A Week To Be Wild

‘What?’ One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘What kind of host would I be if I left you to fend for yourself on your first night in a strange city?’

She couldn’t help the snort that left her. ‘The non-stalker kind…?’

He took the jibe with a cocksure arch of one brow, sipping wine while his poised stare flicked over her face from feature to feature.

Libby flushed hot all over. The ‘stalker’ comment had been beneath her. He hadn’t once touched her, hadn’t bought her drink, hadn’t tried to grab her phone, hadn’t even chased away her unwanted admirer—he had simply given her the out she’d wanted. The rest was all her.

What was wrong with her? Rudeness to a generous host and influential employer? All because he’d awoken needs within her? Needs too long dormant. Needs she’d never had before. Needs threatening to overwhelm her in their intensity.

Hardly his fault.

He dropped the bland smile, and a small frown crinkled the skin between his brows. ‘It’s a public bar, Olivia. I’m being a gentleman. But if you don’t want company, just say so and I’ll leave.’

He shrugged.

Simple.

Of course he would. Alex Lancaster didn’t need to stalk women. They probably lined up, forming a polite, orderly, English queue.

She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head in the direction of Beer Breath’s exit path. ‘He was about to become a persistent pain in my ass.’

He barely acknowledged the man in the suit, and his continued casual perusal made her limbs jittery and lodged a ball of restless energy low in her belly.

‘So, have you eaten? Dinner?’ One eyebrow lifted and he licked red wine from his plush lower lip.

A simple invitation. One she’d offer herself to a visiting business colleague new in town. Why, then, did it feel like more than an offer of a shared meal? Or was that simply her overactive libido filling in the blanks?

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice emerged as barely a croak.

No argument, no persuasion.

‘Tell me…’ He leaned a little closer, his stare a little more penetrating, searching hers. ‘Why the reluctance to work for Able-Active?’

Alex cut straight to the heart of an issue. She admired that. But no way could she explain her reticence without giving away a whole heap of personal stuff. Stuff she did her best never to think about.

She ducked her head away from his intensity, her sleeveless, lightweight blouse as cloying as a thick, woolly sweater.

He ploughed on. ‘You think I’m arrogant.’

A statement.

She shot him a glance, surprised to see amusement lingering on his face.

He gave another shrug, as if he had her all worked out. ‘I see it in your eyes.’ He rested his elbows on the bar, leaning closer. ‘I’d like you to extend your stay. All expenses covered, of course.’

‘Why?’ Her head spun, reeling from the arrogant request.

Hadn’t they already established that she wouldn’t roll over and do whatever he asked? If he didn’t seem to have a hotline to her long-dormant libido she’d laugh in his sinfully handsome face.

‘Able-Active doesn’t happen inside an office. I want you to experience it, to really understand my vision. I’d like you to stay a fortnight.’

He took another sip of wine, giving her time to respond.

Her jaw fell, her fidgety hand stilling around the stem of her martini glass. ‘Are you nuts?’

Clearly Libby was nuts, too, because for a fleeting moment she considered it. Then she sobered. Even if she wanted to jump when he clicked his fingers, she couldn’t. She had Sonya, her heavily pregnant partner, to consider. Yes, she could work from anywhere in the world with a Wi-Fi connection for short periods and, yes, she’d cleared her desk before flying to the UK, but a fortnight away from the office…

He laughed—a deep rumble that curled her toes and transformed him from sexy, assured businessman to sexy boy-next-door, all grown up. He turned his stool to face her, leaning back in a relaxed slouch, his thighs spread.

In invitation?

Libby’s eyes burned with the effort of maintaining eye contact and not succumbing to a visual tour of his denim-clad crotch. Time to be clear. If this working relationship was to be successful, he needed to understand a few things.

‘You know, I’m sure you’re used to it, but you can’t always have your own way.’

She plucked the olive from her drink, holding it between her teeth while she stared him down. Two could play Mr Lancaster’s game. If he thought she’d simper at his flattery, drop to her knees no questions asked, he wasn’t as smart as she knew him to be.

She bit into the salty olive, allowing her tongue to linger on her lips.

His pupils dilated—a subconscious tell over which he had no control. Then he shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. But she knew that wasn’t true. Like her, he’d likely achieved his success by expanding control over all areas of his life. Personal and professional. But did he need that control, like her? Did he feel as if he was spinning off into the inky blackness of space without it, like her?

He tilted his head, his astute gaze leaving her mouth at last. This time when he met her eyes she wanted to curl up and hide.

‘I’ll make you a proposition.’ He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip while his words sank in.

Libby shook her head, determined to wrestle back the upper hand. ‘I’ve conceded enough to you in our short acquaintance.’

Alex bit his lip, hiding a smile.

Bastard.

He flared his nostrils, sucking in a breath and tilting his head back to consider the ceiling. Good. She posed a challenge—no doubt a novelty to someone in his position. She could almost hear the cogs working in his head.

‘Fair point.’ He rubbed his index and middle finger along his lower lip. ‘How about for every concession you make, I’ll make one too?’

He shifted, his thighs parting a fraction more, as if he were growing uncomfortable. Was she having a similar effect on him as he had on her?

His voice dropped. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

‘Equal. Mutually satisfying.’

He took another sip of wine. Waiting. Watching her over the rim.

Libby recrossed her legs, her thighs clammy. ‘A negotiation? I warn you, I’m good.’

Not that she had any experience with this kind of deal. How to be a high school sweetheart, how to be a girlfriend, how to be a fiancée—yes. But how to handle this searing sexual chemistry and keep enough distance to emerge unscathed? Could he tell she was making this up as she went along?

