Pleasure Payback
Zara Cox
Revenge is sweet… Damian Mortimer blew my mind in the bedroom—then nearly destroyed my business. Now, two years later, I will play him, and this time I’ll end up on top. Except what Damian does to my body might be far more exciting than the thrill of revenge!
The second book in The Mortimers: Wealthy & Wicked series by international bestselling author Zara Cox becomes scandalously sexy when Neve Nolan vows to get even with the ruthless Damian Mortimer in the boardroom...by getting on top in the bedroom!
The irresistible Damian Mortimer nearly destroyed me. First, he gave me mind-blowing pleasure in the bedroom—then he tricked me out of a business deal. Now we’re both mentors on a TV show for budding entrepreneurs, and I’m not going to let him fool me again.
My plan for revenge is simple: sex. The only problem is that Damian is even more devastatingly handsome than I remember. The idea of pleasurable payback excites me, but his body and what he does to me excite me far more. And being close to him has shown me how sensitive and passionate he is. Yes, he hurt me—but he’s been on the receiving end of his fair share of pain.
I don’t know what’s in store for me and Damian Mortimer...but I know I’ll enjoy finding out!
Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.
ZARA COX writes contemporary and erotic romance. She lives in the Garden of England—aka Kent—with her hubby and two kids. She loves to read and travel. In 2017 she managed to visit her number one bucket list destination—Hawaii—and is now actively pleading with her husband to live there! She loves to hear from her readers, and you can get in touch with her via Twitter (@zcoxbooks (https://twitter.com/zcoxbooks?lang=en)), Instagram (zaracoxwriter (https://www.instagram.com/zaracoxwriter/)) or Facebook (zaracoxwriter (https://www.facebook.com/Zara-Cox-Writer-210922862391617/)).
Pleasure Payback
Zara Cox
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08697-4
PLEASURE PAYBACK
© 2019 Zara Cox
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#u4b20fd73-31e8-50c3-845f-0fddd2ccfd66)
Back Cover Text (#u01606fd7-5944-5f0e-a2d1-6fa4a89c25c0)
About the Author (#u838dc56e-38ca-538d-a4be-41bfdf126759)
Title Page (#ud9ac5735-a05e-5820-8449-ffa3cc5ab5c0)
Copyright (#u6fb45b12-b433-5959-b298-e1e59d603c0b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5ff70758-7a8f-4dac-a3f5-ed60c148eedd)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud31e25e7-a0c5-5e8f-9dfe-b56c04eaa31f)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucca6e437-a649-4a79-b031-f640850acc27)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u3b8c9967-a29a-5a6d-b051-f16ea7e5eb40)
Neve
A SINGLE WOMAN walks into a bar...
I felt a little bit like a cliché as I entered the VIP-only bar on the twentieth floor of Hotel M and perched on the stool at the far end of the long smoked-glass counter. At nine p.m. on a Thursday night in late May it was surprisingly quiet, with only a few people seated at the tables, the stunning views of Boston at night their backdrop.
The junior suite I’d splashed out eight hundred bucks for had a fully stocked minibar, more than adequate for my needs. If that failed I could order anything from Room Service.
But...
A single woman walks into a bar. At ease and in control. Because she owns several like it across the East Coast.
Much better.
It’d taken risks to get to this point. Bold risks that had fuelled several sleepless nights. Financially, by gambling every last penny I had on this once-in-a-lifetime deal. Emotionally, by attempting to keep my grandparents’ legacy alive while also fighting to keep the lines of communication with my mother open despite the bitterness and resentment spewed my way every time I braced myself and called.
That particular thread was frayed to the point where I secretly feared my next phone call would be the one that severed our ties for ever. It was why I hadn’t called her in five weeks. Why that dull ache in my chest sharpened every time I thought of reaching out to my one remaining relative even though more often than not she hadn’t been there for me.
To stop myself from dwelling on it, I’d channelled all my energy into making sure the ambitious expansion I was pursuing went off without a hitch, while smothering the whispers of doubt at the back of my mind instigated by those very same phone calls.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Neve?’
‘Shouldn’t you leave this to more experienced people?’
‘You’ll lose everything, then where would you be?’
Cautionary, maternal words that would’ve touched me had they not echoed the same lack of belief in my abilities from the moment I could walk.
I’d smothered the voice, confident in my business plan and the numbers I’d crunched so hard I could taste them in my sleep.
And it’d paid off. That instinct that this would work had earned me an invite to the big leagues.
My goal was within my grasp—a hard-won affiliation deal between Cahill Hotels and Cephei Hotels, my six small but thriving boutique hotels.
So where was the harm in staying out of my comfort zone for one more night? Besides, this was one of Boston’s most prestigious hotels. The hundred-year-old iconic building, recently bought and expertly renovated by the renowned Mortimer Group, sat on prime real estate on Beacon Hill with majestic views of the Charles River. I’d planned on staying at a cheaper hotel, but had fallen in love with the blend of old-world and contemporary decor. It struck that sweet spot of appealing to young artsy types while catering to a mature demographic. Exactly what I was aiming for with my own hotels.
It also didn’t hurt that it happened to be the venue for my meeting.
Excitement fizzed higher.
By this time tomorrow I would’ve signed the biggest deal of my life and set myself on the road to a wider expansion of the hotel and spa group my grandparents had started sixty years ago as a tiny four-bedroom B & B.
Not bad for an almost twenty-nine-year-old.
The thought widened my smile. Enough for the bartender to pause in the act of lining up shot glasses to look my way, interest sparking in his eyes.
I dimmed my smile a touch as he sauntered towards me.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Whiskey sour, please,’ I said, sliding more firmly onto my seat.
He nodded. ‘Coming right up.’
I sighed with relief when he moved away after a brief perusal.
Male attention didn’t bother me. Hell, I enjoyed a bit of flirtation when the mood took me. But I preferred to be in control of the situation, always. What my mother called a flaw I saw as the cornerstone that would ensure I didn’t end up like her, dependent on the wrong men, depressed and resentful when they inevitably let her down. Because of her I’d learned early in life that total independence was my key to maintaining control.
It was why I’d sworn to build on my grandparents’ hard work, why I intended to control my own fate, no matter what. Why I was here tonight, on the cusp of achieving my biggest win yet.
My whiskey sour arrived at the same time as the tall stranger claimed my periphery. A deep compulsion pulled my gaze in his direction; he pulled back the bar stool farthest from me, and hitched one taut, muscled thigh onto it. Bemused, I watched the bartender fall over himself in a hurry to serve him as I wrapped my fingers around the ice-cold glass even as my temperature spiked to furnace-high at the sight of him.
Dry-mouthed, I stared, a hungry tingling sparking inside my belly before nose-diving low and deep.
Dear God, he was hot.
Incandescent.
The kind of hot you initially dismissed as impossible without elective surgery. Or as a trick of light. Or an expert make-up artist’s brush on a vain model.
As I was busy checking him out, a chilled bottle was placed in front of him. He examined it for several seconds before twisting the cap off his sparkling water. Under the elegant half-moon lampshades hanging over the bar, his hair appeared black until closer examination showed the dark mahogany highlights. A slash of dark eyebrows were gathered in a thunderous frown but they didn’t stop me from noticing that he had the most insanely long eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man.
He looked remote. Forbidding.
