style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Does that mean you’re agreeing?’ he murmured with sleepy languor.
Lizzie stiffened. ‘Do I really have much choice?’ It hadn’t taken long to realise just how cornered she truly was. Cormac had coldly, calculatingly built the evidence against her. He’d waited until they were on the plane before telling her—there was no escape without shaming them both.
‘You could tell Hassell when we land,’ Cormac offered. ‘I expect he’d believe you. All those family values…’ He waved a hand in contemptuous dismissal. ‘They must count for something when it comes to a damsel in distress.’
‘Yes, and then what? He’ll send us both back on the very next plane, and no doubt tell the press what you’ve done. Your career would be ruined, and so would mine. And you know how rabid tabloid journalists can be. They’d be sniffing around me…around…’ She stopped abruptly and looked away.
‘Around your sister?’ Cormac finished, and Lizzie jerked back to face him.
‘What do you know about my sister?’
‘You’ve been taking care of her for ten years or so, since your parents died,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘She’s what? Eighteen? Impressionable, probably. I imagine that so much publicity could go to her head quite quickly.’ He smiled.
Lizzie swallowed, tasted bile. She could just about face her own career—her own life—being ruined. But not Dani’s. Nothing could happen to Dani.
She hadn’t spent the last ten years saving and sacrificing to have Dani’s chances at a better life shot to hell…and all because of Cormac.
Cormac. This was all his fault…and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘How do you know so much?’ she demanded in a furious, frightened whisper, and he shrugged.
‘Most of it is on your CV.’
‘So is my name!’ She felt like scratching that arrogant, indulgent smile right off his mouth.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but that information isn’t important to me.’
‘It should be, if you want to pretend to be my husband!’ She’d raised her voice and in one quick, quiet movement Cormac grabbed her wrist, encased her hand in his like a vice. He pressed her fingers against her own mouth in a movement that was almost tender, except for the look in his eyes.
His eyes were cold. Freezing, dangerous. Dead.
‘Careful, Chandler,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t really want to give the game away now, do you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she choked. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. ‘You’re such a—’
‘Now, now,’ he murmured, smiling, although his eyes were still cold, still frighteningly flat. Lizzie choked back her words, her fear.
A flight attendant passed, glancing at them curiously.
She probably thought this was a lovers’ spat, Lizzie thought. A little tiff. If it weren’t quite so horrible, it would have been funny.
Except Lizzie did not feel like laughing.
‘Why?’ she asked, and it came out in a wretched whisper. ‘Why are you doing this? It’s only one commission. And it’s such a risk—you could be ruining both of our lives.’
Her head drooped and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willed the tears and despair back.
Cormac was silent. ‘If you make it through this weekend,’ he finally told her, his voice soft, ‘I’ll pay you double your normal salary for the rest of the year. I’ll make sure you never receive a word of bad press—even if it all comes out.’
Lizzie looked up bleakly. ‘How can you make sure of that?’
‘I can. Trust me, Chandler. I don’t take foolish risks.’
‘This seems pretty foolish to me,’ she retorted, and he smiled.
‘Yes, and foolhardy…and a little bit interesting, don’t you think?’ He leaned forward, his lids lowering, his lashes sweeping the bronzed planes of his face. His breath feathered her hair, her cheek. ‘A bit intriguing, perhaps…’ he murmured, a provocative, questioning lilt to his voice.
Lizzie stared at him, amazed by his sudden transformation. Transfixed by it. ‘No,’ she denied—a matter of instinct. Protection. No.
‘It could be an adventure,’ Cormac continued, his voice turning silkily persuasive. ‘For both of us.’ His eyes glittered and again she saw that flicker, as if something had been stripped away or dropped into place. She didn’t know which.
What was it? It was a shadow, a veil, and yet it also revealed. Revealed the man beneath the hard veneer of calculated charm—if there was one.
‘An adventure? I don’t…’ Lizzie’s breath hitched as she dragged it into her lungs ‘…see how.’
Cormac raised his eyebrows, a smile played about his mouth. His lips were both sculpted and soft…and close. Very close. To her.
‘Don’t you?’ he murmured. He raised one hand to her cheek and twined her hair through his fingers. With each sleepy spiral of his hand he ticked off a point. ‘You’ll be in the Caribbean, in a beautiful villa. Wined and dined with a trunkful of designer clothes at your disposal—clothes which cost a small fortune. Petted, pampered. What woman wouldn’t enjoy that?’
Lizzie swallowed. What woman, indeed? She wanted to say she wouldn’t, insist that she couldn’t be bought so easily, and yet…
There was truth in his words.
Some bizarre, yearning part of her wanted this. Not the clothes, perhaps, or the food or any of the luxuries Cormac thought would entice her.
She wanted the thrill. The adventure, the intimacy. She’d had precious little in her life so far. The last ten years had been a desert of devotion to her sister.
She wanted excitement…and she wanted it with Cormac.
Cormac—the boss she barely knew, who had no interest in knowing her. Yet who was now looking at her, his eyes glittering, a smile of tempting, sensuous promise stealing over his features, softening them…
Stop. Stop.
This was Cormac. This was wrong.
‘What about you?’ she whispered, hating the need and weakness in her voice. ‘How would it be an adventure for you?’
His smile deepened and he dipped closer so his lips touched her ear, sent delicious shivers straight to her soul.
‘Why,’ he whispered, ‘because I’d be with you.’ His lips hovered by her ear, making the little hairs on the nape of her neck quiver with awareness. Awareness of him, awareness of need. Need of him. She’d never needed anyone. Not like this. Never like this.
How had she not missed it? How had she