He grinned.

Thought he had this in the bag, did he?

He gave a slow nod. ‘I know that. Research, remember? The best.’ He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his voice a low whisper, eyes aglow. ‘What do you say? Up for a little…adventure?’

Her mind raced, her heart beating its way into her throat.

Yes.

No.

‘It depends…’

Were they even still talking about work? Did it matter? Perhaps Sonya, Vinnie and her hormones were right. A no-strings dalliance was exactly what she needed—slake this intense thirst she’d thought long extinguished, then finish a rewarding and lucrative job and move on.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘Come on.’

Libby leaned closer. His low voice called to her, zinging straight between her legs. From this distance, she could see his pulse flicking in the notch at the base of his throat, the dark hairs peeking over the open neck of his shirt, could smell the detergent he used on his laundry.

His voice continued—persuasive, tempting. ‘You’re a perceptive, intelligent woman…’

She braced one foot on the floor, her body swaying towards his as if she was hard of hearing and needed to lean closer to his tantalising mouth. Her hand landed on his thigh, steadying her balance, but the denim was a poor barrier to the heat and bulk of his taut muscles.

‘You feel this insane chemistry too.’ His stare smouldered, his breath tickling her neck.

She practically sagged into him. She wasn’t alone. Wasn’t imagining this. But should she act on it? Did she dare?

‘I want you.’ He held eye contact, his stark statement hanging in the crackling air between them. ‘Physically, professionally.’

He spoke as if he was negotiating a business deal. Calm, collected, poker-faced.

A tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘Stay.’

He made it sound so easy—a foregone conclusion. And she was sorely tempted.

All the time they’d talked, he hadn’t touched her. His hands were still relaxed on the arms of the barstool when all she wanted to do was slide her fingers through his silky dishevelled hair and angle his head until he kissed her. Kissed away the doubt. Kissed away the memories. Kissed away the loneliness.

She sat back, her hand slipping from the rock-hard muscles of his thigh. Time to wrestle this back under her command. Get a grip of herself and this situation. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

The trouble was, lust had robbed her brain of its usual quick wit and all the negotiating skills she’d bragged about. Every single comeback or demand had fled her mind like sand falling through the holes of a sieve.

Perhaps she’d transmitted her thoughts telepathically to him, because he said, ‘You need control?’

Could he see her that clearly? Were her fears, her hang-ups, so clearly displayed on her face?

He’d dropped the smile, his expression now serious, as if he understood the momentous battle raging inside her. She wanted him too—had spent the day thinking about him, about what it would be like to feel his touch, feel his mouth, feel him move inside her…

The urge to give in to that curiosity, that need, was overwhelming.

He dipped his chin, ensuring that she saw him—saw both the sincerity in his stare and the flare of the same battle inside him.

‘I’m man enough to concede it. What can I do to give you what you need so we can both win?’

A silent groan had Libby’s eyes drooping as she took in a long, ragged breath. What an intoxicating offer. Could she do this? Separate business from pleasure? Keep things casual between them? On her terms? Give him a concession or two and take what he was willing to concede?

She opened her eyes to his continued stare. The slight flare of his nostrils was the only sign that he too experienced the anticipation that fluttered in Libby’s belly, bringing her to life.

Until she spoke, she was clueless as to how she’d respond. ‘I’ll give you a week.’

A week?

He nodded. So accommodating. So skilled at negotiating this fragile truce.

But she, too, could strike a pretty deal. Time to see how much he was willing to relinquish. Could he be a man of his word? Was he really interested in a deal? Did he want her enough to agree to her terms?

There was only one way to find out.

She leaned closer, her lips parting on a barely there gasp as their knees made contact. She dropped her voice, as he’d done. ‘If we’re working together…’ her eyes flicked to his crotch, still displayed before her ‘…and fucking, I won’t be bossed around.’

Another nod. Another delicious concession.

Her mind raced, searching for a compromise that, as he’d put it, would allow them both to get what they wanted. She’d never fought so hard. Her self-preservation demanded every inch of ground acquired.

The ultimate test of his mettle would come. Could he withstand what she had planned for him? Would her nerve hold?

Libby’s temperature reached boiling point, seconds away from spontaneous combustion. She shook her head slowly, commanding his full attention. ‘You won’t get your own way all the time.’

He shrugged again, the small half-smile returning. ‘If I had my way…’ he lifted his wine glass, taking a sip, his eyes slowly raking over her mouth ‘…I’d have fucked you at the top of The Shard this morning. Had you screaming my name with that sexy voice of yours.’

Her gasp sounded so loud she expected the whole population of the bar to turn in their direction.

He quirked a scornful brow. ‘Seems to me, you are the one getting her way, Olivia.’

Danger. He reeked of it. Not that her personal safety was in question. But she should run all the same.

Still he stared, his eyes flicking between hers. Still her breaths gusted in and out through parted lips. She held his searing eye contact. A challenge. Battle lines being drawn.

Finishing her martini in one swallow, she slid from the stool, coming to stand between his still spread thighs. She leaned close, her heavy ponytail falling forward, a few strands of hair getting caught in the stubble covering his strong jaw.

With her lips mere millimetres from his ear, she whispered, a thrill tingling up her spine.

‘Quid….’

Closer.

‘Pro…’

She could almost feel the fine hairs on his earlobe tickle her lips.

‘Quo…’

Leaning back, she took the key card from her purse and pressed it into his palm, turned on her heel and left the bar on shaky legs.

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