Nicola Marsh - Marrying the Enemy

Interesting. The second function in a few days where he’d deliberately separated from the crowd. He didn’t appear awkward; then again he didn’t exactly fit into this esoteric crowd, six-three of brooding, beautiful male.

She edged behind a pillar and watched him. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t accept a drink or hors d’oeuvres. The only time he appeared animated was when the Meyers, an elderly rich couple who’d been friends of her mum, approached. He squared his shoulders, managed a sardonic smile and held out his hand. Only to have the couple ignore it, mutter a few words that wiped the smile off his face, and walk away as fast as their arthritic knees could carry them.

The guy wanted to ruin her family’s business and she should hate him, but when he resumed his air of detachment and blanked his expression as if nothing had happened, a small part of her felt sorry for him.

If memory served her correct, the Meyers’ son had lost around eight hundred thousand dollars thanks to Denver Maroney, so it didn’t surprise her they snubbed his son.

This crowd always protected their own and Jax’s dad had done the unthinkable: using longstanding friendships to swindle and deceive and destroy.

What intrigued her was why Jax Maroney was putting himself through this. The guy might appear unflappable and aloof, as if he didn’t give a flying frisbee what anyone thought of him, but being deliberately ostracised because of the sins of his father?

It had to make an impact on him. Unless the guy was made from stone. Considering his disdain as he glanced at his watch and scanned the crowd as if looking for someone, it was more than likely.

Her heart kicked and she gave it a little rub. As if he’d be looking for her. Considering how they’d parted the other night, the next time they communicated she expected to see an offer in writing from his lawyer.

Guys like him didn’t give up easily. Powerful, commanding, never taking no for an answer.

If Maroney Mine had the Seaborn mine in its sight, Lord help her.

She’d briefly considered it an option to save Seaborn’s before waking up and smelling the coal dust. Jax Maroney had made it clear the other night: he was interested in their mine, not in the oldest jewellery store in Melbourne.

He didn’t care that Seaborn’s had supplied tiaras to the Miss Australia pageant for the last two decades. He didn’t care they had personally written thank-yous from TV stars for their exquisite pieces. He didn’t care Aussie movie icons had worn their signature sets on the red carpet in Hollywood.

Jax Maroney cared about the bottom dollar—his—and to hell with everyone else.

She didn’t know whether the stress of the last few days had caught up with her or she just wanted to vent and he happened to be handy, but she downed her second Chardonnay and marched towards him.

He glanced up, the flicker of pleasure lighting his face quickly masked by a deliberate aloofness he probably practised in the mirror every morning.

‘Stalking your next victim?’

His eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

She waved at the crowd. ‘Most of Melbourne’s jewellers are here. Scoping out someone else to muscle in on and drive out of business?’

The corners of his mouth curved into an infuriating smirk. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here to agree to my proposal, then.’

‘You guessed right.’

Proposal...probably some fifty-page document designed to bamboozle.

She hated feeling this helpless. ‘Are you ochlophobic?’

He shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘You’re always hanging around the outskirts, avoiding crowds.’

‘More like people avoiding me,’ he muttered, bitterness tightening his mouth as his brooding stare swept the crowd.

Maybe her earlier assumption hadn’t been too far off the mark, then? While Mr. Moneybags wore his aloofness like the finest designer duds, being shunned because of his name obviously did rankle.

‘You look like you don’t want to be here. Maybe that scares people off.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care what people think. I’m here on business.’

‘Funny business, I bet,’ she muttered, earning another slight twitch of his mouth.

‘Don’t you have people to schmooze?’

‘Don’t you?’ she fired back, ashamed by her cheap shot considering he’d just told her this crowd were avoiding him and she’d seen the evidence firsthand with the Meyers.

His imperious gaze swept her from top to toe, visually stripping her black-silk-imprinted-with-crimson-roses strapless dress from her body. Her skin pebbled and prickled with awareness; she’d never felt so exposed.

‘I’m right where I want to be.’

It meant nothing, a line from a guy used to having women falling at his Prada-loafered feet. But in that moment, with warmth flowing through her body like liquid honey, she wished she could believe him.

As if sensing her reaction, he pushed off the wall and took a step forward. In her face, in her personal space.

Her senses went on high alert: too close, too hot, too much.

His lips kicked into a sexy grin. ‘Nothing to say? That’s a first.’

Biting back the irrational urge to reach up and pull his head down to within kissing distance, she eyeballed him. ‘You don’t know me.’

He leaned down and she braced against the incoming assault of hot male and crisp citrus.

‘Maybe I’d like to?’ He murmured in her ear, his warm breath tickling her and her eyelids fluttered shut, lost in the heat of undeniable attraction.

Before reality set in. That was all she needed: to get involved with the enemy.

His fingertip touched her ear lobe, trailing across her jaw, setting her alight.

Desire streaked through every common-sense reason for not grabbing his hand, dragging him out of here and back to her place.

She’d always been spontaneous when it came to guys, not following convention of waiting to be asked out. If she liked a guy, she let him know.

But as Jax stepped away, leaving her hot and bothered and yearning, she knew he was no ordinary guy.

She couldn’t toy with him. He wasn’t the type to tease or taunt without serious repercussions.

Considering the dire circumstances at Seaborn’s, did she really want to play with fire?

‘I’d like you to leave our mine alone.’

The glimmer of lust in his eyes didn’t dim. If anything, her feistiness seemed to turn him on.

‘And I’d like this city to acknowledge I’m nothing like my father and do business with me but we don’t always get what we want.’

His honesty stunned her and when his lips clamped and he tried to turn away, she grabbed his hand.

‘So you have a heart beneath that tough-guy exterior after all.’

He frowned but the rigidness around his mouth softened. ‘Nope.’

He tapped his chest. ‘No heart here; call me Tin Man.’

She loved The Wizard of Oz as a child and the fact this big, bad business bully knew the movie endeared him to her as nothing else could.

‘You want acceptance—’

‘For my business.’ He waved a dismissive hand at the crowd. ‘Couldn’t care less what they think of me.’

His clarification only solidified her impression that this deliberate ostracism had to mean more than he was letting on.

‘Okay, you want them to accept your business, and I want my family business to survive intact. Maybe we should brainstorm a solution to our problems?’

The frown deepened. ‘Why? As you pointed out, we barely know each other. Why the hell would I discuss my private business with you?’ He shook his head. ‘Business proposals I understand. This?’ He pointed at the crowd. ‘Not a hope.’

She stared at him, something tugging at the edge of her consciousness.