Книга - Propositioned by the Billionaire

Propositioned by the Billionaire
Lucy King


Mixing business with pleasure has never been more fun!When a drop-dead gorgeous mystery man comes to PR exec Phoebe Jackson’s rescue at a party she’s hosting, she can’t help but be tempted by the sparks of desire igniting between them…and soon both their attraction and the party go up in flames…But her rescuer is Alex Gilbert – and he has her career in his hands! Now Alex has a daring proposition for her: she must prove her worth by staging a prestigious charity event on an island paradise or she’ll be fired!It would normally be a walk in the park for Phoebe – but with the oh-so-sexy Alex by her side 24/7 can she keep her mind on the job…?







Praise for Lucy King’s first book, BOUGHT: DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, published in 2009:

‘BOUGHT: DAMSEL IN DISTRESS is simply fabulous! I couldn’t resist gobbling up this delicious contemporary romance in a single sitting. Lucy King has created a thoroughly modern and believable character in Emily, and Luke is a gorgeous Alpha male who will make women swoon with delight! Refreshing, romantic and wholly enjoyable, this fabulously uplifting, emotional and captivating tale heralds the start of an exciting new voice in category romance, and I cannot wait to read more sensational romance by the hugely talented Lucy King!’

—www.cataromance.com

This is Lucy King’s second book!


‘If you don’t want me,’ he murmured, ‘then this is the moment when you would slap me.’

Phoebe jerked back, and without warning her hand flew up. She was quick, but Alex’s instincts were quicker. With a sharp curse he blocked her hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.



‘What was that for?’ he said, his eyes blazing.



‘You suggested it.’



Alex stared at her, stunned. He’d felt less at sea in the middle of the ocean in the throes of a force twelve hurricane. ‘You want me.’



‘All right!’ yelled Phoebe. ‘I do want you. Saturday night was amazing. I do want a repeat. But it’s not going to happen.’



Alex shoved his hands through his hair. ‘Why the hell not?’



She gaped. ‘You make me lose control. You distort my focus. My judgement derails when I get distracted and I can’t risk that. I won’t compromise that for a brief fling with you. It’s just not worth it.’





Propositioned by the Billionaire


By




Lucy King







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


LUCY KING spent her formative years lost in the world of Mills & Boon


romance when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. Up against sparkling heroines, gorgeous heroes and the magic of falling in love, trigonometry and absolute ablatives didn’t stand a chance.

But as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. A stroll to the River Thames one Saturday morning led her to her very own hero. The minute she laid eyes on the hunky rower getting out of a boat, clad only in Lycra and carrying a threemetre oar as if it was a toothpick, she knew she’d met the man she was going to marry. Luckily the rower thought the same.



She will always be grateful to whatever it was that made her stop dithering and actually sit down to type Chapter One, because dreaming up her own sparkling heroines and gorgeous heroes is pretty much her idea of the perfect job.



Originally a Londoner, Lucy now lives in Spain, where she spends much of the time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords and trying to convince herself that lying on the beach really is the best way to work. Visit her at www.lucyking.net



A recent book by the same author:

BOUGHT: DAMSEL IN DISTRESS


For Justin—

possibly the most patient man on the planet




Chapter One


‘MARK, STEP AWAY from the flamingo and get out of the pond. Please.’

Phoebe heard the note of desperation in her voice and prayed it would be enough to penetrate the alcohol-fogged brain of the man who was lurching around the pond and brandishing a bottle of champagne.

‘Darling,’ slurred Mark as he swung round and threw her a lopsided grin while water lilies slapped around his knees. ‘You keep trying to persuade me to get out, but I don’t want to.’

He waggled his finger at her and her spirits sank. No amount of cajoling or threatening had had the slightest effect so why on earth had she thought desperation would have worked?

‘That much is obvious,’ she muttered and racked her brains for a solution. Dealing with problems was part of her job, but right now she was stumped.

‘I have a suggestion.’ He swayed wildly and Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat.

Unless he revealed that he planned to take himself off somewhere quiet and sober up, preferably on the other side of London, she didn’t think she wanted to hear it. ‘What is it?’

Mark spread his arms wide and grinned. ‘Why don’t you jump in and join me? The water’s great and I’d like to introduce you to my new friend.’ He turned and stumbled after the flamingo, which had hopped out of range and was now preening its feathers.

Phoebe shivered and sighed and wondered what she’d done to deserve this. It had clearly been far too much to hope that this evening might remain trouble free, but for a moment everything had been going so well.

So the opulent crimson and silver theme that ran throughout the bar wasn’t really to her taste, and the huge chandeliers that sprinkled light over the glittering throng were, in her opinion, totally over the top. And as for allowing birds to wander freely around the gardens six storeys above street level, well, that, as this little episode had proved, was a recipe for disaster, however unique and fashionable.

However, none of that mattered. Not one little bit.

All that mattered was that the San Lorenzo Roof Gardens was the trendiest new venue in town. It was the place to hold a pre-launch party for a hip young handbag designer, and it was virtually impossible to book.

But she’d done it. She’d spent weeks flattering the unyielding Mr Bogoni until he’d cracked and agreed to let her hire the venue, and had then poured hours of meticulous planning and endless preparation into ensuring that this would be a party that people would gossip about for months.

Inside the bar buzzed with a subtle air of excitement and expectation, fuelled by exquisite canapés and the finest champagne. Jo’s gemstone-encrusted handbags sat high on their individually spotlit pedestals, refracting the light like multicoloured glitter balls, and the star of the show herself was mingling among the one hundred glamorous guests and chatting to the carefully selected journalists as if she’d been doing it for years instead of an hour.

Jo Douglas, Phoebe’s first and currently only client, was heading for the stratosphere, and the fledgling Jackson Communications would soar right alongside her.

So she was not going to stand back and let Jo’s boyfriend ruin an evening she’d worked so hard to put together.

Phoebe’s jaw set. There was only one thing for it. She had to get rid of Mark. Discreetly and quickly before someone with a camera decided to step out for a breath of fresh air. And as the bar was getting warmer by the minute, she didn’t have any time to lose.

Right. Phoebe broke a twig off an overhanging branch and stuck it between her teeth. She twisted her hair into a thick rope, wound it deftly onto the top of her head and secured it with the twig. Then she slipped out of her shoes and wriggled to hitch her dress up her thighs.

Taking a deep fortifying breath and trying not to think about what might lurk beneath the surface of the water, she gave herself a quick shake, straightened her spine and set her sights on her target.

‘Do you need a hand?’

The deep voice came from behind her and Phoebe shrieked, jumped almost a foot into the air and nearly pitched headlong into the pond. She spun round, her hand flying to her throat and her heart thundering as a large shadowy figure leaning against a tree swam into vision. ‘Who are you?’ she squeaked when she was able to breathe again.

