Promoted to Wife? (8 page)

She leaned forward, proffering her cheek. As politeness
dictated, Zac went in for the kiss, but at the last minute she turned and his mouth landed firmly on hers.

“For later,” she purred, pulling back, then shooting Emily a triumphant glance.

When Zac steered Emily away, her back was rigid beneath his hand.

“She'll ‘teach me'?” she muttered.

“Ignore her,” he commanded as they steadily made their way across the room.

“Oh, I intend to. I'd rather take swimming lessons from a shark.”

He grinned, then looked fleetingly over his shoulder. The now-unsmiling Haylee still stood where they'd left her, one elegant finger tapping rhythmically against her champagne flute.

He'd never understand women. Haylee had been fun for a month or two—impulsive and unconcerned with looking perfect, unlike many of his other exes. And growing up with wealth meant she'd been unfazed by his billion-dollar reputation. But gradually, her attentiveness had begun to chafe. Where was he? Who was he with? When would he be back? She'd gone from fun to serious, hinting about “a more permanent living arrangement” and casually wondering aloud when she'd get to meet his family.

His cue to backpedal like an Olympic champion.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“For what?”

“For putting you in the middle of that.”

She shrugged, keeping pace with him as they wound their way through the crowd. “I've handled worse.”

“Really?”

She paused, forcing him to stop dead too. “I answer your phone, Zac. I field a handful of ex-girlfriends' calls every week. I've been screamed at, cajoled, threatened. Some even beg and cry.”

“You're joking.”

“No.”

The truth was reflected in her expression, prompting a frown.
But when he opened his mouth, someone clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Zac. How was Sydney?”

When he turned to Joe Watts, Valhalla's chief engineer, his expression was neutral.

Emily stood calmly by as they chatted, fully aware of his arm, his shoulder close to hers, fully aware he could touch her at a moment's notice—but she knew without a doubt he wouldn't. This was work, and she had drawn the line. Plus…

She glanced around the room, her eyes coming to rest on a familiar catsuited woman, the center of attention in a group of men. Haylee's little display only underscored her need for the line. The billionaire's daughter didn't seem the type who liked competition. She was also someone who could make life uncomfortable with one calculated conversation with her father.

Yes, Emily realized as she watched Haylee's gaze devour an unsuspecting Zac more than once as the minutes ticked by, Daddy's little girl would come first, despite Zac and Josh's professional business relationship.

She quickly excused herself and made her way to the bathroom.

T
hey drove home the same way they'd come, with the soft strains of music alleviating the distinctly uncomfortable silence.

Zac had sensed a change ever since their first kiss. It was as if he made her nervous somehow. Unsure. So unlike the Emily he knew.

It was oddly gratifying, knowing he could ruffle those perfect feathers, that he had this kind of effect.

He stole a glance as she stared out the window. She'd unbuttoned her shirt to reveal an elegant collarbone and smooth skin, demure yet extremely tempting. And she'd done something with her hair, loosened it up so that small strands floated around her jawline, bringing emphasis to that lush Cupid's-bow mouth.

“A lot of people are interested in Point One,” she said suddenly.

The compliment he'd been reworking lay preempted in his mouth. She was still in work mode. And right now, he was her boss.

Damn.
He nodded. “How are the plans coming along?”

“I've already talked with Michelle from Publicity.” She crossed her legs and kept her focus ahead, out into the dark night. “If those ground-floor businesses are in by the end of November, we can utilize them for the December launch. We've already presold half the apartments. Which means we have ten left, plus five spare offices,” she said as they turned off Pacific Highway and left onto Duringan Street. “I expect those to be filled in the next few weeks.”

“And the launch?”

“Final estimate by tomorrow.”

He flicked her a smile. “Great.”

“And…” She paused as the car smoothly took the corner, passing Currumbin Surf Club on the right.

“I'm waiting on a call from Queensland Uni, to see if I can start my course in second term. April.”

“They let you do that?”

“Depends on the circumstances. And I worked out a plan to pay you back.”

“There's no hurry.” He glanced over at her but couldn't read her expression.

“I don't like owing people money.”

They finally turned into Emily's street and he pulled the car to a smooth stop at the curb. When he cut the engine, the Porsche's throaty purr died out, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

Dark clouds hid the moon, distorting her face, making it difficult to read her expression. And he really, really wanted to know what she was thinking.

He snicked open his door and the interior light came on. Then he slowly turned, giving her no choice but to look at him.

Her face was half in shadow, half in light. An apt description for someone who guarded her secrets so very carefully.

