Promoted to Wife? (5 page)

He scowled. “You
appreciate
my offer?”

“I mean, I'm flattered, naturally—”

“Really.”

“No, really. Any woman would be thrilled to be asked out by you.”

“But you're not.”

She shook her head. “I am
so
not your type.”

He leaned in, which made her pull back. “And what is my type?”

“Oh, tall. Leggy and gorgeous. Rich. Any one of your ex-girlfriends fit the bill.” She paused then added, “Trish Sattler fits the bill.”

Emily studied Zac's frowning face—a beautiful, angular, all-male face—from behind the security of her glasses. Seriousness rippled off him in waves, his focus squarely on her. It was a look that made movement impossible, that dissected and disarmed.

Oh, my Lord.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You
are
serious,” she finally managed.

“Deadly.”

“You
do
know there's a betting pool going on in Payroll? Who your next bed partner's going to be?”

His hand went to his nape, ruffling the hair there. “Okaaaaay…?”

“And that doesn't bother you?”

He shrugged. “Not really. What's your point?”

Was she thrilled? How about terrified. Shocked. Tempted. All of the above. But…

“This is not good,” she muttered to herself.

Zac sighed. “The money thing again?”

“How can that not be an issue?”

“It just isn't. That was something a friend would do. This—” he flicked a finger between them “—is something different entirely.”

“I see.” Now her skin was tingling in earnest. She glanced away.

“So? What do you think?”

“I think…”
I think you're crazy, actually having this conversation aloud.
With a deep breath, she dragged her eyes back to his. “Workplace affairs always change things—when it goes wrong, it will go
really
wrong.”

“What makes you think it'll go wrong?”

“Because it always does.”

He paused, giving her a strange look. “Speaking from experience?”

“No.” But as she watched him quirk up a disbelieving eyebrow, she swallowed thickly.

She leaned back in her chair, her mind churning. Even through everything—the parents from hell, the sexist boss, the numerous failed relationships—she'd kept believing, had clung tooth and nail to optimism, to the chance that love was out there somewhere. Despite the six-year gap, she'd been the strong one, keeping her sister AJ afloat when they were kids. She'd refused to use her sexuality as a career jump. She'd started over in a new city.

Yet had all those setbacks managed to steal more than money, self-respect and trust from her?

Had she turned into one of those cynical, hard-assed man-hating females?

“I'm not like your ex, Emily.”

She smoothed down the tablecloth once, twice. “No, you're not.”

“So…?”

“So what happens if it's a disaster?”

His mouth quirked. “We're adults.
If
it's a disaster, then we spend a week or so in awkward silence, then go back to being work colleagues. We'd do our jobs, you'd pay me back that money, and you'd go back to school.”

You are not actually giving this serious thought?

She abruptly rose. “I have to…go.”

Zac got to his feet. “I'll walk you to your room.”

“That's not necessary.”

“It is.”

“No.”

As she glared at him, the corner of his mouth curved. “I don't believe it.”

“What?”

“
You're
giving
me
that look.”

“What look?”

“That don't-mess-with-me-mate look.” She frowned, which only made him chuckle. “You give it to all our difficult clients. I call it the rottweiler look—because no one's going to get past you without some serious backup.” His warm hand seared through her jacket as he guided her out the restaurant.

“Nice. Did you just call me a dog?”

His laughter rang out in the elegant foyer, turning a few heads. When they paused at the elevator bank she tilted her chin up, exasperated at his amusement.

“You did!”

“I said your attitude was
doglike.
Big difference.”

The doors slid open and they got in, Zac pressing the button before settling into the corner, his elbows resting on the railing, taking her in with a lazy smile. Emily steadfastly kept her eyes on the ascending floors.

When they arrived at their floor, Emily surged out, desperate to escape the confinement of that tiny space.

When she finally got to her door, she dug in her jacket pocket for her keycard, painfully aware of Zac at her shoulder.

