can allow yourself one glass, surely?’
His mouth curled. Was he daring her? He’d lost some of that morning’s surliness, and his eyes danced with gold flecks. To say she’d missed relaxed, playful Alex would be an understatement. But she admired his ability to compartmentalise—a skill she normally shared.
The car juddered to a halt, its doors opening to another bland, deserted corridor.
Where was he taking her? Was she about to become a murder statistic?
Hysterical laughter threatened—a side effect of too much adrenaline.
At the end of the corridor Alex swiped a card through a lock and held the door open for Libby. The narrow concrete stairs were draughty, and the height from the windows spun her head and flipped her stomach into her throat, pushing the thought of wine and even lunch far from her mind.
Alex took her hand and pushed open a fire door, escorting her onto the roof.
Her feet stalled.
No rooftop restaurant with views of the Thames.
No murderer’s lair.
Just a helicopter.
Gripping her waist, he ushered her frozen with shock form towards the sleek white death trap.
She dug her heels into the concrete, skidding them to a standstill. ‘I’m not going in that.’
His brow dipped, puzzlement cloaking his amused eyes. ‘Of course you are. It’s only a thirty-minute ride.’ He cocked a brow, his mouth twisted in challenge. ‘You’ll love it.’
In two strides he’d opened the door, was holding out his arm, enticing her inside a form of transportation she’d never experienced and never wanted to.
The wind whipped loosened strands of hair across her face, blinding her. Her stomach fell, settling somewhere behind her wobbling knees. The height of this building alone was enough to drain her adrenal glands. Just like at The Shard yesterday, being inside this skyscraper was enough of a trial for her, let alone standing on top of it with the elements determined to send her plummeting to the ground.
He strode back to her side, face contrite and eyes soft. ‘Olivia. I’m sorry.’
He reached for her cold hand, his warm fingers clasping. She clung to the lifeline, some of her fear dissipating at his touch.
‘I should have warned you instead of trying to surprise you.’ His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.
Her fickle mind switched. Now she prayed for the release of a ground-swallowing demise. She hated anyone seeing this weak side of her, but especially Alex. Fearless, sophisticated Alex, who thought nothing of jumping into a helicopter for lunch at his favourite restaurant.
He was still talking, still cajoling. She forced herself to hear him over the ringing in her ears.
‘It’s very safe. Weather conditions are perfect. I have thousands of hours in the air and that Pinot really is worth it, I promise.’
Her belly flopped again. She glanced down at her stiletto-clad toes, almost expecting to see it there on the concrete. Decision time. Ride in a helicopter or get blown from the roof? Accept his challenge or admit defeat and concede the bargaining chip? It was a close one.
She willed her breathing into submission as her mind dithered. At least he’d dropped the cocky smirks of moments ago and the hard, inscrutable stares present all morning and seemed genuinely concerned.
As if he’d made the decision for her, he turned back towards the door to the stairway. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I was wrong. We’ll go somewhere else for lunch.’
He slid his arm around her shoulders, as if guiding a child or an old lady safely across the road.
‘No.’ Her declaration surprised both of them. ‘I’ll go.’
What was she saying? She didn’t need to impress him. She could admit she’d prefer not to put her life in the hands of a man she barely knew inside a chunk of flying metal. There’d be no shame in that. He didn’t need to know why she had an aversion to death traps, or to anything she considered risky. It was an aversion founded in past experience—one that had changed her life for ever.
No. That labyrinth of sickening memories wasn’t going to help her get off this roof with her dignity intact.
‘You sure? There’s no pressure.’
He pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, his eyes tracing her features but his fingertips failing to make contact.
‘We’ll do whatever you want.’ His voice was low, sincere, calming.
The echo of those words from last night reminded her of the power she held. It surged through her veins, dispelling fear, forcing steel into her skeleton and redirecting her thoughts from all things death-related.
Latching on to her attraction for him, she blurted out the thought that had occupied most of her mind since the minute she’d walked into his office that morning.
‘I want you to kiss me.’
In an instant his face hardened, as if she’d slapped him. She swallowed, her cheeks hot. Why had she said that? If the deal was off, their sexual exploration over, she’d just set herself up for rejection.
Rejection and humiliation all in one morning—way to go, Libby.
Her gaze fell to his crotch, saw the bulge there expanding before her eyes.
No. He was still in this with her. The chemistry was still alive. She straightened her spine, the surge of power, of control, imbuing her limbs with courage.
‘Kiss me and I’ll go.’
Wow—pushy, much? But she was already so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a map to locate it again. She might as well get what she wanted from this situation.
He dropped his hands to his sides and made fists, his fingers flexing. Still trying to keep things professional? Acting the gentleman? Having second thoughts?
She took a half-step closer until his clean, soapy scent reached her, giving her a head rush that had nothing to with dizzying heights or stomach-dropping rides.
‘Kiss me like you’re telling me that you wanted to fuck me last night instead of leaving.’
Please—before she came to her senses and fled, or passed out.
His nostrils flared as he sucked in a harsh breath, focussed his intense stare on hers.
‘I did.’
His voice, full of gravel, scraped her raw—as raw as the hunger she saw flare in his eyes.
‘I did want to fuck you last night. You told me to watch.’
Yes. She’d got what she wanted—but the hollow victory had left her cold.
He