As he poured the water into a glass, I shamelessly stole the seconds to further examine him. A superbly cut suit draped his body. Dark navy with thin pinstripes and, underneath it, a matching waistcoat and white shirt, finished off with a stylish tie, currently tugged loose, around a masculine neck that framed a square, rugged jaw sporting designer stubble, and a face so impossibly breathtaking, it was a struggle not to gape like a drooling fool.
I sipped my cocktail, hoping the pleasant burn would calm the butterflies flailing in my belly. All it did was awaken impulses that had gone dormant in the hunt of fulfilling dreams.
The bartender murmured something to him. The stranger shook his head and waved him away with a flick of an elegant hand.
My gaze dropped to that hand. To delicious possibilities. To stepping further out of my comfort zone.
I cleared my throat, even then unsure whether I sought to attract his attention or steady my own nerves.
He tensed slightly, his movement slowing. It was the only indication that he’d noticed me. After a moment, he lifted his glass and gulped down half his water.
The bartender sauntered over to me. ‘You want another?’ He nodded to my glass.
I looked down, a little startled to see my almost empty glass. ‘Yes, thanks.’ He was back moments later with a fresh drink. On the wildest whim, I said, ‘A shot of your best whiskey for him too on my tab.’ I cocked my head at the stranger. He looked like a single-malt-savoured-slowly kind of guy.
The bartender hesitated. ‘You sure about that?’ he asked in a low, concerned voice.
I wavered for the tiniest fraction. ‘Of course, I’m sure.’
Trepidation and...yes, anticipation scrambled through me as the bartender reached for the bottle from the top shelf, poured a shot and set it in front of the stranger.
He stared at the expensive amber-coloured drink as if it were poison. As if it were his worst enemy and he were moments away from pummelling it into oblivion with his bare fist. After an eternity, long after the bartender had gestured at me and taken a step back, that sexy head swung my way and I was caught in the headlights of his mesmerising stare.
Sharp hazel eyes widened as if, despite sensing me a moment ago, he was surprised by my presence. For one indecent moment, something hot and filthy and carnal twisted in that gaze, firing up the blaze in my belly, conjuring a fleeting burst of feminine satisfaction.
Far from the look he’d given the glass, he stared at me as if he wanted to devour me, stark hunger I’d never glimpsed before stealing over his face for several blistering seconds.
Right before his jaw clenched tight. ‘Thanks but no, thanks. I don’t pick up women in bars,’ he said.
Momentarily dumbfounded, I couldn’t speak. Not when I was confronted by further potent scrutiny from his unique, piercing hazel eyes and the cut-glass English accent that sent a pulse of heat straight to my clit.
I relocated my tongue. Assembled enough composure to swivel to face him. ‘Great. Neither do I.’
My comeback triggered a twisted smile. Only to disappear seconds later beneath the quiet carnage of whatever was eating him up. I should’ve left him alone then. Should’ve listened to instincts I’d trusted above all else thus far. Ones that warned that tangling with this man would be extremely thrilling, but also deadly.
But he was rising from his seat, nudging the glass of whiskey along the counter as he sauntered towards me. Two stools away, he stopped. Stared with a blatant heated interest I felt to the tips of my toes.
‘I also don’t accept drinks from strangers.’ His second delivery wasn’t drenched in ice but it was still cool enough to draw a shiver.
For the first time in a long time, I ploughed ahead despite the warnings to retreat. Despite wondering how on earth my mother went back for more of this kind of treatment when the tops of my ears were already burning from one rejection. ‘Now I think you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.’
One lean shoulder rose and fell. ‘You’ll get over it, I’m sure,’ he said.
His gaze lingered, dropped to my crossed legs, then back up, pausing for longer than was polite on my cleavage, then up to rest on my lips.
The pulse between my legs throbbed harder, my breath fracturing the longer he stared.
Maybe it was his inability to look away, despite his words, that bolstered my confidence. Or maybe I was making excuses.
But for whatever reason I wanted to draw him out of the funk eating him up. I was in a celebratory mood and wanted someone to celebrate with. And he intrigued me. A lot. Enough for me to slide off my stool and venture closer, accepting that my motives weren’t wholly altruistic.
Long before my last boyfriend, Gray, had tossed his bags into the back of his Chevy and made a false promise to call when he reached his new job in Chicago eight months ago, I knew the relationship was as dead as the lacklustre sex we’d been having. When he’d failed to call, my primary emotion had been relief.
I hadn’t been fucked to anywhere near my satisfaction for longer than I could remember.
This stranger, with the harsh, handsome face, brooding eyes and wickedly sexy hands, could cure me of the ache between my legs. Barring that, he could make it so my evening wasn’t wracked with the last-minute doubts plaguing me. Doubts that had fuelled my decision to come down to the bar instead of celebrating solo in my room.
He watched me with a dark gleam in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as I paused with one stool between us. Slowly, he blinked, a slightly bewildered look whispering over his features, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether I was friend or foe.
Walk away. Return to the safety of your suite.
My feet had other ideas though. They stayed put, compelled by that look in his eyes.
Time slowly ticked by, the atmosphere thickening as we stared at one another, acknowledged the dirty desire eddying around us.
‘You shouldn’t let it go to waste.’ He tapped a fingernail against the whiskey glass without taking his eyes off me.
‘It won’t if you drink it.’
His mouth firmed. ‘Do you make a habit of buying four-hundred-dollar shots for strangers?’ he asked, one eyebrow quirked.
This time eighteen months ago, that price tag would’ve made my eyes water. Not any more. Pride swelled inside me for all I’d achieved and I shrugged. ‘I can afford it. And you look like you need it.’
He stared at me for a beat, shifted closer and leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. ‘You don’t have the faintest clue what I need,’ he breathed, sending a wild shiver down my spine.
I swallowed as his scent—rich and earthy and mouth-watering—engulfed me. ‘Don’t I?’ I challenged faintly.
Hazel eyes ringed with darkness clashed with mine. ‘You’re looking for someone to tangle with. Nothing wrong with that. But I’m not your man.’ Despite his words, I heard the throb of betraying lust in his voice.
He wanted me, and that dark, torrid longing stopped me from calling quits to this strange but exhilarating exchange. I’d never done this before. But I’d never pulled a multimillion-dollar deal together before either.
His dark intensity was a little scary but that only amped up my buzz.
‘You take yourself far too seriously.’
His sensual lips twisted as he straightened. ‘You have no idea.’
‘Go on, enlighten me,’ I invited, aware that he hadn’t moved away. If anything, he’d leaned closer.
He stared at me for an age, myriad expressions flitting across his face. A few too fast to catch. Others lingered. Interest. Lust. Bleakness. Hard-edged determination.
‘It’s private,’ he finally said in a tone that reeked of deep, dark secrets.
‘If you want privacy, you shouldn’t have come to a bar.’
From close by, I heard the bartender’s swift intake of breath. I ignored it, keeping my attention on Tall, Dark and Acerbic.
‘Tell you what. Let me return the favour and we can call it even, hmm?’ He lifted a hand and beckoned the bartender.
I flicked my hand too, belaying the order. ‘No need. I’m all set. Two drinks is my limit anyway.’
He flicked a glance at my glass with something approaching approval. ‘That’s probably wise.’
I raised my glass, wrapped my lips around the thin straw and sucked. The cold tartness went nowhere near cooling the fires his darkened gaze stoked as it landed on my mouth. Beneath the soft layer of my black wrap cocktail dress, my nipples tightened, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.