She swiped the card once, then twice. The light remained red.

With a soft mutter, she tried again.

Still red.

“Here, let me.” He took the card from her fingers and swiped it.

Red. He tried again.

“Can't we just go through your room?” Emily said impatiently.

“We could, but—”

“Then let's do that.”

He glanced at her, shrugged and pulled out his keycard.

The lock green-lighted them on the first attempt, an irony that wasn't lost on her. Then he shouldered the door open, sweeping his hand in to allow her entry first.

With back straight, eyes ahead, she entered his room, walking swiftly across the living area to the connecting door. She opened it, then tried hers.

“It's locked,” she said with a frown.

“I know.”

Why hadn't she thought of that? She turned, only to find Zac with arms crossed, studying her in silence.

“So why didn't you say something?”

“I tried, but you were hell-bent on running away from me.”

She blinked. “I wasn't running away!”

“Right.” He unfolded his arms, then, to her consternation, reached for her glasses.

“What are you doing?” Instinctively she grabbed his arm, but the unexpected heat of his skin jerked her back. It was all he needed to claim his prize.

He inspected her glasses, looking through the thick lenses before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket.

“You're shortsighted.”

“Yes.” She frowned as he brought her glasses to his mouth then breathed thickly over one lens.

It felt like her entire insides tightened with unexpected delight.

He began to polish the glass, a mischievous smile tilting his lips as he watched her squint at him.

“You don't need to…” She broke off as his lips parted again, mouth opening in slow deliberation before his hot breath frosted the glass.

What would it feel like to have those lips, that mouth, that breath on her skin?

Even with Zac so horribly out of focus, she could still make out that grin that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Her belly flipped, warmth flooding her limbs.

“You should really leave these off.”

“I need them to see.” She blinked for emphasis. “Everything's fuzzy otherwise.”

He moved and suddenly Zac-in-soft-focus became Zac-in-sharp-definition. “This better?”

She leaned back, desperately trying to ignore the warm singing of blood coursing through her body. “Uh…no…”

Before she could say another word, he put a hand on her nape, pulled her forward and kissed her.

Surprise held her still for a heartbeat, until heat surged into her chest where it swirled and dipped in delicious expectation.

His warm mouth was firm and skillful. He kissed her like he'd been practicing this all his life, a kiss that told her he knew what he was doing, knew how to please a woman. A kiss that melted her bones and quickly turned her on in a thousand different ways.

Through the haze of swiftly building desire, she felt his body move, and suddenly he was pressed up against her, heat spilling out to infuse them both.

Years of sexual frustration surged up, scorching her from the inside out as their breath and lips merged. She let out a groan, knew he'd felt it when his mouth curved against hers…just before he gently eased his tongue inside.

Oh. Wow.
Emily let out a shocked squeak, which quickly petered off into a breathy sigh. She was vaguely aware of him gently palming her cheek, his thumb caressing her jaw, but she was too caught up in the divine sensation of his mouth making love to hers.

The hard insistent throb of his manhood began to grow between them, solidifying the reality of their location. Gradually, like wading into consciousness from a deep dream, she became aware of Zac pulling back.

It was, she realized groggily, her eyes at half-mast and her
mouth still puckered, the most delicious few minutes of her entire life.

“Emily.”

Her eyes sprang open, looking directly into his olive ones, dark with desire and amusement.

She swallowed thickly as the heat rose in her face. “I…can't. I just can't.”

“Emmm—”

She ducked her head and practically raced for the door, eyes downcast. Zac surged forward but was too late—the solid thunk in her wake felt like the full stop to his unspoken sentence.

“—ily.” He finished softly to the closed door. With an aggravated sigh he shoved his hands on his hips, then raised his head heavenward and scrunched his eyes shut.
Damn.

H
e stood there for what felt like ages, reining in his body, forcing it to relax through gritted teeth.

Until the small tap.