‘Someone who thinks you look like you could do with some help.’ He pushed himself off the tree and gestured to Mark as he took a step towards her.

Phoebe’s hand automatically shot out to stop him coming any closer and then she dropped it, feeling faintly foolish. Wherever he’d sprung from he was hardly likely to be going to attack her. ‘If leaping out of nowhere and scaring me witless is your idea of helping, thank you, but no.’

He stopped and tilted his head. ‘Sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ she said, resisting the urge to glance down to check the ground beneath her feet. His lazy drawl was having the oddest effect on her equilibrium. Either that, or London was in the unlikely grip of an earthquake. ‘What are you doing out here anyway?’

‘Admiring the scenery.’

Somehow she knew he wasn’t referring to the landscaping and she felt a kick of something in the pit of her stomach. ‘You should be inside admiring the handbags.’

‘Not really my thing.’

‘Then perhaps you’re at the wrong party.’ Phoebe frowned. Come to think of it, he hadn’t actually answered her question. She’d met and ticked off everyone on the guest list, and none of them had had such an impressive outline. So who the hell was he?

Phoebe ran her gaze over him, momentarily forgetting what was going on behind her, and found herself wondering what he looked like. Part of her longed for him to step into the light so she could get a proper look at him and see if his looks matched up to his voice. The other toyed with the idea of summoning the bouncers.

Because whoever he was, this was a private party and if he wasn’t on the guest list then he was gatecrashing. In fact, she thought, pulling herself together, he could well have sneaked in while she’d been in Mr Bogoni’s office, staring at the fuzzy CCTV feed and simultaneously trying to swallow her astonishment, placate the volatile Italian and ignore his mutterings about suing for damages should anything happen to the flamingo.

‘I’m at exactly the right party. And it’s turned out to be far more interesting than I could possibly have imagined.’

Phoebe frowned and was just about to demand his invitation when she heard a series of splashes behind her. A shower of cool water hit the backs of her legs and she stifled a squeal of shock. Mark must have got bored with the flamingo, thank goodness, and decided to come over and investigate this latest development.

‘I suspect the show’s nearly over.’

‘That’s a shame. I was enjoying it.’

Despite the warmth of the night she shivered. ‘There’s far better entertainment inside. Drinks, music, dancing. Much more exciting.’

‘I’m inclined to disagree,’ he said softly and her heart thumped. ‘Besides, I’ve spent the past sixteen hours either in a car or on a plane. At this stage of the evening fresh air is a novelty.’

‘Plenty of fresh air on the other side of the bar. As you can see, I’m afraid I have things to attend to.’

As soon as Mark stumbled to within reaching distance she’d pull him out and bundle him off herself.

‘Do you really think you can handle this on your own?’

If she’d been able to see his face properly she was sure she’d find a patronising smile hovering at his lips and Phoebe bristled. She’d been handling things on her own for years. ‘Of course.’

He folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. ‘In that case I’ll stay out of your way.’

‘Thank you,’ she said crisply and turned back.

Mark was far closer that she’d thought and was waving the bottle of champagne even more wildly than before. All he had to do was trip and he’d land right on top of her.

It was now or never. Phoebe reached out to grab him but he reeled back, teetering as if balancing on the edge of a precipice and then pitched forward. Flailing around while desperately trying to cling onto his balance, his arm and the hand holding the bottle swung round in her direction. An arc of champagne sprayed through the air. Phoebe let out a little cry and jerked back, her hands flying to her head.

Oh no, not her hair. Please not her hair.

She didn’t have time to recover and pull Mark out. A split second later a pair of large hands clamped round her waist and shoved her to one side. She yelped in shock and watched in stunned appal as the shadowy stranger grabbed Mark by the T-shirt and hauled him out of the water.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’ Mark yelled, splashing frantically as the bottle of champagne landed in the water with a plop.

Good question, thought Phoebe dazedly, her skin beneath her dress burning where his hands had gripped her.

‘Taking out the rubbish,’ he snarled and leaned in very close. ‘Men like you belong behind bars.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Mark spluttered. ‘Get off me. You can’t do this. I’ll sue.’

‘Go right ahead,’ he growled.

‘You’ll be sorry.’

‘I doubt it. Wait here,’ he snapped at Phoebe, and then dragged Mark, kicking and struggling, across the garden.



Wait here?

For a moment Phoebe had no choice in the matter. She stood frozen to the spot, droplets of icy water clinging to her bare legs, her heart hammering while shock reverberated around her and the outraged sound of Mark’s protests and threats rang in her ears.

In dumb stupefaction she watched the two men disappear round the corner and struggled to make sense of what had just gone on. Maybe she’d been hurled into a third-rate action film, because in reality men didn’t just leap out of nowhere, elbow their way into the action and then march off leaving chaos trailing in their wake like a brief but devastating tornado. At least, not in her experience.

As her shock receded the potential consequences of this little episode filtered into her head. How dared he barge in like that? When she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she was in control of the situation. Did he have any idea of the damage he could have done?

And then barking at her to wait. What did he expect her to do? Hang around like some sort of obedient minion? Hah, she thought, bending down to pick up her shoes. As if. She had to go and find out whether any journalistic or photographic prying eyes had caught what had just happened and if necessary execute a hasty damage-limitation exercise.

Who did he think he was anyway, creeping up on her like that and scaring the living daylights out of her? And manhandling Mark like some sort of brutish Neanderthal.

Kind of attractive though. That single-mindedness. That decisiveness. That strength…

Phoebe slapped her hand against her forehead. No no no no no. That was so wrong on so many levels she didn’t know where to start. Focus. That was what she needed. Focus. And her heels.

As she searched for something sturdy to lean against while she put her shoes back on again Phoebe’s skin suddenly prickled all over.

Her head shot round and her eyes narrowed in on the man striding in her direction, alone. Tall, broadshouldered and flexing his hands, he moved in a sort of intensely purposeful way that had her stomach clenching.

In irritation, she decided, straightening and preparing herself for confrontation. Definitely irritation.

As his long strides closed the distance between them she could see that his face was as dark as the suit that moulded to his body. But what he had to glower about she had no idea. If anyone had the right to be furious it was her.

Phoebe’s heart began to thud. Forget the shoes. Damage limitation could wait. Adrenalin surged through her. ‘You frightened the life out of me,’ she said, when he got within hissing distance, her voice low and tight with anger. ‘Who are you and what on earth did you think you were doing?’

He didn’t reply, merely took her arm and wheeled her off towards the pergola at the bottom of the wide stone steps that led up to the terrace. Phoebe had no option but to stagger after him, shoes dangling from her fingers as panic and shock flooded back into every bone in her body.