Whoever this man was, his words were saying one thing but his body was betraying him mercilessly, broadcasting his interest.
Shamelessly feeding off it, I slowly swirled my tongue over my bottom lip.
Hunger, raw and potent, blazed in his eyes then slammed mercilessly into me.
‘Did you need something else, Mr Mortimer?’ the bartender interrupted.
He blinked, then frowned at the intrusion.
Mr Mortimer? Of The Mortimer Group? Inside, the butterflies in my stomach somersaulted. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence.
Did I really just try to buy the owner of this amazing hotel a drink?
The bold and reckless demon inside me grinned wide even as the less effervescent Neve cringed.
But why the hell not? He was wildly attractive, with the kind of sexual charisma that set women’s panties alight with alarming frequency. What was wrong with wanting a piece of that?
The grim set to his jaw put paid to that wild fantasy.
I was already at my two-drink limit, a hard cap I’d set myself after witnessing countless times what alcohol did to my mother. The dark depths of despair interspersed with endless bitter rants about the world at large and me in particular whenever she’d had more than a few. Much as I’d told myself that it was the alcohol talking, the barbs she’d thrown my way had found their mark.
Thoughts of my mother dampened my mood. Tucking my purse under my arm, I turned to the bartender. ‘Put the drinks on my room, please. Suite 6799.’
I felt Mortimer move, his shadow looming closer. My insides tightened, my pussy throbbing at the thought of further tussling with him.
But as much as I wanted that thrill, my screaming instincts had other ideas. Curbing the need for one last thirst-quenching look, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar.
Twenty minutes later, fresh from a hot shower, I shrugged into the complimentary satin robe, tying the belt loosely around my waist. Drawn to the spectacular view, I was halfway across the carpeted suite when the hard triple-rap on the door froze my steps.
For some absurd reason my pulse jumped. It could be many things. The concierge delivering my final bill before I checked out tomorrow. The complimentary turn-down service listed among the numerous guest perks.
Still, my blood thrummed with excitement as I pulled the door open.
He stood with hands rammed deep into his pockets, his hair a little dishevelled and his tie still loose, exposing the beginnings of a mouth-watering, hair-dusted chest.
For a pulse-racing stretch of time, we stared at each other, neither of us making a move.
‘You shouldn’t blurt out your room number in front of strangers,’ he rasped, his gaze climbing from my legs to clash with mine.
‘Even the stranger whose hotel I’m staying in?’
Only the fleeting gleam in his eyes said I’d correctly guessed his identity. ‘Especially him.’
‘Thanks for the tip. And thanks for installing the peephole and latch to ensure I have the choice of only opening the door to people I feel I can trust.’
A muscle ticced in his jaw, a telltale sign that he was fighting urges or demons. ‘You think you can trust me, Neve Nolan?’
It shouldn’t have made me hot and wet, the fact that a powerful man like him had taken the time to find out my name. But, boy, did it.
I shrugged, and when the robe slipped off one shoulder to reveal my upper arm and the slope of one breast, I didn’t adjust it. I stood stock-still and let his gaze caress skin I’d exposed.
He stared long and hard. Then cursed tightly. ‘Bloody hell, I shouldn’t be here,’ he muttered, his fingers clawing through his hair.
He started to turn away.
Something sharp and urgent pierced me. ‘And yet here you are.’
He froze. Lust and something harsh swirled through his eyes as our gazes reconnected. ‘Tell me to leave you alone, Neve.’
I shrugged again, projecting calm I didn’t feel. I didn’t want him to walk away but I wasn’t going to beg. ‘You’re a big boy. If you don’t want to be here, you know where the elevator is. If not...’ I left the sentence hanging, released the door handle and turned my back on him for the second time in under an hour.
I wasn’t one for calling bluffs. Yet something urged me to challenge this towering force of a man caught between desire and demons. I put the distance of the suite between us and made it to the window and the view beyond. But not even the spectacular vista of night-time Boston could divert my senses from his solid, overwhelming presence.
The door closed with a sharp snick and my pulse leapt. Through the window’s reflection, I watched him prowl towards me. He arrived behind me and stopped, saying nothing, his sandalwood and earthy scent swathing me.
Between one breath and the next, he spun me around, long, lean fingers meshing into my loose hair, gripping it tight enough to send delicious tingles to my pussy. Slowly he tipped my head back, stared deep into my eyes. ‘You’re an exceptionally beautiful woman, Neve.’
‘Thank you,’ I murmured, lava-thick lust oozing inside me.
He nodded, a brittle little gesture incongruent with the liquid heat in his eyes. ‘But you should be debating the wisdom of letting me entangle you in my life. I’m having a very bad day, you see,’ he grated, then gave a hard laugh. ‘Scratch that. I’m having a very bad fucking year.’
‘I can tell. On the flip side, I’m having a pretty good one, with the expectation of a great one tomorrow. The way I see it, we can balance each other out brilliantly. I don’t want to celebrate alone and you don’t want to sink into that hell I see swirling in your eyes. Correct?’
He drew closer, wedged one thickly muscled thigh between my legs. My burning centre rubbed against his leg and at the moan I let loose, his cock thickened against my hip. ‘Beautiful, irresistible and intuitive. Where did you come from, Neve Nolan?’
I blinked up at him and smiled when his cock jerked against my leg. ‘Connecticut. I’m here in your lovely city for one night only.’
He laughed under his breath. ‘This isn’t my city. I’m visiting too.’
‘Then let’s make the most of it,’ I replied.
He pondered that for a few seconds, and a little of the chaos in his eyes abated. ‘Ships passing in the night, and all that?’
‘Hmm. But it would also help if you told me your first name.’
One eyebrow spiked. ‘Help with what, exactly?’
‘With whose name I scream when you’re balls-deep inside me. Or would you like me to scream some random name?’
His fingers tightened a fraction, enough to shower me with fresh waves of decadent tingles. ‘No, darling, I most certainly would not. The name you’ll want when you hit that special place is Damian.’
I reached for my belt and tugged the ends free. The robe parted enough for him to see I was completely naked underneath.
Enough to draw a rough sound from his throat.
‘Nice to meet you, Damian. Now take off your clothes.’
He didn’t comply. Not immediately. His gaze dropped to my mouth for the longest time, his eyelids half masts of sinful need he couldn’t hide as he released my hair and stepped back. Impatient fingers tugged his tie free and made short work of his shirt. Belt, shoes and socks followed. In less than a minute, Damian Mortimer was down to his boxers.
He was exceptionally built. Ripped in all the right places with a happy trail that drew my gaze down to the thick erection pressed against soft cotton.
Need flooded my system. Hard and fast and merciless. Enough to make me groan and slide my fingers over my belly to the furnace raging between my legs. He gave a thick curse as his gaze latched onto the brazen movement of my fingers.
I was wet. Soaking. And I was more than enjoying the rabid look in his eyes as he watched me caress myself.
He groaned, almost as if against his will.
‘You like that?’
One large hand curled around his cock and stroked. ‘Fuck, yes.’
With my free hand, I shucked off my robe. My shoulders met the cool glass and I gasped as my nipples peaked to painful points. ‘Come here, Damian.’
Lust propelled him forward, even as a hard look lanced through his eyes. It was that same look I’d seen at the bar after I bought him the drink. But I didn’t care. Not enough to stop and examine it. We were both adults and this was a one-night-only thing.
