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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 stop 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?
‘They’re great causes, but they already get a huge amount of support. They don’t need me in the mix—I wouldn’t make much difference to them.’
‘I don’t know—you’d bring them lots of publicity.’
‘It isn’t about publicity.’ Quite the reverse. She didn’t want it to be about her. Didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want it to become some story all about the ‘princess doing good’. She just wanted to be someone—like anyone—trying to help someone else, even just a little. She glanced at him and saw the scepticism all over his face. The prickle of defensiveness rose.
‘In Paris I used to spend an evening a week working on a youth line. Lots of the callers were young women in this kind of trouble.’They’d always touched her. Since then she’d heard about her old friend Cassie’s hardship, and it resonated even more deeply. Cassie must have felt so alone in prison with a young baby. And what Liss hadn’t been able to do for her friend all those years ago, she wanted to be able to do in some small way for others now. She stared out at the harbour and tried to explain it more, wanted him to recognise that she wasn’t so self-obsessed.
‘I’m no counselor. I can’t offer them any advice. They’ve got far more major issues going on in their lives than I’ve ever had to deal with. But I’m someone to take an interest in them for half an hour. Someone to listen.’
‘Is that what they need?’
She turned her head to look at him. He stood at the other end of the floor-to-ceiling window, facing her rather than the view. Looking so cynical she wanted to shake him.
‘Of course it’s not all they need. But no one wants to know about them. They’ve been pushed to the side and forgotten about. By the men who used them, by the rest of society, by their own families.’
Written off by almost everyone, a statistic, a drain on the country’s resources, the futures forecast for them were bleak, but why shouldn’t they have some lightness too? ‘Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to listen to you. To make a bit of a fuss. Make you feel special.’
While the phone line had been good in Paris because it had given her complete anonymity, here, in a city where she knew no one, she’d wanted face-to-face contact as well. So she’d enquired about Atlanta House, made contact to find out if they’d be interested in her visiting. She’d gone several times in the week before she’d started work to get to know them. To show them she was serious about being a friend to the organisation and to the girls. She had no intention of flitting in and then out again. Now she’d settled into a once-a-week pattern—although she’d drop in at other times when she could.
Today she’d sat and chatted with the girls, made a few bead bracelets with some, plaited them onto hair with a couple of others—been a complete girl. And, yes, there was something in it for her—she’d felt welcome, just as she was.
She turned away from the coldness of James’s questions. ‘It’s not a nice feeling knowing you are not wanted.’
She gazed out the window, but no longer saw the glorious sky—too busy thinking. That was the one way in which she could truly relate to them. She hadn’t been wanted by her family for years now and she’d never really understood why. So she’d acted up a bit as a kid—who didn’t? And she felt hurt that they hadn’t even given her a chance this time. There was no recognition that maybe she’d grown up a little—they still just didn’t want to know.
Suddenly she became aware that the silence had been ticking for some time. She looked across the space, pasted a polite smile on her face. It disappeared the instant she encountered his gaze. His eyes were dark, intently focused on her, intensely burning. She’d never seen him look more serious, so assessing and, at the same time, so unreadable. The silence ticked on and as she watched the planes of his face became even more angular, his jaw hardening as if he were deliberately holding back—from speech? From movement?
All she knew was that she was suddenly, incredibly, uncomfortable. Her body temperature rose and she feared another of those awful blushes was imminent. She drained her cold coffee. ‘I should get going.’
He looked down, stretched alongside the sheet of glass for her cup, and cleared his throat, visibly relaxing. ‘Yeah.’
She aimed straight for the lift. ‘Thanks for the ride. And the coffee. It’ll help me get through the theatre tonight.’
As she passed him he asked, ‘You’re going out? You still look tired.’
She felt it. And the strain of spending time with him wasn’t helping. ‘It’s supposed to be a great play.’
He beat her to the lift, pressed the buttons. ‘Don’t you ever just want to sit at home and hang?’
‘Not really.’ What would she do, talk to the walls? ‘And I said I’d go tonight. I don’t want to let them down.’ She didn’t want to be rude or for the invitations to stop coming. She didn’t like sitting in the apartment alone and lonely. Better to be out and too busy to brood.
‘Of course.’
