CHAPTER NINE

S OMETHING ’ S WRONG .

Cade frowned as Charlotte slept in the leather seat opposite him in the Landry jet.

Why did she still look so exhausted? And why did he feel uncomfortable about the fact she hadn’t put up more of a fight this morning? Wasn’t having her at his mercy exactly what he’d flown out to Lake Como to achieve?

But he couldn’t shake the uneasiness in his gut as he observed the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

He’d been braced for an argument when she’d appeared for breakfast at the hotel. So he’d made sure he was well ahead of her—by setting up a team to relocate her business to San Francisco for the rest of the summer and getting his EA to handle any issues with her visa status. But there had been no fuss, no more angry words. Instead she’d spent breakfast discussing options for her workspace and accommodations with his property management team on the West Coast while picking at her food.

From the fascinating conversation he’d listened in to with interest, he’d discovered she was a smart, erudite businesswoman who knew what she wanted but could also be flexible and take expert advice when needed. Both qualities Cade considered invaluable when making a startup like hers a success.

She’d appeared worn-out last night, once he’d taken the time to really look at her. And while she’d finished what needed to be done this morning once they had boarded the Landry jet in Milan—settling on a space hire in the Embarcadero and a condo in the same building as his—she’d barely touched her lunch before dropping back to sleep.

He’d driven himself to exhaustion too, once—especially during the early days—pulling eighteen-and twenty-hour shifts, fuelled on coffee and adrenaline and ambition for weeks on end. He knew what it looked like when the inevitable crash came. So why was he so upset at the thought of Charlotte burning herself out?

Her welfare wasn’t his concern.

But as she shifted on the seat—struggling to find a comfortable position—he undid his belt. Touching her probably wasn’t smart. He’d learned that yesterday evening when her stunned reaction to his knuckle buzz had left him hard and aching. But he needed her well-rested by the time they hit New York. Being photographed at the party tonight would establish her as his summer date—and hopefully give the media what they wanted so they would leave him the hell alone. Plus, he hoped to run into Zane deMarco—who had some explaining to do about the candid shots of him getting up close and personal with a Helberg employee at a pretzel stand while he had already racked up at least one other date for the summer so far.

He unclipped Charlotte’s belt and scooped her into his arms.

Her eyes opened just as he got a lungful of her scent. The streak of sensation hitting his groin wasn’t helped by the sight of her wide green eyes and her heavy sigh.

‘What are you doing?’ she murmured, still groggy.

‘Taking you to the bedroom in back,’ he said. ‘I want you awake when we get to New York.’

She blinked, but instead of protesting, she looped an arm around his neck, tucked her head against his collarbone, and yawned. Her warm breath brushed his neck, sending the sensations in his gut into free fall.

‘Thanks, Sir Galahad,’ she mumbled.

After placing her on the bed, he eased off her sneakers and tucked the quilt over her, the arrow in his gut becoming sharp and insistent.

The constriction in his ribs tightened as she turned away from him and curled onto her side, fast asleep again.

Just sex. And chemistry.

He headed back to his seat, determined to work for the rest of the flight. But he couldn’t shake the disturbing thought that his motives for chasing Charlotte all the way to Italy, and blackmailing her into returning to the US with him, might be about more than just the bet he had to win...

‘How are you feeling, Charlotte?’

Charley forced a strained smile at the low question from the man sitting opposite her in the chauffeur-driven car—who looked typically devastating in a designer suit—as they cut through the snarl of evening traffic in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District.

‘Fabulous. Bring it on,’ she said, trying to sound confident and bold, despite the knots in her stomach.

At least the low-grade nausea of the last few days had faded after her catatonic-like sleep on his plane. She’d had a solid six hours to add to the ten hours in Italy the night before. She still didn’t feel entirely herself, but she felt better than she had when she’d agreed to this charade—give or take the odd heart bump and the hot pulse in her abdomen every time she was near her fake date.

Although this arrangement didn’t feel particularly fake any more.

Especially after she had woken up on the plane to find him carrying her to bed with that watchful expression on his face.