Hands braced on either side of my shoulders, his breathing harsh and frantic, he stared down at the busy fingers between my legs. I raised my chin, aligned my face to his in silent command.
With a grunt, he fused his lips to mine, kissed me with brutal urgency, his tongue tangling with mine as if he couldn’t help himself, and, God, it was just what I needed after long fallow months where work dominated my life. To be kissed, desired, as if I were the harvest after a terrible famine. My hungry lips clung to his, my moans filling the room as my reawakened body blazed.
Damian plastered his glorious body against mine. When his hands left the glass wall to curl around my nape, I slid my free hand beneath his waistband and grasped his hot, velvety length. He jerked within my closed fist, a tortured grunt leaving his throat at my eager caress.
‘Jesus, that feels good.’
The guttural confession made my pussy clench tight, need making my fingers work faster. God, I was close and he hadn’t even touched my erogenous zones yet. The wet sounds of our lips and my fingers grew louder and he wrenched away.
‘Need a taste.’
Still brazen, I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I get to go first.’
His eyes darkened until they were almost black save for the tiny gold flecks within the burning depths. ‘You want to wrap that gorgeous mouth around my cock?’ he croaked.
‘I want nothing to occupy your mind except how good your cock feels sliding down my throat,’ I replied, gliding sinuously down the glass until my knees hit the soft carpet.
A wild tremor shook his frame as he stared slack-jawed down at me. At my parted lips. Past my hard-tipped breasts to the fingers working my pussy.
‘Tell me you don’t need that.’
A spasm of bleakness darted over his face and he shut his eyes for a split second. ‘I need it. More than you could possibly know.’
I offered him another smile. One that slowly disappeared as he pushed his boxers down his muscular thighs and kicked them away.
Sweet heaven.
He was thick and long enough to elicit a momentary pang of alarm. But need eroded alarm, leaving behind savage hunger.
The back of his hand traced my cheek in a jerky caress before he recaptured my nape. With one hand braced on the wall, he slid his length between my lips.
Eagerly I welcomed him, wrapping my lips around his bell-shaped head before gliding my tongue over his slit. His salty, heady essence exploded on my tongue, dragged a whimper from deep inside. One taste and I wanted more. When his hips drew back I chased after him, greedily meeting his thrust.
We both groaned when he hit the back of my throat.
I glanced up his spectacular body, our gazes clashing as I sucked him deep. His nostrils flared wide, then, unable to resist giving me what I wanted, Damian began to fuck my face. With every penetration I took him deeper, wanting as much as he was willing to give.
‘God. You’re bloody spectacular,’ he growled.
The sexy, guttural voice made me wetter. I sank my middle finger deep, feverishly imagining him filling me up until I was stretched tight, until there was nothing but him.
His fingers tightened on my nape and with a harsh groan, Damian exploded in my mouth. The force of his climax spiked my lust and I rode the wild, frenzied wave.
Lost in mindless pleasure, I barely noticed him move away, grasp my arms and lower me to the carpet. But I felt the heat of his body when he covered mine with his, when he brushed his fingers over my mouth and caught my gaze.
‘Christ, did you just come sucking me off?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘Hmm,’ I murmured, my hips still riding the tail end of my climax.
He leaned closer, brushed his lips over mine before trailing kisses over my jaw and neck. ‘Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve seen anything sexier,’ he rasped in my ear. My shiver drew a laugh from him. ‘I hope you’re not overly sensitive. Because I don’t think I can wait to fuck you.’
He reached for his trousers, pulled out a condom and tugged it on. ‘On your knees,’ he growled.
I rolled over and surged up onto my hands and knees, dragged my hair over one shoulder so I could watch him position himself behind me. ‘Hurry.’
A smile twisted his mouth as his eyes met mine. ‘Is that gorgeous pussy hot for me?’
‘Yes. I need you.’
The smile dropped from his mouth, followed by his gaze a second later. The inkling that I’d just committed a faux pas rushed out of my head the instant Damian surged hard and deep inside me.
I screamed, my fingers digging into the carpet as searing pleasure shot up my spine. Firm, almost cruel hands dug into my waist and held me still as he withdrew and plunged deep inside again. As anticipated, Damian was thick enough to fill me almost to the point of pain despite my slickness. That added bite dragged another scream from me as he slammed in from behind, setting a pace that made my back arch in bliss.
‘God, yes! Just like that,’ I moaned.
One hand moulded my butt, trailed up my spine to rest between my shoulders. He pushed my torso down to the carpet, and I screamed all over again as the angle seated his cock deeper inside me. Pure instinct had me dragging my legs wider apart, and with one last thrust, I started to unravel.
Clever fingers tormented my clit as the first wave hit me, prolonging my release until my body was trapped in relentless convulsions. Just when I thought I’d crawl out of my own skin with the savagery of my climax, Damian roared with his own release, then stilled inside me.
We collapsed onto the carpet, for the longest time saying nothing as we caught our breaths.
Then a smile I couldn’t stop creased my face.
‘I knew I liked your hotel.’
He chuckled, a deep but rough sound. As if he hadn’t laughed for a while. From our curious exchange tonight, I guessed he probably hadn’t. ‘Just like?’
‘Fine, I really like it.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Which part do you like the most?’
‘I have to choose?’
He wrapped a hand around my waist. ‘Let’s start with this room.’
‘Everything. The lamps. The view. The bed.’
‘Hmm. We haven’t made it to the bed yet. What especially do you like about it?’
‘It’s sturdy. It could pass for an antique even though I know it’s not. It gives the guest a feeling like they’re sleeping in a bed fit for a king or queen. Or a naughty courtesan sneaking in for a tryst.’
He stiffened slightly. ‘Is that what turns you on, Neve? Illicit assignations with strangers you meet in bars?’
My breath caught on a dart of hurt. ‘If you’re trying to be offensive, don’t waste your time. I’ve never done anything like this before but I don’t regret it.’
I read his scepticism loud and clear. Told myself I didn’t care.
I knew my truth but couldn’t help adding, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that if all parties are free and consenting adults.’
He inhaled slowly, his gaze turning turbulent. I sensed his withdrawal even though his arm tightened around me. ‘And what would you have me do in this tryst of yours?’
I draped my arms around his neck. ‘I’d like to move to the bed, test my theory for real.’
‘As you wish.’ His concession held a definite bite.
Perhaps I should’ve called a halt to things then. But Damian Mortimer was kissing me as he carried me across the floor. Potent kisses I wanted to enjoy just for a few more hours. We were consenting adults after all.
So why fight it?
Damian
I tried.
Fought to resist her.
When I couldn’t, I wanted to punish her for reminding me of everything I wanted to forget. For tempting me enough to break the rigid rules I’d ring-fenced my life with for twelve long months. Most of all, I wanted to punish her for unwittingly re-enacting that sordid little scene downstairs.
The one that reminded me of the worst moment of my life.
That reminded me of why I was here on the wrong side of the pond when I yearned to be back in London, in the place I thrived and loved the most.
The part of me that knew it was irrational to take things out on this woman whose brazenness shouldn’t have been a turn-on—and yet had touched parts of me I’d thought were withered and dead—winced. But hell, I was drowning beneath the bitterness and vitriol festering inside me.
And she...
I tossed her on the bed, watched the most beautiful woman I’d seen in a long time beckon me with a come-hither smile.
She was irresistible. Just enough for my needs. Because after that phone call, after hearing the anger and bitterness and disappointment, I’d wanted to dive into a bottle of whiskey. I’d wanted to forget that I’d betrayed the one person closest to me.
