saw her immediately; for a moment they looked each other over and the electric attraction pulsed between them. The flash of heat was so intense she wanted to bail out on the ball and have him in her room right then. Nobody, but nobody wore a tux the way James Black did.

  ‘Princess.’ He was the one who spoke, reminding her of the presence of the manager, of all the wait staff.

  ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the decoration of the ballroom,’ the manager gushed.

  Liss smiled, replied politely and wondered why James wasn’t gushing—he should be. But he stood quiet beside her and then the guests began to arrive. As fun as it was catching up with everyone she only had an awareness of him. Almost on auto she mingled and mixed up the people, kept an eye on the overview, ensuring everything was going as smoothly as possible.

  Waiters filled glasses from a fountain she’d had installed—it ceaselessly flowed with Cristal champagne. The room was filled with the heady scent of the orchids she’d had flown in specially. Gathered in large boughs, they were exotic and dramatic and doused the place in an atmosphere of expense.

  She couldn’t help frequently glancing at James to assess his reaction. She saw him take some of the caviar that was being offered on exquisite napkins. There was nothing more exclusive. He ate one sample but didn’t take another. She saw him looking round at the guests filling the room, saw him look at his watch. She felt pleased. They were all here, already—all eager to come to what was the ball of the year. The dresses and skin on show were something. She stood and smiled and chatted. A success, right from the start. She’d actually done it. A giddy glow warmed her—heightened by the knowledge that he was so close.

  They weren’t even an hour into it when James discreetly gestured for her to join him. She fell into step, her body tightening, teased by the thought of being alone with him. He led her out of the ballroom to one of the little meeting rooms down the corridor.

  He waited for her to go in ahead of him. ‘How do you think it’s going?’

  She smiled as she heard him close the door behind them and her level of excitement rose another notch. ‘It’s marvelous, isn’t it?’

  She looked at him and lost her smile immediately at the hard glare in his eyes. What? What was wrong?

  ‘You don’t think there’s anything missing?’

  She couldn’t think of anything. Incredible food, incredible wine, incredible company—what else was there?

  He nodded at her blankness. ‘Why are we having this ball, princess?’

  She really didn’t like the way he said ‘princess’. ‘To celebrate the opening of the hotel.’

  ‘Right. Why else?’

  There was another reason for the celebration?

  ‘To promote it, right?’ He spoon-fed her the answer.

  ‘Yes.’ And it was a wonderful promotion—everyone would see how fabulous the hotel was.

  ‘So what’s missing?’

  She really couldn’t think—everyone who was anyone was here.

  His temper started to show then as slowly, super sarcastically, he spelt it out for her. ‘What about cameras, princess? Photographers. Journalists. TV people.’

  Oh…

  ‘This wasn’t just some jolly for you to arrange for all your mates, Elissa. I’m running a business here. I wanted it in every glossy magazine on the planet. Remember?’

  Yes. That bit was coming back to her now.

  ‘You didn’t arrange flights and accommodation for any press, did you?’

  Feeling too sick to speak, she simply shook her head. She’d been too busy planning all the exclusive stuff and inviting the who’s who.

  ‘What did you think was going to happen—that the world’s media would flock just because you’re in attendance? Well, sorry, sweetheart, this wasn’t about some blurry paparazzi shot showing you worse for wear.’

  The words knifed deep into her heart.

  ‘It isn’t all about you, princess.’

  The knife twisted.

  ‘I just can’t believe you could screw this up. What on earth were you thinking?’

  She’d been thinking of him.

  ‘When I ask you to do a job, you do it—properly.’

  She’d tried, she’d really tried but…

  ‘It’s my own fault.’ He spoke more to himself than her. ‘I should never have left this up to you. I should never have thought for a second that you could manage it.’

  She had no answer to that.

  He pressed his fingers to his temples, visibly trying to contain his temper. She’d really rather he yelled and stomped around the room a bit. But he was too much of a man for that—with too good a rein on his emotions.

  And it really hurt. She stood still, not wanting to move, not wanting to breathe in case he flared and said something else in that horrible way. And she couldn’t think of a thing to do to make it better.

  ‘The champagne is good,’ he finally spoke again—quiet, colourless.

  She nodded, hoping for a lightening of the atmosphere. No way could he find fault with her taste. ‘Cristal.’

  ‘And the decoration on the napkins for the caviar—what’s that?’

  ‘Real gold leaf.’ She managed to get her voice higher than a thread that time.

  He grunted. Maybe it was a snort. Either way it didn’t sound positive. ‘So tell me.’

  Tell him what? Hell, this was such a nightmare and he was stringing it out.

  ‘How much?’ he asked, as if it were obvious.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘How much did this party cost me?’

  ‘Um.’ She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t got all the bills and receipts together yet. In truth she didn’t know what most of them would be.

  ‘Do you even know what the budget for this was?’
>
  Budget? Oh, right. There had been a spreadsheet in the file James had mentioned. She hadn’t really got round to studying it. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘What, think?’

  Damn it, she’d done nothing but think about this party. ‘You said you wanted the best.’

  ‘You have no idea, do you, princess? A modern-day Marie Antoinette—utterly clueless.’

  ‘James, I…’ have no idea what to say.

  ‘Good thing I’m a wealthy man and can carry the blow.’ He looked, his eyes skimming over her, all dreaded sarcasm and nil humour. ‘You seriously need to grow up, Elissa.’

  She bit hard on the inside of her lip. She’d heard that one before—from her father, from her brothers. But it was different this time.

  She was not going to cry. Not going to. Not going to act like the spoilt, sulky girl he thought she was. She’d take the caning like a professional. And cry later.

  He was serious. And she knew it was all over. This wasn’t something she could laugh off with a flippant comment. And for once she didn’t want to. She felt terrible. She’d let him down. She’d let herself down.

  She really was a waste of space.

  ‘I’m sorry, James.’

  He stared at her, definitely no forgiveness or ease in those hard, dark eyes. No sign of the golden lights. He didn’t reply, just stalked out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JAMES practised a relaxed smile all the short walk back to the ballroom. Failed. Knew he was snarl central. He stopped just outside the room and took in a deep breath. A drink. That’d help. He collared a waiter. The expensive bubbles hit the spot but didn’t soothe quite the way he wanted. He could feel the steam coming out of his ears. It wasn’t just the wasted opportunity for coverage that had him riled. It was her—if anything he was even madder because she’d been so close to succeeding. He looked around. It was one damn impressive party. From the guest list, to the catering, she had arranged the best for the best.