He had been staring at her the same way ever since his car had picked her up at the stylist’s ten minutes ago—as if he were assessing her well-being.

‘We don’t have to stay long. I’ve booked you a suite at the hotel the event is at for tonight,’ he added. ‘Then we fly to the West Coast tomorrow.’

‘Thanks,’ she managed.

She hadn’t seen him since they’d landed at JFK four hours ago. After disembarking, she’d been whisked off to a private beauty therapist’s—where she had been primped to within an inch of her life—and then the stylist’s, where a selection of her designs had been waiting for her.

‘And thanks for getting my wardrobe shipped over in time for tonight,’ she added.

‘It was part of our deal,’ he said simply.

True, so why did it feel like more?

Cade Landry was a take-charge, demanding guy who got things done—and his competence was as sexy as the way he filled out a tuxedo. But why did this situation suddenly feel so overwhelming?

He’d thought of everything in preparation to present her as his date at this event—and establish their status as a couple.

It’s about the bet, Charley. Remember that.

She smoothed her palms down her gown. The sky-blue tulle and chiffon creation was a prototype she had been working on for months. The exposure it would get Trouble Maker at a statement party like this one was going to be invaluable.

Surely that was why she was nervous? After all, she had once revelled in showing off for the media—back in her bad old days. The nerves couldn’t have anything to do with the scent of his woodsy, spicy cologne, which brought back a host of other disturbing memories.

The car pulled to the kerb in front of a huge brutalist building which towered over this entrance to the High Line, the camera flashes visible through the tinted windows.

He stepped out of the car and leaned back in—blocking her from the chaos outside—to offer her his arm.

‘Let’s do this, Charlotte,’ he murmured, the low Southern accent rippling over her skin as his eyes deepened with encouragement, and that disturbing approval.

Her unruly heartbeat and the knots in her stomach went haywire.

‘Sure thing, Sir Galahad,’ she quipped back, trying to even her breathing as she climbed out. He shielded her from the cameras, and the shouts of the photographers and celebrity journalists. But as the muscles in his forearm tensed beneath her fingers, her sex clenched in unison.

When was she going to stop feeling so attuned to this man?

They ran the gauntlet together with his arm around her the whole way. As if she were special to him, when she knew she wasn’t. They were ushered into one of the private lifts, alone.

She let out a relieved breath. ‘Well, that was hideous.’

‘It should keep them happy for a while,’ he murmured, still watching her with eagle-sharp eyes.

‘I’m just hoping they got a good shot of my dress, and they remember to mention Trouble Maker,’ she managed.

How did he do that? Suck all the oxygen out of the lift? Because he’d done the exact same thing four years ago in that lobby in Vegas... And why would she rather suffocate than step away from him?

A smile curved his lips, as if he knew the war she was waging with herself.

Good grief, was she still so transparent?

‘I’ll have my press people make sure they mention the dress,’ he said. His gaze travelled over her figure, sparking a predictable endorphin rush. ‘It’s striking,’ he murmured. ‘But not as striking as the woman wearing it.’

‘Are you trying to flatter me into submission now?’ she asked, aiming for flippant, but getting breathless instead.

‘Is it working?’

‘It doesn’t need to,’ she said as the air continued to clog in her lungs. ‘You’ve already got me exactly where you want me.’

‘Not quite.’ He touched her cheek with his thumb, then skimmed it down the side of her face.

She shivered instinctively, the naked need in his eyes shocking her. But still, she couldn’t step away from the flame.

‘I want you back in my bed, Charlotte.’ He trailed his thumb across her lips, and they trembled. ‘And I think you want to be there, too.’

His hand settled on her neck, that dangerous thumb stroking the giddy pulse in her collarbone.

She should tell him to take a hike. It’s what they’d agreed to. But how could she? When they both knew he was right. And she’d never been a good liar.

The lift bell pinged, and a breath gushed out of her lungs.

Saved by the bell, literally.

The doors opened onto a lavish lobby area, accented in vintage mahogany and butter-soft leather. The staggering view across the Hudson River to Jersey City looked impossibly enchanting despite the throb of sound and fury coming from the DJ manning the decks in the party space beyond. The view, though, was nowhere near as heart-stopping as the glint of purpose in his eyes.

