“Pack For The Weekend.”

Finally dismissed, she nodded before turning on her heel and walking out the door. A weekend with Zac Prescott. She swallowed the swell of unbidden excitement with a forceful gulp.

She didn’t want to want Zac…. Damn, she refused to want a man who blithely made decisions about her life without even asking her. A man who didn’t want her the way she wanted him to want her.

And yet, he’d kissed her. Flirted, even. Didn’t that tell her something?

She tossed the notebook on her desk. Zac had crossed the line, invading her private life—a shameful, personal part of it—without invitation. Embarrassment and anger churned around in her stomach, replacing the fleeting desire. Relying only on herself had become a way of life. She didn’t need saving.

Not even if her personal white knight was Zac Prescott.

Dear Reader,

Many lifetimes ago, I worked in a corporate office: thirteen years as a P.A., then eventually, office manager. And unfortunately, men like my hero, Zac Prescott, were nonexistent. Which is maybe a good thing—can you imagine trying to get any work done with a gorgeous alpha male in the next room? Of course, that’s my heroine’s downfall. Emily is so focused on her career that she’s forgotten how to enjoy life. And with Zac, there’s definitely enjoyment to be had!

Yes, the black sheep of the Prescott family finally has his story! And this book also marks my first set in the beautiful Gold Coast in Queensland—one of my favorite places in the world. For Aussies, a Surfers holiday is a rite of passage—lazing on the pristine beaches, shopping, surfing, clubbing and generally soaking up the glorious laid-back atmosphere. I love it! (Can you tell?) And as you delve into Zac and Emily’s romance, I hope their little corner of my world comes alive for you, too.

With love,

Paula

PAULA ROE

PROMOTED TO WIFE?

As always, I’m grateful for the many people who helped this book on its way: Leading Senior Constable Tim and his lovely wife, Christine, whose vast knowledge of juvenile offenders and the associated law added realism to my heroine’s past; Margie, who shared her knowledge of AVOs; Kitty, for her awesome structural edit and helpful suggestions; the fab ladies on the ROMAUS and 50k30d loops for their nuggets of Gold Coast info whenever my memory failed; Haylee, my M&B Sydney wonder chick who graciously let me use her name—I know you’re not *really* like that, k? ;-)

And to Eddie Cahill for being so darn yummy.

Books by Paula Roe

Silhouette Desire

Forgotten Marriage #1824

Boardrooms & a Billionaire Heir #1867

The Magnate’s Baby Promise #1962

The Billionaire Baby Bombshell #2020

Promoted to Wife? #2076

PAULA ROE

Despite wanting to be a vet, choreographer, card shark, hairdresser and an interior designer (although not simultaneously!), British-born, Aussie-bred Paula ended up as a personal assistant, office manager, software trainer and aerobics instructor for thirteen interesting years.

Paula lives in western New South Wales, Australia, with her family, two opinionated cats and a garden full of dependent native birds. She still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and traveling, even though the latter doesn’t happen nearly as often as she’d like. She loves to hear from her readers—you can visit her at her website at www.paularoe.com.

Dear Reader,

Yes, it’s true. We’re changing our name! After more than twenty-five years of being part of Harlequin Enterprises, Silhouette Books will officially seal the merger by taking the company’s name.

So if you notice a few changes on the covers starting April 2011—Silhouette Special Edition becoming Harlequin Special Edition, Silhouette Desire becoming Harlequin Desire, and Silhouette Romantic Suspense becoming Harlequin Romantic Suspense—don’t be concerned.

We’ll continue to have the same fantastic authors, wonderful stories, eye-catching covers and emotional, compelling reads. We’re just going to be moving under the overall company name, which will make us even easier for you to see in the stores, on the internet and wherever you usually find us!

So look for the new logo, but remember, beneath the image will be the same promise of romantic stories of love, passion, adventure, family and a whole lot more. Just the way you like them!

Sincerely,

The Editors at Harlequin Books

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

One

“You did what?”

Emily Reynolds yanked the phone from her ear and winced before readjusting it back under her chin. “I kissed my boss.”

“Wait. Back up,” her older sister AJ demanded on the other end. “You kissed Zac Prescott.”

“Yep.”

“The guy God built just to make a woman whimper with joy.”

“The same.”

“And you, my little sister who hates surprises and runs the man’s company with clockwork efficiency?”

“No need to rub it in—I know I’m the dumbest female on the planet.” Holed up in her apartment on her comfy two-seater, dressed in her bathrobe and with ankles crossed on the coffee table, it was easy to believe that last week had been just a figment of Emily’s overactive imagination. But the telltale warmth on her skin gave her true thoughts away every time.

“Emmy, you are the luckiest female on the planet! Was it good?”

“Have you not been listening? He’s my boss. I finally had a strong, respectful work relationship going and then I go and do something stupid. Talk about déjà vu.”

“What do you mean ‘had’?” Emily heard a loud bang down the line: AJ had slammed a door closed. “Details.”

Emily groaned, tugging off the towel turban that held her freshly washed hair. “I’ve been on leave for the past week. On Thursday night he called me from the office, blind drunk. I drove him home, got him in the front door, we stumbled…and it sort of happened.”

“Ah, the old ‘stumble and kiss’ routine.”

Emily scowled at her distorted reflection in the dark TV screen. Zac being drunk didn’t excuse her behavior: that she’d been secretly lusting after a completely-off-limits guy this past year only compounded her stupidity.

“It’s not funny. I panicked, shut myself in at home and spent the weekend thinking.”

“That’s dangerous. And…?”

“And then I quit. This morning. By e-mail.”

“Oh, Em! The drunken kiss aside, why?”

“You know why.” She ran a hand through her still-damp hair, twisting the ends around her fingers. “I can’t go through another misconduct accusation again.”

“But Zac isn’t like that—that other jerk lied!”

Emily sighed, self-anger congealing into a lumpy mess that sat heavily in her belly. She’d thought talent and dedication got you ahead in the corporate world, not how blond your hair was or how short your skirts were. She’d always dressed professionally, always worked hard for her temping jobs, believing that one day an employer would recognize and reward her business skills.

And four years ago they had, but not in the way she’d assumed. The permanent position at one of Perth’s top accountancy firms had come with strings, as she’d found out at the office Christmas party six months later. The first time she’d put on a miniskirt and a nice top, a managing director had groped her on the balcony.

Emily shuddered. She’d been twenty-two, humiliated and alone in the world. No family, no home, nothing—until some uncle she’d never known had died and left his Gold Coast apartment to her. So she’d moved clear across the country to Queensland and started over with barely healed wounds and a brand-new hard-ass attitude. She’d scraped back her hair, donned her glasses and shoved herself into monochrome business suits and sensible shoes in order to play the part of a serious professional. And it had paid off when she’d landed the job as Zac Prescott’s personal assistant two years ago.

“Maybe it isn’t as bad as you think,” AJ was saying now.

“No, it’s worse.” Emily sighed. “I’ve had it with men.”

AJ spluttered on whatever she’d been drinking. “So after a bunch of idiot boyfriends, a false misconduct threat and a loser ex-husband, you’re gay now?”

“No.” Emily stifled a laugh. “I meant I’ve had it with getting emotionally sucked into their games, their baggage, their whole mess-with-your-head thing.”

“Ah! You’re finally coming over to the Dark Side?”

Emily did laugh then. “At least the Dark Side has sex without commitment.”

“But that’s me. You’re Angel to my Spike. You’re the hyper-organized good girl with the strong moral compass, the one looking for Mr. Right.”

“Yeah, and look where that’s gotten me.” Emily tilted her ear to the narrow hallway. “Someone’s at the door.”

“Damn. I told that stripper-gram after seven.”

“Ha, ha. Look, I’ll see you tonight. Eight-thirty at Jupiters, right?”

“Yep. And I expect to hear more details then. Happy twenty-sixth birthday, Em.”

Some birthday. Emily clicked off the phone, then scowled as the thumping on her screen door became ever more impatient. “All right, I’m coming!”

Probably her grumpy old postie complaining about her missing letterbox again.

She grabbed an elastic from the bookcase as she passed, pulled her hair back, then secured it low on her neck. It wasn’t just men who were the problem—she was. After two years of organizing the minutiae of Zac Prescott’s life, after working twelve-hour days and scrimping each dollar, she finally had enough to start her own business. Her week off was supposed to pave the way for her resignation, to ease Zac into it. Instead she’d ended up as his personal on-call service.

Pound, pound, pound.

“Dammit, George.” She grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. “Can you stop with the—Oh.”

“What the hell is this?” Zac Prescott stood on her stoop, all angry male, a piece of paper crumpled in his clenched fist.

She took a cautious step back. Zac wasn’t a yeller. The one and only time she’d seen him lose it was during a call from his father, close to a year ago.

“It’s my resignation,” she replied calmly.

Zac’s olive-green eyes narrowed. “Why?”

What was the collective noun for a group of butterflies? A swarm? Whatever it was, they were doing a number on her insides. Zac Prescott was dressed in sharply creased dark gray pants, a pristine white long-sleeved shirt and a silk tie with blue-green swirls that she’d given him last Christmas. He cut an impressive figure, but it was the face that got her: a beautiful, rugged package that was the result of a dark, brooding father and a blond-haired, green-eyed Swedish mother. The elegant, almost artistic compilation of all-male angles and tanned clean-shaven skin tightened her insides and sent hot sexual awareness pounding through her veins.

She blinked, forcing the delicious ache aside. “Because I quit.”

“You can’t quit.” He surged forward, and Emily had no choice but to give way. His broad body invaded her space, his larger-than-life presence sucking away the very air in her small one-bedroom apartment. It was overwhelming—he was overwhelming.

She took a measured breath, and his distinctive, fresh-yet-sinful scent teased her nostrils, filling her senses, making her head spin with delicious memories. She bit off the hitch in her throat and gently closed the door.

He’d paused in the middle of her lounge room, a clear contrast to her humble collection of neatly arranged possessions. She crossed her arms as Zac’s gaze raked over her, taking in her makeup-free, damp-haired presence.

You’re practically naked. Heat pooled as she drew the ties of her threadbare robe more securely around her waist. That intense focus was narrowed right in on her. He had a way of staring as if he was picking through all her secrets yet revealing none of his. A complete contrast to Thursday night, when he’d been unguarded, almost vulnerable. It had dragged her in quicker than Southport’s killer rip tide.

“You can’t quit,” he stated again, that dark frown still creasing his perfect face.

She blinked. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, your temp—Amber?—sucks.”

“It’s Ebony. She came from Marketing as a favor to me.”

“She’s stuffed up the filing system.”

“I see.” With a keen eye, she watched him massage his neck. Two years of close personal contact had taught her a headache was brewing in that brilliant head of his. For one second she felt sorry for him.

“And she puts sugar in my coffee.”

Oh, boy. I’ve spoiled him. “And let me guess…she doesn’t remind you to eat?”

Zac scowled, still rubbing his neck. “And her God-awful perfume gives me a headache. It isn’t funny. Everything’s gone to hell this past week. I need you back.”

Oh, Lordy. Her bones melted like ice cream in summer, her body held up only by sheer will. She wanted to groan aloud but instead took an unsteady gulp. “You need me?” she repeated faintly.

His nod was brief and spare. “For some insane reason, Victor Prescott is about to name me as his successor.”

“Your father? What…to VP Tech?”

“Yep.”

Whoa. Stunned, Emily felt her jaw sag. Zac never talked about his past, including his family: it was as if he’d emerged onto the Gold Coast’s construction scene fully assembled and commanding a million-plus annual turnover. Sure, she knew his father was the iron-fisted CEO of a billion-dollar software company, but that was about it. Zac didn’t pay her to gossip with his employees.

“That’s why you were…” She paused delicately but he brushed away her hesitation with an imperious wave of his hand.

“Drunk in my office, yes. Not a good impression for the cleaning staff.”

Her boss never drank at work. And that was why he’d called her, his loyal assistant, to get him home. Great.

“Zac,” she sighed. “I spent two years being the best damn assistant you ever had. I organized your work and personal life without comment, without complaint. I soothed clients, I arranged last-minute meetings, business trips and dates. I worked overtime and weekends more times than I can count—”

“I didn’t realize you hated your job so much,” he interjected stiffly.

“I don’t! I didn’t. It’s…it’s just time for a change.”

“And helping me sort out this mess with VP Tech isn’t enough of a change?”

“No…yes. I just—I’m leaving, okay?”

Silence fell for a moment, thick and palpable, until Zac said slowly, “So tell me who’s lured away my assistant—the best damn one I’ve ever had—” his mouth tweaked “—when I need her the most?”

There was that word again. Need.

Crazy fantasies suddenly flooded her brain, ones that involved more than a stolen kiss. Like being touched all over by those incredibly masculine, long-fingered hands…

She blinked and smoothed back a nonexistent lock of hair, waiting for him to mention That Night. But as time ticked by, all he did was glare at her. That’s when it finally hit.

He didn’t remember.

Emily felt the flush start low, then gradually spread up her neck. It finally settled on her cheeks, twin burning indications of her foolishness. While her mind had played out that kiss over and over all weekend like a CD on repeat, apparently Zac hadn’t lost a second’s thought about it.

Well, what do you expect when this VP Tech thing’s just dropped in his lap?

“Are you going to say something?” he said now, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “I can train someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” He shifted his weight, one hand going to the base of his neck again. Emily watched in fascination as he absently massaged, his triceps in mouthwatering relief against the straining shirt. “Of course I’ll give you a pay rise.”

“But I don’t understand why you’d get… I mean—” She stopped.

“Why do I suddenly get handed a software company? Or what happened to my stepbrother, who’s been the undisputed heir apparent?” His gaze turned wily as it swept her flushed face. “Have I piqued your curiosity?”

“No,” she lied.

He gave her one of those casual grins, one that never failed to flip her stomach. “You sure? It’s a mess. We’ll have to arrange meetings, reschedule my appointments. You know you’re itching to sort it out.”

“I’m the last person motivated by morbid curiosity and office gossip.”