She was the complete opposite of every woman he'd dated, someone who hadn't been born into wealth and didn't run in the same privileged circles. Yet she could handle any situation he'd thrown at her, from boardrooms to client parties to fending off clingy exes. So why did he feel the sudden urge to protect her?

“Emily.”

Ignoring her startled murmur, he curled a strand of her hair around his fingers, savoring the silkiness before gently smoothing it behind her ear.

“Yes?”

He hesitated, oddly tongue-tied.

Admit it. You've been spoiled by all those other women—bold, confident women who knew what they wanted and came right out and said it.

No, not spoiled—bored. Cynical, even.

It'd been a long time since he'd had to put a concerted effort into a seduction.

That thought gave him pause. And as he sat there, trying to work out a tactful follow-up, she blinked, her lips parting slightly. The light streamed over them, revealing the tip of her tongue as it touched the inside bottom lip before she closed her teeth on it.

With an inward groan he slid his hand around her neck, cupping her head and tangling her hair.

Then he pulled her in and kissed her.

It was just as sweet, just as delicious as before. Her pouty lips beneath his, soft and pliant. That scent…conjuring up freshness and innocence. And her warm breath that came out in a gasp before lengthening into a murmur of pleasure.

His body stirred, sparked into life by one simple kiss.

He explored her mouth, tasting the curves, the creases, her soft tentative tongue that at first shied away, then bit by bit returned to tangle with his, until his blood began to pound in earnest and his breath became ragged.

He groaned.
Stop.
But Emily's fingers were teasing the hair on his nape, her gentle, almost hesitant touch only stoking the fires higher.

He had to stop before it got out of hand.

With a supreme effort he reluctantly broke the kiss, easing away with a regretful growl. She frowned and her eyes snapped open.

His groin tightened. Her blue eyes were dark and heavy with
desire, her damp mouth bruised with kisses. He could hear her rapid breath—or was that his?—as she pulled back.

“Tomorrow night,” he got out, knowing his voice was thick with lust, knowing it wouldn't take any effort to have her here, now. “My place.”

When she glanced away with a quick nod, the light revealed a flush on her smooth cheeks as she scrambled from the car.

Tomorrow night. His body was already keyed up just thinking about it as he followed her out.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure.” He lingered on that last word, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car, taking a warped delight in her flustered expression.

She turned and headed for the stairs without a backward glance, and Zac was rewarded with a view of her gently swaying bottom and hips as she ascended. When she paused at her door, she finally turned to give him a nod, then unlocked the door and went inside.

By the time he was back in his car, her living room lights had come on, the soft glow warming the darkness as he started up the engine.

He reluctantly pulled away, heading back into Surfers while fervently wishing away the next twenty-four hours.

 

The sun was barely peering over the horizon as Emily laced up her joggers, did a quick stretch on her porch, then headed off down the beach.

Running was an uncomfortable, sweaty, muscle-aching affair. She hated it while she was in the middle of it, but she liked having done it. Liked that it kept her relatively healthy, that it was free and right on her doorstep. And with her headphones on, no one bothered her. She gave a few brief nods to the regulars, a smile for the Japanese tourists who'd never seen a Gold Coast beach before. And with the wild angry beat of Nirvana reverberating in her head, she could block everything out as she jogged south along pristine Currumbin Beach.

Her daily run took her through the half-filled Currumbin
Surf Club car park and Elephant Rock, then down past a bunch of sleek beachfront mansions, many of which Valhalla had been behind. Behind the grassy dunes she could see roofs, sometimes a window or two, or a glimpse of backyard as she pounded out each step on the hard, ocean-compacted sand.

An hour later, sweaty yet energized, she took her stairs two at a time, her legs throbbing with the effort.

Prior to the weekend, lots of things had been on the periphery. Now she was hyper-aware. Like instead of pulling her hair into its usual smooth bun, she looped it back into a soft ponytail. And instead of her usual lip-liner-and-balm that served as lipstick, she picked up a soft plum Revlon gloss AJ had bought for her birthday.

Two changes, two tiny things that seemed unimportant but made her feel a little more confident. And confidence meant control.

It was all about control.

It was unlikely anyone would notice, she reasoned as she walked into the office foyer. The barista at Bennetti's hadn't. Nor had the building's security. And certainly not the other workers as she crammed into the lift that sped them up to Valhalla's offices.

She had set her bag down, placed the coffee on her desk and turned on the computer before she noticed Zac's mobile phone and the sticky note on the keyboard.

“In a meeting,” it read.

She placed the phone to one side, crumpled the note then opened her electronic scheduler, looking up as the mail clerk pushed open the door, smiled, then dropped a bundle of mail on her desk.