He yanked the door open. She stood in the doorway, blinking and squinting. She'd undone her jacket, revealing a white shirt tucked into a skirt that inadvertently emphasized curvy hips and a defined waist.

“My key works but I need—” Zac gave her no time to finish the sentence, instead grabbing her arms and firmly pulling her inside, kicking the door shut with one foot. Then he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her.

She offered a tiny protest, one that abruptly snapped off when his lips collided with hers, her breath in his mouth, her scent everywhere. It teased and tormented, that innocent gingery-appley smell that made him want to rip her clothes off and bury himself inside her.

Instead he yanked her jacket down her shoulders, then pulled her shirt from her waistband, desperate to feel skin.

Yes.
He groaned approvingly, closing his eyes to fully
appreciate her smooth torso as it arched forward, arms pinned behind her back by her jacket, skin silken heat beneath his palms. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

“This needs to come off,” he muttered into her mouth, tugging at her shirt.

Her breathless agreement was all he needed to wrench those damn buttons apart and tug the shirt from her shoulders.

Emily finally managed to struggle free of her jacket, her eyes flying open as his hands continued their exploration. He overwhelmed her, filling her skin, her pores with hot desperate longing.

This. This was what she craved. What she needed. And when he bunched her skirt up around her waist before easing her legs apart with his knee, she groaned from sheer pleasure.

Pleasure that exploded into a thousand tiny sparks of need when his hand dove into her knickers and intimately cupped her curls.

She would've fallen if he wasn't pinning her to the wall with his mouth, his hands, his hard thigh. And when his fingers slid through her warm slickness, brushing over hot flesh to unerringly find her taut sensitive bud, she groaned, wrenching her mouth from his.

It was too much. Too hot. Too…

“Zac,” she got out. “What are we doing?”

His other hand clasped her chin, dragging her face back to him.

“I'm touching you. Now take your hair down.”

With shaky hands she did as he asked, pulling her hair free from the severe knot. The strands fell down her back and shoulders, across her face, and he reached up a finger to gently brush them from her eyes. Those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes were almost black with desire, his breath hot as it fanned over her cheek.

“Let go for me, Emily.”

She seemed to have lost all ability to think. Each single heartbeat echoed, blood racing through her body like a wall of flames.

She managed to get out a small nod, then a sigh when Zac let out a rumble of triumph and covered her mouth with his.

Then his finger slid inside her and her world ground to a breath-stealing halt. When she thought she might pass out from pleasure, he swiftly took charge, setting up a steady stroking pace that quickly began to swell and grow.

Her entire body screamed with joy. He'd set her skin on fire, his fingers dipping inside before easing out to smooth over her engorged bud. Over and over, again and again, until she whimpered beneath his mouth, a ragged plea for relief tearing from her lips.

He suddenly shifted, bracing himself, pressing her hard against the wall. Then his tongue was in her mouth, echoing the erotic glide of his fingers deep inside her, and she couldn't hold back any longer.

Zac felt the exact moment she went crashing over the edge. He gritted his teeth, desperate to hold on to that thin thread of control so he didn't embarrass himself and follow her.

Her hot wetness as it flooded him, the sheer beauty of her face frozen in climactic joy, nearly did him in. With a racing heart and an almost unbearable throb in his groin, he held on, waiting until Emily stopped trembling, until her breathing regulated and he finally registered her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back.

“Emily?” He tried to meet her eyes, but they were averted to the floor, her face flushed in acute embarrassment.

“I came back for my glasses,” she muttered.

In the wake of his stunned surprise, she pulled away, quickly refixing her clothing.

The air was warm and thick with that familiar musky scent of sex, the silence complete as he forced his body into some semblance of control.

Her clothes were rumpled, shirt hanging loose and buttons askew. Her mouth was still puffy from his kisses, her hairdo now falling in gentle waves around her shoulders.