“No,” he said, his eyes running over her again in unhurried deliberation. “That’s true. So think of it as a promotion—I’m prepared to double whatever offer you’ve got lined up.”

“Money isn’t the point.” She turned on her heel and walked over to her couch, desperately needing space to clear her head. “Zac, you’re a workaholic,” she said, picking up her discarded towel, then flicking a glance over her shoulder. His expression had turned cautious. “And that’s not a bad thing, it’s just…you expect me to be one, too. I want to be in control of my destiny—be my own boss and make my own decisions.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m going to university to get my small-business degree. I’m starting my own company.”

“Doing what?”

“Personal organization. You know, time management, life coaching, getting clients on track with—” At his ambiguous silence, she scowled. “You know, just forget it. I’ve already signed and paid for the first semester. In lieu of two weeks I won’t take my last paycheck.”

In all her years working with Zac Prescott, she’d been the consummate professional, beyond gossip, beyond reproach. She’d never returned his light banter or gotten beyond the standard noncommittal answer to his “how was your weekend?” inquiries. Like the rest of his thirty-strong office staff, she suspected he saw her as a solitary career woman of average height and weight, someone who’d blend into a crowd, someone definitely not eligible for the “I’ve dated Zac Prescott” club. Which made Thursday’s kiss all the more humiliating, because apparently it was forgettable. Just like her.

Even though she’d made her bed, lying in it was distinctly uncomfortable.

He frowned as she stood there, the towel damp and heavy in her hand. She’d never deliberately defied him…until now. It was fascinating the way his jaw clenched beneath that warm, smoothly shaven skin. And you know exactly how warm it is. And how smooth. And how it smells—like stealing forbidden kisses in an orange grove, exciting, fresh, exhilarating…

Mortified, she quickly busied herself with collecting last night’s take-out containers from the coffee table as her treacherous heart began to speed up.

He followed her into the kitchen.

“Listen. If you’re hell-bent on going, I can’t stop you. But it’s only October. You’ve got nearly five months before the term starts, so why not work for me until then? Help me sort out this stupid stunt of my father’s.”

“I don’t—” She abruptly turned from the sink, but he was there, a huge wall of wonderful-smelling, rock-hard muscle. She just managed to stop herself from smashing headfirst into that broad chest. Before her body could start its annoying little joyful hum, she took another step back. The movement was not lost on him, judging by the way his brow creased.

“Are you annoyed because I dragged you from your vacation on Thursday night?”

In incredulous silence she stared at him, eyes wide, until irritation began to bubble up inside. “You think my change of career direction—one I’d been planning for many months now—was precipitated by your demand that I drive you home? Without thanks, I might add?”

“Guess not,” he muttered. Then, stiffly, “Thank you. For driving me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

His gaze fixed on hers, holding it for seconds longer than necessary before he glanced away and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. If she’d expected something, anything to indicate their prior carnal knowledge, then she was disappointed. Firm lines bracketed his mouth, and she watched irritation surge across his expression before he tamped a lid on it.

I was right—he doesn’t remember.

“I don’t normally drink in the office,” he said suddenly.

“I know.”

“Yeah.” He returned to his scrutiny, making her insides squirm. “You do.”

The warm morning sunlight coming through her tiny kitchen window seemed to thicken then, wrapping around her body and creating an uncomfortable ache low in her belly. As she glanced at his mouth, the night came flooding back in all its illicit glory. She’d spied the half bottle of tequila on his desk, seen the belligerent gleam in his eyes, even in the darkened light of his office.

“I need to get dressed,” she blurted out now. Automatically his eyes flicked over her state of non-dress, which only made her breath catch. “And you need to go.”

“Are you going to think about my offer?”

“Will you go if I promise to think about it?”

“Only if you’ll actually think about it,” he said. “We both win here. I get you for another five months and you get a massive incentive. Win-win.”

“I promise I’ll think about it.”

As she followed him down her hall, watched as he opened the door, then crossed the threshold, she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—go back to work for Zac. Not after that kiss. She didn’t need more chaos, not when she’d spent her whole childhood fighting for order.

He paused on the peeling deck before turning back to her with a thoughtful expression. “How did my car get from the office to my house?”

Her mouth involuntarily twitched. “That’s one mighty nice vehicle.”

“I let you drive my Porsche?”

“Sure.” She couldn’t completely hide the smug smile. “You were quite drunk.”

He rubbed his chin with a dark scowl. “And you got me into the house without help.”

“Yep.” Her arm had been around his waist, his delicious warmth distracting her as she’d steered him through his front door. And then…

Anyone could’ve made the mistake. He’d stumbled, she’d only just managed to retain her balance, they’d turned at the same time. And their lips had met. And met. And kept on meeting, until Emily had managed to wrench free and escape.

A stupid lapse in judgment that had paradoxically brought clarity to her life plans.

With a sigh, she tightened the belt on her robe. “Goodbye, Zac. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

Like never kiss your boss, then believe everything will be normal. Been there, done that, been trying to burn it from my mind ever since.

Zac barely heard the soft click of the door behind him, too caught up in his frustration to notice. Past the wooden railing, down the rolling grassy slope of the apartment block perched high on Currumbin’s Duringan Street, the long waveless estuary locals called The Alley glittered in the early morning sun, a tempting sight for those inclined to call in sick and spend the day lazing on its sandy banks.

Not Emily. She was an employer’s dream: always prompt, superefficient and highly intelligent. She knew what he needed before he needed it. She knew how he had his coffee, she reminded him to eat, she always came in under deadline.

And she was an amazing kisser.

The stairs creaked beneath his feet, an aural protest to echo his own irritation. He wasn’t confident Emily would return, which meant he had to think up a Plan B.

Emily blinked a lot when she was uncomfortable. It was like a nervous tic, those thick, impossibly long lashes fluttering away over navy-blue eyes obscured by glasses. He’d noticed it the first time he’d casually asked about her weekend. Intrigued and amused, he’d been compelled to test his theory. The confirmation had come when they’d finally negotiated a major contract and he’d struck up some friendly banter to relieve the tension.

She’d also blinked like that after he’d kissed her.

He paused on the path, the cheerful mid-spring warmth doing nothing to ease the headache sluggishly throbbing away. Damn, how many prompts did he need to give a woman? But she’d steadfastly refused to acknowledge that kiss.

A kiss that had rocked his world in more ways than one.

It had, just for one moment, taken his mind off this entire VP Tech fiasco and all the lingering anger it dredged up. Just one moment, and yet long enough for a powerful need to arrest his brain, rush into his groin and conjure up all sorts of delicious, slick images of Emily in his bed.

She wasn’t only the best damn assistant he’d ever had: she’d somehow managed to pique his interest to the point that focusing on work had become a major effort these last few months.

And for the first time in months, he wanted. Wanted with an unrelenting intensity.

He scanned the watery view, automatically picking out a handful of his company’s early designs on the opposite bank, lingering on the smooth clean lines of those multimillion dollar homes with a deep flush of pride. Once-average homes that he’d single-handedly redesigned, rebuilt and flipped for a profit. And even now, with full-time staff and a corporate development department, he still designed. Yes, he could now afford to pick and choose his clientele, but those original projects were still a humble reminder of how far he’d come.

His days were perfectly streamlined. He enjoyed his work, the women he dated and his life in general. He had peace—unlike the years that had come before, years of constant emotional upheaval, of stress and migraines, sleepless nights and endless, conflict-filled days.

He’d worked like a demon for his new life. If his father had taught him one thing, it was that nothing worth having ever came easy.

Especially when it came to pursuing a woman.

He’d persuade Emily to return and then take the time to find out if his fuzzy memories were correct, that she’d been an eager and willing participant in that kiss.

He glanced back up to her apartment door, to the closed blinds across her living room window.

Waddyaknow. The same day his life had taken a crazy turn, he’d finally gotten an answer to months of idle speculation about what lay under Emily’s severe business suits. She’d fronted up at his office without her trademark glasses, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and ratty Ugg boots, a worn denim skirt cupping a perfectly delicious curvy butt.

His assistant hid a smoking body. Why?

If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the imprint from those luscious breasts as she’d walked him into his house. Oh, yeah. She’d been into that kiss even if it hadn’t lasted for more than three nanoseconds.

Deep in the fantasy, the stranger was almost upon him before he clicked.

The man was built like a brick outhouse: a bouncer’s massive body crammed into a sleek suit, all restrained menace beneath the sheen of barely there respectability. It wasn’t just the man’s overwhelming physical presence that set off warning bells as he passed Zac on the narrow garden path, giving him a bare nod. It was the focused, almost mean aura in that smooth coffee-colored face, the way those shrewd eyes skimmed over Zac before returning to his purpose.

Zac had seen that look before. Hell, he’d faced it down too many times in his line of work. Unfortunately, the construction industry brought with it a certain type of thug who thought they could bribe and terrorize their competitors.

Zac slowly turned, watching the man take the stairs, then continue on.

Emily’s apartment was the only one at the end of level two.

Swiftly, Zac backtracked, the wooden balcony above providing cover just as he heard Emily’s door open.

He glanced up through the wooden slats. She’d left the security screen locked. Smart girl.

“You Mrs. Catalano?” the big dude said.

“It’s actually Miss Reynolds.”

Zac frowned. Since when the hell had she been married? But then, there were a thousand things he didn’t know about her, though not from his lack of gentle probing.

“But Jimmy Catalano’s wife, right? Daughter of Charlene and Pete, younger sister to Angelina?”

There was a pause where Zac thought he’d heard Emily drag in a shocked breath. “What’s this about?”

“Jimmy owes my boss money.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Let’s just call him…Joe.”

When Emily finally replied, it was with the same tenor and firmness she used when dealing with his most demanding clients. “I’m sorry, but Jimmy died seven months ago.”

Zac swallowed his surprise. His assistant was hiding more than killer curves behind that superefficient persona.

“I heard,” Big Dude was saying. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” His tone implied anything but. “Joe is a compassionate businessman. He gave you longer than most to come to terms with your grief. Now he wants his money.”

“What money?”

Zac angled for a better view and caught the movement of Emily’s door closing. The Big Dude’s slap on the screen rang out, startling her and jerking Zac to attention. A surge of fury propelled him forward, but at the last minute, caution prevailed. In tense silence, he waited.

“You were Jimmy’s guarantor, which means his debt is now yours,” the man continued roughly, losing patience.

“I didn’t sign anything.”

There was a rustle of papers. “That’s your signature, right?”

“It looks like mine. But I didn’t—”

Big Dude sighed, as if her denial disappointed him. “You got fourteen days to pay.”

Emily paused, then said firmly, “Then I’ll see you in court.”

The man’s sudden laughter, deep and menacing, sent a chill rippling through Zac’s skin. “A wife of a guy like Jimmy knows the drill—no cops, no solicitors. My boss doesn’t waste money dealing with the courts. Geddit?” He let that ambiguous threat settle before there was a rustle of cheap material. “Here’s my card.” A snick of paper and a groan of mesh: he’d shoved his card in her screen door. “Let me know when you have the money.” He paused, his voice suddenly softer, more ominous. “Your sister is a nice-lookin’ girl. She’s what…thirty or so? And just got a brand-new car, too—”

“You stay away from my family.”

The panic threaded beneath Emily’s granite words stabbed straight into Zac’s heart. His hands tightened into fists.

“Hey, I was just making an observation.” The man’s hands went up in mock defense. “You know, you could always pay off the debt in other ways…”

The vicious slam of Emily’s front door, followed by the click of the lock, was the final straw. As the man’s chuckle floated down the stairs, white-hot fury seethed up, choking off Zac’s breath, taking with it common sense and self-preservation.

He straightened, pulling his shoulders back, then gently rolling his neck to work out the kinks. Then he stepped into the path and barred the way.

The man strolled down the stairs, a smug smile still on his face. When he spotted Zac, his expression flashed into menacing caution.

“Hey, mate,” Zac said casually, forcing his fists to slowly unclench. “You got a minute?”

Two

Residual annoyance punctuated Emily’s stride as she stalked into the foyer of the office building on Thursday morning. On Monday night, after a few drinks and a deep discussion that became way too serious for a birthday celebration, AJ had confirmed Emily’s doomed realization.

She had to go back to work. The cops could do nothing about a vague verbal threat without proof, and a complaint would no doubt piss off this “Joe,” which was something she so didn’t want to do. His intimidating thug had done more than rattle her: he had forced memories of her former life to the surface where they’d sat, alternately irritating then panicking her until the early hours of the morning.

You could always pay off the debt in other ways.

The thug’s rough suggestion still made her skin crawl. Jimmy had voiced that disgusting thought once, and only once, which had been her impetus to walk out. She’d rather pay up and defer her course than settle her ex-husband’s debts on her back.

If you weren’t dead, Jimmy, I could just kill you.

The security guard held up a hand, scrutinized the ID card around her neck, then waved her on through.

Her face burned as she reached the elevators. How many times had she walked through that reception area and been stopped by the same guard as if he’d never seen her before in his life? For the other pretty things in the building he smiled, nodded and barely glanced at their identification. For her, she was no one worth remembering.

The elevators pinged open and she got inside, cramming in with the other workers.

Every instinct rebelled against handing over her hard-earned cash, but being married to a professional deadbeat had revealed a dark underside to Jimmy’s seemingly carefree life. Through all the lying and the cheating, she’d never forgotten one important fact—debt collectors were deadly serious about their money.

Money was replaceable. Her and AJ’s well-being were not.

So last night, through alternating tears of frustration and anger, she’d worked out her course refund, then rung The Thug—aka Louie Mayer—to negotiate an extension on the due date. After he’d laughed himself into a coughing fit, he’d finally got out, “Sure. I’m a sucker for a chick with a great pair of tits. I’ll talk to Joe. Call me on Monday, blondie.”

Humiliation burned as she finally got off on the twentieth floor. Her credit rating was shot thanks to Jimmy, which left selling her apartment—out of the question—or stealing or gambling. Irony, thy name is Jimmy Catalano.