‘Hang on,’ she said, desperately trying to keep her voice down. ‘You can’t throw me out too. Ow!’ The smooth paving stones had turned into sharp gravel, which dug into the soles of her feet.

He stopped, looked down as she hopped madly while trying to put her shoes back on and then, muttering a brief curse under his breath, swept her up into his arms. Phoebe let out a tiny squeal as her shoulder slapped against a rock-hard chest. One of his hands planted itself on the side of her breast, the other wrapped around her bare thigh.

‘Put me down!’ she whispered furiously, her legs bouncing with every step he took as she tried to tug down her dress in a vain attempt to protect her modesty.

He stopped beneath a lantern and set her on her feet, her body brushing against his in the process. A flurry of tingles whizzed round her and she wobbled. He wound one arm round her waist and clamped her against him.

‘I have no intention of throwing you out,’ he said roughly, raking his gaze over her face.

‘So let me go.’

If anything, his arm tightened and Phoebe felt as if someone had plugged her into a socket. What else could explain the tingles and sparks that zapped through her? What else could account for the searing heat that swept along her veins, making her bones melt and turning her spine to water?

‘My name is Alex and you should choose your boyfriends more carefully.’

At the icy restraint lacing his voice, Phoebe’s eyes jerked to his and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.

Oh, dear God. His eyes were mesmerising. Grey. No, not just grey. Silver, rapidly darkening to slate, and fringed with the thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. Set beneath straight dark eyebrows and blazing down at her with fierce concern.

As she dragged her gaze over the planes of his face in much the same way as he was now doing to her Phoebe’s mouth went dry and the blood in her veins grew hot and sluggish. He wasn’t just handsome. He was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. But not in the pretty way the men who occupied her world were. This man looked like the sort of man who knew how to do, and probably did, the things that real men were supposed to do.

The little white scar above his right eye and the hint of a broken nose gave him an air of danger that she might have considered to be intoxicating if she’d been in the market for a man. Which she wasn’t. But heavens, that mouth. What a mouth…

Her hands, currently curled into fists and jammed between his chest and hers, itched to unfurl themselves, creep their way up the thick white cotton shirt, maybe taking in a quick detour to the V of tanned flesh exposed where his top button was undone, and up, round his neck to wind themselves in his hair so that they could tug that delicious-looking mouth down and weld it to hers.

Phoebe blinked. Agh. What on earth was she thinking? Her body had no business behaving like this, especially without her prior approval. And that would not be forthcoming this evening. Or ever, she reminded herself belatedly, pushing all thoughts of what sort of things a real man might be required to do out of her head.

Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to concentrate. What had he been saying? She thought frantically. Boyfriends. That was it. ‘What boyfriend?’ she managed, squeezing her hands tighter and hauling back some of the self-control that had fled when he’d pulled her against him.

‘The jerk in the pond.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ After her last disastrous relationship, she was off men. For ever. Especially ones who crept up on her and nearly gave her a heart attack. However good-looking.

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No. Of course not.’ What was he talking about? She struggled to pull herself out of the steel circle of his arm, but it was no good. Alex didn’t seem inclined to let her go.

Instead he gripped her chin with his long brown fingers and turned her face so that the light fell on her cheek. ‘He took a swing at you with the bottle,’ he said harshly. ‘Where did he hit you?’

Phoebe’s skin sizzled beneath the pressure of his fingers. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ she said, baffled as much by the tingles shooting through her as the direction of the conversation. ‘Mark didn’t hit me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I think I might have noticed if I’d been thwacked by a bottle of champagne. Particularly vintage.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Not funny.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said sharply. There was absolutely nothing funny about the damage he could have done tonight, possibly the most important night of her and Jo’s lives. ‘Can I have my chin back?’

He let her chin go as if it were on fire and she swung her head round to glare up at him. For a moment they simply stared at each other and Phoebe became aware that, still locked in his vice-like embrace as she was, every inch of her body pressed up against every hard-muscled inch of his.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her heart thumped. Her mouth dried and she swallowed. She had to get a grip. And not of his biceps. ‘Right. So you barged in because you thought my boyfriend had hit me?’ A rogue bubble of delight bounced round inside her before she reminded herself that not only did chivalry not exist in her world, she neither needed nor looked for it.

His brows snapped together. ‘Where I come from men don’t hit women.’

Something warm started to unfurl deep inside her. ‘Where I come from no one hits anyone.’ The Jacksons employed far more subtle tactics.

‘He called you darling. You cried out and jerked back.’

Oh. She felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Well, yes, but only because I didn’t want to get splashed,’ she said. ‘And Mark calls everyone darling.’

His hands sprang off her as if she were a hot coal and he stepped back. ‘You didn’t want to get splashed,’ he echoed softly, his voice suddenly so cold and distant that it sent a chill hurtling down her spine and she automatically rubbed her upper arms.

In the thundering silence that hung between them, a seed of shame took root in her head and the blush on her cheeks deepened. His face was dark, tight and as hard as stone.

The combination of sheer disbelief and icy disdain that replaced the concern in his eyes made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. If she’d kept her mouth shut she’d still be in his arms, enveloped in his heat and strength, feeling all warm and deliciously quivery instead of feeling as shallow as the pond and utterly rotten.

Then she rallied. Hang on a moment. Why was she being made to feel the guilty party in this little melodrama? She hadn’t exactly begged him for help. And it was hardly her fault if he’d mistaken her dodging an arc of champagne for something more serious. While a spattering of water turned her sleek mane of hair into a frizzy mess, a carelessly flung spray of champagne would turn it into a frizzy sticky mess and she had enough to worry about right at this minute.

Phoebe nipped that seed of shame in the bud. ‘This,’ she said coolly, pointing at her hair, ‘takes hours to straighten and my dress is dry-clean only.’

For a split second Alex looked dumbstruck and then his expression shuttered and his eyes went blank. She cast a glance over his hair, thick, dark and unfairly shiny. Of course he would never understand the struggle she had with her hair, nor the burning need to keep it under control. But what was his problem?

‘Look, I didn’t ask you to interfere,’ she pointed out. ‘And I certainly didn’t need your help.’

‘So I’m beginning to gather.’

‘I had the situation totally under control.’

‘You were standing barefoot with a twig in your hair and your dress hitched up around your hips—’

‘Thighs,’ she snapped. ‘But wherever my dress was and whatever my hairstyle, you had no business interfering.’

Alex shoved his hands through his hair. ‘What did you expect me to do? Stand back and watch you get hurt? Did you really think that he was going to come out willingly?’

