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Justin laughed. ‘I promise. But you shouldn’t worry about me, you know, Rachel. I can take care of myself where female vampires are concerned. How are you doing, meeting up with lover-boy again? Does he still turn you on with those smooth, golden looks of his?’
‘God, no.’ She half laughed, half shuddered. ‘No, not at all.’
‘I suspect he still has the hots for you.’
She blushed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
Justin frowned. ‘You think it’s ridiculous for a man to have the hots for you, especially the way you look tonight?’
‘Well, no… I mean…yes… I mean… Look, I still can’t compare with Charlotte. She’s one seriously sexy lady.’
‘She’s about as sexy to me as a dead skunk.’
Rachel was startled. ‘Really?’
‘Really. But to ease your concern I will consign all of my flirting for the rest of the evening to yours truly. Make Eric the Mongrel’s teeth gnash some more.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Mmm. Twenty to eight. Look, let’s go to that main bar you mentioned, where I’m supposed to be meeting the mysterious Mr Wong. We can fill in the time till eight with a couple of pre-dinner drinks.’
Rachel bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh, I—er—made that up about the main bar as well. I have no idea if there is such a place.’
Justin grinned. ‘And you said I had an unexpectedly wicked streak in me. I think you’re the one who has the unexpectedly wicked streak, Ms Witherspoon. Come on, we’ll go ask at Reception where the bars are located. They have to have at least one or two in a place this size.’
They had three, one connected with the a` la carte restaurant on the mezzanine level, one on the first floor in the disco-till-you-drop room and a third up on the top floor, which had a more sedate dance floor and a view to die for, or so the clerk behind the desk said. It also wasn’t open to the public, just the clientele of Sunshine Gardens and their guests.
Ten minutes later they were sitting at a table on an open-air terrace, sipping Margaritas by moonlight and drinking in that view to die for, which was spectacular, even at night. Most of the buildings along the foreshore were lit up, outlining the curved sweep of the coastline for as far as the eye could see. The night air was still and balmy, with Rachel’s bare arms and shoulders not proving a problem.
‘This is so lovely,’ she said with a wistful sigh. ‘But we won’t have time for a second drink. Not if you want us to make that dinner on time.’
Actually, she hated the thought of going down to that dinner now. As much as she’d enjoyed her moment of vengeance in the lift, she didn’t want to keep pretending she and Justin were lovers, or to have Justin acting like some sleazebag boss who couldn’t keep his hands off her. She knew he meant well, but in a way it was demeaning for him to act out of character like that.
‘What if I said we’d skip the presentation dinner entirely, and order some food to have right here?’ he startled her by suggesting. ‘They do serve light meals. They’re listed on the other side of the drinks menu.’
‘But don’t you have to go to the dinner?’
‘It’s not strictly essential. They’re making a video of the promotional presentation after the dinner for potential buyers who couldn’t make it tonight. I’ll buy a copy in the morning and view it when I get home tomorrow night, in case there’s anything remotely informative in it, which is doubtful.’
‘But what about Eric and Charlotte?’
‘What about them? You said you didn’t give a toss about Eric any more.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well, then we’ve done what we set out to do,’ he said. ‘Made Eric the Mongrel see you’ve survived without him. Also made him see he gave up a truly fine and, might I say, very attractive lady for a total bitch like Charlotte. Frankly, it could prove a more successful and devious strategy not showing up to the dinner at all. Eric will stew over the thought that I’ve whisked you back up to our room for a long night of hot sex, and darling Charlotte will worry her material little heart out that my mysterious Mr Wong might be some mega-rich businessman from Singapore who’ll bid more for Sunshine Gardens than the ego-maniacal fool she’s representing. Your revenge is already complete, Rachel. Why risk spoiling it?’