Could he see her need? Feel the pulsing ache which had been driving her nuts since he’d appeared in Lake Como?

Probably!

‘Showtime,’ he murmured.

But as he took her arm and led her into the party, it wasn’t the strobe lighting, or the wall of noise, or the press of bodies making her heart pound.

It was the giddy pulse of arousal—and something more—every time he introduced her as his, every time his palm settled possessively on her back or her hip or her waist, every time he leaned close to shout something witty or provocative above the throbbing beat of the music—and everything his words kept echoing in her head, a tantalising promise, impossible to deny.

I want you back in my bed, Charlotte. And I think you want to be there, too.

I’m out of the bet. I don’t want it. You and Adam carry on without me.

Zane deMarco was out of the running for Helberg.

Cade knew he should feel elated as he watched the guy disappear after the pretty brunette from Helberg’s HQ—who was not the date who had arrived at the event on deMarco’s arm. This development was better than anything Cade had hoped for when he’d cornered Zane on the balcony outside while Charlotte was in the restroom. But the stunned look on Zane’s face when the Helberg woman had stormed through the crowd towards him, looking ready to murder the corporate raider, had soured the moment somehow.

What was going on between deMarco and the Helberg chick? And why did Cade feel unsettled about the way whatever it was had made Zane throw in the towel so easily?

Stepping back into the party, he spotted Charlotte coming out of the restroom. Something deep and visceral tugged hard in his gut. And he headed through the crowd of dancers towards her, determined to forget about the damn bet for the rest of the night.

She’d done her part this evening without an argument. Acted like they were a couple for the cameras and then danced with him—her slender body gyrating in his arms, effortlessly seductive, while also being frustratingly just out of reach.

Everything was working out just how he wanted it. So why did he feel so on edge?

Her gaze locked with his as he reached her, and he saw something fierce and yet guarded in her eyes. Something which sharpened the arrow of need in his gut. And suddenly he knew why.

He’d been by her side all evening, inhaling her intoxicating scent and feeling her shiver of response every time he touched her—those casual, intimate touches between couples that were supposed to be for show, but hadn’t been, ever since he had cornered her in the elevator.

He grasped her hand. ‘We’re done here.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Excuse me?’ she said, as if she didn’t know exactly where tonight had always been heading.

‘We’re leaving,’ he added, tugging her through the crowd.

The elevator in the entrance area had too many people to catch it, so he slammed his palm against the emergency exit and took the stairwell.

‘Cade, what on earth...’ she cried, her fingers tugging against his hold as he took the stairs to the penthouse level. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To your suite,’ he said and tightened his grip.

His EA had given him a key card for her room, which he was supposed to pass to her once they were through at the event. That had been the plan, anyway, to escort her to the suite, then head to his place on Fifth and meet her at the airport tomorrow for their flight to San Francisco.

To hell with that.

They needed to establish some ground rules for the next month, or this arrangement was going to be unworkable. And ground rule number one was to stop pretending this was just about the bet. Because it was also about the sex.

The memory of her in his bed was still giving him hell—pheromones-wise—but worse was the memory of the morning after, when he’d woken up to find her note.

That he was still hung up about that note made it clear they had unfinished business. Business they could only finish by dealing with the sexual tension which had been building between them all night.

He pressed the key card against the door to the High Line Suite and marched inside. The darkness through the room’s glass walls glittered with the lights from the Jersey shore and the boats on the Hudson. The spectacular view didn’t register, though, as he swung around to press Charlotte against the wall and cup her flushed cheeks.

‘Tell me you don’t want this, too,’ he demanded, ‘and I’ll back off.’ But he’d be damned if he was going to avoid stating the obvious any longer.

She stared at him, her lips pursing into a tight line, but her beautiful eyes had dilated almost to black.

‘I suppose you think the caveman approach is a turn-on,’ she said, but beneath the sharp tone was the husky note he recognised.

