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They did? From where he was sitting, he’d rather be doing much more than talking. Like finishing what they’d started last night, with him deep within her this time around.
‘Talk is overrated.’
‘Spoken like a true male,’ she said drily, jabbing him in the chest. ‘We need boundaries, that sort of thing.’
‘We need a desk with our name written all over it,’ he said, sotto voce, earning a delightfully unassuming, tempting pout for his trouble.
‘You’re the same infuriating, annoying, over-confident—’
‘And you’re the same subtly sexy, smart, amazing woman,’ he said, meaning it.
He’d met some incredible women around the world, had enjoyed every moment of his bachelor life, but it hadn’t been until he’d arrived back in Melbourne and strutted into Sea-borns that he’d remembered Sapphire had a certain something that elevated her among other females.
He couldn’t explain what it was, but the hint of vulnerability underlying her usual toughness appealed on a deeper level he rarely acknowledged.
And that meant he had to focus on one thing only. Sex. No time or inclination to discover where her newfound softness had come from or to delve beyond the obvious: they were two people with a serious sexual attraction that would combust if last night’s prelude was any indication.
And he couldn’t wait for the main event.
Her mouth opened, closed. Her loss of words was cute. A rarity. He took full advantage.
‘I meant what I said.’ He snagged her hand beneath the table and she let him. ‘I had no idea you were so hot in high school—’ She pursed her lips in disapproval and he rushed on ‘—which is probably a good thing, as I would’ve made you fail Biology. But seeing how into it you were last night, us hooking up, major turn-on. Fantasy stuff.’
He must have said the right thing, because she turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. ‘You drove me nuts in high school, teasing me and mucking around with your slackass attitude.’
‘Surely that kiss on graduation night redeemed me slightly?
She winced. ‘Another thing I’d rather not talk about.’
‘Yeah, I kinda got that impression when you didn’t return my calls.’
Her fingers convulsed for a second. ‘I was mortified.’
‘Why? Because your date was a drunken dumbass?’
She shook her head, dislodging a few strands from her slicked back do. Mussing the severity of that product-drenched hair added to her vulnerability.
‘No, I was embarrassed because I’d treated you badly yet you didn’t hesitate in stepping in to help me out of a rough spot.’
He saw genuine regret in the reluctant gaze that met his, and he didn’t like his answering zap of emotion.
Who cared what her motivations had been back then? He wanted her in his bed now. That was all that mattered. No room for emotions whatsoever.
‘Hey, I liked the putdowns and the cutting remarks. It spurred me on to tease you harder.’
‘That’s what the kiss was about, wasn’t it?’
She’d lost him.
‘Huh?’
‘I thought you kissed me out of pity.’
She said it so softly he strained forward to hear it.
‘What the—?’
‘I thought you felt sorry for me after Mick ditched me at the dance,’ she said, bolder this time, daring him to disagree. ‘You teased me during the drive about my lousy taste in dates, said maybe it was my dress or my hair or my corsage that drove him away, then we got home and you kissed me and I thought it was a big joke—you taking your usual taunts that one step further.’
He swore.
‘You thought I was that shallow?’
‘That’s the only side of you I ever saw,’ she said, as if that made it better.
It didn’t. There was a reason he’d acted that way, why he’d only shown the world a certain side, but he couldn’t tell her. He’d divulged enough truths for one day.
‘Well, sweetheart, here’s a tip. When a guy kisses a girl it isn’t out of pity. It’s usually driven by hormones.’
He shrugged, trying to make light of the situation before he blabbed about why he’d really kissed her that night. It wouldn’t help to admit he had felt sorry for her, that he’d kissed her as a distraction to prevent tears. She’d slug him for sure. Or worse, not follow through on the promise of sensational sex.
So he was a guy? Sue him.
‘And here’s a heads up. My motivation for kissing you back then is irrelevant. Because all that matters now is I sure as hell want you. Right now, if I had my way.’ He tugged on her hand and she leaned in close. ‘I’d clear this table, hoist you onto it, and have you out of those pants in two seconds flat.’
Her eyes widened, locked on his. Thankfully she’d lost the injured lamb look. He could handle her cool and controlled. He didn’t do her insecure side well. It unnerved him, seeing the woman who’d verbally fended off his barbs and then some all soft and susceptible.
It made him feel stuff he didn’t want to, so he regained control the only way he knew how.
‘I’d spread your legs, start at your right knee and kiss my way upward. Nipping your inner thigh…gentle bites.’
Her sharp intake of breath spurred him on.
‘I’d tease my way along your hip, across your belly to the other side, where I’d kiss you all the way down. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, until you were squirming for me.’ He locked gazes with her. ‘Begging for it.’
She groaned.
He knew the feeling.
‘Keep going,’ she said, squirming in her seat.
‘Then I’d lick my way up your thigh until I could hardly control myself. But I’d taste you, circling you with my tongue, sucking you into my mouth until you came—’
‘Patrick, please…’
He released her hand in her lap and edged over, cupping her mound. She cursed, the word spilling from her lips as much of a turn-on as her reaction to him here in the boardroom.
The fact she was letting him do this to her here, with the risk of anyone walking in, heightened the pleasure.
‘Yeah, I’d love to be doing that to you right now, but this will have to suffice.’
He pushed the heel of his hand into her and she ground against it. It took several small, circular undulations of for her to come, her fingers digging into his thigh while she lifted off the chair slightly.