She looked so damn delicious, like a lush, slightly debauched
angel made for love, that all he wanted to do was take her to bed and worship her body all night.

But her expression barred him entry, her stormy eyes rife with confusion. So, with careful deliberation, he pulled out her glasses and placed them in her outstretched hand, folding her fingers around them while he battled with the siren's call.

“Good night, Zac.”

All he could do was nod, staring as she turned and practically ran from his room.

The lock clicked into place just before he ground out a groan full of pure frustration.

 

Emily sat on her darkened balcony, staring at the glittering Sydney harbor lights spread before her.

What on earth had she just done?

Her breath faltered again for about the millionth time that night, her thighs flush with excitement.

Zac had paid off her debt, given her this Sydney account and offered his services as a lover. He was the textbook definition of the answer to all her problems.

And now this. He'd been on her, inside her. Touching her in the most intimate of places while she broke apart beneath his hands and lips.

Things like this just didn't happen to her. Not ever.

Men were for fun. No emotional entanglements, no responsibility.
Her declaration to AJ felt like a year ago, not just a few days. The irony would have made her laugh if she weren't so torn in a dozen different directions.

With a frown she pulled her tracksuit jacket tighter and studied the sparkling waterline, her eyes tracing the Opera House's illuminated curves against the black night before dropping down to the table where her notepad and pen sat.

She was a big girl. Sure, the thought of facing Zac after tonight made her squirm with embarrassment, but she'd gotten through worse. And if his date offer was still on the table, she still had to logically dissect it.

Since the age of fifteen, she'd made all her major life decisions
after carefully listing the pros and cons. With one major exception. She clicked the pen button up then down.
Jimmy.
He'd been charming and confident, so persistent he'd thrown her for a loop.

Expensive shoes or a flashy car were impulse buys. Marrying Jimmy had been hers.

C'mon, babe. Live a little on the edge, huh?

She grimaced. Her ex's enthusiasm for all things spontaneous had chipped away at her caution, made her doubt everything she'd thought herself to be. He'd tried to change what she now realized was in her very bones.

So what was better—going into a relationship with improbable hopes of love, or with realistic expectations that it would just be for mutual pleasure?

Picking up the pen, she drew a line down the center of the page, wrote “Pros” in one column, then “Cons” in the other.

A few minutes later, she stared at her list.

Pros—one, she was single. Two, she needed a fling to erase the leftovers of Jimmy's betrayal. Three, Zac was a great lover. Four, if it crashed and burned, she was leaving in April. Probably.

Cons—one, he was her boss: it'd not only look bad if it got out at the office, but could she handle going through the stress of workplace gossip again?

No.

Two… She nibbled on the end of the pen. He had a bevy of gorgeous ex-girlfriends, ones she couldn't hope to compete with.

Sighing, she took a gulp of coffee from her steadily cooling cup, then scribbled “3” in the “Cons” column:
Leaving in April,
before sitting back in the chair and scrutinizing the list in silence.

You don't do impulsive. It isn't you, remember?

The irony of that statement warred inside as she recalled what had happened next door. It had been good. No, not good. Amazing. Mind-blowing.

And she wanted more.

Somewhere along the line she'd lost herself. Once upon a
time she'd liked dressing up and going dancing. But now she was always working. She had no friends to speak of, unless she counted AJ's. And a hot date when she looked like Miss Moneypenny every day? Right. She'd not only disguised her physical appearance but had become entirely wrapped up in playing the part, too.

And here Zac was, a tempting way to break free from that. Even if it was only temporary.

“Look, you're totally looking at this the wrong way,” AJ reasoned when Emily called her sister a minute later. “Stop thinking of sex as one of your fairytale romance novels that ends in marriage.”

Emily scowled. “What's wrong with—”

“You're both attracted to each other, you're both single, and you're not hurting anyone. Keep it a secret at work if you want—it'll add to the excitement. And Zac's a no-commitment guy, perfect for you right now. It'll be fun. A
lot
of fun. Which is something you're due for after…well…after the crap that was our childhood,” AJ finished diplomatically.