‘Are you telling me it isn’t?’ he challenged her, brushing the ridge of his growing erection against her belly.

She didn’t push him away. Their showdown bristled with energy, but unlike the one in Lake Como, this time it was heady desire, not anger, which sizzled and sparked between them.

He kissed her neck, captured the pulse thundering in her collarbone, and began to feast on the sweet, sultry taste of her skin.

She swore, then let out a shuddering sigh. And grasped his head to draw him closer.

The last of his control snapped like a high-tension wire, his hands cupping her butt, finding firm, naked flesh beneath the dress.

Another thong, bless the Lord.

She relaxed into the kiss, lifting her leg to hook it around his hip, notching the erection in his pants against the tender spot between her thighs.

He rubbed her through their clothing, feeling the ripples of her response, revelling in the delicious musk of her arousal.

She gasped, her head thudding back against the wall, undulating her hips to locate the perfect contact, to demand more.

‘We need to be naked...’ she managed.

He lifted his head, his mind fraying, her bold request reflected in the shocked arousal in her gaze—which was as vivid and desperate as his own.

‘Yeah,’ he guttered out. But as he fumbled to find her zipper, frantic to feast on her again, she shifted back and batted his urgent hands away.

‘Let me. I don’t want you to rip it.’

He laughed, the indignation on her face releasing some of the tension in his gut.

But as she stripped off the floaty blue fabric and wriggled it past her hips, leaving her in nothing but her bra and thong, the tension cinched tight again.

He cradled one breast, brushed his thumb across the rouged tip visible through the lace.

Damn, had her breasts got fuller, or was that his overactive imagination? Because she looked magnificent. She’d always been beautiful, but her figure seemed lusher and even more mouth-watering than it had their first night.

She jolted against him, the soft sob enough to turbo-charge his own arousal.

He lifted her breast from its lacy prison and captured the stiff peak in his mouth. He suckled hard as her nipple hardened against his tongue. She thrust her fingers into his hair, her body shuddering violently, her response nothing short of electric.

‘That’s so good...’ she cried.

He delved beneath the satin thong with urgent fingers to find her hot and wet and ready.

She bucked as he worked the swollen nub, his lips still devouring her breast.

He thrust one finger into the tight sheaf, but seconds later, she sobbed as her orgasm pulsed around him.

As she came down, he drew back and licked her dew off his fingers. The throbbing need in his groin was unbearable. She looked spent, dishevelled, her bra half off, her panties soaked with her release. He could smell her, that sultry, flowery scent, as her eyes opened. She looked dazed. Her climax so much faster than before.

‘Again?’ he asked, his need so strong now he wasn’t sure he could stay sane much longer.

She nodded.

He fumbled to find the condom in his wallet, shrugged off his jacket, then ripped open the fly of his suit pants.

She stared at the thick erection, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes as he rolled on the protection with clumsy fingers.

‘Turn around, Charlotte,’ he demanded.

For once she didn’t argue, bracing her hands on the wall, presenting him with the flushed flesh of her butt. The pain in his groin became immense. He needed to be inside her now.

He captured her breasts from behind, holding her steady as he plunged deep. Her swollen flesh was exquisitely tight, but so slick he lodged himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. He dropped one hand to find her clitoris and pressed his thumb against it, desperate to make her shatter again before he did.

He established a punishing rhythm. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed around the quiet room alongside her sobs and his grunts. The pleasure built at the base of his spine, the pressure becoming exquisite pain, as he slammed into her and she pressed back to take more of him...to take it all.

He shouted as her sex clenched, her climax triggering his own brutal orgasm. The pleasure crested at last, the orgasm exploding through his nerve endings as everything he was, everything he wanted, became a blur of brutal need. And desperate release.

Charley pressed her forehead against the wall, with Cade’s big body holding her up while also leaning heavily against her back.

His hand twitched, still cupping her breast. She flinched, aware of how sensitive her breasts had been, and how quickly she had shot to orgasm. Twice.

‘You, okay?’ he murmured into her hair, his voice as rough as she felt.

‘I think so...’ she said, not entirely sure.