Gideon Mortimer.
My flesh and blood. But more than that, my best friend.
But even that avenue was now closed to me.
A casual drink at a bar was what had started my descent into hell.
But Neve Nolan wasn’t off limits. She was wide open and willing, a tangible port in a black sea of despondency and frustration.
I intended to take with no regrets.
Just for tonight, I would break my own rules. And if regret came in the morning, I’d toss that too into the seething abyss that was my life.
CHAPTER TWO (#u3b8c9967-a29a-5a6d-b051-f16ea7e5eb40)
Neve. Two years later...
DESPISE. LOATHE. ABHOR.
Nope, none of them quite fit.
I hate Damian Mortimer.
There. That was better. I’ve hated him with every single breath I’ve taken for the last two years. Since he took my offer of relief and turned it completely against me. Since he crippled my business and trashed eighteen months of back-breaking work and sacrifice with nothing more than a few gruffly muttered words to Malcolm Cahill.
This TV show was my one attempt to exact some payback.
Every day since that fateful morning after, when Malcolm Cahill shattered my dreams, I’ve vowed to teach Damian Mortimer an unforgettable lesson.
That he hadn’t even bothered to hide his part in the demise of my affiliation deal with Cahill Hotels was just the first in a despicable series of low blows that had started with his disappearance from my bed the morning after our night together. Hard on its heels had come Cahill’s phone call.
‘I’m sorry but I’ve had second thoughts, Miss Nolan. My partner, Damian Mortimer, believes this deal isn’t as viable as I previously thought. I’ll no longer be going forward...’
Bruised but undaunted, I’d risen like a phoenix from the ashes of near catastrophe, rebranded myself from Cephei Hotels to Nevirna Resort and Spa Hotels and seen steady growth, with the best quarter so far under my belt. Something I hoped my grandparents would be proud of, even if my mother believed I’d made a mistake.
My gut clenched against the dart of pain as my thoughts lit on my mother. Another area of my life Damian Mortimer’s betrayal hadn’t helped. Another area I needed to heal, despite the sinking feeling that the promise I’d made to my grandparents might never be fulfilled. They’d gone to their graves never having repaired their rift with their daughter. They’d made me promise to keep trying with my mother.
Lately, that battle seemed unwinnable.
Fresh from the loss I’d suffered at Damian’s and Cahill’s hands, I’d called my mother in a moment of weakness, for a shoulder to cry on.
Her advice had been the same—sell the resort she believed was hers by birthright and give her her due share. My refusal had estranged us for six months.
But I’d become adept at problem solving and putting out fires through sheer hard work.
The incredible success I’d achieved in those two years had drawn the attention of the producers of Raider’s Den—a TV show I wouldn’t usually lower myself to. But the discovery that this was a Damian Mortimer project was too tempting to resist. What better way to beat the devil than on his home turf?
If the rumours were true and he planned to return to England, this was my last chance to teach one particularly arrogant, insanely sexy Brit a lesson.
With a deep breath, I settled into my seat and read through the pre-show paperwork one last time. The show had been separated into four segments according to specialised industries. My segment contained sixteen young contestants, each hoping for start-up funding and partnership for their business in the hospitality industry.
I was scanning the list of contestants when the double doors to the conference room opened.
Sunlight pouring through wide rectangular windows on the fortieth floor of Mortimer Plaza, the five-star hotel and retail tower in Manhattan, lovingly illuminated the stunning physique of the man who entered.
He wore a suit. Bespoke. Naturally.
For several betraying heartbeats, anger took a step back to accommodate the hot spike of lust that lanced my belly before detonating in my pussy. Even as I clawed back control and fought the urge to squirm in my seat, the traitorous dampening between my thighs mocked me.
It brutally reminded me that the only thing better than Damian Mortimer in a three-piece suit was Damian Mortimer naked. Gloriously ripped. Utterly divine.
His soul as dark as a tar pit.
Remember that.
But even the stern admonition didn’t stop my recollection of spectacular, mind-melting sex.
I’d believed I knew what good sex was before I met Damian. Oh, how pathetically wrong I was.
If I despised one thing more than the man himself, it was that since our night together my body hadn’t come even close to craving what he gave to me with anyone else. I only had to think about him for every cell in my body to come alive, for my needy pussy to remind me of its continued famine and for those X-rated thoughts about that arrogant bastard to hit the play button.
The dating app my assistant had defiantly signed me up to had resulted in two mind-numbingly boring dates, after which I’d deleted it.
Even my vibrator had taken a much-needed holiday, leaving me pent up and aggravatingly in need of a good seeing to.
Which made me hate him even more.
So was it any surprise that by the time his towering six-foot-plus frame reached me I was already seeing red?
His gaze skittered past the other mentors already seated as if they were part of the furniture, sauntering as if he weren’t twenty minutes late. ‘Gentlemen,’ he drawled on his way to his seat at the top of the table.
Then his eyes lit on me. His stride didn’t break but a hard light flickered in his gaze and muscles twitched in his jaw. Then followed the slow elevation of one eyebrow.
‘Neve, I didn’t know you were a part of this meeting.’
‘It’s Miss Nolan, and I’m shocked, Mr Mortimer. I was under the impression you knew everything.’
He didn’t so much as flinch at my sarcastic tone but his eyes reflected wariness and mild shock.
He probably wasn’t used to women talking back to him and preferred everyone to ask how high when he said jump. He’d kept the producers hanging on for weeks before finally committing to the latest Raider’s Den production last week.
He probably hadn’t even read the brief that announced that three of the members of the panel wouldn’t be returning for the new season and would be replaced by three new mentors, including me.
I took a calming breath. ‘I hate to throw out clichés so early in the morning but time is money for me, Mr Mortimer. So if you’re certain you’re absolutely present, can we get started?’
That drew varying looks from my fellow Raiders, ranging from bemusement to wariness. One sniggered.
A scathing look from Damian wiped the look off the man’s face.
‘I had my assistant send my apologies twenty minutes ago to say I was running late. If that won’t suffice, I’ll be sure to draw you a pint of blood once the meeting ends if that’s what you need to appease you?’
I’d silenced my phone for the meeting so any incoming emails wouldn’t have registered. I hit the home button on my phone and there it was, a message from Damian Mortimer.
Shit.
Stupid heat crawled up my neck but it didn’t stop me from boldly meeting his sardonic gaze. ‘Keep your blood. I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with it.’
‘You sure?’ he enquired mockingly, one hand reaching for the leather binder in front of him.
‘These days I’m just a little more selective with my tastes. Shall we proceed?’
He paused, eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening at the insult. ‘Since I’m chairing the meeting, you’ll have to curb your enthusiasm for another minute while I get up to speed. Can you do that, Miss Nolan?’
I forced a smile, tried to quell the effect of the deep-voiced, cut-glass English accent that reminded me far too much of a certain young royal prince and shrugged. ‘Of course, although I would’ve thought you’d be all caught up by now.’ Another shameless dig, but I couldn’t help myself.
His eyes gleamed with that flint-hard expression I’d spotted the first time we met. Some things hadn’t changed, then? Whatever demons he’d harboured two years ago still snapped at his heels.
Satisfaction I’d expected to feel about that never arrived, leaving me faintly bewildered. I forced the sensation away and watched his gaze drop to the document before him. For the sixty seconds he took to speed-read, my stupidly compulsive gaze dragged over his face, noted the harsher lines etched into his features.