Her uncomplicated, straight-talking sister always knew how to get to the heart of the matter.

Yet that thought didn't comfort her as she finally headed inside to her empty bed.

 

Saturday passed in a round of meetings that included a working lunch before Zac gave Emily the afternoon off while he met with a potential client.

Delighted at the unexpected windfall, she pulled on jeans and walking shoes and spent a few pleasant hours shopping along Pitt Street Mall before wandering through Skygarden, then the Queen Victoria Building.

When she finally made her way back to the hotel, she'd bought the latest Debbie Macomber novel, a frangipani-scented candle and a Swarovski crystal butterfly for AJ's growing collection.

Emily called for room service, then packed away the last of her clothes. She and Zac had spent the morning with other people, no time to exchange awkward glances or ruminate on what last
night meant. If it meant anything at all. To her critical eye Zac had appeared exactly the same, commanding those meetings with his usual aura of professionalism, neither overtly or covertly avoiding her.

He was discreet.

As she went over her action plan for the Point One launch she devoured a club sandwich, then a decadent pistachio crème brûlée with biscotti. With the last bite she rose from the table, leaving the computer as she stretched out her back.

It was seven-thirty, and while she'd worked later countless times before, something inside urged her to call it a night.

So she did, closing the laptop with a decisive snap before grabbing her iPod and padding over to the balcony.

With a smile and a deep cleansing breath, she drew the heavy curtains apart to reveal the breathtaking harbor sunset, pausing for only a second before opening the doors and stepping outside.

 

Behind the hotel the blood-red sun hung heavy in the sky, bathing the Opera House in shards of amber and orange as Zac sat in cool, darkening silence.

As a teenager he'd studied the color, the form and play of shadow and light, across Elizabeth Bay a million times from his bedroom window. He'd sketched a bunch of those houses, an apartment or two, a uniquely styled building. Where were those sketches now?

Long gone, he suspected, recrossing his ankles on the low patio table and taking another sip of beer. At eighteen he'd traded in Australia for Sweden, refusing an automatic placing at Sydney's University of Technology to study architecture at Lund University. Victor had hit the roof then cut him off without a penny.

His hand tightened on his glass as familiar bitterness swooped in on black wings.

The man may have been a legend in business, but Zac knew the true Victor Prescott. A liar. A hypocrite. An unyielding, stubborn, unforgiving sonofa—

A small sound to his right had his hairs standing up, and when he glanced over, the entire world took that moment to pause.

A row of terra-cotta pots divided their shared balcony, and with light spearing from her suite, he could clearly make out Emily's figure a few feet away.

She leaned forward, hands crossed casually over the railing. The snug pink long-sleeved T-shirt accented her waist and generous hips, soft tracksuit sweats clinging to her rounded butt. His eyes traveled leisurely over those generous curves until they came to rest on her bare feet.

Then she shifted her weight and leaned into the balcony, treating him to a view of her beautiful bottom.

His mouth went dry.
That would fit perfectly in my hands…

Memories of last night flashed past—her soft skin and warm limbs, her gentle sighs of pleasure teasing and taunting as his body stiffened.

Then she began to hum.

He blinked, surprised, as her head started to bob, then her shoulders swayed. Her humming became indistinguishable words, something about “party” and “starting tonight”…

She actually had a nice singing voice, kind of smoky and breathy. He grinned when he spotted the earphones, then finally recognized the song. He'd never pick his assistant as a closet Lionel Richie fan.

She suddenly turned, eyes closed, a small smile on her face as she began to dance.

Good God, she was absolutely luscious. Her hips swiveled, shoulders swayed. He choked out an appreciative groan. She made his blood race and his breath stutter. She filled him with a burning need to touch, to kiss, to taste. A dangerous need.