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He glanced up and her heart leapt.
‘Sure Ruby’s the only creative genius in your family?’ He pointed at the list. ‘These are insightful suggestions.’
Chuffed by his praise, she shrugged. ‘This coming from the guy who has single-handedly come up with an amazing concept and is seeing it through to the most glorious designs I’ve ever seen.’
He winked. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
That was what she was afraid of.
Now was the time she had to lay down the law about mixing business with pleasure, about setting boundaries. But with her body still humming and her mind still reeling at how sexual he made her feel, maybe now wasn’t the best time.
He touched her arm, the barest brush of his fingertips against her skin, and she jumped.
‘Your reaction just answered my next question.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That until we get this thing out of our systems are we going to be useless working together?’
She should disagree. Should give him a spiel about her ability to remain professional and focussed at all times.
Totally hypocritical, considering she’d almost screamed his name less than thirty minutes ago.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Damned if I know.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. It did little to clear the frown above it. ‘We have three weeks left ’til Fashion Week, so the next seven days are crucial in finalising the designs and incorporating changes.’
No argument there.
‘That means we both need to work our butts off without interruptions.’ He sent her a pointed glare. ‘Or distractions.’
‘Hey, I’m not the one going around…’ She trailed off, unwilling to articulate exactly what he’d been doing to her. ‘So you’re saying we work apart?’
Was that even feasible with the workload they had?
He nodded, and while her head said this was the perfect solution, her body wailed a loud, resounding nooooo!
‘We talk on the phone, e-mail, Skype. But this?’ He gestured to the limited space between them. ‘Too distracting when I can’t keep my hands off you.’
His declaration soothed her wailing body somewhat.
‘But some time in the future, when the campaign is done…’ He snagged a tendril curling around her ear and wound it slowly around his finger, caressing the top of her ear, tracing its shape, sending a shiver of longing vibrating downwards. ‘We play.’
How two words could hold so much promise she’d never know.
‘Define play.’
His mouth eased into a breath-stealing grin. ‘You and me. “Do not Disturb” sign. And that box I promised you. Maybe two.’
Her body gave a betraying howl of longing.
‘Your stamina’s that good?’
‘You bet.’ He leaned close, his lips grazing her cheek, and she clamped down on the urge to turn her head a fraction and ram her mouth against his. ‘And I can’t wait to prove it.’
Oh, boy.
‘Sound doable?’
She—it—was extremely doable.
‘Sure.’ She nodded, her insides trembling with need, as she gathered up her work paraphernalia.
‘Sapphire?’
She couldn’t stop, for if she did she’d never make it out of here without flinging herself at him.
‘Yeah?’ she mumbled, trying to stuff her laptop into her bag with limited success—until she realised she was trying to force it into her handbag.
‘You know time apart will feed my hunger for you?’
She gulped.
If they were this turned on now, imagine what time apart would do?
‘And while we focus on business this next week it doesn’t rule out phone sex.’
A ripple of pleasure spread through her at the thought.
‘I’ve never done phone sex,’ she said, sounding like an inexperienced neophyte but not caring. She had a feeling this guy would be teaching her a plethora of unspoken delights.
‘Then this is going to be fun.’
He brushed a kiss across her lips and she let him, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, aware it would be their last physical contact for a long seven days.
When the need to linger became a driving need to straddle him, she yanked away and grabbed her stuff.
She strode for the door, desperate to put some distance between them. With her hand on the handle and a safe space between them, she said, ‘Patrick?’
‘Yeah?’
Her only consolation was that he looked half as dazed as she was.
‘Better make that three boxes.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_2ab8eb38-4062-5973-8c01-8b21a397a9ee)
SAPPHIE LASTED A whole three days without succumbing to the temptation of seeing Patrick’s face.
Then he sent her a text, citing an urgent Skype meeting, and she caved.
Purely business, of course. And the fact she spent ten minutes primping in front of a mirror? It was the usual routine she’d do before any work meeting.
The part where her palms grew clammy as she swiped on mascara and scrubbed off her lippy twice before settling on the perfect shade was pure feminine preening.
She had four more days before he made good on his promise. Just the two of them and a decadent weekend. With boxes.
She’d been a smart-ass, taunting him at the conclusion of their last face-to-face meeting, but deep down she was a quivering mess of confusion and nerves and lust. The kind of lust she’d never experienced. The kind of lust guaranteed to turn her into a fool.
She didn’t suffer fools lightly, and respected hard work and dedication in comparison with deceitful women who faked helplessness in order to score points with men. The type of women Patrick usually hung out with if the internet was anything to go by.
It had been a stupid, spur-of-the moment decision to check out his more recent past, spurred by two glasses of Chardon-nay and a rampant curiosity.
It had been the end of a long eighteen-hour day—the day after she’d seen him; a day in which she’d determinedly buried herself in work to erase the lingering memory of his touch, and her response.
The wine had helped her wind down but it hadn’t taken the edge off her curiosity and she’d succumbed to temptation.
The internet had been enlightening, to say the least, and had provided her with a plethora of images and articles. Usu-ally depicting Patrick with a stunning supermodel on his arm, laughing into the camera, with a different country landscape in the background. From Santorini to Monte Carlo, Nice to Barcelona, Patrick was there, partying his way through Eu-rope.