She glanced at him, his face had closed over again. That touch of sarcasm was back and as the doors closed, separating them, she heard it even more in the slow drawl. ‘Have a good night.’
He called her into his office the minute she appeared—ahead of time—on Monday morning.
‘Princess, let’s be honest.’
Oh, no, he was looking serious. She realised the whole work life/social life being separate stuff was accurate in James’s case. He’d smile charmingly at drinks and then sack her without a qualm the next working day.
‘The secretary thing.’
Oh, no. He was going to sack her.
‘It’s not working out.’
‘I’d thought…’ She stumbled over her words, felt the flood of fire in her face. ‘I’d hoped I was improving.’ Dignity, where art thou? She didn’t want to be sent back to where she wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t she ever going to be wanted anywhere? And she really had been trying. Really.
‘There’s something else I think you could do for me.’
She paused, for a second her thoughts going totally inappropriate and her internal heat sizzling.
‘I have a new hotel opening on Aristo in a few weeks.’
Aristo?
‘We’re having a party there to herald the opening at the end of next week.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘Do you do parties, princess?’
‘You know I do.’ He wanted her to go to a party? What, once she was home and fully in disgrace? She wouldn’t be home for long—Alex would probably pack her off again to another far-flung destination before she even had the chance to get over the jet lag.
‘I want you to take over the planning. I want exclusive. I want glittering.’
She dragged her attention back from the pool of self-pity. He wanted her to organise it? The mother of all parties?
‘I want a gala ball unlike any other. I need VIPs in attendance and international media to cover it. I want the place dripping in glamour and a spread in every magazine and newspaper on the planet.’
Her heart started thundering and for once it wasn’t because of the way he was looking at her—not entirely anyway. ‘OK. You’ll have it.’ She beamed at him, her mind already whirring with wicked ideas. There was nothing she loved more than a big party—and this one was hers to create.
‘Go.’ He jerked his head towards the door, his matching smile seemingly reluctant—a little indulgent. ‘The file is in the system—you’ll find the budget details there and the preparations that have already been made. Look them over and make any adjustments you see fit. This is your party, princess. You make it work.’
‘Yes, boss!’ She answered smartly, but practically skipped out of the room.
‘Princess.’
She stopped and turned. His smile was gone and there was a serious message in his eyes.
‘Don’t make me regret it.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d73a5223-da51-54dd-bfc2-7f3f4ecfd86d)
JAMES wouldn’t regret it. He’d spend the rest of his days congratulating himself. In her mind Liss saw it all—a fabulous success that would be talked about for years to come. A sumptuous, elegant event that no other could match and where the invitations were prized higher than the rare pink diamonds of Calista.
And it was on Aristo. Bittersweet anticipation burned through her. Finally she’d be able to see Cassie. She’d gone home for her father’s funeral but Alex had had her packed and out of there again before she could blink, let alone trace her old friend. And now that Seb had found her and their son, there was so much to celebrate. Liss still couldn’t believe she had a nephew—or that her friend had been through so much. She ached that she hadn’t been able to see them sooner.
The speed of her ejection from Aristo still stunned her but hopefully, if she pulled something magical off with this party, she might show them all what she was capable of, maybe then she’d be more welcome there.
She pushed the chaos of emotion aside. Decided to start with the fun stuff. The invitations themselves had to be something special. They’d give some clue to the style of the event and set up the expectations of the guests. She needed the most glam guests too. It took no time at all to compile a list of Aristan dignitaries and socialites who she knew would seal the exclusive nature of the event. The elite circle that in itself drew crowds.
She flicked over the file James had mentioned and decided to change most of the things already in place. Just under two weeks wasn’t long to arrange things the way she wanted, but she knew she could pull it off. She surfed on the Internet for ideas, and chose to ignore the fact that the new temp brought in to cover the secretarial duties she’d now abandoned had mastered the phone system and the internal accounts system in less than an hour.
If James wanted the best, she would give him the best. The finest foods, the finest wines, the finest décor—utter opulence. In a city of excess and extreme wealth it needed to be some party to impress the jaded palates of the Aristan elite.
James was surprisingly hands-off in his management of her. All morning he left her to her own devices. She was pleased; she wanted to keep much of what she was planning under wraps so when all was revealed on the night it would have maximum impact. Because the person she wanted to impress most of all was him. She wanted him to lose that touch of sarcasm once and for all. Wanted him to be the warm, welcoming boss he’d been that first day when he’d thought she was his usual secretary.
