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Olivia shook her head as he jogged down the second flight of stairs. The man was unbelievable. But if he thought he had the upper hand, he was mistaken. She could maintain her professional decorum under trying circumstances. No way was she screwing up two careers inside a decade. Henceforth, she was enacting a strictly at arm’s length policy. No encouraging him through verbal engagement, no rising to the bait—even if she had to bite her damn tongue off—and if he ever got close enough to do the whole addle-her-senses thing he was so good at …
Yeah, she really couldn’t let that happen again.
Continuing down the stairs, she allowed herself a brief foray into fantasy where she could hand out a little quid pro quo. In that universe she would have the same effect on him as he had on her. She would play on it, winding him tight, getting him so hot and hard for her, he’d beg—
She took a deep breath and blew it out with puffed cheeks. Since that train of thought wasn’t helping any, she started looking for loopholes in his stupid rules as she made her way back to the office. Women like her didn’t have hot, steamy casual sex with men like him—even if they were tempted.
Really, really tempted …
CHAPTER THREE
BLAKE walked around the vast expanse of space that had been one of Charles Warren’s last purchases. The view of Central Park’s lush green treetops, rolling lawns and duck ponds beneath the sharp contrast of the Manhattan skyline was spectacular, there was no denying that. But could he see himself living there?
Hell, no.
‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it?’
Olivia followed him around with a file cradled against her breasts and the same transparent enthusiasm as a realtor looking to make a sale. It wouldn’t last. After several days in her company one-on-one, Blake knew she started the day in a better mood than she ended it. He liked to think he’d had something to do with that.
‘Amazing would be one word.’ Turning towards her, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Little over the top, don’t you think?’
Everything about the place had been over the top since they arrived on the red-carpeted steps outside one of New York’s most prestigious landmark hotels. A liveried doorman had touched the peak of his cap as they stepped into the revolving doors. The manager had met them in the foyer, shaken Blake’s hand and practically fallen over himself to make it clear he could get anything from anywhere at a moment’s notice. There had even been maids in traditional uniforms who magically scurried out of sight when the doors to the penthouse were opened. Blake had hated every moment.
Even while he stood inside three floors of some of the largest square footage known to Manhattan apartment-kind, he could feel the walls closing in on him.
‘It’s … opulent …’ she replied after some thought.
‘Opulent would be another word.’
Looking at the long sofas placed at right angles to a massive wood-burning stove, he took his hands out of his pockets, sat down, and stretched his arms along the cushions at the back. As he set his feet on the glass coffee table, he saw Olivia frown in disapproval before she controlled her expression.
‘You could redecorate.’
‘What would you change?’ he asked, idly swaying his feet from side to side. When she frowned again, he stopped the movement and stifled a smile. There were times she made it too easy for him.
‘It’s not mine to change.’
‘If it was …’
Her gaze flickered briefly to his, then away. She’d been doing that a lot. Different sides of an elevator, more than an arm’s length away when they were walking, subtle side-steps if he moved any closer—he’d noticed them all and each and every one had either amused or bugged him to varying degrees.
‘I’m afraid that doesn’t fall under the remit of my professional opinion,’ she replied as she wandered around the room.
‘Humour me.’
‘I don’t think that’s in my job description either.’ Smiling sweetly, she turned to face him; she decided several items of expensive furniture provided a safe distance between them.
‘Kills you to even think about breaking a rule, doesn’t it?’
‘Your rules, not mine.’
Seemed to Blake she’d been pretty damn close to breaking a rule when he’d been inches away from kissing her. But since thinking about reminding her had the same effect on his body it always did, he lifted his feet and pushed upright. ‘May as well check out the bedrooms.’
‘I’ll wait here.’
‘Where I lead, you follow.’
She lagged behind more noticeably on the second floor than she had when he’d looked at the large kitchen with its black marble counters or through the rounded bay windows overlooking the reflecting pool and plantings in the plaza’s courtyard. She remained silent while Blake threw open random doors to increasingly decadent bedrooms and mosaic-tiled bathrooms; each and every room possessed a chandelier whether it needed one or not.
Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpeting in the master bedroom, he walked across to the giant bed, sat on the edge and bounced a couple of times before looking to where Olivia watched warily from the door.
‘Take a seat.’ He patted the covers. ‘If we’re lucky we might see a camel before the harem gets back.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
He held her gaze and waited.
‘Okay,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Maybe it’s a little over the top.’
It was the kind of understatement the place could use in Blake’s opinion. Restless again, he walked to the windows. ‘Remind me how many properties I own in Manhattan.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Current value of this place?’
‘Fifty-three million … give or take …’
When he looked over his shoulder—brows raised in disbelief—she cut a smile loose, distracting him from the ridiculous price tag with how it lit her up from inside. She should smile like that more often, he thought, forcing his gaze to look out of the window again. For a moment, when her reflection came into focus on the glass, he watched her looking at him. Her smile faded as she bit her lower lip and checked him out from head to toe. She did that a lot. It was her ‘tell’ in the game they were playing, his way of knowing she was bluffing when she’d claimed she wasn’t attracted to him.