‘But…’
‘You have a penchant for buts, Rachel. There are no buts in this case, not even business buts. I guarantee I won’t get into trouble over not going to that dinner. I made my own private enquiries around town today and I won’t be recommending that AWI buy this place, anyway. Reliable sources tell me the occupancy rate here is way down, except in peak tourist season, and even then not a patch on a couple of their nearby competitors. Another little birdie told me that, despite the quality of the building and the décor, the management here is less than the best and staff turnover is very high.’
‘What reliable sources? What little birdie?’
‘The people who live here in Coolangatta, and work here. Shop owners. Suppliers. Taxi drivers. They have no reason to lie, whereas the present owners of Sunshine Gardens have every reason to misrepresent the truth.’
‘I see.’
‘So what do you say? We miss the dinner and stay up here?’
‘Yes, please,’ Rachel said eagerly as relief overwhelmed her.
Justin smiled his own pleasure at the change of plan. ‘We’ll order a bottle of wine with our dinner,’ he suggested on picking up the menu. ‘And then we might have a dance or two. That dress has dancing written all over it.’
Rachel’s heart jolted. She hadn’t danced in years. The last time had been with Eric, the week before he’d broken off with her, and the day before she found out the awful news about Lettie. They’d been to a Christmas party and she’d got very tipsy on the punch. He’d whispered hot words of love and desire in her ears whilst he danced with her, holding her very close, making her want him to put his words into action. When she’d been beyond resisting him he’d whisked her into the bathroom and made love to her up against the door.
Or so she’d thought at the time. Now she knew he hadn’t been making love at all. He’d just been having sex. Because he’d never really loved her.
‘I…I haven’t danced in years,’ she said, her voice shaking a little at the memory. As much as she no longer loved Eric, the damage he’d perpetrated on her female psyche was still there.
‘You didn’t dance at your friend’s wedding?’ Justin asked on a note of surprise.
‘No.’
‘Why not? I’ll bet you were asked in that dress.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Why did you say no?’
‘I…I just didn’t want to.’ In truth, she’d felt far too emotionally fragile at the time to do something as potentially destructive as dance with a man. When she’d watched the bride and groom dance their first dance together she’d been consumed with a pain so sharp, and a misery so deep, she’d fled into a powder room—one of her favourite escapes—and cried for ages.
Justin frowned. ‘This has something to do with Eric the Mongrel, hasn’t it?’
Her smile was sad. ‘How did you guess?’
‘You told him in the lift you’d moved on, Rachel. And you told me just now he no longer mattered to you. I think it’s time you put your feet where your mouth is. You’re going to dance with me tonight and I don’t want to hear another word about it. I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said, rather amused by his tough-guy attitude. It was so un-Justin. Same as with his earlier pretending to be a sleazebag boss.
‘That’s a very good phrase,’ he pronounced firmly. ‘Practise saying it.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Again.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, boss.’
He grinned. ‘By George, she’s got it!’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_2f2cd211-7dd7-56cc-9991-a199455c3b63)
JUSTIN sat there, watching Rachel really enjoy herself, possibly for the first time in years. She’d relished the food, despite the meal being a simple one, and she’d certainly swigged back her fair share of the wine. Now she was looking totally relaxed, leaning back and peering up at the stars.
He’d just ordered their after-dinner coffee but it probably wouldn’t arrive for a while. Whilst the setting and ambience of the bar was great, the service was slow. The place was clearly understaffed, especially for a Saturday night. Management were probably cutting costs to make their profit margin look better, a common strategy when a business was for sale.
Time to ask Rachel to dance, Justin decided. The music coming from inside the bar was nice and slow, the rhythm easy to follow.
He rose to his feet, walked round her side of the table and held out his hand towards her. ‘Shall we take a turn around the terrace, Ms Witherspoon?’ he asked with feigned old-fashioned formality.
She smiled up at him. Such a lovely smile she had. Pity she didn’t use it more often. Still, maybe she would after tonight.
‘Why, thank you, Mr Darcy. Oops. Mr McCarthy, I mean.’ When she stood up she swayed back dangerously on her high heels. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her hard against him.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, her eyes startled as they jerked up to meet his.
