Chapter 20

Daisy

I’m fuming. So damn mad that I’m shaking from head to foot. My head spins like I’ve stepped off a whirling carnival ride and my legs wobble. I make it to the garden before I collapse onto a bench and stare up at the sky, willing the sting of tears to abate.

I won’t cry, not over him.

The stupid thing is, I think Hart’s idea for the foster kids is brilliant, the act of a selfless man who wants to help the less fortunate. But he’s wrong about not utilising himself as the face of the campaign.

I could give him a thousand reasons why it’s perfect but he wouldn’t let me speak. He lost his temper and took it as a personal affront that I voiced an opinion at odds with his.

That’s what made me so damn mad, because when he wouldn’t listen to me or hear me out, he reminded me of Casper and the many times I felt useless; like my opinion didn’t matter or what I wanted was irrelevant.

It’s this residual lack of confidence that is making me stick with Alf when I should take a risk and start my own PR company. I hate that Casper’s cruel and calculated campaign to bind me to him has resulted in this: me feeling vulnerable and weak despite knowing I’m right. So when Hart did the same thing, dismissing my opinion as meaningless, I had to get out of there.

Something I just thought niggles at the back of my mind…a personal affront…

I’m an idiot. Of course he’s taken all this as personal. He was one of those kids who probably never had a vacation, who only dreamed of visiting a tropical island. To those kids, spending time on Gem Island would be as unattainable as flying to the moon.

This idea would be as personal as it gets for Hart and that’s probably why he’s so reluctant to put himself out there for the campaign.

Stifling a groan, I straighten and dab at the corners of my eyes with my pinkies. I take deep breaths, steadying my resolve. I’ll have to tread lightly when I go back in. I have to. We need to resolve this, and considering it’s obviously a hot button for him, I need to present rational, sensible responses so he understands my point of view.

I stand and give my arms and legs a little shake. My legs are steadier as I walk back towards his office. Thankfully, there’s no one around. I would’ve died of mortification if they’d witnessed my slamming-door tantrum and subsequent crawl back.

I knock once but don’t wait for a response. Why give him the opportunity to tell me where I can stick my apology?

I open the door and he’s exactly where I left him, sitting on the sofa. But his head is in his hands and his shoulders are slumped.

He’s defeated.

I did this.

I brought this powerful, commanding man to his knees.

I feel sick to my stomach.

He doesn’t speak as I close the door and approach, my steps tentative as I struggle to come up with something sensible that won’t inflame the situation.

I sit beside him and he stands, moving towards his desk where he props himself, butt on the edge. He folds his arms in the classic defensive posture and I know I’m going to have to do some serious grovelling to get this back on track.

‘I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. I’m sorry.’

‘And I shouldn’t have yelled at you.’ His tone is cold and I resist the urge to rub my arms. ‘We’ll discuss this another time—’

‘No, we need to get it sorted now.’ I try to sound calm and rational but my voice quavers, undermining my authority. I know PR, he doesn’t. I need to make him see sense. ‘You hired me to do a job and you’ve been nothing but happy with my work. So you need to listen when I say that using you as the face of the vacation project for foster kids is a brilliant idea.’

‘In your opinion.’

‘Of course it’s my opinion,’ I snap, instantly regretting my outburst when he smirks, as if he expects nothing less. ‘Look, for what it’s worth, I understand your concern, about you being rich now and those kids potentially not identifying with you. But you were one of them once and if we play up that angle while showcasing this fabulous resort, it’ll gel nicely—’

‘Thanks for stating the obvious, that I was one of them once.’ He slow claps and while I’ve never struck anyone in my life and I’m not about to start now, my palm itches to wipe that smart-ass smirk off his face.

‘You need to listen to reason—’

‘No, you need to listen to me,’ he says, fury darkening his eyes to ebony. ‘I’m not asking you to make this work without me in the campaign, I’m telling you. Use the new campaign you devised and tack on the kids’ vacation programme.’

‘And what if I say I won’t do it?’

Calling his bluff is stupid and I know it the moment I fling the taunt at him. I’m an idiot. I can’t afford to ruin this campaign before it’s launched. It would mean I’m stuck with Alf until some other project this big comes along and that could be forever.

I need to salvage this situation before it’s too late.

‘If you won’t do it, there’s the door.’ He shrugs. ‘Use it.’

His nonchalance is galling. He’s ready to replace me without a qualm. I’m not egotistical, but I’ve worked in marketing long enough to know not everyone has the same flair as me. Casper sapped my confidence; I’m not letting Hart do the same.

‘Do you always use threats to get what you want?’

His gaze shifts away. ‘I’m the client and I get final say. I thought you were okay with that.’

‘I am.’

A sigh escapes my lips. I can’t fight him. I’ve put too much work into this campaign already. But his attitude disappoints me more than it should: he’s like Casper, demanding and commanding, knowing I’ll back down.

My chest aches with the knowledge that I may have put my trust in the wrong man again.

‘We’ll do it your way.’

‘You don’t have to sound so thrilled about it.’ His mouth kicks up into a wry grin but I don’t return it.

I’m hurting when I shouldn’t be. I’ve made the ultimate mistake: feeling too much for my fling.

At what point did the sex and the work become more?

Every muscle in my body tightens, preparing for a flee response. I need to escape this office before I say something I’ll regret.

‘What’s wrong?’ He stalks towards me and stops within touching distance, too damn close. ‘And don’t say nothing.’

My lips compress so I don’t blurt what I’m feeling and how he’s hurt me with his casual undermining.