She’d given up after the tenth page. The endless hits had been rather depressing.
He’d lived such an exciting life amid glamorous people while she’d spent the last ten years devoting hers to Seaborns.
She didn’t regret a single moment—discounting the last year when she’d been an idiot in shouldering the burden alone—and still experienced a thrill when she walked into their amazing showroom. But seeing pictorial evidence of Patrick’s lifestyle reinforced what she’d always felt around him: gauche, prim, floundering a little.
And envious. She’d always been a tad envious of his ability to charm people, his ease to cruise through life without a care in the world, his natural exuberance that made everyone around him smile.
If anything, those images had reinforced what she already knew deep down: that Patrick was way different and always had been. Back in high school he’d annoyed her, so what had changed now? He was still brash and cocky and charming, and had waltzed into this new Fourde Fashion with the ease of a practised CEO.
As far as she could tell from her research he’d been a minion in Paris, so this position was a massive boost up the corporate ladder for him. From what she’d been able to find of his professional life, that was. There’d been a glut of social stuff and pics, and nada on his work. She’d found it odd but had been too depressed by the gorgeous glamazons on his arm in every photo to worry about it.
And that exacerbated her annoyance—the fact he’d probably been handed this job on a silver platter and would rock it because he had the backing of his family name.
The irony wasn’t lost on her: people would say the same about her and Seaborns. But there was a difference. She’d been groomed from a young age to take over, had acted in accordance because of it. Had made sacrifices, had never lost sight of the end goal, had strived to be the best leader this jewellery company had ever seen.
Could Patrick say the same? Doubtful.
For a guy who’d spent his final year doodling and folding origami figures with his study notes he’d come a long way.
And judging by this current show he was nailing it too.
Admiration tempered her annoyance at his glib, charmed life. The guy might have skived off during that final year at high school but he was putting in the hard yards now.
And she admired hard work. She understood it. What she didn’t understand was her undeniable, clamouring attraction to him.
She felt good around him, in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Her skin tingled, her blood pounded and she felt alive.
Proving she could physically handle her role as Seaborns’ boss was one thing, but handling whatever Patrick dished out took her recovery to a whole other level.
Matching him sexually would push her out of her comfort zone, and it would take the edge off this insane lust she had for him.
Most importantly, it would prove to herself she was whole again.
That had been the worst part of her enforced rest at Ten-ang—the insidious self-doubts that would creep up on her at inopportune moments and make her wonder if she had what it took to continue leading Seaborns.
For someone who’d loved being the face of the company, who’d attended posh soirées and glamorous events and talked up Seaborn’s fabulous jewellery every chance she got, during her recovery she’d wondered if she’d ever find that kind of energy again.
Sure, she’d improved, but every time she yawned or had a twinge in her muscles or a minor headache from spending too long at the computer, she experienced a fleeting panic that she could suffer a relapse.
Being with Patrick, having him desire her, made her feel physically thriving, and that, more than anything, silenced her doubts in getting sexually involved with him.
Anything, or anyone, that could make her feel on this constant high, as if she was invincible, was worth pursuing.
She remembered the way he’d looked at her those times he’d pleasured her, the way he’d been turned on, the way he devoured her with his eyes every time he thought she wasn’t looking—and her body buzzed.
The endorphin release from Patrick’s touch was much better than any workout.
But craving him this much…how had she morphed from a successful, confident businesswoman to this muddle of need?
His fault for being so darn appealing. Which raised the question: if she did throw herself into a dirty little fling with him, would her sensibilities return or would this crazy, out of control feeling intensify?
She couldn’t afford the latter—needed to ensure Seaborns presented their best work at the Fashion Week show. A real quandary: indulge in a no-holds-barred fling with Patrick, feel utterly amazing and the best she had in ages. Or walk away from any further physical involvement and run the risk of going completely batty wanting him regardless.
She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. How had she ended up in this situation?
She didn’t lust after guys—especially ones who’d driven her nuts in high school. She worked hard and worked out. That was the extent of her life.
Maybe that was half the problem?
Probably. Which was why a decadent weekend of raunchy sex could be just what the doctor ordered.
She chuckled, wondering what the physicians at Tenang would think about that as a treatment for CFS.
Though could she do it? Shuck off her business suit and become a sex-starved goddess for a weekend with Patrick?
As she settled in front of her PC and waited for Patrick’s Skype call one thought reverberated through her head: first time for everything.
Patrick had worked his ass off the last three days. Pulled an all-nighter. Done the work of ten men. Supervised and brainstormed and delegated.
Usually this manic pace gave him a buzz. In the past it had come from partying; these days it was from ensuring Fourde Fashion stayed ahead of competing European designers.
This time working like a maniac hadn’t taken the edge off. Only one woman could do that and he couldn’t wait to see her—even if it was only via a screen.
He didn’t like how she’d got under his skin. Didn’t like the anticipation making his palms clammy. She was a distraction he could ill afford but somehow, despite working his butt off, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
At least Skype was safe. A visual without the temptation of touching. And he’d been doing a lot of that, fantasising about touching her…
He’d half expected Sapphire not to respond to his call, but in a few seconds she appeared, her eyes wide and luminous, her cheeks pink, her lips glossed, and his gut tightened.
