JC Harroway - The Proposition / Her Every Fantasy

‘But…’ I say, because I know it’s coming, despite his compliments.

‘But, when I woke up and reached for you because I wanted more, you weren’t there.’

I fist my hand on my hip. ‘I work odd hours because of international time zones.’

He nods, but continues. ‘And when I found you working before dawn this morning, I assumed we were done, that the sexy woman I’d spent the night with was safely tucked away, normal service resumed.’

‘Normal service? What does that mean?’ Didn’t I prove I could have a good time with the right incentive?

‘It means this.’ Cam waves a finger at me. ‘You’re back to being immaculate and untouchable. Perhaps last night was a one-off. Don’t forget I saw your idea of fun yesterday—until we left the casino it was hardly thrilling. But perhaps I’m judging you harshly.’ He folds his arms behind his head and stretches out his back. ‘Why don’t you help my decision-making process by coming to a party?’

My stomach drops with disappointment. This should be in the bag by now. ‘I told you, I fly out soon, and what kind of party happens at ten in the morn—’ I break off mid-flow, realising my mistake with a full-out blush.

No. I grind my teeth in frustration. He’s wrong. I can have as much fun as the next person…

His twisted mouth tells me he finds me amusing, but then his face turns sincere, eyes alight with that flicker of challenge I recognise from when he was buried inside me, instructing me to fondle my nipples or touch my clit.

‘The kind on a superyacht—the Monaco Yacht Show is in town. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. And it’s party time twenty-four-seven on board those things. How else can prospective buyers fall in love with the benefits of owning a floating luxury hotel?’

The depth of my irritation catches my breath even as I long to project a go-with-the-flow attitude. I can’t go to some debauched gathering at ten in the morning—I have to work, vet a press release cementing my deal, catch a plane…

I grip my temples. Listen to me. He’s seriously considering my proposal and I never concede this easily. I remind myself of what happened when I cut loose last night, of my elation this morning when I opened my emails to find Jensen’s was on board. Relaxing the reins a little had paid off then; why not now? Plus, I can’t have sexy, carefree Cam thinking I’m a decrepit old dullard.

‘Tell you what,’ he says, gripping the ends of the towel once more and buffing his astounding pecs, ‘you come to the party so we can discuss this proposition of yours further, and I’ll ensure you get to Zurich today—I have a plane.’

I almost roll my eyes—of course he has a plane—but stop myself in time. ‘I have a perfectly adequate first-class ticket…’ But isn’t this what I hoped? That he’d consider my outlandish plan?

He shrugs. ‘That’s the offer on the table—take it or leave it. What’s it going to be, princess? Party or goodbye?’

The desire to have things go exactly my way shunts my pulse higher as I stare, while he simply grins. But I can have things my way. All I have to do is go to his stupid superyacht party, drink some champagne and take his private plane to Zurich, with or without him—I can get some work done on board, have a decent sleep in a proper bed.

‘Come on, you know you want to.’ He winks.

My annoyance builds at his self-assured smile—he knows he has me over a barrel. Not a position I’ve previously enjoyed. But with Cam… My head spins with all the sexy ways I can make him pay. Ruinous ways…

‘Okay,’ I sigh, ‘I’ll come to the party.’

His eyes light up. ‘I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes, after I’ve showered,’ he says, pushing away from the weights machine, all male swagger.

‘Great.’ My tone is sarcastic. I can’t believe he’s playing hardball.

But he didn’t say no…

He keeps walking in my direction, slow and studied like a panther. I’m hit with a wave of his body heat, the scent of his fresh, manly sweat and undertones of pure, sexy Cam. Damn, he’s worth waiting for and he knows it.

He grips my chin, his thumb swiping my bottom lip, and then he tilts my face up to his kiss, which is slow and thorough, as if he’s relearning how our mouths slot together. I suck in a breath—unbelievably I’d forgotten how good he is at kissing, how it’s almost a full-contact sport—all strong, demanding lips and probing tongue. How he dwarfs me, one hand practically swallowing my entire jaw and half my face, and how, when he pulls away, his eyes glassy with that now familiar desire, I want more. Want it never to end.

How can I crave him again? How do I have any more orgasms left in me? How can I convince him to say yes?

He pulls away, not unaffected by our chemistry—I see it in his eyes—and now I’m looking forward to this party, to proving him wrong, to showing him I’m worth his time.

‘Give me ten.’ His voice is husky, his breath warm on my wet lips.

I nod, too scared to trust my own voice because of the lust raging through my bloodstream.

I’m not surprised to see him driving the low-slung, sleek sports car he bought last night, even if it does look as if it belongs in some futuristic movie. The sight of him behind the wheel makes me wish I was someone who employed dirty tactics. I want to ride him right there in the front seat.

‘So this is your new car?’ I say as he lifts my suitcase into the back. My stomach sinks a little when I see his solitary brown leather messenger-style bag next to it. No suitcase.

‘Yes. It’s a supercar, remember, a Python—custom-made.’

‘Is everything super-sized with you?’

He waggles his eyebrows and I laugh.

‘I’m glad you appreciate the finer things in life,’ he says. He’s talking about himself, so I shake my head in mock disgust, although I’m smiling.

‘So what are you going to do with it?’ I ask about the car.

‘We’re going to take it for a little test drive.’ He opens my door, and I slide in.

‘Shouldn’t you have done that before you made such a rash purchase? What if the wheels fall off?’

‘I’ll get it fixed,’ he shrugs. ‘You wouldn’t worry if you’d seen the race yesterday. It hugs the road like a dream, and wait till you hear the soft purr of the engine.’ He winks as if nothing fazes him and a pang of longing shoots through me at his easygoing outlook.

I watch him stride around the front of the car, wondering anew at how he amassed such wealth at such a young age. I had my trust fund to help me out when I first started my own company. But I take full credit for what I’ve built since. I may not be any good at relationships, I may not have the belief of my father, but money I can make.

He joins me in the car, and, as if he’s read my mind, starts the conversation. ‘So, what do you do that sees you travelling for work?’ he asks as he guns the engine, pulls away from the M Club and heads towards the harbour, Port Hercule.

I love the way he drives, the way he handles the wheel with the same masculine self-assuredness with which he handled my pleasure last night, everything about him exciting new areas of my body and mind until I’m aching for him to agree to my proposition. ‘I’m in finance. I’m CEO of an investment multinational.’

He shoots me an assessing look, something akin to disbelief in his eyes.

I lift my chin and try not to take it personally.

‘So you make money for people?’ he says.

‘Yes, lots of money, otherwise I’d have no clients. I’m very good at what I do and it’s true what they say—money makes the world go round.’