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Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.
Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.
It had been a fruitless wish, of course.
Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.
A version who turned his head and stared straight at her in the next moment, blasting her with long-lashed light hazel eyes. Goldie attempted to look away, but for some stupid reason she couldn’t drag her gaze from him.
‘This proposition of yours...what’s it got to do with your occupation?’
The scrape in her palm was filthy and stinging badly. Enough that it made unclenching her hand difficult. She dropped her other hand from her ripped sweater long enough to pull the business card from her pocket. It read ‘CEO, Atlas Group’. She’d made it her business to research every TV and movie production company in New York, Hollywood and Canada, just so she wouldn’t miss any opportunities that might whisper past the hallowed halls of Othello. She’d never heard of Gael Aguilar’s company.
‘It’s a new arm of my company.’
‘So you were trolling the halls looking for guinea pigs?’ she asked.
For some reason that amused him. Both sides of his sensual mouth lifted. Even that small action lightened his face in a way that made her breath catch. Made her wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of a full, genuine smile.
‘We really need to get off the subject of animal references. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s refer to ourselves as such, sí?’ he drawled with a raised brow.
Something in his gaze made her self-conscious. She cursed silently when heat rushed up to redden her face. Because of her chosen career she’d needed to train herself not to blush at the drop of a hat, and yet she was doing just that, simply at the droll, slightly mocking look in his eyes.
‘My question still stands,’ she sniped, to cover her uneasiness.
‘And it will be answered in the fullness of time. I need your undivided attention for that discussion.’
‘What makes you think you don’t have that now?’
‘You mean in between trying to hang on to your modesty and the swelling of your hand?’ he enquired, his tone almost gentle.
For some reason that made something tighten in her midriff. Before she could form a disagreeable response he was leaning forward. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar at his side of the car. Snapping the plastic top free, he wet a handful of tissues and turned to her.
‘May I?’ he requested, again in that gentle voice she didn’t want to associate with him. Men like him weren’t gentle. Men like him were predators, only intent on taking, taking, taking and leaving behind callously discarded husks.
Goldie wanted to refuse on principle, in solidarity with her poor mother and with the bitterness that sometimes spilled into her just from being close to it. She didn’t doubt that her mother’s bitterness had stained her in some way, made her wary of certain types of men. Men like the casting director from today’s audition, for instance.
She silently shook her head, veering away from the subject even while admitting she was old enough to know some of the blame for her mother’s current circumstances came from Gloria Beckett herself. It took two to tango, after all.
Tango.
Okay, she wasn’t going to allow an image of her tangoing with this man to cloud her already dizzying thoughts. Determinedly she clenched her gut against any more fanciful thoughts and held out her right hand.
Gael Aguilar cupped her hand in his. Goldie forced herself to ignore the alarming tingling where they touched and watch clinically as he cleaned her wound as best as the meagre supplies allowed. He worked quickly and efficiently, his manner gentle but firm. When he was finished, he disposed of the tissues and eyed her with a steady look.
‘Better?’
She tested the flexibility in her hand and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You see, we’re not above civility after all, Miss Beckett.’
Despite the amusement in his voice there was a thin veil of something else in there...something she couldn’t pinpoint. Or perhaps she wasn’t willing to pinpoint it?
She’d puzzled over this man for far longer than common sense dictated was wise. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked instead, then cringed at the juvenile question.
His amusement increased.
Certain he was about to make another joke at her expense she hurried to add, ‘I don’t have all night.’ She glanced at her watch, her heart lurching when she realised the time. ‘In fact, I don’t think I can do this thing tonight after all. I need to be somewhere else.’
Her mother needed only the smallest excuse to regress into depression and fall off the wagon. Goldie had assured her she’d be home by ten. Any later and her mother would fret. Fretting would inevitably lead to her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. Goldie could only pray that her mother had fallen asleep watching TV tonight.
‘You need to be somewhere else? And you didn’t think to mention that before you got into my car?’ His amusement had vanished. Light hazel eyes narrowed incisively on her. ‘Is this some sort of game?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you wasting my time, Miss Beckett?’
Irritation rushed up her spine. ‘With respect, you insisted on this meeting. Granted, I’m curious to find out just what this proposition is, but I hadn’t realised how late it was—’
‘And suddenly you need to be somewhere else? You have someone waiting for you, perhaps? Boyfriend?’ His gaze dropped to the hand curled into her lap. ‘Husband?’
The word held a sneer that stiffened her back, and again she caught that look in his eyes. As if he held her far below his normal regard.
