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He was coming closer, that look in his eyes, like any second he planned to ravish her. And the part that really stunk was that she wanted him to. Desperately. She had assumed that playing the role of the aggressor last night, socking it to him when he was all confused and vulnerable—and a little bit adorable—would somehow put her in a position of control.
Boy, had she been wrong.
He’d managed to turn the tables on her. At that moment, she’d never felt more out of control in her life. And the really frightening thing was, she kind of liked it.
“I mean, what’s the worst that will happen?” he said.
Hopefully something really bad. “Hanging?”
He was standing so close now that he could reach out and touch her. And though every instinct she possessed was screaming for her to back away, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of so much as a flinch.
“And then I got to thinking.” He leaned in, his face so close to hers she could smell the toothpaste on his breath. “Who says they even have to know?”
Bloody hell, was she in trouble. If he decided to kiss her right now, she would have no choice but to kiss him back. And then he would know the truth. That she wasn’t nearly as rigid as she’d led him to believe.
His eyes locked on hers. Deep brown irises with flecks of black that seemed to bleed out from his pupils. Full of something wicked and dangerous. And exciting. And God knew she could have used a little excitement in her life.
No, no, no! Excitement was bad. She liked things even-paced and predictable. This was just chemical.
It took everything in her, but she managed to say, with a tone as bland as her expression, “Are you finished?” “Finished?”
“Can we go to work now?”
The grin not slipping, he finally backed away and said, “You’re tough, Victoria Houghton.”
Didn’t she wish that were true. Didn’t she wish that her heart wasn’t pounding so hard it felt as though it might beat right through her rib cage. That her limbs didn’t feel heavy with arousal. That her skin would stop burning to feel his touch.
Don’t let him know.
“Yes, I am,” she lied.
A playful, taunting grin lifted the corners of his lips, and he reached past her to open the door. “But I’m tougher.”
By three o’clock that afternoon Victoria managed to catch up on the backlog of calls and e-mails. No thanks to Charles, who, in a fraction of that time, proved himself to be a complete pain in the neck.
He popped into her office a minute after three, for what must have been the fifth time that day. “I heard the phone ring. Any answer to the employment ad?”
He knew damned well that she had just placed the ad with the employment agency that morning and they weren’t likely to hear anything until at least tomorrow.
He parked himself behind her chair, hands propped on the back, his fingers brushing the shoulders of her jacket. The hair on her arms shivered to attention and she got that tingly feeling in the pit of her belly. But telling him to back off would only give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting to her.
“It was your mother,” she told him, leaving off the again that could have followed. The woman was ruthless. The kind of mother who drove her children away with affection. It probably didn’t help matters that Charles was an only child and the sole focus of her adoration.
No wonder he didn’t want to settle down. He was already smothered with all the female attention he could handle.
“What are you working on?” he asked, leaning casually down to peer at her computer monitor, his face so close she could feel his breath shift the hair by her ear.
“A template for an updated, more efficient call and e-mail log.”
He leaned in closer to see, his cheek nearly touching hers, and, did he smell delicious. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a long, deep breath. Nuzzle his skin. Maybe take a nibble.
“How does it work?” he asked.
“Work?”
“The spreadsheet.”
Oh, right. “When I input the number or e-mail address, it automatically lists all the other pertinent information, so you don’t have to waste any time looking it up yourself. It’s color-coded by urgency.”
“That’s brilliant,” he said.
She couldn’t tell if he meant it or was just being sarcastic. “Oh, yes, I’m sure they’ll award me the Pulitzer. Or maybe even the Nobel Peace Prize.”
The rumble of his laugh vibrated all the way through her. “You said my mother called again. What did she want this time?”
She swiveled in her chair and stuck a pile of phone messages in his face, so he had no choice but to back off or get a mouthful of fuchsia paper. “To remind you about your father’s birthday party. She wanted to confirm that you’re spending the entire weekend with them.”
He took the messages and sat on the edge of her desk instead, riffling through them. “What did you tell her?”
“That you would be there. All weekend. And you’re really looking forward to it.”
He shot her a curious look. “Seriously?”
She flashed him a bright and, yes, slightly wicked smile. “Seriously.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t really.”
“Oh, I did.”
She could have sworn that some of the color drained from his face. “That’s odd, because I seem to recall telling you to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to stay the whole weekend.”
“Did you?” she asked innocently. “I guess I forgot.”
He knew damned well that she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“That’s evil,” he said.
She just smiled. That was what he got for messing with her—although, in all fairness, she had been the one to kiss him. But she had the feeling that there would be nothing fair about this unspoken competition they had gotten themselves into.
“Just for that, I should drag you along with me,” he told her.