Phoebe blinked. ‘Well, yes.’ With a little persuasion and guidance.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mark is built like a tank and was totally out of control. Your lack of judgement astonishes me.’

Phoebe flinched. Ouch, that hurt. ‘I wasn’t in any danger,’ she said. ‘Mark was incapable of hitting anything. Anyway, what did you do with him?’

‘I threw him out.’

Of course. ‘Did anyone see you?’

He frowned. ‘Does it matter?’

Phoebe gaped. Did it matter? She briefly wondered if steam actually whooshed out of her ears. ‘Of course it matters.’

Alex let out a harsh incredulous laugh. ‘You’d seriously put what other people think before your own safety? Your priorities are unbelievable.’

‘My priorities are my own business. You,’ she said, glaring at him, ‘overreacted.’

Alex looked as if it was taking every ounce of his control not to wrap his hands round her throat and throttle her. ‘Do you have any idea how volatile someone in that state can be? They can switch from charming to violent in the blink of an eye.’ He leaned in so close that she could see her own image reflected in his eyes and snapped his fingers and she jumped. ‘Just like that.’

Phoebe stamped down the stab of curiosity that suddenly demanded to know whether his reaction was based on personal experience of something similar and channelled her indignation instead. ‘Look,’ she said icily, ‘this isn’t the first time I’ve come across someone who can’t handle his drink. Before you,’ she said, stepping forwards, uncurling her fist and jabbing him in the chest with her index finger, ‘barged in and started throwing Mark around like some sort of caveman everything was fine. I was dealing with it perfectly well. On my own.’

Phoebe broke off, breathing heavily, suddenly aware that Alex wasn’t listening to her. His jaw was rigid. Colour slashed along his cheekbones. He was staring at her mouth, his big frame almost vibrating with an odd sort of electric tension.

She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. She could feel the scorching heat of his body burning through his shirt to singe her palm. She could feel his nipple, hot and tight, pressing against her hand.

Appal thundered through her. His heart? His heat? His nipple? Beneath her hand?

Her gaze shot down to the finger that had been poking his chest. Only now the jabbing had stopped. Now her hand lay flat against his chest and any minute now her fingers would be clutching at his shirt and yanking him towards her.

Time seemed to judder to a halt. Music drifted towards them, the sultry beat winding through her and whipping up unfamiliar sensations that stretched out and took over her ability to think about anything other than having his mouth hot and demanding on hers.

Phoebe could barely comprehend what was happening to her. No man had ever had this effect on her before. She’d felt attraction, tremors of lust even. Quite often. But never this slow drugging desire humming deep inside her, making her whole body itch with the need to reacquaint itself with his.

She wouldn’t even have that far to tug. One centimetre. Maybe two. And they’d be locked together, tumbling down onto the pile of huge cushions that lined the pergola and pulling at each other’s clothing.

In the middle of a party that she was supposed to be running.

With a sharp gasp of horror she snatched her hand away and took a hasty step back. Alex’s eyes shot back up to hers. Dark, lit with something that made her mouth dry and her pulse hammer. ‘No one saw me,’ he said, the trace of huskiness in his voice telling her that an identical thought had been running through his head.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ she managed, although her throat felt like sandpaper. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and swallowed hard. ‘Now I’d like an apology.’

‘I’d like a thank you.’

Phoebe stuck her chin up and gave him a cool smile. ‘Then I guess we’re both destined to be disappointed.’

Alex reached out to slide his hand round to the small of her back and pulled her against him. ‘Not necessarily.’




Chapter Two


AS HIS MOUTH slammed down on hers Phoebe instantly lost track of everything except for the flood of heat that rushed straight to the centre of her. He took advantage of her gasp of shock instantly. When their tongues met it was as if someone had lit a firework deep inside her and Phoebe couldn’t do anything other than melt against him. Her arms shot up around his neck and his tightened and whether he pulled or she pushed, all she knew was that she was plastered against him and her body thought it had died and gone to heaven.

She ought to pull away. This was utter madness. She was supposed to be working. She’d planned every minute of this party, and at no stage did her plans involve six feet plus of devastating masculinity swooping to her unneeded rescue, kissing her and messing up her mind.

But tingles rippled along her nerve endings and the scent of him wound up her nose, seeped into her brain and fried it. All rational thought vanished.

As the kiss deepened and spiralled into something wildly out of control Phoebe felt the evidence of his arousal press against her and she wanted to writhe against it. Barely aware of what she was doing, she raised herself onto the tips of her toes to feel his hard length better against her, but her dress was too tight, too constricting.

Her breasts felt heavy and swollen and she wanted him to push the bodice down, get rid of her bra and soothe her aching nipples with his hand and mouth. When his hand moved round to cup her breast, lights exploded behind her eyelids and lust thundered through her.

Oh, God, she thought, beginning to tremble uncontrollably. She’d never been kissed like this. Had never kissed anyone like this. And she’d never been swept away by this intensity of…feeling.

‘Phoebe?’

They both froze at the sound of Jo’s voice. Phoebe let out a tiny moan of protest and Alex jerked back, cursing softly. She hung limply in his embrace and stared up at him in stunned silence. His hair was rumpled from where her fingers had tangled through it and a muscle pounded in his jaw. He seemed to be as shaken as she was. But a moment later he’d let her go and had backed into the shadows.

She blinked and swayed for a second while Jo called her name again, her voice louder and closer, and then reality swooped in and hit her round the head with the force of a fully laden tote bag.

What had she been thinking? She was at work. What if Jo hadn’t called her name? She’d have come across the two of them practically devouring each other, which was most certainly not the sort of professionalism she prided herself on.

Desperately trying to regulate her breathing, Phoebe smoothed her dress and pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. As she suspected. Burning. She touched her still tingling mouth, which felt ravaged and bruised, and wondered exactly how bad the damage was.

‘Hey, Phoebs, here you are.’ Jo came to a halt at the entrance to the pergola and beamed. ‘What are you doing out here all on your own?’

Phoebe resisted the urge to glance around to see where Alex had vanished to and cleared her throat. ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, smiling weakly while searching her imagination for something more sensible to say than an awestruck ‘wow, did I just imagine that?’. ‘Getting some air.’

Pathetic. She made her living out of manipulating words and spinning situations. Surely she could come up with something better than that?

‘Hmm. It is a bit stuffy inside.’ Jo frowned. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’

Oops, she’d forgotten all about that. Her hands shot to her head and she carefully pulled out her makeshift hairpin. She combed her fingers through her hair and thanked God that it appeared to have come through recent events unscathed.

Jo glanced down. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘A twig.’

‘What was it doing in your hair?’

Phoebe tossed it into a flowerbed and waved a vague hand. ‘Oh, I was simply experimenting with an idea.’