To my surprise, he laughs. ‘Honey, the silent game you’re playing? I invented it. Whenever a foster parent taunted me or a sibling pushed me around, I learned to bottle up my rage.’

He shakes his head. ‘Sure, I exploded a few times to make a point, but I discovered that silent rage works so much better than getting physical.’

He reaches out to capture a strand of my hair and I swat his hand away. ‘So you see, I can out-silent you. I’m a stubborn bastard that way.’

Damn him for hitting me in a weak spot: my thirst to know more about him.

‘How many foster parents did you have?’

I expect him not to answer and evade anything personal as usual, but to my surprise he meets my curious gaze.

‘Three. When my dad dumped me with Social Services, I was six. That first home was really crappy. The parents were only fostering for the money, so it was pretty brutal, with two older siblings who’d been shunted between homes too many times already. I hated it…’

A lump forms in my throat at the thought of this amazing man being abandoned by his father so young. I remain silent, expecting him to do the same after revealing so much but once again, he surprises me.

‘I was there until I was ten, then got moved to another home, with much better parents who already had three kids of their own, but…’

‘But?’ I prompt.

‘But by then it was too late. I’d become too hardened, too sceptical, too cut off from everyone.’ A vein throbs at his temple as his jaw clenches. ‘They were okay people but couldn’t tolerate my shitty behaviour, so I eventually got shipped off to my third home in Melbourne, a really nice family who got through to me a little. I lived with them for a few years, then Pa discovered I existed.’ He shrugs as if his childhood ordeal means little. ‘You know the rest.’

Actually, I don’t. I don’t know why he’s beating himself up by sticking around doing a job he obviously loathes. I don’t know why he’s so reluctant to keep his charity work secret. And I sure as hell don’t know why I feel more for this damaged man than I should.

‘Let me guess. The Adlers are one big, happy family.’

He doesn’t sound bitter. In fact, he sounds almost curious, like he actually gives a crap about me. Wishful thinking.

‘Yeah, I guess I’m one of the lucky ones. Mum and Dad still idolise one another, and my two younger sisters are in long-term relationships.’ I hook my fingers into devil horns and place them on my head. ‘Since I quit my engagement, I’m the baddie of the family.’

He reaches for my hand and I let him clasp it, his warmth a comfort. I’m still a topsy-turvy mess over the realisation that I’ve somehow moved beyond sex and actually feel something for Hart, but his firm grip brings me back to the reality of how much I like him touching me.

‘It’s okay to walk away when something isn’t right for you. Sometimes, strength in our convictions is all we have.’

Such a simple proclamation with such profound results.

He’s right.

Why has it taken me so long to realise it?

And why do I need him to spell it out to make me believe it?

‘Thank you.’ I turn towards him, slip my hand out of his, and cup his face.

‘For what?’

‘Telling me what I needed to hear.’

Our gazes lock and I know in an instant that he feels it too. This. Whatever this is.

It’s bigger than sex and island flings and work.

It’s tenuous and fleeting but it’s there just the same, binding us when neither of us wants it.

‘Hart…’ I search for the words to make him understand that we’ve moved beyond fuck-buddies, but before I can speak he slams his mouth onto mine, hard and fast.

I would’ve fallen if he didn’t haul me against him, pinning me between his thighs. I’m mad at him for silencing me this way, for his cowardice in not wanting to confront the obvious, but my momentary struggle is for show only, because the second his lips sear mine, I’m gone. Swept up in a tide of passion and unwilling to surface.

I open my mouth to lodge a mock protest and he takes it as a blatant invitation to sweep his tongue into my mouth. With a resigned groan I meet him halfway, our tongues tangling as his hands slide under my skirt.

He plucks at my thong, toying with the elastic, before ripping it clean away. I’m embarrassingly wet, so turned on by his powerful display of control that I want to lie on his desk and spread my legs for him.

He wrenches his mouth from mine and stares at me like I’m chocolate mousse, lemon meringue pie, and sticky date pudding all rolled into one.

‘Turn around.’

I swallow a moan and do as he says.

‘Rest your hands on my desk.’

I do it and feel my skirt being hiked up, exposing my ass to him.

I hear him unzip and the tearing of foil. He’s taking too long and I wiggle my hips impatiently. Then he’s there, rock hard, nudging my cleft.

He bites the back of my neck, a playful nip followed by a teasing lap of his tongue, making me tremble in anticipation. His hand slides around to the front and he zeroes in on my clit without preamble.

This isn’t going to be slow. We both want it fast, a way to release our tension. Maybe it’s easier this way, showing rather than telling, using our bodies as a way to communicate what we already know: we’re good together.

As he circles my clit he slides into me and I gasp. It’s like this every time, him filling me to perfection and making me crave more.

He withdraws and I push my hips back, needing him inside me again. He obliges by driving into me with such force I fall forward a little.

I rest my forearms on the desk as he pounds into me, fingering me at the same time. It’s wild and wanton and beyond anything I’ve imagined in my fantasies.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s glassy-eyed, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stares at where he’s driving in to me.

I stand on tiptoes in response, knowing it will change the angle of penetrations, and he’s a goner, a man possessed as he pumps into me, my climax clawing at the last of my control as I let myself go and just feel.

My keen of release melds with his roar and my head falls forward, thumping the desk. I don’t feel a thing.

The ripples of pleasure take a while to subside and I cling to the precious aftermath, knowing that all too soon we’ll need to talk.

He lifts my torso gently and cradles me from behind.

For now, it’s enough.