‘Methinks you’ve had too much to drink, Ms Witherspoon,’ he chided gently. ‘Just as well you find yourself in a gentleman’s company this evening, or you might be in a spot of bother.’
‘Yes. Just as well,’ she murmured even whilst her eyes remained locked to his and her woman’s body stayed pressed up against him.
Justin could not believe it when his own male body suddenly stirred to life. Neither could Rachel, by the look on her face.
Nevertheless, she didn’t move. Or say a word. Just stared up at him with those lovely eyes of hers, her lips still parted. Yet for all that, she didn’t look disgusted, or repelled by his arousal. Neither did she attempt to push him away, not even when his arms developed a devilish mind of their own and stole around her waist, one hand settling in the small of her back, the other sliding down to play over the soft swell of her buttocks. Instead of wrenching away from him in outrage, her own arms actually slipped up around his neck, and she sank even more closely against him.
‘Rachel,’ he breathed warningly.
‘Yes, boss?’ she said in a low, husky voice, her hazel eyes having gone all smoky.
‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Maybe dancing together isn’t such a good idea.’
‘Just shut up, boss, and move your feet.’
Her uncharacteristic assertiveness surprised him, but he shut up and moved his feet. Still, he’d been right. It wasn’t a good idea. The slow, sensual rhythm of the music got further into his blood, as did the scent—and softness—of the woman in his arms. Of course, it didn’t help that her fingertips started stroking the back of his neck in a highly provocative fashion, or that she kept gazing up at him with eyes full of erotic promise. By the time the music stopped he was in agony, his erection straining against the fly of his suit trousers.
At least he had a jacket on.
‘I need to go to the gents’,’ he ground out after depositing her back in her chair. Fortunately, their coffee had finally arrived. A potful, as ordered. Hopefully, after a couple of strong cups Rachel might sober up and stop trying to seduce him.
His normally very proper PA was going to hate herself in the morning, Justin thought ruefully as he strode back inside the bar and over to the gents’. Alcohol could make even the most sensible woman behave a bit stupidly. Add her tipsy state to all that had happened earlier this evening, and he had a very different Rachel on his hands tonight.
Of course, he had to shelve some of the blame himself. He hadn’t realised when he’d encouraged her to make herself over today that her transformation would be quite so dramatic. When a woman looked as seriously good as Rachel did tonight she was apt to find her flirtatious side.
Still, what was his excuse for responding so powerfully? Since he didn’t fancy Rachel in that sense, he could only conclude he was suffering from acute frustration.
Maybe his male body was finally rebelling against its long stint of celibacy. Possibly it was time for him to search out an accommodating female who’d give him regular sex without any emotional strings involved. Definitely no strings involved. The last thing he wanted was a serious relationship. Or being told he was loved.
Definitely not. Sex was all he needed, something that was painfully obvious when he went into a cubicle in the gents’ and confronted his wayward flesh.
Justin sighed and waited till the worst had subsided. But he was still aroused when he emerged from the cubicle to wash his hands. The sight of a condom dispenser on the wall next to the basins immediately caught his attention, with temptation not far behind.
Before he could think better of it, he dropped a couple of single dollars in the slot provided and slipped two condoms in his trouser pocket. Who knew? He might come back up here after Rachel was asleep. It was still only early. He’d already noticed an attractive redhead sitting all by herself at the bar, who’d given him the eye as he walked past. He just might return and take her up on her none-too-subtle invitation, since getting to sleep tonight in his present state of mind and body might prove difficult.
Difficult? More like bloody impossible!
Once Justin left her alone, Rachel’s conscience—and common sense—returned with a vengeance. What on earth did she think she was doing, flirting with her boss and dancing with him like that, winding her arms around his neck like a clinging vine and moulding her body to his like some neglected nymphomaniac?
Justin’s getting turned on wasn’t his fault. He was just a man after all, a man who possibly hadn’t had sex for some time. His leaving her to race off to the gents’ had been too embarrassing for words.