‘Thinking of branching out?’

‘Ha ha,’ she muttered, and then clamped her lips together to stop a sudden bubble of hysterical laughter escaping.

Jo peered at her closer. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit flushed. And flustered.’ She paused and tilted her head. ‘I’ve never seen you flustered.’

That was because she took great care never to appear flustered, even when inside she was a mess. Regardless of the situation, triumph or disaster, she was always the epitome of cool, unflappable collectedness. She never let anything get in the way of her commitment to her job. And she never ever lost control.

Well, except for just now…

But that was totally understandable, she assured herself. After all, she’d been flung around like a sack of potatoes and then kissed senseless without any say in the matter whatsoever. Who wouldn’t feel a tiny bit on the flustered side?

Phoebe took a deep breath and channelled her inner calm. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said.

Jo shot her a knowing smile. ‘If you weren’t out here alone, and if I didn’t know that you never mix business with pleasure, I’d have sworn I’d interrupted you in the middle of a clinch.’

Phoebe felt colour hit her cheeks and edged away from the light. It was high time to deflect this line of conversation. ‘Hmm. So. You were looking for me?’

‘Yes. I came to tell you…’ But what Jo had come to tell her never made it out of her mouth.

Phoebe didn’t need to look round to know that Alex was standing behind her. The hairs at the nape of her neck had leapt up like an early-warning system and her whole body quivered with awareness.

As Jo’s gaze slid over Phoebe’s shoulder her smile disappeared, the blood drained from her face and her eyes widened in horror.

‘Hello, Jo.’ Alex’s voice was as cold as ice and Jo seemed to deflate right in front of Phoebe’s eyes.

‘Oh, no,’ Jo said with a deep sigh. ‘What are you doing here?’



Well, that was a relief, thought Alex darkly, thrusting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes fixed on his sister. Jo’s reaction to his presence at the party was the only thing so far this evening that had turned out as he’d expected.

Ever since he’d learned that she’d gone behind his back and hired her own PR representative without his approval, he’d planned to pitch up, demand to know what she thought she was up to and replace whoever she’d hired with his own team.

He’d intended to swoop in and be done within a matter of minutes, and if things had gone according to plan, he’d now be passed out in his penthouse, battling jet lag.

Instead, over the course of the last half an hour he’d fought a drunken idiot in a pond, been thwacked by a deluge of painful memories he’d really rather forget and been forced to face the uncomfortable realisation that for the first time in years he’d been wrong. As if all that weren’t enough, it appeared he’d also caught a severe case of lust.

Alex flicked a quick glance at Phoebe, standing there with her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and looking like a fallen angel, and felt desire whip through him all over again.

Kissing the life out of one of the guests had definitely not been part of the plan. But the moment he’d held her against him he’d been able to think about little else. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his chest while she’d been ranting about dealing with cavemen or something, her eyes flashing sparks of green and gold at him. When his resistance had finally crumbled she’d fitted against him so perfectly, responded to him so passionately that he hadn’t been able to stop. Who knew what might have happened if Jo hadn’t interrupted them?

Alex ground his teeth against the urge to drag Phoebe back into the shadows. There’d be plenty of time for that later. Once he’d achieved what he’d come here to do, he’d take her out to dinner. See where a few more of those kisses might end up and maybe find a new way to get over jet lag.

In the meantime, he told himself, blanking Phoebe from his head and training his full attention on Jo, he had work to do.

‘Surprised to see me?’ he said coolly.

‘Somewhat,’ Jo muttered. ‘But thrilled too, of course,’ she added hastily.

She didn’t look in the slightest bit thrilled. She looked wary, as if she’d been caught red-handed. Which she should, because she had. If he’d vaguely entertained the idea of giving her the benefit of the doubt over the absence of his invitation, it vanished.

‘Of course,’ he replied dryly.

‘How did you find out?’

‘Did you really imagine I wouldn’t?’

‘I had hoped.’

Alex frowned. Since when had she started keeping secrets from him? That rankled almost as much as the fact that she’d deliberately kept him out of the loop.

‘Er, excuse me for interrupting, but would someone mind telling me what’s going on?’ said Phoebe, edging towards Jo in an oddly protective fashion. ‘Because I’m guessing you don’t have an invitation, and, if Jo wants, I can have the bouncers here faster than you can say “gatecrasher.”’

Alex’s gaze swivelled back to his sister. ‘Well?’ he said in a deadly soft voice.

‘There’s no need to call the bouncers.’ Jo pulled her shoulders back and shot him a defiant look. ‘Alex, I’d like you to meet Phoebe Jackson, managing director of Jackson Communications, and my PR.’

Jo’s words hit him with the force of a swinging boom and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He glanced at Phoebe, who was staring at him with a determined tilt of her chin and an arched eyebrow.

This was the woman he’d come to fire? The ravenhaired goddess in the tight gold dress, who’d piqued his interest the second he’d laid eyes on her sneaking out of a side door? The woman he’d been imagining naked and warm and writhing in his arms? Something curiously like disappointment walloped him in the solar plexus. Alex rubbed his chest and frowned.

Then suspicion began to prickle at the edges of his brain. If she and his sister were working together had she colluded with her to deliberately keep him out of the proceedings? Even taking into account his natural mistrust of anyone and anything that he personally hadn’t tested to the limit, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

Whether she had or not, dinner was off. With the ruthless control he’d honed over the years, Alex crushed the lingering flickers of desire and stashed any attraction he felt towards Phoebe behind an unbreachable wall of icy neutrality.



Hmm, thought Phoebe, watching his whole body tense and sort of freeze. For some reason the news of her identity hadn’t gone down well at all. Which was odd—she didn’t normally incite such a violent reaction in people.

‘And, Phoebe, this is Alex Gilbert. My brother.’

She was so busy trying to work out what objection he could possibly have to her that she almost missed Jo’s words. But as they filtered into her head Phoebe found herself in the unusual position of being rendered speechless. And then a dozen little facts cascaded into her brain, each one hot on the heels of the other, and she inwardly groaned.

Oh, no.

How typical was that?

Someone really wanted this evening to implode. Because what were the chances that her mysterious, mind-blowingly gorgeous stranger would turn out to be the hotshot venture capitalist who’d injected a huge sum of cash so that Jo could finish and launch her collection? The billionaire who was so busy jetting round the world taking over businesses and entertaining glamorous women that he’d refused the invitation.

She hated it when she was wrong-footed. And not just wrong-footed. Hurled off balance would be a more accurate description. She’d swooned in his arms. Melted against him. Practically devoured him, for heaven’s sake. How mortifyingly inappropriate was that?

