forced a smile onto her face as she took the card from the man’s outstretched hand.
‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’
Turning, she walked quickly towards the lift, her skin tightening with irritation and a sort of feverish apprehension, as Ramsay Walker strolled alongside her, his long strides making it easy for him to keep pace.
As the lift doors opened it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she would use the stairs. But, given that her office was on the twenty-first floor, she knew it would simply make her look churlish or—worse—as though she cared about sharing the lift with him.
‘Early start!’
Her skin twitched in an involuntary response to his languid East Coast accent, and she allowed herself a brief glance at his face. Instantly she regretted it. His dark grey eyes were watching her casually...a lazy smile tugged at his beautiful mouth. A mouth that had been kissing her all over every night since she’d first met him—but only in her dreams.
Trying to subdue the heat of her thoughts, praying that her face showed nothing of their content, she shrugged stiffly. ‘I’m a morning person.’
‘Is that right?’ he drawled. ‘I like the night-time myself.’
Night-time. The words whispered inside her head and she felt her body react to the darkness and danger it implied, her pulse slowing, goosebumps prickling over her skin. Only how was it possible to create such havoc with just a handful of syllables? she thought frantically.
‘Really?’ Trying her hardest to ignore the strange tension throbbing between them, she forced her expression into what she hoped looked like boredom and, glancing away, stared straight ahead. ‘And yet here you are.’
She felt his gaze on the side of her face.
‘Well, I got waylaid at a party...’
Remembering the redhead in the car, she felt a sharp nip of jealousy as stifling a yawn, he stretched his arms back behind his shoulders, the gesture somehow implying more clearly than words exactly what form that waylaying had taken.
‘It seemed simpler to come straight to work. I take it you weren’t out partying?’
His voice was soft, and yet it seemed to hook beneath her skin so that suddenly she had no option but to look up at him.
‘Not my scene. I need my sleep,’ she said crisply.
She knew she sounded prudish. But better that than to give this man even a hint of encouragement. Not that he needed any—he clearly believed himself to be irresistible. And, judging by his hit rate with women, he was right.
He laughed softly. ‘You need to relax. Clio has a party most weekends. You should come along next time.’
‘Surely that would be up to Clio?’ she said primly, and he smiled—a curling, mocking smile that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
His eyes glittered. ‘If I’m happy, she’s happy.’
She gritted her teeth. Judging by the photos of supermodels with tear-stained faces, papped leaving his apartment, that clearly wasn’t true. Not that it was any of her business, she thought quickly as the lift stopped.
There was a short hiss as the doors opened, and then, turning to face him, Nola lifted her chin. ‘Thank you, but no. I never socialise with people at work. In my opinion, the disadvantages outweigh the benefits.’
His eyes inspected her lazily. ‘Then maybe you should let me change your opinion. I can be very persuasive.’
Her stomach dipped, and something treacherously soft and warm slipped over her skin as his grey gaze rested on her face. When he looked at her like that it was hard not to feel persuaded.
She drew a breath. Hard, but not impossible.
‘I don’t doubt that. Unfortunately, though, I always put workplace considerations above everything else.’
And before he had a chance to respond she slipped through the doors, just before they slid shut.
Her heart was racing. Her legs felt weak. Any woman would have been tempted by such an invitation. But she had been telling the truth.
Since her disastrous relationship with Connor, she had made a decision and stuck to it. Her work life and her personal life were two separate, concurrent strands, and she never mixed the two. She would certainly never date anyone from work. Or go to a party with them.
Particularly if the invitation came from her boss.
Remembering the way his eyes had drifted appraisingly over her face, she shivered.
And most especially not if that boss was Ramsay Walker.
In business, he was heralded as a genius, and he was undeniably handsome and sexy. But Ramsay Walker was the definition of trouble.
Okay, she knew with absolute certainty that sex with him would be mind-blowing. How could it not be? The man was a force of nature made flesh and blood—the human personification of a hurricane or a tsunami. But that was why he was so dangerous. He might be powerful, intense, unstoppable, but he also left chaos and destruction behind him.
Even if she didn’t believe all the stories in the media about his womanising, she had witnessed it with her own eyes. Ramsay clearly valued novelty and variety above all else. And, if that wasn’t enough of a warning to stay well away, he’d also publicly and repeatedly stated his desire never to marry or have children.
Not that she was planning on doing either any time soon. She and her mother had done fine on their own, but getting involved on any level with a man who seemed so determinedly opposed to such basic human connections just wasn’t an option. It had taken too long to restore her pride and build up a good reputation, to throw either away for a heartbreaking smile.
Three hours later, though, she was struggling to defend both.
* * *
In the RWI boardroom silence had fallen as the man at the head of the table leaned back in his chair, his casual stance at odds with the dark intensity of his gaze. A gaze that was currently locked on Nola’s face.
‘So let me get this right,’ he observed softly. ‘What you’re trying to say is that I’m being naive. Or complacent.’
A pulse of anger leapfrogged over his skin.
Did she really think she was going to get away with insulting him in his own boardroom? Ram thought, watching Nola blink, seeing anger, confusion and frustration colliding in those blue, blue eyes.
Eyes that made a man want to quench his thirst—and not for water. The same blue eyes that should have warned him to ignore her CV and glowing references and stick with men in grey suits who talked about algorithms and crypto-ransomware. But Nola Mason was not the kind of woman it was easy to ignore.
Refusing his invitation to meet at the office, she had insisted instead that they meet in some grimy café in downtown Sydney.
There, surrounded