There were other changes too. Lips that had delivered magnificent orgasms were no less sensual now than they’d been two years ago but they appeared sterner, as if he spent too long pursing them. The skin around his eyes looked strained and his hair was longer. And yet, not a single thing detracted from the jaw-dropping package.
His head reared up suddenly, and I couldn’t avoid the piercing gaze that crashed into mine or the eyebrow elevated in silent query.
‘Let’s get started. First of all, welcome to the team, Miss Nolan.’
Okay, not what I was expecting. ‘Thank you,’ I responded briskly.
He stared a moment longer. The scrutiny was fleeting, but my skin reacted feverishly to the heat of his gaze on my face and chest before he swung his gaze around the room.
‘Gary, Preston, welcome,’ he addressed the other mentors. ‘The rest of you know the brief. This may be a TV show but it’s a profit-making venture, catering to the discerning. Our viewers are in the upper-middle-class demographic. They’re engaged by savvy, intelligent investments, not by us playing up to the cameras. I don’t need to tell you that if you make a crap investment, it’s not just your money on the line but your reputation. And more than that, it’s my reputation. So don’t fuck it up.’ His gaze travelled the room, met mine, lingered.
Gary Withers leaned forward. The newspaper mogul had branched into venture capitalism a decade ago, and was known for his aggression. He was definitely one to watch. ‘Heads up, when I see something I like, I go after it, no holds barred. I didn’t come here to pussyfoot around.’
Damian’s gaze left mine after lingering one more second. A second that felt like a whole hour and left me annoyingly breathless.
‘The show isn’t live. It can be stopped at any time. If you need reminding that you’re being an ass, Gary, it’ll happen.’
Damian’s evenly delivered words drew chuckles around the room, but the steely undertone registered.
It was clear who was running the show.
The need to take him on, and win, burned brighter. ‘We’re sticking to the two offers, two mentors maximum per pitch, correct?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Correct. It’s been a tacit rule since the show started.’
‘But not everyone’s averse to bending the rules, or screwing a fellow mentor over, are they?’
The atmosphere grew strained, thick with the unspoken words I wanted to flaunt at him. Those laser eyes narrowed again. ‘If you’re seeking an ironclad promise, Miss Nolan, you’re not going to get one.’
I smiled, letting my cynicism drape my lips. ‘Of course I’m not. Where’s the fun in that, right?’
His gaze dropped to my mouth, blatant mockery in his stare. ‘Exactly. Don’t forget that this is business. But no reason why it can’t be pleasurable, as well.’
The note in his voice caught me deep and heavy, snagged at the taut strings of lust I’d thought were long since slackened from disuse. Beneath the conference table, I squeezed my thighs together as his gaze lingered, the green in his eyes standing out the longer we traded stares.
A throat cleared. ‘Since we’re talking...possible leeway, how about we lift the rule on pursuing prospects outside the show?’ Preston Roper, owner of Roper Casinos, asked.
‘Once the six-month non-compete deal with your fellow Raiders passes, sure,’ Damian replied.
Preston groaned. ‘Seriously? Six months? You know how quickly the market can change in six months.’
‘Not my problem,’ Damian replied. ‘Anything else?’
Other queries arose and were batted away by Damian. The man knew his stuff. I couldn’t deny it. But the devil was an expert in his line of work too.
‘Just so we’re clear, can you confirm that you haven’t seen the pitch list? That you haven’t cherry-picked projects for yourself?’
He stiffened and a chilly breeze wafted through the room. ‘Are you calling my integrity into question, Miss Nolan?’
Yes! ‘I’m the newbie. I’m making sure we’re all on the same page.’
Long masculine fingers drummed on the table for a moment before he replied, ‘As it’s been since the beginning, only the senior producer knows what the candidates will pitch. They’re picked based on a module that matches our business needs with the candidates. Otherwise we’d all be wasting our time. If I wanted to attach my name to a fixed, mindless reality TV show, I wouldn’t be on this project.’
I raised my eyebrow. ‘So that’s a definite no, then?’ I goaded.
A tight smile flickered over his lips before he angled his chair away from me. ‘If there are no more questions, I’ll let the producers know we’re good to go.’
Satisfied I’d made my point, I closed my folder and stood.
‘A word please, Miss Nolan?’
Although framed like a question, one look at his taut face said it wasn’t. He couldn’t have stopped me from leaving, of course, but I was intrigued by what he had to say. More than I suspected was wise.
The others trickled out, and immediately the atmosphere thickened. Or it could’ve just been my inability to take a full breath around this man. Irritation ramped up. ‘I have somewhere else to be, Mr Mortimer.’
He nodded briskly. ‘I won’t keep you long. Please sit. And it’s Damian, as you well know.’
I raised a surprised brow as I retook my seat. ‘Two pleases in one minute. That must be a record for you.’
Several seconds ticked by as he eyed me. ‘Are we going to have a problem, Neve?’
A hot little fizzle lit up my midriff when he said my name—soft, sexy, dangerous, much like the way he had that night. I actively ignored it.
‘You tell me. There’s nothing in the contract that stipulates one member of the panel isn’t allowed to fuck another. And despite all the professional vibes you’ve been attempting to throw out, I can tell you’re a little...affected. So maybe you should be asking yourself that question?’
He cursed under his breath. ‘You go straight for the jugular, don’t you?’
‘I’m just stating facts.’
Firm lips pursed as a muscle ticced in his temple. ‘Did you read the email my assistant sent?’
The question threw me for a second. I rallied quickly. ‘What does it matter?’
‘If you had, you’d have seen that I was late because I was dealing with a personal matter. One that went on longer than I anticipated. I detest being late but it couldn’t be helped. You have my word it won’t happen again.’
The unfettered admission threatened to dissolve my anger, much as I’d let the bleakness in his expression sway me two years ago. But the simple truth was Damian Mortimer believed himself above the rules that governed mere humans. So what if he admitted to a single flaw? He had more damning ones lodged in his soul. Ones he probably didn’t think he needed to answer for. ‘If that’s supposed to be an apology for your tardiness, I accept.’
‘Doesn’t answer my question though. This is my last appearance on this show. I want things to go smoothly. So again, are we going to have a problem?’
‘With my participation in this show? Not a one,’ I replied.
‘Why do I sense you’re playing semantics with me?’
‘You have a terrible imagination?’ Or a much-needed prickle of a guilty conscience?
His eyes narrowed. ‘You seem...different. Were you this distrusting of everyone two years ago or have I done something in particular to earn yours?’ he enquired tersely.
Hell, no, he wasn’t going to do this. ‘Are you serious?’
‘When it comes to business I’m nothing but. But if I recall our one and only encounter was less business, more...something else?’
Something else. Something that didn’t even warrant its proper definition in his book?
Sex. Filthy, sheet-clawing, scream-yourself-hoarse fucking.
I searched his face for acknowledgement of what had been a highly memorable encounter for me in more ways than one. All I got was the apathetic stare of a bored business mogul.
Had I been that forgettable?
It stung. And in that burn my resolve to make him pay solidified.
Perhaps it was feminine pride getting the better of me. Perhaps it was that indomitable aversion to failure sparked to painful life one unforgettable night spent in a child protection service’s halfway house when the threat of losing everything had loomed large and scarily real. Unwilling truth be told, twenty years later, that threat of being alone, of never seeing the mother who’d wilfully admitted to caring very little about me, still lingered at the back of my throat and chose times like these to manifest itself, much to my dismay.