Muttering under her breath, she swooshed open the pristine glass doors that proclaimed Valhalla Property Development in elegant gold script.

She went through the motions of stashing her bag, then turning on the computer before tackling the mess the temp had left on her desk.

“Ah, great. You’re here.”

She whipped around, her eyes landing on Zac framed in his doorway. Seeing him there, dressed in his signature business shirt, pants and precisely knotted tie, something strange happened.

Her mind emptied. As her heart upped tempo, breath catching, her skin began to tingle. The sensation was not unlike an intimate breath swooping over her flesh, goose-bumping her entire body into a sensitive bundle of nerves.

She offered a thousand colorful reprimands to her self-control, even as she felt her nipples stiffen beneath her blue silk shirt.

“Everything okay?”

If you could call wanting to see your boss naked okay. “Just peachy.” She forced out a tight smile.

“Then let’s get started,” he said, clearly oblivious to her state. “Come on in.”

Emily swallowed and picked up her notepad.

After she sat and Zac relaxed into his plush leather chair with graceful ease, his green gaze swept over her from head to toe. Nothing new—Zac always studied people with a silent intensity that flustered or flattered, depending on the recipient. It hadn’t bothered her before. But now…

She felt the sudden overwhelming urge to squirm, to fiddle with her hair, straighten her collar and do a thousand other self-conscious girly things she’d thought she was immune to.

She followed his eyes as they lingered seconds longer on her hair, her mouth. Blood zinged through her veins, sending twin shots of panic and excitement to every dormant inch of her body.

She was reacting like any red-blooded female under the gaze of a charismatic, attractive man. And that scared the hell out of her.

“You wear contact lenses.”

The question threw her and she answered unthinkingly. “Yes.”

“But not to work.”

She flicked the edges of her notepad under her thumb, over and over. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I like glasses.” She paused, then deflected calmly. “So what do you need me to do regarding VP Tech?”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression almost teasing. “You know, you look much better without them.”

“Thank you. I assume you’ll want to issue a press release about your new acquisition—”

“Did you get your blue eyes from your father?”

“My mother.” She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, floundering at his intense interest. Zac had a virtual buffet of women to choose from thanks to his gorgeous looks, masculine command and charm. Charm that she’d come to realize was completely unaffected, as effortless as creating his award-winning designs. He was a man who appreciated and loved women, a natural flirt. So why the hell was he flirting with her and why…?

Oh, no. She quickly turned the page of her notebook, desperate to focus somewhere else. The kiss. What else could it be?

Hot mortification flooded her cheeks and she crossed her legs, demurely straightening the long black skirt over her knee. But when she shot him a glance from under the lowered lashes, his eyes remained locked on her warm face. His mouth curved into a small, teasing grin, and for one second she felt a desperate desire to kiss that mouth.

She cleared her throat. “Back to VP Tech…”

Zac leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, hands clasped. “I’m not taking my father’s company.”

“Sorry?” She blinked. “I thought you said—”

“I have Valhalla. This is obviously a stunt, not a genuine offer. We haven’t really spoken in years, and I know nothing about the software industry.”

“Oh. So why…?”

“I don’t know. But Victor got my attention by threatening a press release unless I discussed it face-to-face.” The muscle in his jaw clenched, a rare burst of anger quickly reined in. “We’ll leave for Sydney early tomorrow, meet with my father and brother, then concentrate on the Point One project. We’ll fly home Sunday morning.”

Emily nodded as she noted down the times, but inside a hard lump of apprehension began to form. Zac and close quarters did not mix, not when she had a dozen other worries on her plate. She needed her inner strength, and fighting with this overwhelming urge to get intimate with her boss took too much of it.

She rose to her feet, determined to focus on her job. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Thanks.”

When Zac’s attention returned to the papers on his desk, an odd feeling of disappointment swept her. What did she expect, the man to throw himself at her feet with slavish thanks? A simple “it’s good to have you back” wouldn’t go amiss…

“Oh, before you go…”

She turned, flushed with faint hope.

“Those debts your ex-husband owed? You don’t need to worry about it. I paid them off.”

She stilled.

Zac’s brows shot up in quizzical expectance, but she could barely choke out the words.

“You did what?”

“I paid off the debts. So you can—”

“You didn’t. Please tell me this is a joke.”

He frowned, clearly not anticipating this reaction. “I don’t joke when it comes to money. I paid it in full Monday night.”

Her insides crashed to the bottom of her sensibly shoed feet. “What the hell were you thinking? I’ve already—” She turned away, tunneling a hand through her hair, destroying the neat coiffure in the process. “I got scammed. Again.”

“What are you talking about?”

She whirled back, hot anger pulsing low in her throat, choking her breath. Jimmy’s betrayal, the thug’s visit and now Zac’s revelation welled up, pounding against her walls of restraint. She could practically feel her self-control slipping from the tight knots she’d bound them in.

“I’ve already deferred my course,” she said tightly. “I’m picking up the refund check this afternoon… I even got an extension on the due date…” And Mayer had known and was going to take my money anyway. Her head felt like it was going to explode. Not since she’d been ten years old had she felt so insignificant, so powerless. First her deadbeat parents, then Jimmy, now Zac—

Zac studied his conservatively dressed assistant with mounting confusion. He could see the tension winding her up, from the pulled-back shoulders, down the painfully rigid spine, to the white-knuckled grip on her notepad.

She finally spoke in a cool, clipped voice he knew all too well. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“It was nothing—”

“Don’t.” Her eyes slashed at him behind those protective rims. “Don’t you dare tell me it was nothing. I know how much Jimmy owed.” She took a breath then said, “So. That means you have me, guaranteed, until I can pay you back.”

Zac frowned. “That’s not why I did it.”

Her look was riddled with skepticism. “I see. So why did you do it?”

“Because you were in trouble. Because I could.”

“And it works out great for you, right?”

Zac stared at her. “You’re out of line, Emily.”

“And so are you,” she shot back before clamping her mouth shut, but not before he caught a glimpse of her barely hidden disgust.

Disgust. At him. Irritated now, he scowled.

Pride. That was the last thing on his mind when he’d stopped Louie Mayer on Monday morning. Admittedly, he had intended to deck the guy—hell, he still wanted to. But instead he’d slapped down a bundle of notes for Gold Coast’s number-one bookie in some noisy nightclub later that night. And throughout the entire adventure, Emily’s pride hadn’t entered into the equation. He’d never even entertained the thought that she could take his gesture the wrong way.

But she had, judging by that subzero glare boring into him.

So much for his impulsive good deed. He couldn’t ask her out now, not when she was all fired up like this. The implications, her misinterpretation…man, it was an invitation to disaster.

Dammit all.

He gathered up his frustration, forcing it into the backseat. “Look, this is simple. It’s not about enslavement or blackmail or anything else. You didn’t have the money. I did. You were threatened—Don’t deny it,” he added as her mouth opened. “Or would you rather owe some criminal than me?”

Her mouth snapped closed and he could see her throat working, swallowing hard. Her composure cracked a little. “No…”

“So there you have it. At least I won’t threaten your family when you don’t pay up.”

Her chin shot up, a defiant gesture that would have made him smile if he weren’t so annoyed with himself. “Oh, I intend to pay.”

“I know you will.” He nodded firmly. “You’re Emily Reynolds.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time he did smile. Well, well. He’d finally managed to dig under her professional armor. There could be hope for him yet. “Over the last two years, you’ve shown yourself to be highly efficient, reliable and completely professional.”

At her embarrassed confusion, he paused. He’d been generous with her workplace performance reviews, hadn’t he? Given praise where it was due? Yet her obvious discomfort at his summary niggled at him. “Which is why,” he continued carefully, “You’re going to be my event manager for the Point One complex.”

“The new executive apartments in Sydney?”

“Yes. No relocation necessary—you can do it all from the office via videoconferencing. And it’s more pay, a bigger challenge,” he reminded her.

“But—”

“You’re not up to it?”

“No. Yes!” She took a quick breath. “But we normally use Premier Events.”

“I’m looking to start a new in-house department, and you know our staff and our contractors. You should talk with Jenna in Accounts about a budget and get together a list of suitable people you want on your team. When we’re down in Sydney—”

The phone on Zac’s desk rang. He glanced at the display, frowned, then picked it up.

Emily knew the caller had to be family the instant he spoke. No one else could tense up his shoulders, flatten his mouth and bring such a wary expression to his eyes. But as she made to leave, he halted her with a sharp gesture.

She stood there, an unwilling eavesdropper, until he finally clicked off the call, his green eyes bearing residual irritation as they refocused on her.

“As I was saying, we’ll inspect the Point One site and meet the people I’ve been dealing with. Pack for the weekend.”

Finally dismissed, she nodded before turning on her heel and walking out the door. A weekend with Zac Prescott. She swallowed the swell of unbidden excitement with a forceful gulp.

How could she focus on the incredible opportunity he’d just given her when her heart hammered crazily in her chest? Sure, she’d have to work like a dog up to and including the launch, but that wasn’t it. This wild, breath-stealing excitement was about more than just a job promotion.

She didn’t want to want Zac…damn, she refused to want a man who blithely made decisions about her life without even asking her. A man who didn’t want her the way she wanted him to want her.

And yet he’d kissed her. Flirted, even. Didn’t that tell her something?

She tossed the notebook on her desk. Zac had crossed the line, invading her private life—a shameful, personal part of it—without invitation. Embarrassment and anger flared up, replacing the fleeting desire. She’d been forced to grow up too early, the responsible one in their fractured family, until she’d been fostered out at ten years old. Relying only on herself had become a way of life. She didn’t need saving.

Not even if her personal white knight was Zac Prescott.

Three

As befitted his top-end income bracket, Zac traveled in style all the way, from the flights and airport car service to the accommodations. Normally Emily took secret delight in their business trips, in the unfamiliar luxury she could wallow in, albeit briefly. Outwardly she was perfectly composed, but inside her stomach jittered with glee each time, just like a kid on her first plane trip.

But this time was different—she was different. She was acutely conscious of every inch separating them on the flight south, of each small movement as he shifted his arm on the rest, when he brushed away that lock of hair while bent forward, concentrating on work. The way he took her overnight bag with a smile, shouldering it as they made their way to their waiting car. Even their “adjoining room” status at Sydney’s five-star Park Hyatt on Circular Quay took on new meaning.

When they both got into the elevator and he pressed the top-floor button, she felt his interest, his eyes lingering for seconds too long.

“New suit?”

Startled, she darted him a glance. “No.”

“Shoes?”

“No.”

He paused then said, “There’s something different about you.”

“Maybe it’s my absence of rose-colored glasses.”

She hadn’t meant to make him laugh. And in this luxurious harborside hotel, with the cloud of serious circumstances hovering in the background, it was a relief to see his normally animated face crease into humor.

“Does this mean,” he said with a quirk of an eyebrow, “you’ve forgiven me for butting into your life and paying off your debt?”

“No.”

“Even though I’ve handed you my highly-sought-after Point One account?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that why—”

“No.” The truth lay in his direct gaze. “They’re two unrelated issues. You can do this job without worrying about you or your sister’s safety.”

Man, why’d he have to put it like that? She pressed her lips together and stared at the ascending floors. Her objections were beginning to make her sound like an ingrate, and he knew it.

He returned his attention to the numbers, hands in his pockets. He was still smiling when they got off on their floor and he indicated she lead the way. They paused at their respective doors, Emily making a big deal of digging the keycard from her pocket.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” he said as she finally shoved the door open.

She nodded like she had a thousand times before, knowing he’d be knocking on her door a minute to the hour, ready to throw himself into work. But when she stumbled into the familiar surroundings of her premier suite, pulled in her bag and closed the door, heavy tension came crashing down, forcing her over to the cream couch. With a groan, she collapsed into it.

Acute and painful awareness. That’s what it was. He moved and she flinched. He spoke and she felt a burst of desire spike her heart rate. And when he inadvertently touched her, she had to bite her tongue to swallow a frustrated groan.

You have got to get a grip.

Toeing off her shoes, she shoved her glasses up and rubbed her eyes. Work. This was work. She’d had no trouble focusing on it before. And now it was more important than ever. Zac had enough confidence in her to oversee the launch of Point One instead of outsourcing to a more highly qualified event-planning company. Whatever his motives for paying off Jimmy’s debt, he wouldn’t jeopardize his company or his reputation in order to do it.

Which meant she owed it to him to do her job.

Emily sensed Zac’s mood change the moment they walked through VP Tech’s huge glass doors in affluent North Sydney. They cut a silent path through the hushed foyer, all polished marble floor, chrome-and-leather fittings and subtle lighting. His posture signaled an impending battle even though his expression gave nothing away. Yet no matter how tense she knew he was, he still spared a smile and a greeting for the front-desk secretary and security man as they passed. Emily noted their surprised glances before his pace increased and she almost had to run to catch up with him. His haste, his irritation, all spoke volumes.

Do it quickly, then run. Don’t get caught.

The words were so clear her mother could’ve been standing right there, slurring in her ear, her eyes glassy with drugs and bourbon. With an inward gasp Emily pulled up short, just in time to avoid Zac’s broad back as he stopped at the elevator bay.

She was nervous for him, and that sent her heart into a jarring rhythm. Even as she covered up with efficient aplomb, readjusting her jacket over her hips and shoving her glasses back up her nose, she needn’t have bothered. Zac was staring at the ascending elevator numbers with single-minded concentration, a frown creasing his brow.

They rode up forty floors in silence, and when the doors slid open onto what was obviously the executive level, an imposing man stood awaiting them.

Zac’s expression abruptly shut down.

Cal Prescott was the taller and broader of the two, with dark, lush features that spoke of a Mediterranean heritage. In comparison, Zac’s face was more angular, more aristocratic, and coupled with his lean frame and tanned Nordic skin, the differences were a sharp and distinct contrast. Stepbrothers, so different in appearance, yet sharing an innate air of authority and confidence.

“Cal.” Zac finally offered his hand, which Cal took firmly. Then suddenly Cal enveloped him in a hug.

Emily watched them closely. When Zac finally extricated himself, awkwardness was etched as clearly as permanent marker over his entire body.