Puzzlement and that growing irritation made her frown. ‘That really isn’t your business, is it, Mr Aguilar? Are you in the habit of interrogating your potential business colleagues like this? It is business you intend to discuss with me, isn’t it? If not, then I suggest you let me out right now—because I wouldn’t want to waste more of your time!’
His jaw flexed for a second before his expression turned neutral. Eyes that had been mocking and mildly amused became opaque. ‘It is a business proposition. If you need to be elsewhere, then so be it. But will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out whether this is an opportunity you want to miss or not?’
There was a taunt in those words. There was also a look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no.
‘Does that line usually work for you?’
A sculpted eyebrow went up. ‘What line?’
‘The “do things my way or you’ll kick yourself for ever” scam?’
He gave a half-sigh, half an irritated huff. ‘I grow tired of this vacillating. You have one minute to say yes or no. Starting right now.’
He had the temerity to stare pointedly at his watch.
Dear God, she really had fallen down a rabbit hole! She thought she’d hit bottom with the sleazy proposition from that casting director this afternoon. It still made her skin crawl. But had she merely fallen into another dimension? One where the person making a proposition wasn’t even certain whether he wanted his offer accepted or not, but went ahead and dared her to consider it anyway?
About to shake her head to clear it, she saw his eyes sharpen.
‘Make up your mind, Miss Beckett. We’re here.’
Goldie looked out of her window. Sure enough, they’d pulled up in front of one of those flashy-looking high-rises that dotted the Manhattan skyline. This one came complete with liveried doorman, shiny awning, and a uniformed concierge behind an imposing reception desk.
She redirected her attention to the man whose posture held more than a whiff of impatience and arrogance. ‘Twenty minutes. That’s all I have.’
His mouth thinned. ‘We shall see.’
About to ask him what he meant, she found her words choked off when he opened his door and alighted, then turned to hold out his hand.
She didn’t want to touch him. Not after the way it had felt the last time. And because she didn’t want to let go of the tear in her top that showed half her boob. She shifted along the seat, and was debating how to exit with as much dignity as she could muster when he reached in and scooped her out as if she weighed nothing.
‘What are you— Put me down!’ she spluttered, outrage filling her as he marched her through the double doors being held open by the doorman and into a waiting lift.
He set her down and immediately the doors slid shut. The whole thing had happened in less than two minutes, and yet Goldie felt as if she’d just experienced the headiest, longest rollercoaster ride of her life. Impressions of heat, masculine scent, tensile strength, strong capable arms and...absurdly...above all, safety, buffeted her as she stared at him in astonishment from her side of the lift space.
Once he’d pressed the button for the penthouse he stepped back with a cool look. ‘You said twenty minutes. I wasn’t about to have the time eaten away while you decided which leg to use to exit the car.’
‘My God, you’re insane!’ Or maybe she was. She hadn’t been given the chance to dissect things properly yet.
His jaw flexed and his hands were rammed into his pockets. ‘Far from it, querida. Someone has to remain rational in what is fast turning into a farce. Tell me—do you always make a huge production out of every small decision?’
‘You don’t know me well enough to label me a drama queen, Mr Aguilar.’
Suddenly the air in the lift thickened. The glance he levelled at her held the heavy weight of judgement. ‘I’ve seen enough to reach a conclusion, I think.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she countered.
One hand emerged from his pocket long enough to wave her away. ‘We will not waste time discussing inconsequential subjects.’
‘Do you go out of your way to ride roughshod over everyone you meet, or am I the lucky recipient of your special attention?’
He shrugged, sent her a sardonic whisper of a smile and exited the lift, once again leaving Goldie looking at him askance.
She followed him out, then drew to a halt when the double doors before them were flung open to reveal a stocky Italian with twinkling brown eyes, shoulder-length hair and a wide grin.
‘Gael! Amico! You’re here. Now my night is complete.’ His gaze swung to Goldie, looked her over, and his grin dimmed a touch. ‘Okay, this is...interesting. My friend, do you care to tell me why your plus one is in this state? I trust you implicitly, of course, and I’m sure in a fight you’d come out the winner, but I’m not averse to attempting to kick your butt if you had something to do with the lady’s um...state...’
‘“The lady” is standing right in front of you,’ Goldie offered with a saccharine smile. ‘And trust me, she’s quite capable of answering for and defending herself.’
The man’s concerned look dissolved, to be replaced by the wide smile again. ‘Of course. Tell me your tale, sweet one, and allow me to vanquish those that need vanquishing.’
Goldie felt a reluctant smile tug at her lips. ‘I’m fine. Really. And it wasn’t...your friend’s fault.’
