Nicola Marsh - Marrying the Enemy

She wanted to rattle him as much as he rattled her but something behind those coal-black eyes, an inner resistance combined with formidable will, told her she wished for the impossible.

Propping open her bedroom door with a shoe, she kept an eye on him through the slit while grabbing the nearest change of clothes she could find.

‘Don’t make yourself comfortable—you won’t be staying long,’ she said, slithering out of the emerald satin, kicking off her stilettos and gratefully slipping into a zigzag-patterned strapless jumpsuit.

‘And here I was, thinking the renowned Seaborns would be hospitable and gracious.’

As she tugged the ruched elastic bodice of the jumpsuit up, her blood chilled. He knew about her family.

The question was, how much?

Did he know her dad had died when she’d been in her early teens? That her mum had carried on the family business ever since, building it into Australia’s premier jewellers? That Sapphie had juggled modelling and spokeswoman duties while studying for a business degree and master’s part-time? That she’d loved being the younger sister with less responsibility and more recreation time?

The familiar guilt at her extensive social life while her sister had borne the burden of making Seaborn’s flourish niggled at her once again.

She’d been irresponsible and carefree while Sapphie took on too much and ended up sick.

No more.

She snatched out the clip holding her loose chignon in place and ran her fingers through her hair. She liked loose and muss. She didn’t like uptight and controlled. Like her unwelcome guest.

When she stepped out of her bedroom, her wary gaze collided with his, the instant ping of attraction zapping her synapses, making a mockery of her self-professed dislike.

‘Zebra stripes? Interesting outfit.’ Amusement quirked the corners of his mouth and she resisted the urge to tug at the bodice again. ‘Rather fitting, what with zebras being an endangered species and all.’

Like Seaborn’s hung unsaid between them and she glared at him.

‘You’re not here for a fashion critique.’ She marched across the room and sat opposite him, tucking her bare feet beneath her. ‘And you’re skipping the coffee.’

His deliberately blasé expression didn’t flicker but she noted coiled tension in his fingers digging into the chintz.

‘Then why am I here?’ He instilled enough innuendo into his silky tone to make her pulse leap.

‘That’s easy.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘So I can tell you exactly what I think of your business practices and to ensure you stay the hell away from Seaborn’s.’

Jax settled into the prissy chair, draping an arm across the back and extending his legs, crossed at the ankles.

If his silence didn’t provoke Ruby, his deliberately relaxed posture would, and he scored a direct hit as her eyes narrowed, sparking green fire.

He’d learned from managing a variety of workers in the outback that it was easier to let angry people rave, purging it from their system, rather than interrupt or stem the flow and exacerbate the situation.

Besides, he was curious. How had she learned of his proposed takeover of Seaborn’s? Better still, what did a capricious, eccentric blonde think she could do about it?

His research had been thorough. Seaborn’s was heavily in the red and no amount of flashy collection launches or handcrafted necklaces could save it.

‘Aren’t you going to say something? Defend yourself?’

‘Why, when you’re saying enough for the both of us?’ He flashed a self-righteous smile designed to infuriate her.

By the frown slashing her brow, it worked. ‘Your mine is undercutting ours,’ she accused. ‘Selling gems at bargain-basement prices and we can’t compete. We’re a small mine supplying a family business, your mine is supplying the mega jewellery chains selling lesser-quality pieces. Cheaper prices attract more customers despite the quality.’

The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘You’re killing us.’

He didn’t blink at her sob story. He’d given up on emotional appeals a long time ago.

Deliberately taunting her, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

Her lips compressed in a thin, unimpressed line. ‘That better not be what I think it is.’

‘What do you think it is?’

‘The world’s smallest violin.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her mutinous expression. ‘Smart and spectacular.’

She swore at him and he just laughed harder.

‘Don’t take this personally, but I came here tonight to see your sister to discuss a business proposition.’

She shook her head, blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders in a tempting gold swath. ‘She’s not interested.’

‘She hasn’t heard what I have to say.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘I’m in charge for the next few months so whatever you have to say, you’ll have to say it to me.’

‘You?’

She bristled at his derisive tone and he couldn’t blame her. But did she honestly think he’d do business with a bohemian waif, albeit a creative genius by what he’d glimpsed tonight, when he knew for a fact Sapphire was the brains behind this outfit?

‘Sapphie is taking three months off, doctor’s orders, so I’m filling in.’

Three months? He didn’t have ninety days to seal this deal. He had a few weeks max before Seaborn’s financials plummeted further and it wasn’t worth his company’s investment to acquire them.

The seriousness of the situation suddenly hit him. He couldn’t lose out on this opportunity, not when acquiring the Seaborn mine would establish Maroney Mine’s complete domination along the entire western seaboard.

And guarantee a strong foothold into the east—and the rest.

He’d returned to Melbourne for one reason only. To take Maroney Mine all the way to the top. Global. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

He needed that mine. Needed it for vindication, needed it for safety, needed it to prove he was nothing whatsoever like his father.

He steepled his fingers and rested them on his chest. ‘In that case, boss lady, name your price.’

Surprise widened her eyes. ‘For?’

‘Seaborn Mine.’

She laughed, a brittle sound devoid of amusement. ‘Dream on.’

He sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. ‘On the contrary, you’re the one who’s dreaming if you think for one second you have what it takes to achieve what your sister couldn’t.’

Her hands clenched into fists. ‘What’s that?’

‘Make Seaborn’s a success.’

He only just managed to duck an incoming book.

* * *

Ruby didn’t have a violent bone in her body.

Well, maybe one, considering she’d grabbed the nearest thing handy, a brilliant dystopian thriller, and flung it at Jax Maroney’s insufferably big head.

Pity she’d never been good at sports and her aim missed.

‘That’s quite a temper you’ve got.’ He picked up the book and scanned the back blurb with slow deliberation, giving her time to compose herself.

It didn’t work. Fury flushed her cheeks and she pressed her palms against them in an attempt to cool herself down, dragging in calming breaths until she trusted herself to speak.

‘And that’s quite an imagination you have.’ She lowered her hands, clasped them tightly in her lap, and shook her head. ‘Buying out Seaborn’s? You’ve got to be kidding.’

He stood so fast her head snapped back. ‘I don’t joke. Or have time for games.’

He stepped around the scarred antique coffee table she’d picked up at a Brunswick Street second-hand dealer and towered over her.

As if she’d stand for cheap intimidation tricks.

She leapt to her feet and stood toe to toe. Pity his six-three trumped her five-eight as she momentarily wished she’d kept her heels on.