Whichever it was, as I watched him, my goal settled heavy and unmoving inside me.
Damian would succumb to me sexually.
Before we were through with this project, I’d make it impossible for him to forget me. This time he would be the one stumbling away in bewilderment.
Purpose sizzled, then blazed. Through my veins and all the way to my fingertips. Until I could see nothing, taste nothing but the need for retribution.
Maybe I’d known this was coming. Perhaps it was why I’d chosen my clothes with extra care today, why I’d drifted past a closet full of pencil skirts and matching jackets to settle on the low-cleavage pinstriped dress with the short pleated skirt and matching bolero jacket, complemented by my highest work heels. It was definitely why I’d made an appointment with my hair stylist yesterday, shaved my legs and dabbed on my favourite perfume.
It meant that when I leaned back and casually freed the single button holding the jacket fastened, Damian managed to hold out for all of three seconds before his not so jaded gaze dropped to my breasts. And when I rose from the table and casually walked to the nearest window, I didn’t need to look back to know his eyes were fixated on my gym-honed ass.
Time ticked by as I leaned on the narrow sill, pretending interest in the frenzied bustle of Lower Manhattan until the force of his stare branded my skin. Until the heat pulsing between my legs, frantically rousing my lethargic libido, compelled me to turn around.
I perched against the window, subtly angling my body towards the sunlight. ‘Trust is earned. As for distrust...’ I shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I’ve learned to start with a negative balance and let those who are worth it win their way into my graces.’
Damian shifted in his seat. Eyes two shades darker than they’d been minutes ago rose from my hips, paused on the small but tasteful diamond pendant stroking my cleavage, to my face. ‘That’s a jaded way to approach life, isn’t it?’
‘Didn’t you refuse a drink I bought you back in Boston on those same grounds?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Those were different circumstances.’
‘And the rumour that you’ve resigned from six projects in the last month. Is that boredom or because you’ve stretched yourself too thin?’
A watchful gleam entered his eyes. ‘It’s neither. Every partner I’ve dealt with has walked away more than content, not that I owe you an explanation for the way I operate.’
But you owe me an explanation for why you stabbed me in the back for no reason!
I reined in anger and hurt. ‘By the same token, I don’t owe you an explanation on how I approach my relationships.’
We stared each other down for a long silent stretch. Then his mouth twitched. ‘If nothing else, our friction will make for good entertainment.’
I forced a smile. ‘And that’s all that matters in the long run, isn’t it? Good entertainment?’
Another frown attacked his forehead. ‘With all parties walking away with a handful of sound business deals, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I echoed, unable to keep bitterness from staining my voice.
Damian rose and approached. A couple of feet from me, he stopped. This close, with the sun highlighting every feature, it was difficult to look away from his physical perfection. ‘I was under the impression that you were a strong, level-headed woman who wouldn’t let one encounter cloud her business judgment. Are you going to prove me wrong?’ he taunted baldly.
God, I hate, hate, hate Damian Mortimer.
By the skin of my teeth, I managed to pin my smile in place. ‘Are you referring to the same encounter where you played hard to get when I bought you a drink but couldn’t resist showing up at my hotel room afterwards with a hard cock and a couple of tired one-liners?’
Annoyance flared his nostrils. ‘You think telling you you’re beautiful was a glib one-liner?’
I cursed the heat staining my cheeks. ‘I’ve heard more original lines.’
‘It was true then. It’s true now. One thing you should know about me, I believe in the truth at all times, Neve. Even when it’s brutal to hear,’ he said in a deep matter-of-fact voice that still transmitted straight between my legs.
God, how could he be so detached, so insufferable and yet virtually stroke my clit with a few choice words?
My flush deepened. ‘But you believe I’m the type of woman to let flattery or sex get in the way of business? Or do you imagine I’m secretly holding out hope for something else?’
His gaze blazed bright before it dropped to my lips. My stupidly tingling lips. ‘You didn’t exactly hate what happened between us,’ he murmured. ‘You were just as enthusiastic as I was once you let me in.’
I didn’t. And I was. It was what happened the next morning I had a huge problem with. ‘Like you said, Mr Mortimer, whatever friction we create will play well for the cameras. So what are you worried about?’
He visibly reined himself in, a stark look shadowing his eyes before he shook it off. ‘I don’t like surprises. If you’re hiding something up your sleeve...’
I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled.
Irritation sparked his eyes. ‘Did I say something amusing?’
‘Amusing? No. Ironic, yes. You want assurances? Well, I can assure you that it’s going to be one hell of a ride.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u3b8c9967-a29a-5a6d-b051-f16ea7e5eb40)
Damian
STUNNING. EXQUISITE. BREATHTAKING.
Three inadequate words that sprung to mind when I first saw Neve Nolan in my hotel bar two years ago.
Three words that still didn’t do justice to the woman staring me down with fire in her eyes and determination etched into her captivating face.
My unfettered reaction to her then had propelled me to do the unthinkable. I’d dropped my guard. Put myself in a situation I’d known I’d regret the next morning without taking into account how much. Or the mess it would create in the wake of slowly uncovering the truth of what had happened the night I’d supposedly betrayed Gideon.
The growing possibility that I might have been drugged by someone I’d trusted had fucked me up worse than I’d imagined.
Long before that night in Boston, trust had been a shitty mirage I’d given up on. Once upon a time I’d had an innocent child’s trust that my parents would stick around, deliver a modicum of care and attention in a family seething in dysfunction and strife. They hadn’t.
My only truth was hard work and the bone-deep knowledge that everyone in my life had an agenda and a price.
Unsurprising, therefore, that I’d been in a worse than dire mood when Neve had crossed my path.
I’d been reeling from the possibility that there might not be a way of repairing the bridges I’d burned, and my encounter with Neve couldn’t have come at a worse time. Compounding my mistakes by repeating them, by succumbing to that filthy temptation when I should’ve hit the button for my penthouse suite instead of the one that led to Suite 6799... Well, that had been yet another demon I’d been prepared to live with.
But regardless of my personal foibles, I wasn’t a Mortimer in name only. Regardless of my mood, I’d achieved what I’d gone to Boston to do—assess the viability of merging one of Mortimer Group’s smaller but hugely successful companies with Cahill Hotels, and a lesser known outfit. I’d advised Cahill to reject the bid from Cephei in favour of another hotel chain who were a better fit. The Cahill deal was one of many successes that had fattened the family coffers while I’d continued to search for truth and answers.
Now, three long years later, my investigators had exhausted every avenue to find the evidence of Penny’s treachery.
Now Gideon would be forced to listen.
Acid bitterness bit deep, as it did every time I remembered the consequences of letting down my guard.
That particular mushroom cloud still hung above my head, contaminating my every interaction. My family hadn’t exactly shunned me, but it was probably because they didn’t know the full truth.
I sucked in a breath, pulled myself together and refocused on Neve.
She’d signed on the dotted line to participate in Raider’s Den before I had been made aware of her involvement. By then it had been too late to...what? Get her thrown off the show? Further complicate my life with a possible lawsuit?
She wasn’t thrilled to see me. Perhaps I could use that to keep her at arm’s length despite the havoc her close proximity was already wreaking on my libido. Because it was becoming clear that my chaos-loving demons might have severely compromised my judgment when we’d first met, but my body’s unfettered reaction to her when I’d walked into this room today was brazen evidence that the chemistry that’d compelled me to her suite that night still raged strong.