He took a step back and cleared his throat. “This is Emily Reynolds, my assistant.”

Cal smiled, thrust out his hand and said, “A pleasure, Emily.”

Emily could name only a handful of Zac’s clients who gave her the courtesy of a handshake. Having Cal Prescott, heir to the VP Tech fortune and Mr. One-Click himself, pay her the subtle respect threw her. And judging by the look on Zac’s face as their eyes met, it threw him, too.

Without missing a beat she recovered, returning the shake with a nod. “Same here, Mr. Prescott.”

“Well, let’s go into the conference room.” Cal clapped a hand on Zac’s shoulder. “Victor’s on his way up.”

“We’re not staying.”

Cal paused, hand dropping. “Why not?”

“Because I have a business to run and frankly, threatening me with press coverage to get me here was childish. Whatever game Victor’s cooked up, I’m not playing.”

“Victor threatened you?”

“Via voice mail.”

“Great. Typical Victor,” Cal snorted. “Well, come in and you can tell him yourself.” And he swept open the conference doors.

After Zac finally sat at the long boardroom table, eerie déjà vu crept over his skin with dark foreboding. Cal’s odd welcome aside, nothing had changed in this place. Yet he’d changed. The years he’d spent carving out his own niche, finally free from Victor Prescott’s suffocating influence, had given him new life and opened his eyes to new possibilities, new horizons.

It had made him who he was.

“So how’ve you been, Zac?”

His older brother sat opposite, the innocent question coated in loaded expectation. Zac studied him carefully. Cal had been his one and only regret when he’d walked out. He’d suspected his defection would cost him Cal’s respect, but he still hadn’t been prepared for the man’s total ostracism.

So when Cal’s immaculate yet impersonal wedding invitation had arrived in August, he’d been thrown for a loop, those old wounds threatening the peace he’d worked so hard to create. He’d declined the invite but still that perfidious Prescott blade managed to draw blood.

“Business is great,” Zac finally said. “Buyers are flocking to the Gold Coast, thanks to Sydney’s outrageous land tax.”

“And yet I hear you’ve got a new property venture down here.”

He nodded. “Apartment blocks in Potts Point.”

When Cal’s gaze landed on Emily, she returned it with a polite smile before opening her notebook, ready to take notes.

Her familiar cool professionalism was like a shot of Valium in the arm.

“Where are you staying?” Cal asked.

“The Park Hyatt on the Quay.”

“Nice.” Silence fell, and awkward seconds stretched by until Cal finally said, “Are you free on March the fifteenth?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m getting married. Attempt number two,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.

“What happened to—?” Zac clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t need to know.

“You didn’t see the write-up in the papers?” At Zac’s curt head shake, Cal looked oddly irked. “Ava fainted, got taken to hospital. We’re putting it off until after the baby’s born in January.”

The automatic refusal fizzled on the tip of Zac’s tongue, his hesitation furrowing Cal’s brow.

“Congratulations, Mr. Prescott,” Emily automatically responded, her fingers flicking through her schedule book. “Zac, you have a meeting on the thirteenth—” to her credit, when she looked up and caught his expression she didn’t even stumble “—but that’s not confirmed,” she added diplomatically.

“You’re going to turn me down again?” Cal said in disbelief.

What the hell was going on? Cal’s thunderous silence over the years had screamed everything words couldn’t. And now in the space of a few months, he’d not only called twice but was inviting him to his wedding again?

Then Victor strode in and all conversation ground to a halt.

Like all great businessmen, Victor Prescott commanded the room by his mere presence. “Reputation, authority, attitude and entitlement—make like you have them and people will give you respect,” he’d always said. Zac swallowed heavily. He couldn’t remember a time when Victor’s little decree of wisdom hadn’t been on the tail end of every life lesson, every business deal he’d made.

The sour pill of irony was that he’d called upon it more times than he cared to remember these last three years.

Yes, he was free of all that tension and conflict. Yes, he knew who he truly was. But that didn’t stop the suffocating expectation from surging up to tighten his chest and quicken his breath.

“Dad,” he said now, forcing his voice into neutrality.

“Zac.” Victor made a point of leaning over the table and offering his hand. Zac returned the handshake, then sat back down.

“Look, I have a meeting this afternoon,” Zac said without preamble. “So I’ll make this quick. You’ve got me here. What do you want?”

Victor paused, his eyes going from Zac then to Cal, who gave him a faint nod.

“I told you—as soon as you sign the papers, you’ll be VP Tech’s new CEO. Of course, you’d start as cochair on the board,” Victor said, ignoring Zac’s scowl. “Then, after six months’ probation, getting to know the business, our products and clients, you’ll take on the position of CEO. That means you’d—”

“Hang on,” Zac lifted an impatient hand, then glared at Cal. “You actually meant what you said last Thursday?”

At Cal’s nod, Zac speared Victor with his gaze. “You’re CEO. Where are you going?”

“It’s time I took a step back.”

No way. “You’re retiring?”

“Sort of.”

“Victor…” Cal began, but paused as Victor stared back. Something passed between the two men, then Victor finally let out an aggrieved sigh.

“I had an operation a few months ago. I’m fine now,” Victor shrugged off Zac’s look, “but the doctors advised I should cut back on my hours.”

“I see.” Zac looked to a suspiciously silent Cal. “And what about you?”

“Cal has a family to think of,” Victor said coolly. “He doesn’t need the pressure or stress.”

And I bet that just pisses you off. “And I do?”

“Zac,” Cal began, but his younger brother’s glare silenced him.

“After all those years,” Zac said, “those brutal hours working yourself half to death, you’re passing up the top job?”

The look on Cal’s face was unreadable. “As Victor said, I have a family now.”

This was unbelievable. “So you both thought I’d fall over myself to step into the breach? That I’d embrace this opportunity to return to the Prescott fold?”

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—hide the sneer in his voice. Latent anger bubbled up, burning his throat. Once he’d desperately needed his father’s approval, but Victor’s lies and manipulation had pushed him over the line. Way, way over the line.

Zac had walked away from it all without a drop of guilt.

I can’t go back to that.

He rose swiftly, back rigid. “No. Find someone else.”

“Zac!” Victor rose too, preventing his escape with one swift step forward. “At least think about it. You owe it to—”

“Don’t. Say. Another. Word,” Zac ground out as the past swirled his vision, shrouding it in a patchwork of shadow and bright, painful light.

“You’re a Prescott whether you like it or not,” Cal said calmly behind him. “It’s part of who you are. So is this company.”

Zac spun back, a dozen furious comebacks tangling his tongue before he chewed them down. “That was your dream, Cal. I never wanted it. And I’m sure as hell not going to be guilted into it.”

And then he stalked out the door, Emily close behind.

As the elevator glided down, Emily chanced a glance at Zac. She’d known this meeting was the last thing he’d wanted, but the struggle now etched on his face spoke of so much more.

He took a deep breath, then another. If that was her, she’d be a quivering mess on the floor. Not Zac—he dealt with conflict, breathed it out and then moved on. He didn’t let things get to him, which was why he was so perfectly comfortable in his own skin.

It was a quality that fascinated as much as it attracted.

As the doors slid open, Zac surged forward, long strides devouring the corridor. Yet as they made their way toward the exit, he gradually began to ease up. First, his rigid back and tense shoulders loosened an inch. Then, that furious march turned into his familiar rolling gait. When he nodded goodbye to the front desk, his jaw had relaxed. Finally, as the doors swooshed open and they stepped out onto sun-filled Berry Street, whatever lingering traces that remained had fallen away.

“We’re meeting with the Point One team in an hour,” she reminded him.

“Good.” He glanced at his watch, then at his mobile as it started to ring. He pocketed it. “Let’s get going.”

“Zac! Wait up.”

They both turned as Cal emerged from the glass doors, breaking into a jog to catch up. “I need to talk to you.”

Emily glanced at Zac. He gave her a quick nod, his expression stiffly cautious. “I won’t be a minute.”

Zac waited until Emily had reached their car parked a few spaces down before he turned back to Cal. “I thought I made myself clear upstairs.”

Cal pocketed his hands and shifted his weight. “Very. And I don’t blame you.” His surprise must’ve shown, because Cal let out a small laugh. “You don’t think I know how Victor operates? Do you have any idea of the crap he’s been dealing out these past few months?”

“Yeah, thanks for including me.”

“Don’t be a smartarse. Whatever Victor’s faults—and we know he has many—he’s had a rough time. He—”

“I don’t want to know, Cal. I left all this behind, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, you did.”

Irritation flared at Cal’s subtle jab. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You left—not once but twice. The first time I get—you were eighteen, you’d scored a place at that university in Sweden. You needed to do stuff for yourself, to stand on your own feet. But the second time, after you’d graduated, you were home one week, gone the next. No calls, no e-mails. What the hell do you think I’d think?”

Zac scowled. “Would it have changed anything? You were on Victor’s side, you always were—”

Cal’s foul curse snapped Zac’s brow up. “You’re my brother, Zac. You owed me an explanation.”

“Victor thought I owed him, too, and look how that turned out.” Cloying memories wound their way around his chest, choking his lungs. “And hey, if we’re laying the blame here, why didn’t you pick up the bloody phone before now and call me?” He snapped his head back to the car, refusing to feel guilty about the fleeting remorse twisting Cal’s face. “I’ve got to go.”

“Zac…”

He turned and marched off toward the car, toward Emily, and away from the gut-wrenching emotions of his past.

Four

Seven. That’s how many times Zac checked his phone, then ignored the call. Throughout their two-hour meeting with the Point One Sydney team in the hotel’s private meeting room, Zac’s attention had been distracted by that phone, which was so unlike him.

“Are you okay?” she asked casually when the meeting finally broke up and she began gathering up the files.

“Huh? Yeah. Fine.” He firmly stuck his phone back in his pocket. “Do you have any questions so far?”

“Not yet. Thanks,” she added when Zac relieved her of the document bag, hefting the long strap onto his shoulder. “We have our site inspection at four—shall I order lunch up?”

He nodded absently, his mind a thousand miles away, and Emily wondered if his thoughts were on the business at hand or still stuck back at VP Tech.

When she returned to her suite, his mood had rubbed off, dimming the enjoyment of room service, distracting her thoughts as she went over the paperwork again.

Finally, at three o’clock, she gave up. As she leaned back in the couch, pulled the band from her hair, then smoothly retied it, a sudden thought occurred.

The laptop glowed back at her. I could just…

No. She slammed the computer closed and crossed her arms. Zac had never discussed his family, which meant that part of his life was off-limits. She wasn’t about to violate that trust now by trawling through the Internet in search of salacious—and probably highly inaccurate—details.

Yet thanks to this morning, her curiosity had begun to grow.

She’d never seen Zac so wound up, barely able to keep a lid on his simmering anger, which meant something major had happened. Something big enough to make him walk away from his family.

She rose, suddenly restless, and stalked over to the huge sliding doors that led onto the balcony. The tinted glass warmed her palms, a familiar sensation that brought to mind another time, another place. Another kind of heat.

With her forehead resting on the smooth window, she allowed herself a brief moment of indulgence, a moment to recall Zac’s mouth, his scent. His ability to make her forget everything in her past and just be. With him.

Finally, she straightened, dragging a long breath in. Enough. She’d been appalled at the thought of Zac digging around in her life. Getting involved in his family problems was unprofessional. It had nothing to do with her.

Nothing.

When they reconvened in the foyer at three-thirty, she was relieved to see Zac back to his normal self. Yet even as they talked work during the entire drive to Potts Point, Emily still found herself thinking increasingly unprofessional thoughts during the lulls.

She was worried about him. This thing with the Prescotts had gotten under his skin, affecting him in a way she’d never seen before. The most difficult of clients hadn’t elicited even half the reaction he’d given this.

“We’re here.”

As Zac pulled up into a space, Emily’s gaze automatically went to the window.

Building plastic and chipboard covered the ground floor. Leaning forward, her gaze went up…and up, and up. From what she’d read, the complex was twenty-five stories high, twenty levels of private apartments, a fourth-level gym and indoor pool, a laundry level, three more for businesses, and a ground floor restaurant, coffee shop and café.

And Zac had put his faith in her to launch this to the Sydney public.

“Coming?” Zac was on the sidewalk, peering steadily in at her.

“It’ll be full-on getting it all ready by December.” She scrambled out, barely faltering as he rounded the car to take her bag.

“Yep.”

“Long hours, late nights…” She smoothed her jacket then retrieved her bag from him.

He nodded. “For a while, yes.”

Irritation threaded her blood, her partly demolished wall teetering as one brick reappeared with a solid thunk. “I’ve drafted a preliminary list of requirements—staff, budget…”

“Sure. E-mail me when it’s finalized.” He swept one arm toward the service entrance. “They’re meeting us in the penthouse suite.”

Emily straightened her shoulders and nodded. She’d said yes to this job, had given her word. It wouldn’t be forever. Even if she couldn’t get into Queensland University by second term, she’d still end up repaying Zac by then.

You can do this. You’ve honed professional to a fine art. You’re an expert at focusing on work.

And she would not stress about Zac Prescott.

As the Sydney team made their way through the freshly painted top-floor penthouse apartment, Emily studied them again, filing away their names and positions for future reference. The structural engineer, the acoustic consultant, the fit-out specialist. But it was Sattler Design, Sydney’s leading brother-and-sister interior design duo, that captured her attention. Steve and Trish Sattler were walking, talking ex-cover models—Steve with rangy good looks and artfully messy hair that only added to his urban sophistication. He was a perfect foil for Trish, with her long, glossy mahogany mane and big brown eyes that frequently focused on Zac with entirely too much interest.

Zac, to his credit, didn’t pick up on that, instead conducting himself as professionally as always. She had to give him points for that, if not for the way he didn’t entirely discourage Trish’s overly friendly body language.

Her boss was unlike any man she’d met: trustworthy, honorable, loyal. She actually liked him, which was saying something. He couldn’t help it if all those attributes oozed a “come here” aura that attracted women of all ages.

