He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. That bath and the beige walls of her room looked increasingly appealing now. She should at least try to sleep. She’d need all her wits tomorrow—dealing with Alex would sap every scrap of resolve she possessed.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’
The man occupying her thoughts swept up beside her on a cloud of freshly showered deliciousness, his hand taking a proprietorial hold of the back of her barstool and his smoky, heavy-lidded smile stripping her naked.
Alex.
‘Hi.’ Libby closed her slack-jawed mouth and swivelled to face him, turning her back on the stranger, never one to pass up a golden opportunity. She hated rudeness, but if Beer Breath was too stubborn or thick-skulled to take the hint…
Alex kept his stare on her, his smile genuine and warm enough to melt her underwear clean off, and then signalled the waiter with a flick of his wrist.
Libby sensed the moment when Beer Breath slinked away, and the hairs on the back of her neck settled—but only temporarily, because Alex hadn’t taken his eyes off her. In fact, he was looking at her as if he was seconds from devouring her whole.
She shivered, delicious tendrils snaking to all her erogenous zones. ‘What are you doing here?’ Libby took a slug of her previously untouched drink, the burn calming her enough to meet his bold stare with one of her own.
‘I came to invite you out for a late supper. I was on my way to Reception and then I spotted you here.’ His hand slid from the back of her stool, and he settled into the one next to her, passing his order to the waiter before returning his disconcerting focus to her.
She stared back, lost for words and missing the proximity of his hand on her chair. He was close enough that his warmth traversed the space between them, but far enough away that she battled her body’s urge to sway closer. And keep on swaying.
‘What?’ One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘What kind of host would I be if I left you to fend for yourself on your first night in a strange city?’
She couldn’t help the snort that left her. ‘The non-stalker kind…?’
He took the jibe with a cocksure arch of one brow, sipping wine while his poised stare flicked over her face from feature to feature.
Libby flushed hot all over. The ‘stalker’ comment had been beneath her. He hadn’t once touched her, hadn’t bought her drink, hadn’t tried to grab her phone, hadn’t even chased away her unwanted admirer—he had simply given her the out she’d wanted. The rest was all her.
What was wrong with her? Rudeness to a generous host and influential employer? All because he’d awoken needs within her? Needs too long dormant. Needs she’d never had before. Needs threatening to overwhelm her in their intensity.
Hardly his fault.
He dropped the bland smile, and a small frown crinkled the skin between his brows. ‘It’s a public bar, Olivia. I’m being a gentleman. But if you don’t want company, just say so and I’ll leave.’
He shrugged.
Simple.
Of course he would. Alex Lancaster didn’t need to stalk women. They probably lined up, forming a polite, orderly, English queue.
She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head in the direction of Beer Breath’s exit path. ‘He was about to become a persistent pain in my ass.’
He barely acknowledged the man in the suit, and his continued casual perusal made her limbs jittery and lodged a ball of restless energy low in her belly.
‘So, have you eaten? Dinner?’ One eyebrow lifted and he licked red wine from his plush lower lip.
A simple invitation. One she’d offer herself to a visiting business colleague new in town. Why, then, did it feel like more than an offer of a shared meal? Or was that simply her overactive libido filling in the blanks?
‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice emerged as barely a croak.
No argument, no persuasion.
‘Tell me…’ He leaned a little closer, his stare a little more penetrating, searching hers. ‘Why the reluctance to work for Able-Active?’
Alex cut straight to the heart of an issue. She admired that. But no way could she explain her reticence without giving away a whole heap of personal stuff. Stuff she did her best never to think about.
She ducked her head away from his intensity, her sleeveless, lightweight blouse as cloying as a thick, woolly sweater.
He ploughed on. ‘You think I’m arrogant.’
A statement.
She shot him a glance, surprised to see amusement lingering on his face.
He gave another shrug, as if he had her all worked out. ‘I see it in your eyes.’ He rested his elbows on the bar, leaning closer. ‘I’d like you to extend your stay. All expenses covered, of course.’
‘Why?’ Her head spun, reeling from the arrogant request.
Hadn’t they already established that she wouldn’t roll over and do whatever he asked? If he didn’t seem to have a hotline to her long-dormant libido she’d laugh in his sinfully handsome face.
‘Able-Active doesn’t happen inside an office. I want you to experience it, to really understand my vision. I’d like you to stay a fortnight.’
He took another sip of wine, giving her time to respond.
Her jaw fell, her fidgety hand stilling around the stem of her martini glass. ‘Are you nuts?’
Clearly Libby was nuts, too, because for a fleeting moment she considered it. Then she sobered. Even if she wanted to jump when he clicked his fingers, she couldn’t. She had Sonya, her heavily pregnant partner, to consider. Yes, she could work from anywhere in the world with a Wi-Fi connection for short periods and, yes, she’d cleared her desk before flying to the UK, but a fortnight away from the office…
He laughed—a deep rumble that curled her toes and transformed him from sexy, assured businessman to sexy boy-next-door, all grown up. He turned his stool to face her, leaning back in a relaxed slouch, his thighs spread.
In invitation?
Libby’s eyes burned with the effort of maintaining eye contact and not succumbing to a visual tour of his denim-clad crotch. Time to be clear. If this working relationship was to be successful, he needed to understand a few things.
‘You know, I’m sure you’re used to it, but you can’t always have your own way.’
She plucked the olive from her drink, holding it between her teeth while she stared him down. Two could play Mr Lancaster’s game. If he thought she’d simper at his flattery, drop to her knees no questions asked, he wasn’t as smart as she knew him to be.
She bit into the salty olive, allowing her tongue to linger