Hell, she was even more spectacular now than she’d been two years ago. My dick had surged to life at the first sight of her, and the damn thing hadn’t subsided since.
Well, too bloody bad.
I was done empire-building on this side of the Atlantic.
My mouth twisted at the thought of what Great-Grandfather Mortimer would’ve made of my particular situation. Probably slapped me on the back with pride that I could still make millions for the family trust even with betrayal staining my bones, my personal life in shreds and my soul in tatters.
I stared into the slate-blue eyes assessing me. She was up to something. The fire burned too bright in her eyes, for starters.
Unfortunately that fire only reminded me of the blaze we’d created, the thrilling noises she’d made when I’d fucked her. As crashing and burning went, the all-night-long fucking in her suite had singed deep, left an indelible mark on my cracked soul.
To make matters worse, the downside of my stringent no-booze-thanks-to-Penny ban meant every sizzling second of our encounter was seared into my memory. Every slide of Neve’s silken skin, every hot gasp as I’d rammed into her unbelievably tight pussy had echoed in my head for a very long time after I’d walked away from her. For weeks, I’d sported a hard-on that had abated only after a teeth-clenching jerking off.
In another time and place, she would’ve been a prize worth pursuing.
Not today.
Not with a very personal, way-past-due goal of righting wrongs in front of me.
Neve Nolan, with her magnificent body draped in clothes that displayed her very fuckable assets, would be resisted on every front.
Her lips moved, drawing my attention to her plump, lightly glossed mouth. The memory of sliding my cock between those lips, the enthusiastic way she’d sucked me off, almost drew a groan from my throat.
I frowned. ‘Beg your pardon?’
‘I said your phone’s buzzing. You should get that. No doubt your highly exclusive presence is urgently required elsewhere,’ she said dryly.
Yeah, she was seriously pissed about something. Absently, I reached for my phone. One glimpse of the London number and every ounce of my focus shifted.
Chest tightening, I started to press the answer button. Then hesitated.
Neve was watching me, had most likely caught whatever was reflected on my face. I schooled my features. ‘I need to take this. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the first day of filming.’
Her brisk nod belied the curiosity in her eyes. I watched her walk away, unable to stop my gaze from roaming her backside and jaw-dropping legs as she left the room.
The insistent buzz dragged my attention to the phone.
Aunt Flo. As close to a mother as I could get despite my own mother being alive and well.
I stabbed the answer button. ‘Did you get my message?’
‘You have better manners than that, dear boy,’ she snapped.
I breathed out slowly. ‘It’s been a testy morning.’ My patience was running thin on all fronts.
‘It’s been a testy few years for us all.’
My fingers tightened around the phone. ‘Regardless, the stonewalling ends now. It’s time.’ The oppressive guilt wasn’t getting lighter. It suffocated me even more these days, the passage of time an amplified klaxon I could no longer ignore.
No matter what had happened that night three years ago, it was time to face it.
‘Some would say it’s too little too late. Or too much too soon, depending on which side of the fence you’re standing.’
‘Too bad if my timing isn’t convenient for everyone,’ I snapped, frustrated anger licking through me.
She sighed. ‘It’s never going to be good for one of you. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for taking the bull by the horns.’
The pit in my stomach yawed. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been trying to wrestle this damned bull for three years.’
‘I’m aware. But you may have to give it a little more time. The company is in the middle of a delicate negotiation—’
‘The Russian stadium deal,’ I said. As a top executive, I received regular memos on all high-level deals.
‘Yes. And I have my hands full dealing with some of your more pig-headed relatives on the board, not to mention attempting to manage Gideon.’
Hearing his name tightened the band around my chest. ‘Why does he need managing?’ I asked with more than a little snap. The Gideon I knew could manage the family company I’d been meant to co-head with him in his sleep.
Aunt Flo hesitated, making me grit my teeth. ‘What’s going on, Flo?’
‘Your cousin is suffering a bit of a...regression.’
‘In what way?’
‘In all the bad ways. When he’s not working himself into the ground, he’s partying too much at that private club of his. He’s been spiralling for months. It’s only a matter of time before he completely unravels. The family’s meeting this week to decide—’
‘You better not be thinking of ousting him,’ I butted in icily. ‘Not after everything he’s done for the company.’
‘He won’t be if I have anything to do with it. He’ll hate me for telling you this but I know you’re just as iron-willed as he and liable to do something rash, so this is just to give you context.’
Bitter laughter barked out of me. ‘Rash? I listened when you said relocating to the States was what was best for all. But enough is enough. It’s been three years.’
‘I know it’s been hard for you, son.’
She didn’t know the half of it and I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell her the true extent of what Penny had done. Hell, I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she’d drugged me. That deep suspicion now dictated I checked and rechecked every drink I took in public like some paranoid fucker. ‘Good, then you should know I’m wrapping things up here and I’m coming home in the next few weeks with or without this thing being resolved. I’d prefer the former but it won’t stop me either way.’
‘What did I do to deserve the number of grey hairs you two are dishing out to me?’
A reluctant smile broke through my frustration. ‘I have it on good authority that you have an excellent colourist in Sloane Square.’
‘He’s earned his money in the last few months, that’s for sure,’ she quipped, then sighed again. ‘Gideon is preoccupied with this Russian deal. You occupy yourself with wrapping up your life in America. Leave everything else to me.’
‘For now, Aunt Flo. Understand that I won’t let this be for ever.’ I ended the call nowhere near satisfied by the outcome.
Waves of frustration, anger and guilt rolled over me, followed closely by the yawning pit of despair and shame that inevitably arrived with it. The black hole of unanswered questions didn’t erode the reality that I’d let myself down in the most spectacular way.
Two drinks that had turned into three, then four.
Then...total blackout.
Somewhere along the line that night, I’d let my guard down and trusted Penny Winston-Jones, Gideon’s ex-fiancée.
Only she hadn’t been his ex...
And in so doing had betrayed the one person who meant the most to me.
I gripped my phone tighter, the urge to go against Aunt Flo’s advice pummelling me. Only the reminder that she’d been there for me when my own parents abandoned me stopped me.
She would probably forgive me eventually if I went against her advice but could I afford to add another black mark against me?
I slid my phone back into my pocket just as Rachel, my executive assistant, knocked and entered.
‘Your next appointment is here, sir,’ she announced.
As the primary representative for The Mortimer Group, I’d freed myself from the everyday constraints of a single role to explore deals that would suit the family company. It was meant to be a temporary deviation from my usual role as President of Global Expansion so Jasper, my younger brother, could learn the ropes. The grand plan had been to eventually co-CEO the entire Mortimer Group with Gideon.
In the aftermath of Penny’s treachery, that idea had crashed and burned along with our relationship, resulting in this self-imposed, godforsaken exile. One I intended to end ASAP now my investigators had presented me with the near certain facts of what had happened to me that night.
Briefly, I toyed with cancelling the meeting, calling fuck it to the whole day and burning rubber out of Manhattan. I could head to the Hamptons, grab my surfboard and pound the waves until I was too tired to think. Or I could jump on my plane, head to Colorado, pick a mountain and climb it.
I rejected both ideas. Years of trying had shown the futility of attempting to outrun my demons. Staying right here, pursuing The Mortimer Group’s best interest, would at least bring a modicum of satisfaction.
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