‘So he was your rescuer?’ the Italian asked hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t stretch it that far.’ She looked at the man in question to see mockery and a tight little smile playing at his lips.
‘Sí, Pietro, we’re still trying to work out the finer details of our...association. But perhaps if you would be so kind as to point out the bathroom Goldie can clean up?’
Pietro nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Come with me.’
He led them through the double doors and immediately turned into a bright hallway. Goldie got an impression of grey and gold decor, loud but not intrusive music, and lots of laughter coming from the living room before Gael Aguilar’s presence beside her grabbed her focus. He really was imposing. And taller than she’d thought in the alley. As for those broad shoulders—
‘Here you are.’ Pietro turned a door handle and nudged it open to reveal a large bedroom. ‘The bathroom is through there. You should have everything you need. If not, please let me know.’
Goldie found another small smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Prego.’ Pietro returned her smile, then with a nod at Gael walked away.
Gael remained, his eyes on her. Her senses began to jump and dip in that alarming way again.
‘I’m fine to take it from here,’ she said, when he made no move to leave.
He made an impatient sound. ‘I think we’ve established that I’m not going to attack you, Miss Beckett. Accepting my help won’t dislodge your feminine independence. Besides, trying to see to your wound with your non-dominant hand is going to eat into my twenty minutes. Unless you want to restart the clock?’
Goldie pressed her lips together, wanting to be annoyed with him for the way he made her feel a touch ridiculous. But, short of telling him she tended to refuse help from men like him on principle alone, thus probably seeming even more ridiculous despite her beliefs, she couldn’t think of how to counter his assertion.
‘Okay, thanks.’ The words came out far too easily. Her brain knew it and her accelerating heartbeat acknowledged it as he stepped into the room and shrugged off his jacket.
His navy shirt clung to thick, sleek muscle as he flung the jacket away and moved towards the bathroom. She followed slowly, trying to hold at bay the sensation of orbiting close to a ravenous vortex.
She arrived in the spacious bathroom to find him setting out first aid materials on the double-width vanity unit. When he had finished he started to fold back his shirtsleeves.
Goldie tried to look away from strong, brawny forearms feathered with dark wispy hair as they were revealed. But the urge was hard to resist.
Her breath caught lightly as he glanced behind him and cocked his head at her.
‘Come to the sink. We’ll wash your wound properly before I apply some antiseptic.’
She joined him at the sink, taking care not to stand too close when his presence registered so insistently next to her. Gael Aguilar was dominating. His body seemed to vibrate with a force field that mercilessly drew every living thing into its orbit.
He turned on the taps, tested the temperature, then held out his hand. Recalling the tingling when he’d touched her in the car, Goldie wanted to refuse. But this silly dance had gone on long enough. She needed to get this over with and go back to her life. Her mother.
Thoughts of Gloria spurred her on.
She gave him her hand and once again he cupped it in his. And once again the tingling started. Only this time the sensation was twice as intense. Whether it was to do with the bright lights of the bathroom, which cast their skin to skin contact in a vivid tableau, or with the fact that he was much closer to her than he’d been in the car, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that touching Gael, having his thumbs move across her palm as he rinsed the angry gash, was like nothing else she’d ever felt.
When her breath felt strangled the sound was audible in a silence marred only by their mingled breathing. Like in the car, his movements were gentle. But the fire he created with his fingers was not. Growing alarmingly short of breath, Goldie wanted to snatch her hand from his. But then he made a sound. And she looked up. Their eyes met in the mirror. She forgot to breathe all together.
Gael’s eyes had grown darker, stoked with a dark fire that made her belly clench tight. Recognising the feeling as her first ever genuine sexual attraction, Goldie gasped. His gaze dropped to her parted mouth. Stayed riveted until the almost visceral stare made her lips twitch with a need that bordered on alien.
Beneath the running tap his hands continued to caress hers. But neither of them moved their gazes except to drift them over each other’s faces, returning over and over again to their mouths.
She wanted to kiss him. Be kissed by him. Now.
Her lips parted.
Gael made a sound beneath his breath. A guttural, primitive sound. And he broke his gaze from hers.
Released from the power of that rabid scrutiny, Goldie gulped greedily on the air flowing back into her lungs. Along with even more alarm at what had just happened. The thoughts she’d entertained, the want coursing through her...
Dear God... What’s wrong with me?
After that sordid, grossly insulting proposition the casting director had flung her way this afternoon, sex should be the last thing on her mind. It should be buried even deeper than normal, beneath the tight, rigid focus of her ambition and her need to make something of herself. Her need not to end up like her mother—a slave to her sexual needs and emotional wellbeing, dependent on others for her happiness.