Who was she trying to kid? What she really wanted was him—full stop. And that, she knew, wasn’t wise.
She watched as he walked out for lunch. The minute he’d gone she escaped the office too. There were some boutiques nearby she often browsed through—including a fabulous shoe store that had several styles she was eyeing up. Today was a good day—worthy of celebration, and that pair in particular called to her from its perch in the left-hand corner of the window. Temptation was too strong. She had to try them on. And then, of course, once she’d tried them on, she had to own them. Handing over her credit card, crossing fingers that she hadn’t already maxed out the limit, she bought the soft slipons with her current favourite style of slim but very high heel. And, like all eager and true shoe lovers, there was no way she was leaving the store without them on her feet.
She laughed at her folly. But there was a lot to be said for retail therapy—it could be a temporary filler for her hunger for something else entirely.
As a result of the impulsive spree, she was a little later than she intended on her return to the office and found the door downstairs being held for her by James.
He glanced at the bag in her hand and then at her feet. A gleam, it could only be of amusement, put the golden touch to his chestnut eyes. ‘What is it with you and shoes? They’re ridiculous.’
‘No, they’re not.’ They were gorgeous, and felt light and cool on her feet. And sexy.
‘Suitable for five minutes’ standing and nothing more.’
‘I can do anything in these shoes,’ she declared rashly.
An eyebrow quirked and the gleam became decidedly devilish. ‘Anything? Race me up the stairs, then.’
Her chin lifted and adrenalin kicked through her body. ‘I’m actually pretty fast.’
His smile widened more but the reply was slow and mocking. ‘That I can believe.’
Her eyes narrowed; the need to justify herself galloped through her. She turned and faced the flight of stairs. ‘Marks, get set, GO.’ She took off and was aware of nothing moving at her side. At the top of the first flight she stopped and looked down to where he stood watching. ‘Why aren’t you racing?’
‘I’m giving you a head start. Those shoes really are a handicap.’
‘More fool you.’
She ran, light-footed and quick. But he, unlike she, could leap up three or four at a time. While her legs were long, she had to tackle the stairs one at a time, for fear of, well, breaking an ankle.
Naturally it was no time at all before he’d bounded by her side and in front. He stopped on the next landing.
‘Overtaken on the third flight,’ he mocked. ‘Admit it, barefoot you’d be better.’
‘My shoes are part of my self-expression.’
‘Beautiful and decorative and entirely unsuitable for anything useful.’
She could feel the flush. Frustration merely made it worse. ‘Actually I prefer to think of them as a little different, a little dangerous and definitely desirable.’
His smile sharpened. ‘Definitely,’ he repeated softly. ‘But I still think you’d be better off without them.’
He kept walking and she tried to hold her ground, but as he came right into her space she couldn’t stop her steps back. He followed, and she kept backing until there was nowhere to go unless she was suddenly imbued with the power to walk through walls.
‘What are you doing?’ Did she have to sound so breathless still?
‘I’m the winner. I’m collecting my prize.’
OK, so now she was breathless. ‘We didn’t get round to discussing prizes.’
‘No. So we didn’t.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I won. I get to choose.’ He grinned—looked as if he’d decided. ‘What does the hero always ask of the princess?’
‘I’m not sure you could be called a hero.’
‘A kiss,’ he declared and didn’t bother to address her point. ‘It’s always a kiss.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, James.’ It was a moment of cool sanity in the heat of her vexation and failure. She refused to let the knot of desire inside uncoil.
His eyes narrowed. ‘There’s no crowd for you to hide behind now. You’re actually going to have to deliver.’
So he was still thinking of the near-miss kiss too. She’d thought of not much else every night since in her apartment with its soulless walls and its big lonely bed. She’d got so close, pulling away like that had left more regret than she’d expected.
He rested his hands on the wall either side of her head. His body a hard plane leaning slightly over hers. The ambient temperature spiked. Despite her reluctance a wave of want washed over her.
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ she repeated. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to say no.
She couldn’t be sure he’d hear her anyway, he was staring so intently at her mouth, seeming so focused as to be oblivious to everything else.
‘I know,’ he muttered.