When had she ever felt so raw? And so sated?

She hadn’t intended to have sex with him again, but when he’d grasped her hand twenty minutes ago, the purpose in his gaze like a brand on her too-sensitive skin, and marched her down to the suite—after several hours of dancing—she hadn’t been able to resist. Or object. Because she’d wanted him with the same urgency.

He shifted behind her, then drew out of her body.

Her tight flesh released the huge erection with difficulty, making her flinch again.

He grasped her hips, turning her to face him. She folded her arms over her chest and the remnants of her underwear, feeling exposed as he adjusted his own clothing.

She couldn’t stop shivering. The sex, the need, had been so basic, so elemental, she hadn’t given a single thought to the repercussions of what she was doing. Or the fact that the tourists on the evening cruises below could have watched everything.

‘Hey?’ he said, cradling her cheek, already fully clothed again, unlike her. ‘You sure you’re okay? That was kind of intense.’

She nodded, then forced a smile. ‘I certainly hope no one on those boats has binoculars, or we just gave them quite a show.’

He let out a rough chuckle. ‘I certainly hope the glass is treated, or I’m gonna sue!’

But as their laughter died, the awkwardness returned. She should ask him to leave, to create some space and distance between them. But she couldn’t shift the knot in her throat, or the wave of emotion which suddenly threatened to level the last of her common sense.

She looked away from those piercing blue eyes which seemed to see so much more than she wanted them to. ‘I need to take a shower.’

‘Want me to join you?’ he asked.

She laughed. The man was nothing if not persistent.

‘Given what just happened, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she said, but as she went to walk away, desperate to maintain what was left of her dignity—her mind racing with all the implications of what they’d just done—he snagged her wrist.

‘I hope you know, Charlotte. There’s no way of putting this genie back in its bottle. And I sure as hell don’t want to, do you?’

She should tell him she did, because that was the safest course. She had committed to spending five weeks on his arm. Sleeping with him would only confuse things more. But the knot in her throat swelled, cutting off the denial, and forcing her to blurt out the truth.

‘I honestly don’t know,’ she managed.

He tipped his head to one side, studying her for what felt like an eternity. Then he dropped his forehead to hers, his hands resting on her bare hips, making her more aware of her nakedness. ‘How about we both take a shower—’

‘I don’t think...’

‘Separately,’ he interrupted her interruption before the panic could take hold. ‘This place has two bathrooms,’ he added, ever practical. ‘But then I’d like to stay the night.’

The possessive demand made her heartbeat jump in her chest, Still she couldn’t find the will to tell him no. To establish any boundaries. And not just because she felt washed out, both emotionally and physically. But also because she wanted to be held, the way he had held her once before. She’d run out on him then. And maybe that was why this need had come back to bite them both on the arse.

Perhaps it really was just a case of getting this desire—and the yearning for his approval, which had to be a holdover from her childhood—out of her system once and for all.

She nodded. ‘Okay.’

She spent a good twenty minutes scrubbing the scent of him off her over-sensitised body in the shower. But after pulling on an old T-shirt, she found him lying in the huge double bed, waiting for her. With his dark hair damp and slicked back from that extraordinary face, and his chest bare—the phoenix tattoo flaring over one broad shoulder—her heart thundered against her ribs again.

Why did he have to look so irresistible? It wasn’t fair.

He lifted the sheet, beckoned her into the bed. ‘Don’t panic, Charlotte. I don’t plan to ravish you again...tonight. I just want to make sure you’re okay.’

She was pretty sure letting him care for her would only make things more dangerous. But she felt too tired to argue, or deny the pulse of longing, the swell of emotion making the knot in her throat start to ache.

Where was the harm in letting him watch over her for one night? When she felt so raw and on edge... She could establish that all-important distance after she’d regained her strength, and her sense of purpose, tomorrow.

No man had ever claimed her so comprehensively. Maybe she should give herself a break for feeling needy right now.

She climbed into the bed, rested her head on his shoulder as he tucked her against his side, and let the steady thuds of his heartbeat under her ear lull her into deep, dreamless sleep.