Natalie Anderson - The Right Mr Wrong

‘Feel free to make me change my mind.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Love to see you try.’

She stepped back.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not happening.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Feel free to make me change my mind,’ she threw at him. ‘Go on. Do your worst.’

Startled, he stepped after her. ‘Victoria—’

‘Was this only ever lust? You’re so driven by base urges you ruined your friendship with Oliver? You almost broke up a relationship? For a quick fling?’

Or was it even less than that? She took another step from him, using the last bit of space behind her and bumping the backs of her knees against the small cot she called her bed.

‘Was it just your overblown need to win?’ she continued. ‘You’re so insanely competitive, did you need to get one over him? Was I nothing more than the trophy of the day?’ She kept her smile on but it was slipping. Quickly.

‘No.’ He frowned.

That didn’t satisfy her. ‘Then don’t cheapen this. Don’t cheapen me.’

Now he looked angry. ‘I didn’t betray Oliver.’

No?

‘I didn’t seduce you,’ he argued, standing so close she could feel his warmth and almost taste the salty ocean breeze that he always seemed to evoke. ‘And I could have.’

‘You think?’

‘I can’t give you everything you want. I can only—’

‘You don’t know what I want.’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Marriage, babies, Labradors.’

‘I tried that. It’s not for me.’ Maybe she just wanted acknowledgement of what could have been between them. That this had been more than just a sexual attraction. That somehow, unbelievable as it might have been, there had been a real connection between them that week.

‘So what do you want?’

‘A career. My business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I was making headway before the divorce. Oliver hated that I was more successful than he was.’ The banking crisis had hardly been her fault. Hundreds in the city had been laid off—Oliver had been one of them. But for whatever reason, her little enterprise had gained traction. But after his affair and the divorce she’d lost it. Now she was back at the beginning. But she believed in it. In herself. ‘I want to build this up into something great. And to do that I need to finish this for Aurelie. That’s what I want. To have work coming out of my ears. For people to love my work.’

He was silent, his eyes boring into her, for a long moment. Then he glanced around her small room again. The plain, utility style room with her neatly lined tins and stacks of paper and materials.

‘That’s all you want?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I have time for.’

‘No time for anything else?’ He suddenly smiled, wicked-incarnate again. ‘Not even one night?’

‘Typical.’ She rolled her eyes, her good humour lifting at the swift return of his. ‘You just want to bang the one who got away.’

‘What, and you think you’re unaffected?’ he teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

His smiled broadened.

But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

‘Victoria?’

Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

‘Liam, I—’

He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

Silence. Heat. Sensation.

Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

It was going to be more than okay.

Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.