‘Sell it,’ he said firmly, forcing his gaze from her reflection to the clear blue sky above the city. ‘There’s a private jet on that list, isn’t there?’
‘Three of them,’ she replied with resignation. ‘Let me guess, you want to sell them, too.’
‘Explain to me why I need three private jets.’
‘Senior executives use them to—’
‘Join the Mile High Club?’ His gaze sought her reflection again. ‘Understandable. The restrooms on commercial airlines can be a tad tight when it comes to wriggle room.’
She sighed. ‘You’re very cynical when it comes to people with money. Isn’t that going to be a problem when you look in the mirror?’
It had taken long enough. Blake bit back a smile, ‘Is that an opinion?’
Pressing her lips together, she breathed deep, striving for what remained of the patience he’d been purposefully testing. ‘I don’t see why we’re visiting these properties if you’re going to sell everything.’
‘And now she’s questioning my decisions …’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘That’s eight properties and three private jets, bringing your running total to approximately one hundred million dollars.’
Resisting the addition of a congratulations, she opened her file, made a note, snapped it shut and left the door. Blake turned away from the window and followed her into the hall, his mood improving by the second.
‘Hold off on the sale of a jet. Apart from the Mile High possibilities, we might need it when we go to look at the overseas properties.’
She swung around to face him. ‘You never said anything about taking trips overseas.’
‘Is your passport out of date?’
‘That’s not the point.’ She frowned as he closed the gap between them. ‘I can’t drop everything and go jetting around the world with you so you can spend five minutes looking at each of the places you’re planning on selling.’
‘Who says I’m planning on selling them?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’ She arched a brow as she looked into his eyes. ‘Whether or not they look like something thrown together from a tsar’s yard sale?’
The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Meaning you think it’s more than a little over the top. Could you live here?’
‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘What would you do with it?’
She sighed again. ‘Sell it to someone who could.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded.
When he stepped into her personal space, she lifted the file and hugged it against her breasts like a shield. Glancing away, she held her breath for a moment before sizing him up from the corner of narrowed eyes. ‘You want to look at every property, no matter where it is?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you have any idea how many properties you own overseas?’
‘Is there a prize if I get it right?’
‘It could take weeks to visit all those countries.’
‘On a tight schedule, are we?’
Cocking her head, she came back with, ‘You tell me.’
Closing his thumb and forefinger over the file, Blake tugged and watched her reaction when the instinctive tightening of her hold caused the backs of his fingers to brush against the skin between the lapels of her jacket. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darkening a shade. But when he smiled in response, she let go of the file and lifted her chin in defiance.
The woman had a unique way of looking at him: As if she was hinting heavily she could drop him to his knees with very little effort and he was lucky he was still upright. It was one heck of a turn-on for a man whose personal preference ran to strong-willed women. They were right up there with women whose confidence in their abilities added to their sex appeal and who knew what they wanted in the bedroom and weren’t afraid to demand it. She’d find he could be very accommodating with the latter. He might not stick around long enough for anything to get complicated but when he took a lover there was no question in her mind he was one hundred per cent with her.
He took a great deal of pride in that.
Turning his upper body to make room, he opened the file and pretended to read the contents. ‘You want to tell me what the real problem is?’
‘Meaning?’
The way Blake saw it, it was one of two things. ‘Either you hate the idea of taking an all expenses paid trip around the world—’ which didn’t seem likely ‘—or you hate the idea of taking that trip with me.’ Closing the file, he turned and lowered his voice. ‘Worried about breaking your mixing business with pleasure rule if you spend more time with me?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ he challenged softly.
While tapping the spine of the file with the palm of his hand, his gaze wandered over her face. The arch of her brows, the length of darkly spiked lashes, the sparkle of warning in her eyes—she really was something.
‘There’s a reason that rule exists,’ she said tightly.
‘Office romance gone bad?’
‘That would be none of your business.’
‘Married, huh?’
There was a small noise that almost sounded like a growl. ‘You are the most—’
‘I’ve been told.’
‘You really don’t care what people think, do you?’
It was said as if it was a completely alien idea to her, something Blake found telling. Appearances mattered, judging by the number of times she straightened the endless selection of suits that had to be hell to wear during the heatwave they were experiencing, but it went deeper than fashion. Her personality was adjusted according to the demands of her profession, even if it meant suppressing what she thought and felt—the latter explaining why she’d been able to follow his rules for as long as she had when Blake wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked.
‘If you care?’
‘What people think …?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Long lashes flickered as she looked over his shoulder and considered her answer. ‘Because the attitude we project tends to influence the attitude we receive in return.’
A hint aimed at him, no doubt.
Blake laid the file against her breasts when she looked into his eyes again. ‘Then maybe you should try being nicer to me.’
Her mouth opened then closed, her lips pressed together to stop herself from saying what she thought.
Time for a little prodding. ‘Know what I think?’
She took the file. ‘I’m sure I’m about to.’
‘I think frustration makes you testy.’