‘I should have guessed,’ she said hiding her embarrassment behind a cool façade. ‘The family resemblance is uncanny.’

She might be burning up inside, but Alex didn’t appear to be the slightest bit fazed. ‘Technically I’m her half-brother,’ he said with an impersonal little smile. ‘We shared a mother and we each take after our fathers.’ He held out a hand. Phoebe felt an arc of electricity shoot up her arm when her palm hit his and had to force herself not to snatch it back.

What was he doing here anyway? Jo had said he was quite content to be a silent partner. That he had no interest in what Jo got up to and even less in handbags.

When she’d heard about his supposed lack of fraternal support it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. After all, when had her siblings ever supported her? At least he’d shown up at the eleventh hour, which was more than she could expect from any member of her family, all of whom thought her choice of career unbelievably frivolous.

Well, frivolous it might be, but it had given her enough experience to handle any situation with sophistication and aplomb. Even one as awkward as this.

‘I thought you were supposed to be in the States,’ she said evenly.

‘I was.’

‘Venturing your capital?’

‘Negotiating a deal.’

‘Did you win?’

‘He always wins,’ said Jo grumpily.

‘I’m sure you do,’ she said smoothly, pulling her hand out of his and surreptitiously flexing her fingers to stop the tingling. ‘Anyway, naturally we’re delighted to see you.’

‘Really?’ he said raising an eyebrow. ‘In that case, I can only imagine my invitation got lost in the post.’

Phoebe frowned. ‘You refused it.’

‘Did I?’ he said flatly, his expression turning even stonier.

‘You were obviously too busy to remember refusing it as well as being too busy to come.’

‘Obviously,’ he drawled and somehow Phoebe instantly knew that he’d been nothing of the kind.

‘So why the change of heart? A hitherto unrecog-nised fascination for women’s accessories?’

A slow smouldering smile curved his lips, and she felt herself heating up. ‘This is my little sister’s debut. How could I possibly miss it?’

‘Then why refuse in the first place?’ Something wasn’t right here, but for the life of her Phoebe couldn’t work out what. Alex had turned her brain to mush.

‘All right,’ said Jo, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘Phoebe, Alex knows perfectly well that I never sent him an invitation.’

Now she was baffled. Phoebe blinked and swung her attention back to Jo. ‘So why did you tell me you had?’

‘Oh, I really don’t remember,’ said Jo vaguely, waving a hand.

‘Forgetfulness seems to run in the family,’ Phoebe said dryly, not believing her for a second. Jo had been very unforthcoming about her brother, despite the fact that he’d contributed so much to her fledgling career, and now that she thought about it Phoebe realised that whenever she’d mentioned the financial generosity of Jo’s elusive brother, Jo had deftly changed the subject, which she’d thought odd at the time. However Phoebe had enough experience of tricky sibling relationships to steer well clear of other people’s and hadn’t probed.

With hindsight, she should have insisted on knowing more. His name at least. That would have saved her a whole lot of trouble.

‘Anyway, you two should get to know each other.’

No, they shouldn’t. Phoebe already knew far more about Alex than she was comfortable with, and his rigid expression gave her the impression that he wasn’t particularly keen on the idea either.

‘We met earlier,’ she said pleasantly. ‘The encounter was brief.’

‘But intense,’ he said, shooting her a searing look.

‘And wet, by the looks of things,’ said Jo, frowning as she glanced at the damp patches on Alex’s suit.

‘I decided to take a stroll round the gardens. It involved an unexpected detour via the pond.’ Alex rubbed his chest and Phoebe was instantly transported back to the moments before he’d kissed her. Images flashed into her head. The way he’d stared at her mouth, the hunger in his expression and the fire in his eyes. So different from the cold, controlled man standing in front of her.

Surely he couldn’t be that upset about not being sent an invitation? But if it wasn’t that, what was it?

‘If you’re falling into ponds,’ said Jo lightly, ‘you must be more jet-lagged than usual.’

‘I must be,’ murmured Alex. His eyes locked with Phoebe’s and her stomach flipped.

‘Jet lag makes him do the oddest things,’ said Jo, clearly thankful that the attention had shifted away from her. ‘The last time he had it he shredded a six-figure cheque instead of banking it and stashed his car keys in the fridge.’

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. ‘How absolutely fascinating.’

‘Don’t you just love siblings?’ he drawled.

‘Simply adore them,’ she said, and then thought of her own. ‘But I couldn’t eat a whole one.’

He didn’t even crack a smile and Phoebe felt her hackles shoot up. What was his problem? ‘I didn’t think international playboys bothered with things like fridges.’

A warning gleam entered his eyes. ‘Are you making assumptions about me, Phoebe?’

‘Simply making an observation,’ she said with an innocent smile.

‘Champagne has to be chilled somewhere, don’t you think?’

‘It certainly does. The colder the better.’

‘Especially in this heat.’

Phoebe shivered at the smouldering silvery sparks in his gaze.

‘It’s not that warm,’ said Jo. ‘Not for May. And, Phoebs, you’ve got goose-bumps.’

‘Cold?’ Alex asked softly, running his gaze over her, and to her irritation her body responded instantly. Her breasts tightened uncomfortably against the close-fitting dress and her nipples hardened while hot flames of desire licked deep inside her.

‘No.’

The seconds stretched, and the longer their gazes held, the more it felt as if nothing else existed beyond the sizzling attraction that arced between them. Her gaze dipped to his mouth and the desperate longing to have it on hers again thumped her in the stomach.

And Alex wanted it too, she realised with a jolt. She could tell by the darkening of his eyes and by the way his body seemed to go utterly still. Phoebe shuddered at the desire that suddenly ripped through her and dragged in a shaky breath. Alex frowned and ran a hand through his hair and when he jerked his attention away from her Phoebe felt as if a piece of elastic had snapped her in the face.

She had to stop this. She’d never had trouble controlling her hormones before, so why now?

Jo thankfully seemed oblivious to the electric undercurrents that fizzed between them and was looking round the gardens. ‘So what do you think of the venue?’ she asked brightly. ‘Isn’t it heavenly?’

‘Quite literally, given that we’re six storeys above the streets of central London,’ Alex replied. ‘The gardens are…’ his gaze swung back to Phoebe and her heart practically thudded to a halt ‘…illuminating.’

‘That’ll be the clever lighting,’ she said, amazed that her voice sounded so steady when her whole body was trembling.

‘Not that clever if you’re falling into ponds. By the way, have either of you seen Mark?’

Alex tensed. ‘Who’s Mark?’

‘My new boyfriend.’ Jo beamed.

Alex’s jaw clenched and his face darkened.

‘I’ve been looking all over the place for him but can’t find him anywhere. I thought he might have come out here.’