She glanced up from the schematics just in time to catch Trish’s look. She was studying Zac’s profile with almost lustful relish, a small smile hovering on her lips. When she caught Emily looking, she merely raised one eyebrow, giving her a woman-to-woman smile. Without acknowledging it, Emily returned to the plans.

Point proven right there. Another ex-girlfriend-in-training. She fielded a handful of those calls each week.

From the twenty-fifth floor they went systematically down, addressing outstanding issues until they ended up in the plastic-covered foyer of a soon-to-be authentic Balinese restaurant.

Meeting over, Emily shook everyone’s hand with a smile and a nod. From the corner of her vision she watched Trish approach Zac.

“I just wanted to thank you for this wonderful opportunity, Mr. Prescott,” she began, a wide smile on her perfectly made-up mouth.

“Zac, please.”

“Zac.” She practically purred out his name. Emily narrowed her eyes as she checked her phone messages.

“Sattler Design’s reputation precedes you, Miss Sattler.”

“Trish, please.”

Trish, please, Emily mentally mimicked, scrolling through her calls with single-minded intent.

“Are you free for dinner? Steve has another client, but I thought you and I could discuss the finer points of our brief, to get a firm handle on what you really need.”

Oh, please. Emily nearly rolled her eyes at the double entendre but noted that Zac had pulled out his phone again.

“No, I think everything’s looking pretty good at this stage. Emily?”

“Sorry?” Emily blinked innocently as both sets of eyes fell on her.

“Do you have any issues you need to raise with Trish?”

Yes. You’re only one in a long line. She smiled and shook her head. “Not right now. But I’m sure we’ll be talking later.”

She watched Zac shake hands, thanking them for coming. The look on Trish’s face didn’t crack, but Emily knew the woman was reconnoitering, already working out another way to achieve her goal. It was a familiar dance, one that had begun as an amusing weekly anecdote she related to her sister. But now it had slipped from amusing to tiresome. Especially since…

She pulled herself up short with a frown.

Especially since you kissed him?

Yes.

He was talking to her and she was nodding, giving the outward appearance of actually listening. But inside her heart pounded, her blood racing at breakneck speed while her brain buzzed annoyingly.

Okay. So this is just a physical thing. You’ve been celibate for close to two years. Of course you’re reacting to the first man who’s shown any interest in you since…Jimmy.

Ooh. Bad comparison.

“Emily? You okay?”

A hand on her shoulder stopped her thoughts. She blinked up at Zac, at the concern in his eyes. Expressive olive eyes designed to make short work of a woman’s will.

A pulse of irritation spread through her belly and she quickly jerked her jacket back into place. The stiff collar suddenly chafed.

“Just thinking about Point One. It’s…different from your usual.”

“There are only so many mansions you can build before you need a bigger challenge,” he answered with a smile, pulling open the glass doors for her.

“True. A challenge is good.”

He slid in the car after her, clipping on his seatbelt. “You up for it, Emily?”

His eyes mesmerized her, part amusement, part determination. Suddenly the air in the car got way too warm.

“Yes.” Her voice came out way too breathy. Her cheeks heated as his lips spread into a grin, and she quickly coughed, warmth swamping her limbs. “Yes,” she added more firmly. “I am.”

“Great.” With that devilish smile still in place, he shoved on his sunglasses and started the car.

Five

“Dinner at six downstairs.” The note had been pushed under her door, signed with a large “Z” at the bottom.

She’d planned on eating alone in her room, going over the files and refining her action plan, not sharing an intimate meal with Zac. No, not intimate. A working dinner. They’d talk business like they had a hundred times before. There’d be schedule discussions, costings, launch ideas. There would be no hand-holding, no seductive looks, no footsie under the table.

Just work.

Ignoring that tiny swoop of disappointment, she walked firmly into the dining room at two minutes to six, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead.

The Harbour Kitchen & Bar was prime waterfront dining, with floor-to-ceiling folding glass doors and an open-plan kitchen so the diners could watch their meals being prepared by the chef. Its clean lines and quiet elegance sent a shot of confidence and calm into her bones.

But when Zac spotted her from the window table he’d secured and smiled, her body tensed up.

He pulled out her chair, seated her with effortless aplomb. She murmured her thanks as her heart thumped, making her skin twitch uncomfortably under her suit.

“Still in your work clothes?” He asked, reseating himself. “Yes.” I’d rather be out of them. With you. She swallowed quickly, glancing from his broad, jacketless shoulders to the spectacular harbor view outside. That one brief summary was enough for her to note his loosened collar with tie still in place.

“Great view,” she murmured as the sun’s low golden beams spread wide across the sparkling water, dousing the Opera House’s white sails in a similar glow.

“Always is.” From the corner of her eye she saw his gaze barely leave her before he picked up the menu.

Discomforted, Emily did the same, noting over the stiff gilt-paper the way his shirt cuffs skimmed perfectly tanned hands, hands that bore the scars of hard labor yet still looked clean and touchable.

She’d always liked a pair of strong hands.

Aaaaand…she was staring. Great.

She hauled her gaze up to his face before quickly glancing away. Well, that was such a tempting distraction she refused to look any more than absolutely necessary.

“I never knew you’d been married.”

That dragged her attention back. “It’s not something I talk about.”

“So what do you talk about?” He casually unfolded his menu as she frowned. “Come on, Emily. You know practically everything about me, especially after today.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Oh, do not go there. “I know enough.” She tipped her menu up, but Zac was having none of it. With one finger he gently lowered the barrier, forcing her to look at him.

“You organize me, feed me, ensure I have what I need, when I need it. You’re also privy to the inner workings of my private life and now, my family. You’re my work wife.”

“Your what?”

He grinned at her alarm. “My work wife—a work-based partnership between a man and a woman. You haven’t heard that expression before?” She shook her head and fixated on restraightening her perfectly straight cutlery as he continued. “I’d thought that, after working together for so long, I was a friend of sorts. Someone you can trust.”

Her head snapped up. “Someone who took charge of my life and paid off my debts without asking?”

Was that a flash of hurt flickering behind his eyes? Contrite, she bit the inside of her bottom lip, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I guess I deserved it. For not asking you first.”

Zac watched her war with that, the struggle from his apology showing in those dark blue eyes, in her luscious mouth now thin and firm.

Man, it was like getting blood from a stone! He tried a different tack. “I overstepped, and I apologize.”

“Okay.”

He studied her, trying to get a handle on that closed expression. “Friends?”

As he watched, her lashes began to blink out a rapid beat. “Okay,” she repeated, her voice soft and low, before she quickly took a sip of water.

Zac rested his arms on the table, locking his fingers thoughtfully as the waiter approached.

After they’d ordered, he watched her straighten the cutlery—again—then reposition her water glass.

He’d seen her glide through countless business meals, unruffled and professional. But now…things had changed. He’d changed them by violating her privacy, crossing the line by, oh, about a thousand miles.

Yet the inexplicable urge to dig deeper, to find out who Emily Reynolds really was beneath that unflappable facade, urged him on.

“It must’ve been tough being married to someone like—”

“Zac.” She breathed out his name, almost as if it pained her. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Express sympathy? Regret that your ex hurt you? Sometimes,” he added slowly, “the ones closest to us can do the most damage.”

He fully expected her to shut down then and there, but instead her eyes filled with something…almost vulnerable. Then she glanced away. “Yeah.”

Interesting.

She flipped her glass over. “I think I’ll have that wine now.”

Zac poured the golden liquid as she switched the topic to the Point One project. He knew she was doing it to gain control, to lead their conversation into nonpersonal waters. So he let her, until they’d finished their main meals and the wine was all gone. Then the dessert arrived.

“Thank you.” She beamed up at the waiter as he placed a berry-topped baked cheesecake in front of her. When she picked up her fork, her lips curving in delight, Zac’s heart rate began to pick up.

“You like cheesecake?”

“Love it. That little French patisserie across the street from Valhalla does an amazing one.” She rolled her eyes. “Chocolate fudge. To die for.”

Then she slid a small forkful of cake between her lips and his brain shorted.

“How…” It took all his willpower not to groan. “How did you meet him?”

“Who?” she mumbled past her mouthful.

“Your ex.”

Her fork clinked down on the plate. She spent a few seconds swallowing before clearing her throat.

Zac sighed. “Look, I don’t want you to think my money came with conditions. But I’d like to know. If you want to tell me. Apart from your sister, I’m guessing you don’t confide in a lot of people.”

The look on her face told him her internal war went beyond the standard issues. When she finally replied, her words were deliberately measured. Cautious.

“My story isn’t that interesting. I was twenty-three, young and stupid and in love, or so I thought. Jimmy turned out to be a liar and a cheat and then he died.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being stupid.”

Her short laugh surprised him. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

They both sat in silence, eyes locked, until the seconds lengthened. And in those seconds, he sensed a tiny chink in her armor—nothing groundbreaking or defining, but something definitely positive, however small.

It sparked a glimmer of quiet confidence.

She finally broke eye contact to stare at her plate. “He drowned. For a surfer that’s kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her expression hardened as she reached for her water. “Don’t be. I just wish he was alive so I could kick his sorry, freeloading ass.”

Zac waited as she downed the dregs of her glass.

“You really want to know,” she finally said, her eyes glinting in challenge.

“Yes.”

Her brow rose. “Fine. I met Jimmy three years ago at a Brisbane nightclub where he was singing in a band. He fancied himself a rock god—he got heaps of mileage off that cool ‘struggling musician’ chestnut. The kicker was, he was pretty good. But he lacked discipline and motivation, and the band finally dumped him out after one too many no-shows.”

Zac just nodded, unwilling to break the moment.

“The last time I heard from him was when he signed the divorce papers, over a year ago. Now I know why. He was too busy working out ways to steal my money.” She paused at the look on Zac’s face. “What?”

“I was just thinking—” He hesitated, then went on tactfully. “I don’t see it—you the nightclub type, marrying a musician.”

Her eyes turned stormy. “Because I’m so organized and straitlaced?”

“You like order,” he clarified. “But yeah, it does seem out of character.”

Emily’s heart twisted a little. Her curt confession hadn’t satisfied his curiosity as she’d hoped. Her chin went up. “Maybe that was my little rebellion,” she added, staring at her wine glass. “Emily the rebel, that’s me. Or maybe I just—” Wanted to be loved. She bit off that last bit, mortified. She’d thought herself in love with Jimmy. No, that was wrong. She’d hoped. Desperately wished. Just like with all the others.

“What?” Zac asked.

“Nothing.”

“Maybe…you just wanted to let your hair down for a change.”

She scowled, a nerve well and truly touched. “You don’t—”

“—know you?” His expression remained inscrutable. “I know you can’t leave for the night until your desk is completely clear.”

She waved that away. “You’ve seen my desk a thousand times a day.”

“You deny yourself hot chips for a ham-and-salad sandwich.”

“That’s—”

“You love pink and blue but you wear black all the time. You’re no-frills—you don’t care for a lot of makeup or jewelry. Your hair is naturally blond, but you get highlights every two months.” His gaze swept over her head, then across her face before coming to rest on her mouth. “You smell like ginger and a warm summer weekend.” His voice became rough. “You taste like—”

“Stop!” She blinked. “How do you know what…” She paused blankly until her brain finally caught up. “You remember.”

His smile curled with male knowledge. “So do you.”

“But you—”

“I was being gentlemanly, waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, I thought it was one of those things that Must Not Be Mentioned Again.”

She opened her mouth but her words jumbled together. With a swallow she tried again. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know.”

“It was just…”

“I know.”

“It won’t—”

“Emily,” he barked, a little too sharply. She clamped her mouth shut. “Enough with the apology.”

The look on her face was so appealing, all flushed embarrassment, that Zac suddenly wondered what she’d do if he leaned in and kissed her.

“It wasn’t even a kiss. More like a brief…” she glanced at his mouth, “brush of skin. A non-kiss.”

That soft sigh she ended on hit Zac in all the right places. It revved up his blood, quickening his heartbeat into a familiar thud of arousal.

He gritted his teeth, battling for control. Yet when he thought he’d finally regained it, she had to go and chew on that full bottom lip. It wasn’t a big thing, just a couple of perfect white teeth worrying the curve of her mouth for a brief second before she dipped her head and picked up her dessert fork. Yet his body jolted, her tiny reaction forever imprinted in his brain.

“Go on a date with me.”

Her fork paused halfway up to her mouth. “What?”

What the hell are you doing?

He leaned in closer and unashamedly breathed in deep, drowning out that inner voice with her delicious scent. “Go. On. A. Date. With. Me.”

A look of sudden horrified surprise bloomed before she smoothed out her expression.

“Very funny.” She put her fork down and shoved the plate away.

“I’m not joking.”

“Sure.”

He frowned. “I’m not.”

“Stop it, Zac. It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Man, her denial was beginning to nettle him.

She stared at her plate again, concentrating on edging it further to the side. “I’m sure there are a thousand other suitable women who would—”

“I’m asking you.”

She glanced up, her brows dipping down behind those heavy-rimmed glasses, and he had the sudden urge to ease them off her face.

“Why me, when I’m…”

He smiled at her small self-directed gesture. “When you’re trying so hard to hide behind bland suits and sensible shoes?”

When her face flushed pink and her gaze shot past his shoulder, he silently cursed.

“Because,” he continued more gently, “despite your best efforts, I find myself attracted to you.”

“Because of a non-kiss?”

And your sweet curvy a—You can’t say that! “Yep.”

Blinking quickly, she refused to meet his eyes as she removed her napkin from her lap. “We work together.” She began to fold the cloth efficiently on the table.

“So?”

“It’s not professional.”

“Says who? I’m the boss.”

“Exactly. People will talk.” She finally looked at him, her eyes unsettled.

“At the risk of repeating myself—so?”

“I owe you money.”

He leaned back in his chair and silently studied her as she went on.

“And you’ve just paid off my ex’s gambling debts, given me a raise and—”

“How long have we worked together?”

“What kind of—”

“Close to two years, right?”

“Yes.”

