Louise Fuller - Blackmailed Down The Aisle

‘I didn’t put the lights on because I thought somebody would see,’ she said quickly.

He was standing too close; the heat and scent of his body was messing with her head so that speaking in sentences was suddenly a struggle.

‘I know this floor is off limits, but I’ve worked here a couple of times and I wanted to see...’

She paused. What could she have possibly—believably—wanted to see in an unlit office?

Blood pounding in her ears, she stared desperately past him at the lit-up skyscrapers—and then her gaze locked on to the Empire State Building.

‘The city. At night,’ she said, her breath juddering in relief. ‘Everyone says the view from up here is amazing, so I thought I’d come and look.’

He stared at her for so long and so hard that she had to clench the muscles in her legs to stop them from giving way.

‘How?’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘Not what. How? How did you get up to this level? Catering staff only have clearance for the floor they’re working on.’

Daisy swallowed. Keep it simple, she told herself. ‘I don’t know,’ she lied again. ‘I just pressed some buttons.’

Her head was starting to ache, and there was no way she could keep this up for much longer. It was time for a dignified retreat. David would understand, and together they could think of another less humiliating way to return Rollo Fleming’s watch to him.

She breathed out, fighting for calm. ‘Look, Mr Fleming, I’m really sorry I came up here, okay? It was a bad idea—a mistake—and I promise I will never do anything like it again. So if you could just forget I was ever here, I’d be really grateful.’

There was a taut silence as his gaze held hers.

‘Daisy. Pretty name...’ he said quietly.

She could sense he was battling to control his temper.

‘Old-fashioned. Sweet. Decent.’

He smiled—a chilling smile that sent a shiver down her backbone.

‘It’s a pity you don’t live up to it.’

She felt her body still. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said carefully.

He shook his head. ‘Then let me explain. I’ve had a long day...’

Pausing, he felt his shoulders stiffen. Not just long. It had been a day of frustration and failure. The deal was generous—he’d offered way more than the market value of the building—and yet once again James Dunmore had rejected it out of hand. And he still didn’t really understand why.

His lips pressed together. Or rather he did understand; he just didn’t know what to do about it. Dunmore didn’t approve of him, or his reputation for ruthlessness and womanising and so he wouldn’t sell. Rollo breathed out slowly. But he wanted that building—had wanted it for seventeen years—and he wasn’t about to give up now.

If only he could somehow persuade Dunmore that he’d changed...

He felt his pulse quicken. It made him feel tense, thwarted, just thinking about it. And now, as if he didn’t have enough to deal with, this woman, Daisy, was trying to hustle him.

So call Security, he told himself irritably.

There was no reason for him to deal with this.

But, looking up at Daisy, he felt his body twitch.

Except there was.

A beautiful, brown-eyed reason, with a body that made that completely uninspiring uniform look both chic and sexy. His eyes rested on her face. Aside from a faint smudge of pink on her lips, she was make-up-free. But then beauty like hers needed no enhancement. Everything from the soft curves of her mouth to the huge espresso-coloured eyes was designed to seduce.

She had attempted to pull her long blonde hair into some kind of low ponytail, but it was coming loose, and to his annoyance he found himself wanting to loosen it more. Could almost imagine what it would feel like between his fingers, the weight of it in his hands, and how it would fall forward when they kissed, the silken strands brushing his face—

Abruptly he lifted his head, his eyes glinting.

‘As I was saying, I’ve had a long, difficult day—’

‘Then why don’t I just get out of your way?’ Heart lurching like a ship at sea, Daisy edged backwards. ‘I probably should get back to work anyhow.’

She glanced past him, every fibre in her body focused on reaching the door and freedom, and then her stomach lurched too as he shook his head slowly,

‘I don’t think so.’

His hand coiled around her wrist, his touch searing her skin. ‘You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.’

‘Let go of me.’ She tugged her arm, trying not to give in to the cold, slippery panic curling around her heart like an eel. ‘I have told you the truth!’

‘Enough!’

His voice was sharp and final, like a guillotine falling, and she felt his grip tighten.

‘You have done nothing but lie since you opened your mouth. Now, most men might fall for this eyelash-fluttering, little-girl-lost routine, but I’m not most men. So save your pouting and tell me what you’re doing here.’

‘I’m not pouting.’ She jerked her arm free. Stuffing her hands back into her apron, she tightened her fingers involuntarily around the swipe card. ‘And most men—most reasonable, decent men—wouldn’t be interrogating me about an honest mistake.’

He laughed without humour. ‘Honest? I doubt you know the meaning of the word.’

Her hands curled into fists. ‘Just because you’re some big shot property tycoon, it doesn’t give you the right to play judge, jury and executioner. I’m not on trial here.’

‘No. But you will be.’ He stared at her speculatively. ‘At a rough guess facing charges of trespass, unlawful entry, intent to rob—’

‘I didn’t come here to rob anyone,’ Daisy snapped. ‘If you must know, I came here to—’

Breaking off, she stared at him in horror. Around her the tension in the room had soared, so that suddenly she felt as though the walls and the windows might implode.

His gaze was fixed and unblinking. ‘To what?’

She stared at him mutely, frozen, horrified by how close she’d come to betraying David—and then in the beat of her heart she darted past him. But he was too quick, and before her brain had even registered him moving, his arm was curving around her waist and pulling her against the hard muscles of his chest.

It was like an electric shock. For a moment she forgot everything. Everything except the fierce, prickling heat surging through her body, warming her blood and melting her bones, so that in another second she knew her legs would buckle beneath her.

‘Let go of me.’ Angry, outraged—more by her body’s inappropriate response than his restricting grip—she started to punch his arm, but he simply ignored the blows, jerking her closer.

‘Stop it,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re not helping yourself.’

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Then stop fighting me.’

His arm curled tighter, so that his stomach was pressing against her spine. But despite his anger, and even though she could feel his strength, she was surprised to find she wasn’t afraid of him physically.

Only there was no time to ponder why that should be the case as he said sharply, ‘What’s in your hand?’

Instantly all her efforts were concentrated on clenching her fist as tightly as possible. But it was a short, unequal fight, and she watched helplessly as, uncurling her fingers, he prised the security card from her hand.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, and abruptly he loosened his grip and jerked her round to face him.

She gazed at him dazedly. Her pulse was racing, her blood thundering like an incoming tide. She felt her stomach tighten painfully as his eyes flickered over the card.

‘Where did you get this?’

For a moment she considered telling him the truth. But one look at his face was all it took to convince her that that course of action would not only be foolish but hazardous. He was furious. Beyond furious. He was enraged.