‘He did.’

There was a heavy silence. And then eventually Jo swung round, and stared at him. ‘Oh no. Have you met him?’ She frowned, her expression starting out wary but then when Alex didn’t answer immediately, turning to anger. ‘What happened? What did you do to him?’

Alex’s face was as rigid as stone and Phoebe hoped she’d never give him cause to look at her like that. With all that restrained strength and power, combined with the scar and the bump on his nose, she had a feeling Alex Gilbert could be a dangerous man to cross. ‘I poured him into a taxi and sent him home.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Jo, her voice tense with frustration. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Mark was slightly the worse for wear,’ Phoebe interjected. ‘I tried to persuade him to cool off but he wasn’t really co-operating.’

‘Mark was off his head,’ Alex corrected sharply, ‘and I was under the brief misapprehension that Phoebe’s safety was at stake.’

Jo’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why would her safety be at stake?

‘I thought he’d hit her,’ he said flatly.

‘Oh,’ said Jo in a small voice.

A look passed between Alex and his sister that Phoebe couldn’t identify and that nugget of shame threatened to resprout inside her. ‘Nevertheless,’ said Phoebe, forcing it down, ‘you overreacted.’

‘We’ve already been through that,’ grated Alex.

‘I could put it down to jet lag if you’d like,’ said Phoebe helpfully, and then shuddered at the dark scowl that crossed his face.

Jo sighed and her shoulders slumped. ‘Was Mark very drunk?’

‘As a skunk,’ said Phoebe, ‘and after some time in the pond he smelt a bit like one too.’

Jo’s nose wrinkled. ‘What was he doing in the pond?’

‘Making friends with the wildlife,’ said Alex dryly. ‘Someone forgot to put up a fence.’

‘No one forgot,’ said Phoebe. ‘It’s deliberate. It’s cool. The fencelessness of the San Lorenzo Roof Gardens symbolises the uninhibited harmony between man and nature, and is part of its uber-cool appeal.’ At least that was what the website claimed.

‘It’s absurd,’ Alex growled. ‘Your boyfriend,’ he said, emphasising the word with sharp disdain as his gaze skewered Jo to the spot, ‘could have caused serious damage.’

‘It’s not his fault,’ said Jo, her face falling. ‘He’s up to his ears in debt.’

‘Idiot,’ muttered Alex.

‘Spoken like a true billionaire,’ said Phoebe tartly.

Alex’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘There you go again,’ he said, shaking his head as if in disappointment. ‘Jumping to conclusions and making rash assumptions. I haven’t always been a billionaire. I know what it’s like to have nothing but debts.’

So do I, thought Phoebe, and tried not to think about the enormous loan she’d taken out to set up her business.

‘But I didn’t drown myself in drink,’ Alex added.

‘Lucky you.’ There were times when Phoebe felt like mainlining vodka, but so far she’d managed to resist.

He turned to Jo. ‘I don’t think you should see him again.’

‘Thanks to you I probably won’t,’ Jo fired back.

Right. Phoebe had had enough of this. Sibling squabbling had no place here. ‘Perhaps you two could continue this discussion another time,’ she said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Jo, you need to go back inside and mingle. Alex, you need to get a drink and relax. And I need to get on with making sure nothing else goes wrong.’

‘Ms Jackson?’

Phoebe spun round to see the portly form of Mr Bogoni barrelling towards them, huffing and puffing and looking as if he were on the verge of exploding. Her spirits dipped at the expression on his face. Oh, Lord. What was the matter now? Surely one mishap was quite enough for one evening.

‘Ms Jackson,’ he said again, smoothing his hair.

‘Mr Bogoni,’ said Phoebe, flashing him a bright smile that as usual didn’t manage to dent the icy demeanour. ‘You’ll be delighted to know that the flamingo remains unharmed.’

‘I am indeed glad to hear that, but unfortunately we have another problem.’

‘What sort of problem?’

‘I think you’d better come with me.’




Chapter Three


PHOEBE’S MIND RACED as she followed Mr Bogoni across the terrace towards the bar. What could possibly have happened now? And why did Alex have to be following quite so closely? In fact why did he have to be there at all? ‘There was no need for you to come too,’ Phoebe muttered out of the side of her mouth.

‘You think not?’ he drawled. ‘This is perhaps the most important night of my sister’s career. I’m interested in everything that goes on.’

‘Whatever it is,’ said Jo firmly, ‘Phoebe will be able to fix it.’

Phoebe shot Jo a smile of thanks for her vote of confidence and prepared herself for the worst.

But as she stepped into the bar her eyes were drawn up and she froze in absolute horror.

Oh, dear God. This wasn’t a problem. This was a disaster of gargantuan proportions, the likes of which nothing in her experience could have prepared her for. Compared to this, the Mark debacle was as insignificant as a tiny sequin on a full-length ball gown.

Phoebe blinked to check she wasn’t hallucinating, but no. This was no hallucination.

Every single one of Jo’s beautiful handbags was on fire. Multicoloured flames licked at the precious creations and the acrid smell of burning plastic and fabric filled the room. Sparks flew. Metal crackled. Then, as if cremating handbags weren’t bad enough, the individual light above each pedestal went out, the localised sprinkler system kicked in and tiny droplets of water rained over the charred remains. Smoke billowed and then whooshed up into the powerful air conditioning vents.

Icy panic flooded through her. How on earth was she going to spin this? All the guests had edged to the sides of the room and every single one of them was staring up at the spectacle in utter amazement. Jo looked as if she was on the verge of tears; Alex’s stony expression told her he wasn’t amused in the slightest.

The dreadful silence gave way to a rumble of speculation that began to sweep through the room. Gasps of amazement were swiftly followed by murmurs about flammable fabric and toxic materials and Phoebe realised that if she didn’t do something in the next few minutes the situation would become unsalvageable and her business would fail barely before it had begun.

But what? For the first time in her life, she didn’t have a clue what to say. Terror clawed at her chest and a ball of panic lodged in her throat. Her head went fuzzy and for a moment she thought she was about to start hyperventilating.

No. She didn’t have time to hyperventilate. Not when Jo’s bags had all just exploded like firecrackers.

Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat. Wait a moment…firecrackers…

The idea that popped into her head was so outrageously crazy, so unbelievable, that it might actually work. It was a gamble, but if she showed she believed it, everyone else would too, and she’d have turned a major disaster into a fabulous finale.

Euphoric relief wiped the fuzz from her head and an unstoppable grin spread across her face. ‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ she said, leaning over to whisper in Jo’s ear and giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’s all going to be fine.’



So how was she going to wriggle out of this one?