“And in that entire time have I given you any reason to believe I’d blackmail you—or anyone—in that way?”

She paused, those lashes fluttering at his growing irritation. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Well, you have.”

“Look, Zac,” she took a breath and leaned forward. “This is coming out all wrong. I appreciate your offer, but—”

He scowled. “You appreciate my offer?”

“I mean, I’m flattered, naturally—”

“Really.”

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

“But you’re not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Deadly.”

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

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

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

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

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

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

Zac sighed. “The money thing again?”

“How can that not be an issue?”

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

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

“So? What do you think?”

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

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

“Because it always does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not like your ex, Emily.”

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

“So…?”

“So what happens if it’s a disaster?”

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

You are not actually giving this serious thought?

She abruptly rose. “I have to…go.”

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

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

“No.”

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

“What?”

“You’re giving me that look.”

“What look?”

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

“Nice. Did you just call me a dog?”

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

“You did!”

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

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

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

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

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

With a soft mutter, she tried again.

Still red.

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

Red. He tried again.

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

“We could, but—”

“Then let’s do that.”

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

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

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

“It’s locked,” she said with a frown.

“I know.”

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

“So why didn’t you say something?”

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

She blinked. “I wasn’t running away!”

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

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

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

“You’re shortsighted.”

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

It felt like her entire insides tightened with unexpected delight.

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

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

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

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

Her belly flipped, warmth flooding her limbs.

“You should really leave these off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Emily.”

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

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

“Emmm—”

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

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

Six

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

Until the small tap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was too much. Too hot. Too…

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

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

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

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

“Let go for me, Emily.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good night, Zac.”

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

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

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

What on earth had she just done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes later, she stared at her list.

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

And she wanted more.

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

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

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

Emily scowled. “What’s wrong with—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was discreet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she began to hum.

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

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

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

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

His drink sloshed over the rim of the glass as he abruptly dropped his feet to the floor with an audible thump.

And still she moved, her grin wide, mouthing the words as his vision began to glaze over.

Then his phone rang.

He grabbed it from the table, seizing a ragged breath as he jammed his finger on the off button. Too late.

Emily had yanked the earbuds out, her wide eyes skimming the shadows until they finally settled on him.

“Zac?”

Busted. He sighed. “Yeah?”

“Were you…” Her self-conscious hesitancy was so endearing that he couldn’t help smiling. “Watching me?”

“Yep.”

“Uhhhh…” She threaded, then unthreaded her fingers until she realized what she was doing and dragged her palms over her thighs.

“‘Dancing On the Ceiling’?” he teased. “You like the eighties, huh?”

He fully expected her to turn tail in a haze of embarrassment. Instead she surprised him with a chin tilt and a nod. “It varies. Lionel Richie, Michael Jackson, Duran Duran. Some Prince. ‘Baby I’m a Star’ is great running music.”

“You run?” He tried to stop his eyes from skimming down her legs. He failed.

“Most mornings.”

He shifted in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “I must admit I’m more of a commercial rock guy.”

“Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing.” She palmed her iPod, wrapping the ear buds around her hand. “One of my major year-twelve assignments was comparing the relevance of eighties music to the political and socioeconomic climate at the time.”

She’d never cease to amaze him. “Wow, that’s, uhh…”

She chuckled. “A challenge? I knew my music teacher had a thing for retro.” Her eyes creased mischievously. “She gave me an excellent grade.”

“Clever.”

They grinned at each other, until Zac’s phone once again shattered the moment.

“I’m…” She glanced back to her suite. “I should go and take a shower. You’d better get that.”

He turned his phone off and stood, pinning her eyes with his. “It can wait.”

He walked casually to the balcony. Even from this distance he could see caution warring behind her eyes, reminding him of a day long ago when he was living in Sweden. A cat had suddenly appeared around his apartment block, wary of the kindness of strangers. Yet beneath those almond eyes there had been an almost heartbreaking desperation for affection.

He’d eventually worn her down with a mixture of food, patience and space.

“Come here.”

“Why?” she squeaked out.

His grin spread wider as he heard her breath catch nervously in her throat. That makes two of us, sweetheart. “So I can kiss you.”

“Ahhh….”

Impatience propelled him over those terra-cotta pots before he finally managed to tamp on the brakes less than a foot away.

The breath rattling in Emily’s throat threatened to choke her as Zac’s hard body came into unhurried full-on contact with hers.

Shock hit first, and she instinctively recoiled. But as his arms snaked around her waist, heat quickly engulfed her. She felt like melting into him, all commanding, six-foot-two of hard muscle and hot skin. Muscle she wanted to touch and knead, skin she was aching to taste. A body she wanted to claim and to be claimed by.

Yet the blunt reality of having Zac up close and personal, his groin pressing hard into her belly, kept her frozen to the spot. Her back arched, hands clutching his arms, almost as if she’d changed her mind and decided to stop him.

Which was ridiculous. She didn’t want to stop him.

Then his lips went to her neck, tasting her racing pulse, and all thought crumbled as need took over.

Hot, solid male. Heady, musky scent. Arms that wrapped around her, strong and protective. She registered it all, her body twitching with remembered delight.

She gulped and squeezed her eyes shut as his mouth drew soft kisses along the length of her neck.

Yes. Oh, yes. Emily let the pleasure of his mouth pull her under as his hands cupped her cheeks.

Beads of sweat pooled down the small of her back, her body singing with anticipation as his lips stroked, caressed, teased hers, before firmly pushing them apart to boldly explore her mouth. His small murmur of appreciation filled her with pleasure and she leaned in closer, desperate to feel him.

A sudden craving thundered through Zac’s veins, making his groin swell, forcing his breath out. She tasted so good, felt even better. Her lush breasts pushed up against his chest, an erotic teaser of things to come. Chaos swirled behind his eyes as he continued to kiss her, running his hands over her arms, to her waist, then leisurely over the curves of her rounded butt. She moaned in his mouth, ending in a gasp as he roughly pulled her closer.

“Can you feel that?” He growled beneath her lips.

She got out a muffled affirmation, a kind of half sigh, half whimper that fired his blood even more.

Gradually he pulled back, taking in her languid, desire-filled eyes, her thoroughly kissed Cupid mouth. Images of her wearing nothing but that expression sent an urgent bolt of heat straight to his erection.

With a thick swallow, he said roughly, “Emily. Look at me.”

She blinked, breath hitching, before reluctantly dragging her gaze to his. Those thickly lashed, wide blue eyes, shining with vulnerability and uncertainty sent a jolt of protectiveness into his heart.

“You can feel how hard I am but you can’t meet my eyes?”

The corner of her lip dipped inward, those teeth worrying the swollen flesh. “Zac,” she breathed out, her grip tense on his biceps. “I need to—”

He placed a finger over her lips. “Just one kiss. Then you can go.”

With eyes at half-mast she sighed, her warm breath grazing over his skin, stoking the flames below. When her hands skimmed up his arms, goose bumps rose even as his skin heated. “Okay.”

The surge of victory melted into desire as he claimed her mouth once more, her decadent curves pressing into his arousal.

They kissed for long minutes, until he felt her begin to pull away. Everything screamed in protest, his groin throbbing unbearably, but he let her go, his fingers loosely trailing down her arm as she turned away.

She didn’t glance back. If she had, she would’ve seen the burning need on his face, need echoed in every rigid muscle as he stood there with only the mild November night as relief.

As her door slid closed, he muttered a dozen colorful curses under his breath before grabbing his empty glass and storming back inside.

It was only then that he realized someone was at his door. And given the energy with which the caller was thumping, they’d been there for some time.

He stalked to the door and grabbed the handle.

“Zac. It’s Cal.”

His hand stilled as he glanced through the peephole. “What do you want?”

“Victor was really sick, you know,” came the muffled reply.

“What?”

Cal paused. “You’re not answering my messages. Can we not talk through a door?”

With a muttered curse, Zac yanked the door open.

Cal’s palms were up in a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t come here to start a fight.”

“So what are you here for?”

“A truce. An olive branch. Whatever it takes.”

Zac’s hand dove into his hair, guilt, anger and a tiny, faint hope churning together to make a huge confused mess in his brain.

“So can I come in?” Cal asked after a moment.

Zac shrugged, turned and stalked over to the bar.

Cal closed the door behind him.

“I’ve got nothing to say. Everyone knows VP’s yours.”

Cal’s expression was a mix of chagrin and apology. “Yeah, well, let’s just say becoming the next Victor Prescott isn’t what I want for the rest of my life.” His expression softened then. “The baby’s due in January and I’m getting married in March. I’d like to have an actual relationship with my wife and child.”

The rest of that unspoken sentence lay between them, reluctantly bonding the two men for a long moment. As a boy, Zac couldn’t remember a time when Victor hadn’t been coming from or going to a meeting, the office, a business trip. Up until he was seven, when his mother had abruptly left, he’d grown up in an absent-father home, albeit a fantasy home filled with more toys, gadgets and electronics than a kid could wish for. He couldn’t blame Cal for wanting a normal life.

Cal finally broke the silence. “We need to sort this VP mess out.”

Zac eyed him carefully as he wrenched off the cap of a long-neck beer and tossed it in the sink. “I don’t have a mess. You do.”

“You’re a Prescott. It’s yours, too.”

“You keep saying that like it means something to me.”

“It should.”

“Well it doesn’t. I stopped being part of the family a long time ago.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what the hell did he do to make you so damn cynical? To turn your back on everyone who—” With blazing eyes, Cal bit back the last words, hands on his hips, before averting his gaze with a derisive snort.

“Have you asked him?” Zac asked slowly.

“He won’t talk. You won’t talk.” Cal glared. “No one will bloody talk.”

“Cal…” What could he say? To Cal, Victor was a savior, marrying his mother and transporting them from a life of hardship and struggle to wealth and privilege. Cal worshipped Victor, and Victor had basked in the glow. Long ago, Zac had furiously resented that connection, the attention that should have rightfully been his. Cal had been determined to prove himself, the boy with the razor-sharp mind who dissected, then rebuilt computers for fun. Of course he and Victor had bonded over that. Then there was Zac: a quiet thinker, a lover of visual arts and drawing. While he’d been seething with teenage angst and rebelling against everyone and everything, Cal had developed what would eventually become One-Click, Australia’s number-one software package.

Zac was an adult now, with an adult’s understanding and perspective. It wasn’t his place to destroy whatever bond Cal and Victor had, no matter how terrible a father Victor had been to his own flesh and blood.

“It’s…in the past, Cal,” he finally got out.

“Bull. It’s still happening.” Cal put his hands on his hips, a direct challenge. “It started ever since you took off overseas to study.”

It had started long before that, but still… “I was eighteen. Nearly ten years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Cal…” The thick warning was clear. “Don’t push it. You won’t like what you hear.”

Cal’s humorless laugh startled him. “Nothing Victor does surprises me anymore. He’s stepping back from the company, donating to charity, talking about investing in small business. And this from a man who tried to marry me off instead of telling me the truth about his tumor.”

Shock jolted Zac back a step. “What tumor?”

“Victor had a brain tumor,” Cal said softly. “He actually died on the operating table. For a while there, we didn’t know if he’d make it.”

What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Past and present swirled into a dozen churning emotions, humbling him. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Cal’s expression was astute. “Would you have taken my call?”

Would he have? A surge of guilt and cold, hard truth flooded Zac’s conscience. Probably not. “Is he…?”

“He’s fine now,” Cal said firmly. “But you know what he’s like—Victor manipulates, that’s what he does. It doesn’t mean the company should suffer for it.”

Neither man spoke for a long while.

“Okay,” Cal finally conceded. “You don’t want to talk to me. After the last few years of silence, I don’t blame you.”

“Cal—”

“No, I get it. I wouldn’t want to talk to me,” he added with a twist to his mouth. “Can we just put that aside for now? I need your help. I might not want the top job, but that doesn’t mean I want to see the company crash.”

Guilt twisted inside. “So you’re really giving it up.”

“There’s more to life than working.”

“Jesus, don’t let Victor catch you saying that.”

Both men laughed, a welcome moment of levity.

“Look, mate.” Zac began. “Me and Victor—” Cal shook his head, but Zac forged on. “It’s a complicated, toxic relationship, you know that. I had to get away.”

“And not one call. I know,” Cal added at the look on Zac’s face. “I didn’t, either.”

“Yeah.” Zac reached into the minibar and pulled out another beer, offering it to Cal. “So we’re both crappy brothers.” He flicked his head to the sofa. “Want to sit?”

For one second, caution warred on his stepbrother’s face. He’d put that there when he’d walked out all those years ago. That realization made Zac’s jaw clench.

“If you want me to,” Cal said.

Regret seeped into Zac’s bones, the years they’d lost gaping wide. He’d done this, had driven cracks into their once-amiable relationship so that Cal no longer trusted him.

That was wrong.

“Please,” he said gruffly. “Sit.”

They drank too much, stayed up too late and, Zac thought fuzzily as Cal left around 2 a.m., probably said way too much.

The alcohol had done its job and taken the edge off, relaxing them enough to openly discuss the company while studiously avoiding any personal stuff.

Lying in his bed, hands behind his head, Zac lazily blinked at the ornate ceiling frescos, the beer buzz still warming his veins. Was it before or after they’d shared their fifth drink and memories of one tenth-grade Julie Jenkins and a see-through shirt that he’d suggested advertising for a new CEO and floating the company on the stock exchange?

Cal had nearly choked. “An outsider and going public?” He finally got out, wiping beer from his chin.

“Yeah.”

“Victor would never go for it.”

Zac had shrugged. “Then you have a problem.”

They’d sat in silence until Cal’s phone rang. From the soft dip in his voice to the way his face had relaxed before he turned away, Zac knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. Ava, Cal’s fiancée. Which, for some reason, had made him suddenly think of Emily. Curvy, luscious Emily.

With a groan he flipped to his side, punched the pillow and glared at the shadows through the half-open bedroom door.

Emily—now probably asleep—in the room next to his.

Emily, who’d kissed him so sweetly his body got hard just thinking about it.

