a private party in St Tropez on board a newly acquired private yacht, to celebrate its acquisition; a media event in the Hamptons to launch a new glossy magazine, to which old money, new names and anyone who was anyone in the fashion world had been invited and a world-famous senior rock star’s birthday bash at his French château.
Carly started to frown.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘The St Tropez yacht party is next weekend, and only four days before the Hamptons do. It might be difficult co-ordinating flights and all the other travel arrangements.’
She kept a tight rein on expenses—or at least she had done until Nick had started to interfere. They always booked cheap, no frills flights to overseas events if they weren’t being flown out by the clients.
Ricardo raised an eyebrow.
‘That won’t be a problem. We’ll be using my private jet.’ He gave a dismissive shrug of those powerful shoulders. ‘One of my PAs can sort out all the details. Oh, and they’ll need your passport, ASAP. I understand from Nick that your normal practice is to be in situ a day ahead of the actual event. That suits me, because that way I shall be able to see how things are organised.’
Too right he would, Ricardo decided.
He was standing up, and Carly followed suit. He was so tall—so big! She was suddenly aware of her reluctance to go through the doorway, because it would bring her too close to him. Too close to him? Get a grip, she mentally advised herself unsympathetically.
‘My PA will be in touch with you regarding flight times.’
She walked determinedly towards the door. She was almost level with him now. In another few seconds she would be through the door and safe. Safe? From what? Him pouncing on her? No way would he do that, she told herself scornfully.
And then she made the mistake of looking up at him.
It was like stepping through a door into a previously unknown world.
Her heart whipped round inside her chest like a spinning barrel. Against her will her head turned, her lips parting as her gaze fastened on his mouth. His top lip was well shaped and firmly cut, his teeth white and just slightly uneven, and his bottom lip…
His bottom lip. A smoky sensuality darkened her normally crystal-clear grey eyes as she fed visually on the promise of its fullness. How would it feel to catch that fullness between her own lips? To nibble at it with small biting kisses, to…
‘A word of warning—’ Ricardo began.
She could feel guilty colour staining her skin as her mind grappled with inexplicable thoughts.
‘It is imperative that full confidentiality as to the purpose of my attendance at these occasions is maintained at all times.’
He was cautioning her about the events—that was all! Carly exhaled in shaky relief.
‘Yes—yes, of course,’ she agreed quickly, as she finally made it through the doorway on legs that had developed a very suspicious weakness.
But she was unnervingly aware of him behind her.
‘And one more thing.’
‘Yes?’ she offered politely, automatically turning round to face him.
‘The next time you look at my mouth like that…’ he said softly, with a mocking smile.
‘Like what? I didn’t look at it like anything!’ Carly knew that her face was burning with guilt, but she had to defend herself.
‘Liar. You looked at it, at me, as though you couldn’t wait to feel it against your own. As though there was nothing you wanted more than for me to push you up against that doorframe and take you right here and now. As though you could already feel my hands on your skin, touching you intimately, and you were loving it. As though—’
‘No!’ Carly denied fiercely. And her denial was the truth—she hadn’t got as far as thinking anything so intimate as that!
To her relief she could see Lucy hurrying towards them to introduce herself to him.
It was over an hour since Ricardo had gone, and Carly was still thinking about him. But a woman would surely have to be totally devoid of any kind of hormones to remain unaware of Ricardo as a fully functioning man.
And that was her sole excuse, was it? She pushed back her keyboard and stood up. She was shaking slightly. Her face was burning and her body ached. She felt shocked. Guilty. Horrified, in fact, by the door she had unwittingly opened in her own head, and—even worse—was uncomfortably aware that she was physically aroused. Physically, but of course not emotionally—that was impossible. After all, she had sworn never to fall in love, hadn’t she? Never to fall in love; never to give herself emotionally to anyone; never to risk the emotional security she had given to herself.
She started to pace the small office. Her childhood had taught her all there was to know about the pain that came with being emotionally rejected. She had fought hard to give herself the protective air of calm self-confidence she projected to others, and for the right to claim their respect. The pathetic, needy child she had once been, desperate for approval and love, had been totally banished, and that was the way Carly intended it to stay.
So why was she thinking like this? No one was threatening her self-reliance, after all—least of all Ricardo Salvatore, who probably had the same loathing of emotional bondage as she did herself, if for very different reasons.
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