Rachel cringed with humiliation, and guilt. If she could have bolted back to her hotel room right now without consequences she would have. If Justin hadn’t been in possession of the door key she might have. As things stood, she had no alternative but to sit there and wait for his return, when she would apologise for her appalling behaviour, and beg his forgiveness and understanding. She would blame the wine, then throw herself on his mercy by explaining that she wasn’t herself tonight.
Not her recent self, anyway. The Rachel Justin had employed would never have acted as she just had. In a way, it amazed her that she’d had the gall. Being sexually aggressive took courage, and confidence. Either that, or being turned on to the max.
This last thought bothered her the most. Because during those moments when she’d felt his hardness pressing into her stomach she’d wanted him in the most basic way; wanted to feel him, not against her but inside her. It was a startling state of affairs for a girl who’d always believed she had to be in love to want to be made love to. Clearly, she’d come to a point in her life when that wasn’t the case any more. Perhaps that was what happened to a single woman when she got to a certain age, or when she’d been so lonely for so long that any man would do.
Rachel hated that idea but she could not deny it just might be true.
Crossing her arms with a shiver that had nothing to do with being cold, Rachel peered anxiously through the plate-glass window into the more dimly lit bar, both wanting and fearing Justin’s return.
But there was no sign of him. He was certainly taking his time.
Desperate for distraction from her increasing agitation, she poured herself some coffee and gulped it down, black and strong. Unfortunately, this only served to sober her up and make her agonise further over the folly of her earlier actions.
She was refilling her empty cup when her boss finally showed up, but he didn’t sit back down. He stayed standing by the table, his expression grim as he frowned down at her.
‘I think I should take you back to the apartment,’ he said abruptly. ‘What you need is sleep, not coffee.’
‘I’m not that drunk,’ she replied sharply before remembering that being intoxicated was to be one of her excuses for behaving badly.
‘I didn’t say you were. But you’ve had a long and emotionally exhausting day. Come along, Rachel, be a good girl, now, and don’t argue with me.’
Perversely, Rachel now felt like arguing with him, his patronising tone having really rubbed her up the wrong way. Any thought of apologising went out of the window.
He’d been equally to blame for what had just happened, she decided mutinously. If he hadn’t insisted she tart herself up she would never have had the confidence to do any of the things she’d done tonight. He’d never have asked her to dance, either. When she’d been a plain Jane he hadn’t given her a second glance.
She’d be damned if she was going to feel ashamed of her behaviour. Considering how long it had been since a man had taken her in his arms, it was no wonder she’d lost her head there for a while. She was only human.
A soon-to-be unemployed human, if you keep this attitude up, came the dry voice of reason.
With a sigh of surrender to common sense over rebellion, Rachel put down her coffee-cup and levered herself carefully out of the chair. This time, she was much more steady on her feet.
‘I didn’t think Cinderella had to go home till midnight,’ she muttered with a glance at her watch. ‘It’s only half-past ten. Still, if you say it’s time for me to go to bed then it’s time for me to go to bed. You’re the boss after all.’
Justin wished she hadn’t said that, his mind immediately filling with various lust-filled scenarios associated with his taking this particular Cinderella to bed, none of which involved his playing the role of Prince Charming. More like the Black Prince. When he went to take her arm he thought better of it, deciding to keep his hands to himself till she was safely ensconced in her bedroom. Alone.
‘Let’s go, then,’ he grated out, and stepped back to wave her ahead of him.
Unfortunately, Rachel walking ahead of him in that highly provocative dress stimulated him further. If she’d had eyes in the back of her head she’d have been disgusted by his suddenly lascivious gaze as it gobbled up her rear view, which, whilst not quite as delicious as her front, had the bonus of its owner not being aware of being ogled. He could ogle to his heart’s content.
Justin didn’t even notice the redhead at the bar this time as he passed by, his attention all on Rachel’s derrière in motion. The tinkling sounds of the crystal-drop hem brushing against her legs dragged his eyes down to her shapely calves, then further down to her slender ankles and sexily shod feet.