Did she sleep on the left or the right side of the bed? On her back or front?

What did she wear to bed?

Stop.

Yet his body ignored him, his groin slowly stirring to life as a myriad of pictures flashed behind his eyes: Emily in a skimpy bra and knickers. Emily in high heels and black garters.

Emily in his boxer shorts…

With a growl, he flung the sheets off and swung from the bed. There’d be time to do it right. He’d been patient, he could wait a little longer.

But now, a cold shower couldn’t.

Seven

Their 9 a.m. flight was delayed by an hour. Emily had always laughingly joked about AJ’s belief in omens, but right now, seated next to Zac in Virgin Blue’s executive lounge in Sydney’s departure terminal, she wasn’t amused.

More time in his presence, more time to feel awkward and embarrassed.

More time to rethink her decision?

On their drive to the airport Emily had shamelessly used her phone as a buffer. She’d talked with the Valhalla staff about the Point One project, texted ones who couldn’t be reached…and yes, faked a few, too.

Tiredness nipped at her heels as she stared at her phone, reading the same e-mail for the fifth time. A night in the most heavenly bed in all the world and still she couldn’t sleep. Her brain had teased her with various scenarios of Zac there beside her, touching, kissing, making love to her.

She frowned, reached for her cappuccino and took a sip before glancing over at Zac, who sat directly opposite.

His expression was hidden behind expensive sunglasses, but she was directly in his sightline, even if he was busy with his text messages.

“Cal stopped by last night,” Zac said suddenly.

Emily looked up. “Really?”

A small pause, then, “I suggested floating the company and bringing in a new CEO. Cal didn’t outright refuse.”

“That’s good.”

“Only if he can convince Victor.”

“And the wedding? You’re free that weekend,” she reminded him.

“Not sure. There’s lots of…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right word. “Baggage.”

She nodded. “Sometimes it’s better to go forward than to step back.”

“Exactly.” His gaze tripped over her, studying her expression (she’d gone for inscrutable), her mood (professional yet distant), her clothes (hmmm…yeah). Dark gray jacket, long skirt, plain cream shirt, sensible kitten heels.

Gray. Plain. Sensible. That’s what he saw, what everyone saw. And before that kiss, she’d accepted it. How could she not, when she’d actively cultivated the facade?

But now…

He’d obviously seen something to warrant his attention.

A small twist of pleasure caught her unawares, but then their flight was announced and the moment was broken.

Twenty minutes passed, an excruciatingly long time to be on the edge of her seat. They’d boarded in silence, Zac’s normal businesslike wall of confidence marred with underlying tension—tension that melted away as soon as the plane took off.

The sudden pressure drop and stomach-constricting momentum eventually eased. Yet Emily remained tense, completely aware of the man next to her, ostensibly reading the morning paper. Tension that had everything to do with last night’s kiss and the dilemma she was now in.

How could she focus on her job when all she wanted to do was have Zac naked?

He turned the page and she jumped, crushing a soft curse under her breath.

He was too close and he knew it. How could he not know it after what they’d done?

She shifted her leg, angling her body toward the aisle, away from him, with casual subtlety.

Business class and still not enough room. She sighed and refolded the complimentary gossip magazine, staring at the sensational headlines without seeing them, before shoving it in the seat pocket.

The flight attendant hovered past, offering coffee, which Zac took with a smile. When he withdrew with the cup, his arm passed way too close to her chest.

She held her breath as her heart began to thump, fingers stiff on the armrest. He placed the glass in the holder between them, his hand brushing hers.

She blinked and slid her gaze sideways.

A small smile stretched his mouth…and what a mouth it was. A mouth made for kissing, with soft lips and strong teeth and—One eyebrow went up and she nearly groaned aloud. Then he leaned in and gently covered her hand with his warm fingers, and she barely managed to muffle her surprise.

“Zac—”

“Emily.”

“You’re…” She glanced furtively back over her shoulder. “You’re holding my hand.”

“Yes, I am.”

His leg shifted, bumping into hers, and she nearly leaped from her seat. “Now you’re—”

“Touching your leg. I know. And you know what else?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, beckoning her with his finger. With a thickness in her throat she bent forward. His warm breath swooped over her cheek and her stomach fluttered. “I think I’ll have to kiss you.”

His firm disclosure shocked her immobile, her eyes transfixed on his lips as they inched closer to hers.

“You can’t—” she managed to choke out.

“I can.” His mouth curved, the frankly seductive look in his eyes forcing her breath out in excited little puffs. “I will.”

“But—”

Her protest gushed out on a sigh when his lips brushed over her cheek, searing her skin. He feathered his mouth across her cheekbone, the barest of touches, before coming to rest by her earlobe. That warm breath sent flaring heat down through her body, curling around her stomach, her thighs, before ending in her toes.

“Someone could see…” she whispered desperately.

“Yes.” His teeth nibbled on her lobe and she bit her lip to stifle the whimper of pleasure.

“We…” She swallowed. “We can’t do this here.”

His lips skimmed the tender point where her ear met her neck. “So name the time and place.”

Oh. Her breath hissed in as she struggled to vocalize what she’d been fantasizing about these last few months. Now, faced with the certainty of Zac’s interest, it made her list seem… Cold. Businesslike.

He must have taken her lack of response as hesitancy, because he gently added, “Tonight?”

Tonight? She squeezed her eyes shut as his mouth moved back across her cheek in a sensuous trail of warm breath and soft lips.

“You…have that thing with Josh Kerans tonight.”

He paused, an irritated frown marring his forehead as Emily opened her eyes. Yet his hand still captured hers, sending a trembling anticipation through her bones.

“Right. Client get-together at his beach house. You should be there, too.”

“Why?” She pulled back, the heat in her cheeks beginning to ebb.

“Because he’s a client and he invited me. And now I’ve invited you.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t…no.”

“This is work, Emily, not a social outing. Jason, Mitch and June will be there.” He smoothly reeled off some of Valhalla’s key staff. “And your involvement with Point One means people need to see you as more than just my assistant. And I go, you go.” To take the sting from the demand, he gave a small smile. “Networking is a necessity. But I promise—” his lips curved, turned slightly wicked “—I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

His husky murmur, full of lustful promise, made her nerves groan. The air crackled dangerously between them, doing something hot and exciting to her insides. It forced Emily to swallow, but still she couldn’t look away from his eyes, those dark, sultry depths that said, “I’d like to do things to you and I know you’ll enjoy them.”

“This has to stay out of the office,” she finally blurted out. Clearly, from the look on his face, this was not what he’d expected her to say.

His mouth curved. “There goes my sex-on-the-desk fantasy.”

“I mean it, Zac.” At her stern look, his humor fled. “It’s not you they’ll talk about. You’re the boss—you won’t be the one labeled.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why does that sound—”

“It doesn’t matter what it sounds like. There can’t be any secret looks, any off-the-cuff comments, any touching. During the day we’re professionals.”

He remained silent for so long that Emily’s head began to spin from the breath she held.

Finally, he nodded and said, “I’ll pick you up at eight tonight.” And calmly reached for another newspaper, unfolded it and began to read.

Emily stared blindly down the crowded isle as excitement zinged through her blood. How on earth was she going to survive Monday—let alone tonight—without thinking of the coming evening?

At least, Zac thought ruefully, her skirt was above the knee—the only concession she’d made to the evening. It was still black. It was still distorted with a boxy jacket. And she still had on a pair of horrible clunky heels.

He had said it was work. So he remained silent on the twenty-minute drive to Kerans’s Broadbeach Waters luxury apartment, the only background noise coming from his iPod plugged into the dash.

But when he pulled into the cul-de-sac, cut the engine and saw her studying the partygoers with a frown, he paused.

“Ready?”

She took too long to commit to that nod. Her hesitation told him what she wouldn’t—couldn’t?—voice.

“It’s a warm night. You might want to lose the jacket,” he said casually.

She gave him a look that told him she knew what he was up to, but still she unbuttoned her jacket, then slipped it off her shoulders.

Her silky short-sleeved purple shirt shimmered beneath the streetlights, revealing tanned arms as she pulled the door open and got out.

When he’d rounded the bonnet, she was nervously smoothing down her skirt, a skirt that now hugged her hips, emphasizing her generous curves and indented waist.

Behind the glasses, irritation brimmed in those blue eyes. But there was also a little fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being judged.

He knew what that was like, even if it’d been years since he’d allowed himself to feel that emotion.

He glanced around: they were alone with only the streetlights above as witnesses. Unable to resist, his hand went to her face, but paused when she quickly rocked back. Her brow creased.

“Emily.”

With great reluctance she met his eyes, her expression shuttered.

Then a car door slammed and the moment was gone. She stepped back. “We should go in.”

He wanted to say more, but what? That for the first time in his life he wanted to ditch work and instead spend the evening kissing her all over? That would not go over well.

Slow it down, mate. You don’t want to scare her off.

He nodded, trying to ignore the growing desire warming his blood.

“Let’s go.”

The opulent dozen-bedroom, two-story apartment was a Valhalla triumph. Zac’s signature—huge windows with intricate personalized frames and sconces that showcased the view—presented the expansive Broadbeach Waters in all its glory. Beyond the buzz of conversation, the sharply dressed and expensive-smelling people, the subtle ceiling lights and the strains of a Mozart concerto, the stunning sunset streaking across the sky commanded Emily’s attention.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

She frowned at the childhood rhyme before glancing curiously at the assembled crowd.

Men and women greeted each other, drank champagne and chatted animatedly. Here were the über-rich in serious socializing mode. Yet how could they not notice the glorious blue-red-navy spectacle of a Surfers sunset?

She watched small waves lap up against Kerans’s luxury yacht tethered at the boat ramp, studying the cerulean water before she sensed someone approaching. Zac. Only he had the power to send her body tingling on high alert.

She turned to him. “This is amazing, Zac. Another great job.”

“Thank you. Champagne?” He offered the cold stemmed glass. She took it with a smile, then sipped to cover her nervousness at his direct scrutiny.

“It’s—”

“Zac! You’re here! Hur mår du?”

Delicious. The word died along with a tentative smile as a silky voice cut through the surrounding chatter. A tall, dark-haired woman stalked through the crowd, her black, sleeveless catsuit flaunting an extremely fit physique. Around her neck hung two silver chains, the handful of fashionable dangly charms chiming melodiously below a pair of impressive breasts, their curves revealed by a half-lowered zipper.

Haylee Kerans, the client’s daughter. And—Emily’s grip tightened imperceptibly on her glass—one of Zac’s many ex-girlfriends who didn’t accept the words break up lightly.

As Zac turned to greet Haylee, Emily stood there awkwardly, listening to them converse in melodious, singsong Swedish.

Then Haylee linked her arm through his and swung her gaze to Emily.

“Kan du talar Svenska?”

At Emily’s blank look, her smile seemed to take on a condescending smirk. “You can’t speak Swedish? Oh, you should. Such a musikal language—but then, Zac’s half Swede, so I’m biased.” Her striking face creased with deliberate thought. “I shall have to teach you…Emma, right?”

“Emily,” Zac interjected. Emily didn’t miss the way he’d firmly extricated himself from Haylee’s grip.

“Oh.” Haylee’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Zac’s gatekeeper. You field all his calls.”

Emily blinked in surprise. What, it was her fault Zac was an expert on moving on? Irritation bubbled up but she quickly got a handle on it.

“I’m Zac’s assistant,” she said calmly. “He directs, I do.”

One of Haylee’s eyebrows went up as her gaze swept Emily from head to toe, a silent, insulting inspection that had her flushing. But before she could formulate any kind of comeback, Zac intervened.

“Any idea where your father is?”

The younger woman’s expression quickly transformed as she looked back to Zac, a perfect smile that looked a tad too bright to Emily’s thinking.

“Where he normally is.” Haylee nodded into the crowd. “Over near the bar, surrounded by his mates and talking business. Zac.” Haylee ran a teasing hand up his arm. “You should call me. We could go for a drive in that smaskig car of yours.”

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

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

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

“She’ll ‘teach me’?” she muttered.

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

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

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

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

His cue to backpedal like an Olympic champion.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“For what?”

“For putting you in the middle of that.”

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

“Really?”

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

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

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

“Zac. How was Sydney?”

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

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

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

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

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

Eight

They drove home the same way they’d come, with the soft strains of music alleviating the distinctly uncomfortable silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the launch?”

“Final estimate by tomorrow.”

He flicked her a smile. “Great.”

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

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

“They let you do that?”

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

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

“I don’t like owing people money.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Emily.”

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

“Yes?”

He hesitated, oddly tongue-tied.

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

No, not spoiled—bored. Cynical, even.

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

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

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

Then he pulled her in and kissed her.

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

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

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

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

He had to stop before it got out of hand.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for the ride.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all about control.

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

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

“In a meeting,” it read.

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

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

A number not recognized in his list of contacts.

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

“Did U get my picture last nite?”

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

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

“This 1’s better. Call me, K?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cal called again.”

His smile dimmed. “And Victor?”

“No. But Haylee texted your mobile.”

He frowned. “What did she want?”

“It was a photo.”

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

“She’s stalking you.”

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

“Crazy?”

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

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

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

“Sure.” She grabbed a file and rose.

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

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

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

Then she glanced away. “Sorry.”

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

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

“New hairstyle?” he asked.

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

“I like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

She gave him a short nod, then left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s it to be, Emily?

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

Nine

By firmly blocking out everything but work, Emily managed to get through the day with her sanity intact. It also helped that Zac had left around 2 p.m. and wouldn’t return.

Apart from a few comments about her hair—all from women, she noted—and calls from both Cal and Victor, the day remained busy but uneventful. At seven she turned off her computer and locked up the office, deliberately leaving it too late to change her mind and go home.

At seven-fifteen she parked around the corner from Zac’s street, killed the engine and sat in the eerie silence. As his assistant, she had full access to his elegant beachside house and his security codes. Yet she’d never had to use them for anything other than work purposes.

This was her point of no return. If she did this—

No. AJ would kick your butt for second-guessing yourself like this.