When Zac's phone beeped, indicating an incoming text, she glanced up from the keyboard.

A number not recognized in his list of contacts.

A new client? She quickly activated the touch screen and brought up the text.

“Did U get my picture last nite?”

She sat back in her chair, jiggling her leg in thought. Clients
sent Zac “before” shots of their houses all the time. So why didn't he have this particular caller in his contacts? Come to think of it,
picture
was an odd word. Why not
photo?

The phone beeped again and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“This 1's better. Call me, K?”

When she clicked on the attachment, shock froze her fingers.

It was a very different Haylee—kissing for the camera, striking a sexy topless pose in a red G-string and garters.

Emily swiftly placed the phone on her desk, heart pounding. Her fingers twitched like she'd seared them on the stove, her breath jamming hard against her ribs.

Zac hadn't…? No, he wasn't like that. But…

He always gave his office number to the girlfriends, never his mobile. She slowly palmed the phone, then located the list of incoming calls and scrolled down. Haylee's number appeared between three and five times a day. During the weekend, she'd called him over a dozen times. If she'd sent texts, Zac must've deleted them.

Her hands were surprisingly steady as she placed the phone on her desk. Which meant there was only one rational explanation—Haylee was stalking Zac.

Work well and truly forgotten, she linked her fingers behind her head and tipped back to focus on the ceiling.

Think about it. You've met the woman. You know Zac. What else could it possibly be?

When Zac returned an hour later, she was mentally prepared.

“Any calls?” he asked with a smile as she handed him the mail and his phone.

“Cal called again.”

His smile dimmed. “And Victor?”

“No. But Haylee texted your mobile.”

He frowned. “What did she want?”

“It was a photo.”

Her expression must've given her away because his eyes
darkened before he muttered something under his breath. “Sorry. I thought I'd dealt with it. Leave it with me.” And he turned towards his office.

“She's stalking you.”

He paused in the doorway then slowly turned back, shaking his head. “No. Haylee's just a little…”

“Crazy?”

“Attached,” he amended with a short grin. “I let her down gently, but obviously she's taken that as an invitation to try harder.”

Zac was never rude—it was her job to buy the breakup flowers, which he always sent with a personal note. Which was why, she suspected, so many of his exes just couldn't let go. Emily sighed. “Shall I get you a new mobile number?”

“Good idea.” He nodded and tossed the phone. She caught it smoothly. “Are you ready to give the update on Point One?”

“Sure.” She grabbed a file and rose.

 

She presented her concise report smoothly, ticking off most of the items on Zac's mental to-do list. Then she reminded him he had a conference call at two and asked about his lunch preferences, all while placing a steaming coffee mug by his elbow.

When he reached for it, he accidently bumped her hand.

She made a small sound, as if he'd shocked her. And when her eyes darted up to his, a throb of anticipation spread through his blood at the reluctant desire in those blue depths.

Then she glanced away. “Sorry.”

He sucked in a breath, sharp and ragged. How much of an ass was he to have this gorgeous woman sorry for wanting him?

She nodded to the open door. “Megan from Accounts is here.”

“New hairstyle?” he asked.

She scooped up the contents of his out tray and stepped back, clutching the papers to her chest. “Yes,” she said.

“I like it.”

She frowned, those glossy lips flattening. “That's not why I did it.”

His grin called her a liar even as he remained silent.

She cleared her throat. “Shall I send Megan in?”

“Sure.” Then he added, “I've got inspections this afternoon, but I'll be home around seven-thirty.”

His statement hung in the silence, the subtext clear. Anticipation zinged his nerves as she glanced nervously to the door and the waiting Valhalla worker outside.

She gave him a short nod, then left.

Through his open door Zac caught the exchange—Megan commenting on Emily's new hairstyle, Emily thanking her—before Megan was standing in the doorway with a smile.

“Got a minute to sign off on the Christmas bonuses?”

He motioned her in. It was time to get back to work.

 

Emily sat heavily at her desk, then quickly flicked open a folder. Nervousness punctuated each flip of the page, until one finally tore at the corner.

Her hands stilled. Control. She breathed in deep, eyes closed, then let it out.
I am in control of what I do and say. It's just casual. You can walk away at any time.

Instead of taking comfort in that mantra, it began to sound a lot like her mother's petulant whine.

Her eyes sprang open. Her schedule was still open on the computer, listing today's urgent tasks for Point One.

Right. She could either continue to moon over Zac, letting the anticipation of tonight cripple her day. Or she could get some work done.

What's it to be, Emily?

With her back straight, she picked up the phone and started dialing.