A duke bringing his personal assistant home for a weekend visit with the folks. Like that would ever happen. She had the sneaking suspicion that being royals, they clung to slightly higher standards. Or maybe they would make her stay in the staff quarters and take her meals in the kitchen.
Was that what she had been reduced to? Servant’s status?
She and her father may not have been megarich, but they had lived a very comfortable lifestyle. The outer edges of upper crust. And to what end? Had he only been honest, lived within their means, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
But now was not the time or the place to rehash her father’s betrayal.
“I could ring her and tell her you don’t want to stay,” she told Charles. “That you have better things to do than spend time with your parents. Although, you know, they’re not getting any younger.”
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “You and my mother would get along great.”
She doubted that. His mother didn’t strike her as the type to socialize with the hired help.
“Was there anything else you needed?” she asked, wanting him off her desk. He was too close, smelled too good. “I’d like to get back to work.”
“Pressing business?” he asked.
“Keeping up on all the calls and e-mails from your female admirers is a full-time job.”
“Maybe, but right now,” he said, locking his chocolate eyes on hers and leaning closer, so she was crowded against the back of her chair. “I only have one special woman in my life.”
Uh-oh.
Please, please, Victoria silently pleaded, let it be anyone but me.
He held up the message slips. “And I’d better go call her and tell her just how much I’m looking forward to the party.”
She let out a quiet, relieved breath.
He rose from the corner of her desk, but his scent lingered as he walked to the door. “Buzz me if you hear about the ad.”
“The second I hear anything,” she promised. Hoping this would be the last time she saw him until it was time to leave for the evening.
Even that would be too soon. Maybe she could just sneak out unnoticed.
It was a dangerous game they had begun playing, but she wasn’t about to surrender. She wouldn’t let him win. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. Put in his place. And she was just the woman to do it.
Eight (#ulink_15db3e41-3473-59a1-84c2-91d0c6e4f6a6)
Charles’s mother rang back not fifteen minutes later. The woman was ruthless.
Victoria struggled to sound anything but exasperated by her repeated calls. “I’m afraid he’s in a meeting,” she said, just as he had instructed her. In a meeting, on another line. He never took personal calls at work. “But I would be happy to take a message.”
“I don’t mean to bother,” she said, which is how she began all of her phone conversations, whether it was the first or tenth call of the day. “I’m just calling about the party, to extend a formal invitation.”
Again? Hadn’t Victoria already sent an RSVP for him? How many times did she have to invite her own son? “I’ll let Charles know,” she said automatically.
“Oh, no, not for Charles,” she said. “For you.”
For her? But…
Oh, no, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. “For me, ma’am?”
“He told us you’ll be joining him for the weekend,” she gushed excitedly. And the weird thing was, she actually sounded happy. “I just wanted you to know how eager we are to meet you. Charles rarely brings his lady friends home.”
Lady friends? Did she think…? “Ma’am, I work for Charles.”
“Oh, I know. But he values your friendship. And any friend of Charles is a friend of ours. His father and I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome.”
Friendship? Since when were she and Charles friends?
“So, we’ll see you then?” his mother asked.
Did Victoria really have the heart to tell her the truth? She sounded so genuinely eager to meet her. How could she tell her it was nothing more than a cruel trick?
So she said the only thing she could. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you then.”
Victoria was out of her chair before she hung up the phone. Not bothering to knock, she barged into Charles’s office. And got the distinct feeling he’d been waiting for her to do just that. He was sitting back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, hands folded across his chest. But it was too late to turn around now.
“You call me evil?” she said.
He smiled. “I take it my mother phoned you.”
“That was low, even for you.”
He looked pleased with himself. “An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I do not what to spend a weekend at your parents’s estate.”
“Neither do I. But I guess neither of us has a choice now.”
“They’re not my parents. I have no obligation to be there.”
He shrugged. “So, ring her back and tell her you don’t want to come. I’m sure they won’t be too offended.”
She glared at him.
“Or, you could come with me and you might actually have fun.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Why? You don’t even want to go!”
“My parents are good people. They mean well. But when it’s just the three of us it can get…stifling. I get there Friday night, and by Saturday afternoon we’ve run out of things to talk about. With you there it might take a little bit of the pressure off.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue what to say to your parents. They’re completely out of my league.”
His brow edged into a frown. “How do you figure?”
“I’m an employee of the royal family.”
“So what? You’re still a person. We’re all just people.”
Was he really so naive? Did he truly not understand the way the world worked? They were royalty, and she was, and always would be, a nobody in their eyes. Or was this just part of the game he was playing? Lure her to his parent’s estate so he could humiliate her in front of his entire family?