They never broke eye contact the entire time, so he saw everything. Her need, her passion, her release.
And it humbled him in a way he’d never dreamed possible.
If he’d thought he was in over his head last night, her response to him now made him feel like a drowning man without a chance of being saved.
The door creaked open and they sprang apart. She muttered underneath her breath: he tried to act as if wanting to tear this woman’s clothes off every time he saw her wasn’t all that unusual.
Sex…nothing more, nothing less. Maybe if he mentally recited it often enough he’d believe it.
He shot her a glance but she stared straight ahead, fixed on the models strutting through the room in preliminary designs, the pinkness of her cheeks the only giveaway sign that she wasn’t the same über-cool princess he remembered.
Fine, let them concentrate on business for now, but when they’d wrapped up here they needed to sort out where and when they were going to get this thing out of their system—for he had a feeling he wouldn’t be functioning on any useful level until he did.
Sapphie had learned from a young age to shield her real feelings.
The expectations associated with being the eldest child, the one with highest grades, the responsible one, had pretty much ensured she was under scrutiny as heir apparent to run Seaborns from the time she hit high school.
Maybe even before, considering her mum had spent every Saturday afternoon poring over the company’s finances and making Sapphie sit next to her.
When kids her age had been riding their scooters or playing netball on the weekend, she’d been tagging along on buying expeditions, or scouting the opposition, or hanging around at fancy tea parties, listening to her mum talk shop.
Sure, she’d learned to love Seaborns, and had strived to gain great grades to enter her chosen Economics and Management degree, but over the years it had become ingrained to maintain a calm outer persona. To pretend everything was right with the world. When in fact she’d had bad hair days and hated the school bully and crushed on the football captain.
That persona would serve her well now, when she had to sit next to Patrick during a preview and pretend he hadn’t just rocked her world again.
What he’d done…What she’d let him do…
Her fingers convulsed, digging into her thighs. She’d never been wild or wanton. Maybe that was her problem. When an experienced playboy like Patrick glanced sideways at her she was ready to jump him.
She blamed Ruby and all that talk of getting laid. Sure, it had been a while since she’d been with a guy, but she hadn’t really been interested, what with the fatigue.
Ironic that coming back to work and throwing herself into this campaign was all about physically proving she could handle leading Seaborns, but what if there was a better way to test her endurance? Or at least a more fun way?
For she had little doubt sex with Patrick would involve an aerobic capacity workout to push her to the limit.
As if sensing her wicked, wayward thoughts he cast her a glance, which she deftly deflected by pretending to concentrate on the models strutting into the room.
Thankfully he returned to muttering into his smartphone, dictating changes and minor adjustments on the gowns to follow up later: hem too low here, stray seam there. He was so focussed, so tuned in to his work, she couldn’t help but stare a little.
He’d surprised her. She’d wondered if he could pull off his mega idea for old-world Hollywood glamour, and by the looks of the early designs he’d come through in a big way.
It pained her to admit, even to herself, that she’d doubted him. But she had, and now she was going to have to eat her words.
How could the guy who’d laughed his way through school before absconding to Paris be responsible for these exquisite designs?
She glanced at the models, poised in a holding pattern on a makeshift runway, stunned anew by the colours and gowns before her eyes.
A riot of rich hues: deep crimson, emerald, peacock-blue. Lush satins, shimmering silks. Strapless evening gowns. Timeless cocktail frocks. Curves and class. Absolutely stunning.
Patrick might not have personally drawn the designs, but he’d come up with the concept, had supervised the designers night and day to get them to this point.
Not only did the guy have a sound business head, he had creativity to burn.
And not just for this fashion show.
She resisted the urge to squirm in her seat—and tried to ignore the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers or the touch of his thigh pressing close as he leaned over to point out a minor detail. Perfectly innocuous actions that shouldn’t have made her burn but she did. For him. With an unrelenting heat that sparked every time he touched her and shot off at tangents throughout her body, zapping and scalding and corroding her resistance slowly but surely.
This wasn’t good.
Their bathroom interlude should have taken the edge off her sudden interest in seeing him naked.
Instead it had put her on some heightened awareness where having him near sent her pheromones into overdrive.
The preview concluded way too quickly. Serge departed and the models filed out after him, leaving her rueing the approaching time where she’d have to do some fast thinking, fast talking, or both.
She’d had an orgasm.
In Fourde Fashion’s boardroom.
With an unlocked door.
Seconds before people had come traipsing in.
It had been phenomenal, but the fact she was becoming like him—reckless, live in the moment—was not good.
That might have been one of her goals after leaving Tenang—to make the most of every second and not dwell on things she couldn’t change—but now she had Patrick urging her, how far would she go to test her newfound strength?
Pushing it physically was one thing, but seeing how far she could push with Patrick…
Danger with a capital D.
For sex with a guy like him could become addictive, and she had no intention of getting hooked.
‘Thoughts?’
He really didn’t want to know.
By the amused glint in his eyes, maybe he did.
She took a deep breath and pushed her notepad towards him. ‘On what you’ve done? Amazing. Here are a few things I jotted down to capitalise on the theme you’re going for.’
He sped read her dot-point list, nodding thoughtfully, pen tapping against the pad, so absorbed in business that she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole dirty-talk orgasm incident.
‘Great pick-ups. I’ll get onto Serge right away to get the designers to incorporate.’
