remarked nonchalantly, dropping his hands to his hips. ‘In any case, after what I witnessed last night, any inclination I may have had to let your boss do my PR has definitely disappeared. One hears things about people. As a rule I don’t believe in listening to gossip, but having seen for myself the way the man conducts himself I’ve come to realise that much of the talk about him is probably quite close to the truth. The meeting I do eventually have with him won’t be the one he was hoping for, I’m afraid. Now…are these all your bags?’
Staring uncomfortably down at her soft canvas holdall, and the small leather tote bag that housed amongst other things her make-up, book and reading glasses, Maya was genuinely taken aback at the idea that Blaise had deplored Jonathan’s treatment of her and was showing his displeasure by withdrawing his agreement to let his agency do his publicity. She realised she’d been nursing a real fear that he would side with her boss when it came to believing any attractive woman that worked for him was fair game. But now she also wrestled with the idea of allowing a man she barely knew, and who could potentially turn out to be just like some of those mercenary acquaintances of her father’s—self-obsessed and making no bones about going after what they wanted no matter who they might hurt in the process—to drive her home.
Lifting her concerned emerald gaze to his, she frowned.
‘You really don’t have to bother, Mr Walker—’
‘Blaise,’ he insisted.
‘It’s easy enough for me to get a cab. At least then I won’t disturb the rest of your weekend.’
‘Oh, but you have disturbed me, Maya,’ he answered enigmatically, a glint in his eyes that made her insides clench, ‘but that’s hardly your fault. Come on—let’s get you to the station. I’ll carry your bags.’
‘Really…’ Still unsure, she grimaced. ‘It might be better in the long run if I just phoned for a cab.’
‘If you’re worried that I might have a tendency to behave in any way, shape or form like your disreputable boss then please let me assure you right now your concerns are groundless. I personally like my women willing, and I’ve never had to force one into my bed yet!’
Reddening at his frank confession, Maya shrugged and attempted a smile. ‘Okay…’
Outside, a watery sun had broken through the early-morning clouds, and on the gravel drive where Jonathan’s esteemed guests had parked a selection of gleaming and expensive vehicles Blaise Walker headed for a dazzling fire-engine-red classic open-topped MG sports car. Go-to-hell red, as her father had used to call that particular shade. Maya fielded the unexpected memory, but wasn’t quick enough to suppress the little knot of tension that squeezed inside her.
Instantly Blaise picked up on her disquiet. ‘Is anything the matter? Perhaps you were expecting something a little more sedate for your ride to the station?’
‘I had no expectations at all,’ Maya replied evenly. ‘I’m just grateful for the lift.’
He replaced his concern with a captivating grin, and the sight brought the same sense of wonder with it to Maya as reaching the end of a frightening rollercoaster ride and realising that you’d survived. A feeling of totally giddy exhilaration flooded her body. In all her twenty-five years on the planet she’d never witnessed a smile as dazzling or as wildly, extraordinarily beautiful as that.
‘You might want to find something to tie your hair back with,’ Blaise suggested now. ‘Could get a little windswept otherwise.’
Checking through her tote as he opened the rather compact boot in order to deposit her luggage, and seeing his own expensive bag ensconced there—was he leaving this morning too?—Maya produced a slender multi-coloured chiffon scarf and proceeded to tie her flowing dark hair up into a loosely fashioned ponytail.
‘That okay?’
‘You look adorable.’ Her companion grinned. ‘Get in and make yourself comfortable. The door’s unlocked.’
Folding her long-legged, slender, jean-clad frame into the passenger seat, Maya relaxed as far as she was able in the small space provided. Easing back into the softly luxurious leather seat, she silently admired the immaculate burr walnut veneer that covered the dash and centre console, and the amazing craftsmanship that had produced what her father had once informed her was one of the country’s bestselling sports cars ever.
He should have known, because when she was little he had owned two of them—one in red, like this, and another in black. Of course they were long gone now. Sold to help pay off some of the horrendous debts his wildly reckless lifestyle had accrued…
Hearing the lid of the boot slam, she turned to see Blaise lower his own tall, athletic, black-clad frame into the driver’s seat. Even though his legs were long, like hers, Maya was quietly amazed at how effortless he made every movement look…like a sublime symphony…every note in perfect accord and nothing remotely out of sync. A waft of quietly stirring aftershave imbued with sultry notes of sandalwood and musk assailed senses already tested to their limit by his charismatic presence. She tried to steel herself against it.
‘This is a concourse model, isn’t it?’ she commented, her fingertips lightly touching the walnut veneer on the dash.
‘Yes, it is. It’s an original model, but I paid a small fortune to get everything restored down to the last nut and bolt back to the way it was. You know about classic cars?’ her companion asked in surprise.
‘Not really. I just knew someone once who had a model like this.’ Maya stared out through the windscreen instead of into the disturbing blue eyes that seemed to be playing such havoc with her insides. The huskily soft chuckle beside her was equally disconcerting.
‘You probably know a lot more than you’re admitting, right? That’s okay…I don’t mind you being a woman of mystery. It simply makes me want to get to know you even more.’
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was even more alluring and beautiful dressed in jeans and a simple white cotton shirt than she’d been in that eyepopping black dress that had paid such mouthwatering homage to her curves last night. And that dress had caused him one hell of a sleepless night, he recalled now, his hands tightening on the MG’s steering wheel. Seeing Jonathan Faraday’s drunken paws all over her had also been a factor in ensuring Blaise’s sleep was fitful. He had been a breath away from laying the man out flat. Maya had clearly been frightened by Faraday’s clumsy inebriated attentions, and all his latent protective instincts towards women had rushed to the fore. She would have had only to indicate to him by a mere glance that she wanted him to step in and her licentious boss would have been nursing much more than a hangover this morning.
When he was about ten years old, Blaise’s actor father had struck his mother savagely across the face during one of their many bitter rows—an event that, after that shocking first time, had become a more or less regular feature of his childhood, he was sorry to say. Blaise had leapt on him, kicking and screaming. He had truly wanted to kill him at that moment. The same strong feelings of fury and resentment had roared through his bloodstream last night in the corridor, when he’d seen Jonathan behave like some despicable Neanderthal.
Now Blaise realised just how much the bewitching Maya Hayward had been on his mind since she’d inadvertently burst in on him in the drawing room last evening, leaving a trail of sexy perfume in her wake and stirring the kind of fantasies that would be strictly rated ‘adults only’. He definitely wanted to get to know her better.