Alex leaned against a pillar and folded his arms over his chest as Phoebe marched across the empty floor, stepped up onto the dais and tapped the microphone. All eyes watched her and the room filled with a sort of morbid excitement that reminded him of birds of prey circling an injured animal.

How could Jo ever have thought that hiring someone of her own accord was a wise thing to do? Especially someone who allowed the evening to descend into chaos.

As far as he was aware his sister knew nothing about PR. Whereas he’d worked with his team for years. So why hadn’t she come to him and asked for his advice on something so important? Alex ignored the twinge of hurt and made himself pay attention to what Phoebe was about to say.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she began, smiling broadly and waiting until every drop of focus was on her. ‘Rockets…Catherine wheels…Sparklers…And now handbags.’ She paused. ‘I think you’ll all agree that our grand pyrotechnical finale was much more original than a firework display. A little earlier than planned, perhaps, but no less spectacular.’

Alex’s jaw tightened. Hah. She was doomed. As if anyone was going to believe a story as ridiculous as that. With one ear on the rest of her speech, which continued in the same dubious vein, he surveyed the room with a sceptical eye. She’d never pull this off.

He was just beginning to congratulate himself on having saved Jo from a terrible career move, when to his utter amazement people began to smile and nod and whisper to each other. Surely people couldn’t actually be buying her absurd explanation?

‘And as that rounds off the evening’s events,’ Phoebe said finally, ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming, and hope you enjoy the upcoming launch of the debut collection of the fabulous Jo Douglas.’

Jo stepped up to her side and gave a little curtsey. Phoebe started clapping and as everyone else joined in the sound grew into a thunderous applause. The pair of them stepped off the dais, basking in glory, and Alex watched through narrowed eyes as a woman in purple cornered Phoebe and a crowd of people flocked around Jo.

OK, so that was a clever wiggle, he grudgingly admitted, still slightly stunned by the fact that everyone had apparently bought into her explanation. Her timing was impeccable, her imagination was extraordinary and she’d had her audience eating out of her hand.

Maybe Phoebe wasn’t as incapable as he’d originally thought, but that was tough. To his mind she was an enigma and that made her a liability. And what did Jo really know about her anyway? He’d bet everything he had that she hadn’t delved that far into her background and her experience, and had made little effort to see whether she was trustworthy. So it was lucky he’d shown up when he did.

Gradually the guests drifted off and Jo bounded over to him, grinning like a lunatic. ‘You see,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I told you Phoebe’d fix it. Isn’t she amazing?’

Alex grimaced. Amazing wasn’t quite the word he’d use to describe her. Beautiful. That was a good one. Sexy as hell. With a mouth that had been made for kissing and a body that seemed to have been created specially to fit to his.

The kiss they’d shared beneath the pergola slammed into his head and a savage kick of lust thumped him in the gut.

Damn. Burying his attraction to her was going to take far more effort than he’d thought. Still, once he’d got rid of her, desire would fade and in future he’d steer well clear of women who obliterated his self-control and drove him mindless with just a kiss.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to hire someone to do your PR?’ he said mildly, his voice betraying nothing of the battle raging inside him.

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t have approved.’

‘You’re right. I don’t. I want you to use my PR people.’

Jo sighed. ‘You see. This is why I didn’t want you here. I knew you were going to do this. Alex, I don’t want to use your people.’

‘Why not? My team are tried and tested. Reliable.’ At least as reliable as anyone other than himself could be.

Jo’s expression turn mutinous and Alex wondered where this backbone of steel had sprung from. ‘Your team might be excellent at dealing with finance and inventions and things, but they wouldn’t know one end of a handbag from the other.’ Alex felt his jaw tighten. That might be true, but they could learn. ‘Phoebe handled the account of a graduate from my college a few years ago when she was working at one of the big PR agencies. Maria now works in Paris for one of the top fashion houses. Phoebe has incredible contacts and, well, you can see for yourself what she’s achieved this evening.’

Alex let out a short burst of incredulous laughter. As far as he could tell, all she’d achieved was a series of disasters.

Jo shifted her weight from one foot to the other, but didn’t look as if she intended to back down. ‘OK, so I admit that my handbags on fire wasn’t exactly in the plans, but would your PR team have come up with such a spectacular excuse?’

Probably not, but that wasn’t the point. ‘My PR team would never have let it happen in the first place.’

‘Phoebe didn’t “let” it happen. It was an accident. Not even you can turn it into her fault.’

Hmm. Pity. The implication of her words sank in and Alex winced. He wasn’t that unreasonable. If he did come over as heavy-handed occasionally it was only for Jo’s benefit. But his sister clearly didn’t see it like that. In her eyes Phoebe could do little wrong. Knowing which battles to fight if he wanted to win, Alex decided to switch tactics. ‘How well do you know her?’

‘Pretty well. I’ve been working with her for two months.’

Two months was nothing. He’d known Rob for ten years and it hadn’t stopped his best friend betraying him. ‘And how do you know she won’t drop you the moment someone with better prospects comes along?’

Jo sighed. ‘At the moment I’m her only client. She needs me as much as I need her so I think that makes her pretty trustworthy, don’t you?’ She pushed a lock of hair off her face and fixed him with a stare. ‘Look, Alex. I know I’ve been a nightmare and have given you untold cause for worry. And you’ll never know how grateful I am for all the help and support you’ve given me but I really need to start taking responsibility for my own life. Mistakes and all. You can’t keep protecting me for ever.’

Couldn’t he? He’d been doing exactly that ever since her parents died and he didn’t intend to stop now. Especially after the hideous events of five years ago when he’d screwed up so spectacularly. A familiar wave of guilt washed over him and his chest tightened. He didn’t intend to screw up again.

‘Alex, I really want this. Phoebe and I work well together. She understands what I need. Please don’t mess this up for me.’

The quiet pleading in her voice cut right through him and Alex felt his resolve waver. He ran his gaze over her and looked at her properly for the first time this evening. She’d changed in the two months since he’d last seen her. She seemed more confident, more determined, healthier. More like the girl she’d been before she’d met Rob.

Alex sighed and felt his control over her well-being begin to slip away. As harrowing as the prospect of letting Jo find her own way in the world was, maybe she was right. She was twenty-two. He couldn’t protect her for ever. Maybe it was time he loosened the reins. A little. But if either of them thought he’d just sit back and hope for the best, they could think again.




Chapter Four


BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK the following morning Phoebe had spent three hours at her desk, poring over the press, answering calls from potential clients and trying not to wonder where Alex had disappeared to the night before.

Maybe he’d had a date. Maybe he’d succumbed to jet lag and had crashed out in a flowerbed. Maybe he’d been appalled by the haphazard way the party had panned out and left in disgust.





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