Charlotte had been an error in judgement, a slip in his usual strict self-control.
His honeymoon period as the new CEO and majority shareholder of Huet Construction was rapidly coming to an end. If he didn’t start producing the results the City expected, the share price and investor confidence of one of the world’s largest construction companies would soon be heading south.
And all of those who were sceptical of his buy-out of Huet, who said he was an opportunist, a maverick, would be proved right.
Never.
He shifted in his seat; he needed to get out of this radio studio.
Now.
He didn’t have time to be listening to yet more empty promises from a politician.
He had a gigabyte worth of emails waiting for him...and points to prove.
He leaned forward across the studio table and growled, ‘Enough.’
Mid-sentence, the Housing Minister, his fellow interviewee on the UK’s largest breakfast radio show, leapt in his seat, his studio headphones twisting around, momentarily leaving him unable to speak as he tugged them back into place.
A quick look towards Charlotte’s glacial gaze intensified his need to agitate, revolt, defy.
He switched his attention back across the table. ‘Minister, I think you have bored the listeners enough, don’t you? Let’s allow them to enjoy their breakfasts in peace. It’s the least you can do considering that the majority of them are actually having to live on a daily basis with the circumstances of this housing crisis: spiralling rents, the inability to provide a home for their families, couples unable to start families. And yet again, you’re waffling and making excuses while not taking a single worthwhile action. When are you going to actually tackle the issues around land banking, compulsory purchase orders and the transparent disposal of public sector land? Look at innovative ideas like pre-fab housing? I say never because you have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. I’d have more faith in a bunch of toddlers with a box of play building bricks to sort out this crisis.’
With the minister grappling for words, an amused-looking radio presenter took the opportunity to wrap up the interview.
Lucien stood and approached the minister, who reluctantly accepted his handshake. Lucien gave him a brief nod and turned away. His plane was waiting for him at London City Airport.
* * *
Lucien swept through the anteroom and out into the corridor without as much as a glance in her direction.
Charlotte tried not to wince.
They had not spoken since their night together. It had been excruciating enough the few times they had passed one another in the corridors of Huet headquarters to nod in his direction, knowing what it was like to feel the weight of his powerful, hard body on hers, knowing the havoc his hands could cause.
But now, knowing that this would be the only time she got him alone, she chased after him as he strode towards the elevators. Instead of waiting for an elevator, he headed through the double doors to the stairwell so she followed him. Out in the empty concrete space she called to him on the landing below. ‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’
He reached for the staircase handrail, looked at her impatiently and shook his head. ‘I have a flight to catch.’
She dragged down the humiliation that he wouldn’t even afford her a minute of his time deep into her stomach and followed him with resolve hardening her spine.
Struggling to keep up with him thanks to the narrowness of her knee-length pencil skirt, she called down to him, ‘It won’t take long.’
Now a full flight of stairs below her, he called back in a bored tone, ‘Speak to my PA.’
Cursing under her breath, while a new wave of nausea folded her stomach into a cube of horribleness, Charlotte yanked off her shoes and hoisted her skirt. They had to talk. Now. ‘I did yesterday evening—she told me that you will be away on business for the next fortnight.’
As he descended the last flight of stairs, she finally caught him up, with only the open iron bannister separating them. He slowed and his eyes ran the length of her bare legs. A surge of heat burnt in his eyes. She dropped her skirt. She moved down a step so that she was at eye level with him. Six inches or so taller than her, he usually towered over her.
The last time they had been like this, at eye level, was when they had been in his bed. When their senseless rushed, frenzied, unexpected, kissing and touching and exploring in his garden had been followed by him making the slowest, most incredible love to her in his bedroom.
Had it all been a dream?
She searched his eyes now for some remembrance, a hint that it too had been different for him...that she hadn’t been just another conquest of this renowned serial dater.
He blinked hard. Long dark eyelashes sweeping over narrowed, alert, brilliant green eyes.
A deep frown cut down through the centre of his tanned forehead, reaching the top of his perfectly straight nose. A nose at odds with the rugged handsomeness of his face, the thin line of his mouth, the boxer-like quality of the deep cleft in his chin.
Lucien carried himself with the street-savvy smarts of a man who had worked his way from nothing to being the CEO of a billion-dollar company. To not have acquired a broken nose or two on his journey from construction labourer to the majority owner of Huet Construction by the age of thirty-six proved his intelligence and shrewdness...and made the prospect of getting him to agree to her plans for the future even more daunting. He wasn’t the type to roll over easily, but hopefully in this instance he’d be more than willing to see her head off into the sunset.
He came a little closer, his hand almost touching hers on the handrail.
Her heart kicked against her ribs.
His green liquid eyes blazed into hers, sending burning heat into her cheeks.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips, useless traitors that they were, parted.
A door banged higher up on the stairwell.
She jumped and he jerked away before making his way down the remaining stairs. ‘Send me an email.’
She followed him out of the stairwell in her bare feet and ran after him as he swept out of the building, the receptionists and a group of visitors signing in, turning to stare at her.
Outside, seeing her opportunity to talk to him slip away, she reached for his arm and pulled hard.
He came to an immediate stop.
Eyes glinting darkly, he stepped towards her, lowered his head and murmured in that lightly French-accented voice that always managed to hold a sexy threat, ‘I’m not interested in having a lecture on libel laws right now.’
His nearness, his voice, his warm breath tangling on her hair played dangerous games with her long-held resolve never to let a man get to her again.
She stepped back and prayed her cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt. She affected