Her fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the sun gradually lengthened the shadows.

It was time.

Just as she placed a hand on the door, headlights suddenly blinded her through the rearview mirror. She hesitated, and a second later a sleek dark car drove slowly by.

Emily watched the sporty coupe crawl down Zac’s street, past his house, then suddenly accelerate, leaving the distinctive scent of diesel fumes in its wake.

She shook her head then took a deep breath. Then she grabbed her handbag and scrambled from the car.

If Zac could’ve done a hundred and twenty down the packed Pacific Highway he would’ve. Too slow, too slow, his heart seemed to thump as the traffic sluggishly chugged along, only to stop again at the lights.

Gray clouds gathered overhead, heavy with impending rain. The steering wheel complained beneath his grip. He wanted her in his arms right now. Wanted to feel her mouth on his, her warm breath, her yielding skin.

Wanted her legs wrapped around him.

That mouthwatering thought had dominated his last few hours. He’d come that close to canceling his last meeting because of it.

Now he glared at the time—seven-forty—and softly cursed. “Come on, come ooooon…. Finally!”

Within five minutes he was home, the movement-sensitive porch light flicking on as the garage door slid up and the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

He grabbed the packages on the front seat, locked up and went through the inner door, tossing his keys on the entrance table as he strode down the hall.

He paused in the living area and placed the takeaway bag on the table.

“Emily?”

His voice echoed through the spacious silence, disappearing into the lengthening darkness.

“Yes?”

He turned. Her back was to his huge ocean-view window, the steely clouds, turbulent sea and gently falling rain providing a dramatic backdrop to her shadowy figure.

“You’ve been shopping?” she asked as he flicked on a lamp.

“Food.” He noted the firm grip on her handbag, held like a shield in front of her. With one finger he lifted the other package by the thin handles. “And these are for you.”

She frowned. “You didn’t have to buy me—”

“I wanted to. There’s a difference.”

“Zac…”

“Just try them on. If you don’t like them, I’ll take ’em back. Please,” he added with a smile.

She blinked and her fingers tightened around her bag handles, eliciting a leathery squeak of protest. Then she sighed. “All right.” She took his offering, carefully avoiding any contact.

“Go on up,” he said, nodding to the iron-and-polished-mahogany stairs. “I’ll bring up the food and drinks.”

Emily took the stairs slowly, highly aware of Zac’s gaze following her ascent.

She paused at the top, the small entrance stretching out into what was obviously Zac’s loft bedroom. She barely registered the dark furniture, the photos adorning the walls, the beautiful bay window revealing another perfect view of the Pacific Ocean. Her heart was pounding way too hard to notice anything except the rumpled bed jutting from the wall.

It was massive, covered in a wine-colored spread with mossy-green piping, black pillows tossed casually against the simple iron headboard. The covers had been dragged from one side, which told her two things. One, he didn’t have a housekeeper. And two, he slept on the left.

Zac’s bed. Where he slept. Where he and other women…

No. She turned away, coming face-to-face with her reflection in the full-length mirror. This was her, right here, right now. Zac was a good guy. Sure, he loved women—a lot of women—but he treated them with respect. He didn’t cheat or lie to get them into bed.

Her head reeled as she dropped her handbag on the floor, then slowly placed the designer-boutique shopping bag on the bed.

With trembling fingers she yanked her shirt free from her skirt, then plucked open the buttons until it hung loose on her shoulders. She’d packed a toothbrush, deodorant and condoms crammed in with a handful of bra and knicker sets, choosing anything remotely seductive while visions of Zac’s gorgeous ex-girlfriends taunted her selection. But now, standing half-dressed in front of his unforgiving mirror, she hesitated.

He’d bought her a gift…most likely lingerie. Men were predictable like that.

She stared at her reflection. She’d picked out a red lacy bra this morning, but the thing had itched so badly she’d quickly swapped it for her favorite white cotton one with tiny blue flowers.

She pulled off her shirt, hands on her hips and studied the bra in the mirror. Clean, pretty. But still white cotton.

Swiftly she grabbed the shopping bag, frowning when she pulled out a simple white shoe box with Martinez Valero in blocked roman lettering.

Shoes. So…not lingerie?

She peeled the lid back, expecting something red, high and flashy—stripper shoes.

But the gorgeous strappy-sandal creation nestling in black velvet sent her feminine heart beating faster. With a gasp, she reached in and reverently pulled out one shoe.

It wasn’t the tiny rhinestone-encrusted buckles that got her, nor the four-inch white-satin-covered heels. It was the fluttery arrangement of sheer silver organza petals that fell along the white leather T-strap from ankle to toe.

“Oh, my—” They were gorgeous. Quickly she toed off her black office shoes, then reverently slipped on Zac’s gift.

After buckling the straps, she straightened.

Her breath caught at the sight. Wow. By some miracle her legs looked longer. She hiked up her gray skirt to mid-thigh then turned side-on. Yep. Legs definitely longer. And skinnier.

“Magical shoes,” she breathed, staring at her wide-eyed reflection until her eyes came to rest on her bra.

She quickly fished out that morning’s reject from her bag, swiftly got it on, then stepped back, surveying herself with a critical eye.

It was too small. The cups barely held in all that boob. She tugged, then dug her hand in, repositioning her breasts. Nope. Still about to pop out. With a resigned sigh, she focused on her hair, pulling out the ponytail, then tipping her head down to fluff it up.

The sight that greeted Zac as he padded soundlessly up the stairs stopped him in his tracks.

Emily, her butt in the air, shaking out her hair, skirt hiked up to reveal shapely muscular thighs, curvy knees and a pair of strong calves. Deceptively long legs that complemented the shoes perfectly.

But then she straightened and placed her hands on her hips, and he nearly dropped the wine.

A smooth torso, hands on her flaring hips, emphasizing an hourglass waist…and then, the most magnificent pair of breasts he’d ever seen. The lush mounds were encased in a fire-red bra, the cups sweeping so low they barely concealed her nipples.

His breath came out in a strangled gurgle and Emily whirled, wide-eyed.

As he stared, a flush spread slowly across her cheeks, hands fluttering as if deciding whether to cover up or not. Blood began to pound thickly, expectantly.

“Don’t move.”

She froze, fingers laced demurely in front while he took in his fill.

He ran his gaze unhurriedly down her lush body, paused on the shoes before coming back up to meet her eyes with a satisfied grin. She met his gaze, as if daring him to comment.

The only thing that gave her away were those fluttering lashes.

With slow deliberation he placed the takeaway bag and bottle of wine on his armoire. “Do you like the shoes?”

She moved, her weight transferring onto her back foot. “I do,” she got out after clearing her throat. “They’re absolutely beautiful.”

So are you, he wanted to add, but sensed that such an obvious compliment would only make her more nervous. Instead he poured the wine and offered her a glass.

Trepidation slowed her approach. It amused him to see his normally unflappable assistant so wary, so out of her depth. Dressed in a skirt, a bra and a pair of high heels.

It also flared something deeply male inside, firing his blood and quickening his breath.

She was all his for the night.

Oblivious to his heated thoughts, she took the glass, murmured her thanks, then took a sip. But when he reached out to run a finger over the curve of her bare forearm, she jerked back.

“Sorry,” she muttered, first wiping the wine from her hand, then dragging a finger up the glass to catch the rest.

“You missed a bit.”

“Where?”

“Here.” With a firm hand he pulled her to him, leaned down and gently licked the drops from her bottom lip.

Her breath strangled out, her eyes fluttering closed.

Zac grinned. He took a sip of his wine before placing both glasses down and going in for another kiss.

Warmed from Zac’s mouth, the semisweet liquid slipped past Emily’s lips and she groaned, swallowing.

His hands on her arms firmly pinned her as he deepened the kiss, spiked with the bite of alcohol and flamed by need. Her breasts began to throb, pushed up against his chest, and she let out another groan when he wedged one hard thigh between her legs.

So hot. So, so hot.

Through the haze of desire, she felt him nudging her backward, and suddenly her legs met resistance. The bed.

They both went down, his grip tempering their fall, lips still tasting, teasing. The satin cover gave her goose bumps until Zac swept his hands over her stomach—her most sensitive spot—and she shivered in earnest.

At his deep chuckle, she forced her eyes open.

He was above her, that lock of too-long hair flopping forward, giving him a rakish edge. She couldn’t make out his eyes in the shadows, but as his palm slid firmly up her belly, the slant of his mouth revealed the utter seriousness of his intent.

After months spent lusting after the Zac Prescott, he was finally here, in bed and touching her. This amazing, gorgeous man wanted her.

Then his hand cupped one breast, his thumb finding her hardened nipple, and all thought fled. The half-curve of his smile twisted the hard knot of desire inside her.

With slow deliberation, he peeled down one bra cup and her puckered nipple sprang free. His mouth swiftly covered it, the damp heat a mixture of joyous delight and shocking intimacy.

When his teeth gently scraped the sensitive flesh she gasped, her back arching, longing spreading deep into her belly, then creeping lower, fanning the blaze of arousal.

He nudged her back up on the bed, settled himself between her legs, then proceeded to lavish undivided attention on her breasts. He stroked the swelling curves, then teased the nipples into hard nubs with first his fingers, then his mouth. A myriad of sensations burst like small zaps of electricity over her skin, forcing her breath into a ragged gasp.

“Zac. Please…”

“What?” His grin was too innocent as his mouth closed over her breast. And his tongue…oh, lordy, his tongue danced a wicked rhythm over her painfully engorged nipple.

“Can…you…ahhh…”

“Keep going?” His thumb stroked her other nipple and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut, arch back and let the sensations ride her. “Stop?”

“Yes…no… It’s…” Her breath strangled out as he licked the hard nub, then gently blew on it. Too wonderful. Too amazing. Too…

“Too much,” she managed to gasp.

“Hmmmm.” When he pulled back, her eyes sprang open. With infinite concentration, he slid his hand down, over her belly, skimming the indentation of her belly button, to finally stop at her waist where her skirt had bunched.

Panic spurted as he rocked her hips, gently easing off her skirt. She hadn’t had time to change into anything remotely seductive, but as he peeled off her skirt to reveal white cotton bikini knickers, she needn’t have worried. His eyes were glued to her face, watching her expression, her reaction.

Like the one she obviously made when he cupped the most intimate part of her and a wave of heat roared over her skin.

He grinned again. “Too much?”

Without waiting for an answer, he ran a knuckle over the elastic waistband before gently sliding inside, his ragged groan as he tangled in her curls a mix of delight and need, mirroring hers.

The urgency in his bruising kiss was unmistakable, his lips, his tongue making her drunk with desire. She couldn’t resist when he nudged her legs farther apart, his skillful fingers easing firmly inside her with a purely possessive growl that rocketed through her blood. She was so very aroused, so very wet for him. And he knew it.

When Emily’s tongue tangled gently with his, it nearly sent Zac over the edge. Her teasing hot mouth, those luscious breasts pressing into him, combined with the slick warmth enveloping his fingers. He couldn’t wait any longer.

With a groan he wrenched away, feet hitting the floor as he ripped off his shirt, then fumbled with his belt and zipper.

He pulled down pants and boxers, cursed as they got tangled in his shoes and socks, then finally kicked them into a corner of the bedroom with a grunt of frustration.

Emily’s soft laugh dragged his attention back to the bed, but as soon as they locked gazes, amusement fled.

Those suits had a lot to answer for, hiding such a superb body beneath their severely cut angles. Perfectly rounded breasts that filled a man’s hands. A curvy body with taut velvet skin. And a pair of strong muscular legs that would wrap firmly around a man’s waist as he drove deep inside, again and again.

Swiftly he reached for the bedside table, pulled out a row of condoms and ripped one open.

He rejoined her on the bed, hooking his thumbs in her knickers and yanking them down, grinning as she gasped.

Desperate need bubbled up, quickening his movements as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, then took his position. And then, with a dizzying breath, he drove deep into her heat.

She gasped again, but this one felt as if it’d been wrenched from her very soul. Her back arched, head back, neck exposed and vulnerable.

He grasped her face in both hands and kissed her, urgent and hot, his blood throbbing, filling her up as he paused, fighting for dominance. Then she mewled beneath his lips, her hips bucking gently, urging him to continue.

With teeth clenched, he began to move.

Exquisite sensation. Hot friction. His breath raced, his heart pounding so hard he thought it’d explode through his chest. He thrust deep and was rewarded by Emily’s hiss of pleasure, her whisper of delight ramping up his lust to breaking point. She moved with him, meeting him all the way, her hands on his hips, her ragged breath in his ear. When he gripped her butt, angled her up and plunged deeper, she cried out, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.

Just when he thought he couldn’t get any hotter.

Her tiny bite stung, his skin slick with sweat and their loving. Her hips tilted up to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Zac…”

She was staring right at him, her cheeks flushed, that lush mouth open in an expression of pure eroticism. “I’m…it’s…”

“Hold on,” he murmured against her lips as he increased his pace. She did as he asked, her legs tightening around him as she buried her face in his shoulder.

From deep inside he could feel her muscles contract, the threads of orgasm building. With a groan he went in for another kiss, unashamedly stealing her sounds of pleasure with his mouth, pulling them inside, then breathing them out.

Then it happened. With a thick cry she threw back her head, her breath ragged and harsh. Deep inside her muscles squeezed, and in a sudden rush of incredible pleasure, he couldn’t hold on any longer. With his fingers digging into her flesh, he finally let go, the scalding lust engulfing him on one almighty wave as he clawed his way through the hot depths.

The orgasm racked Emily’s body with almost unbearable force. He filled every dark corner with pleasure, and her entire body shook from the force of it.

Elation bubbled from her throat as her body shuddered. She’d never been this close to this kind of…bliss. Yes, that’s what it was. She felt completely alive and totally, completely spent.

“Wow.” She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Zac pulled back onto his elbows and met her eyes with a satisfied grin.

“Thank you.” He gently swept her damp hair back from her forehead.

They were plastered together from the chest down, still intimately connected. Inside, she could still feel the deep erotic pulse of him, his heartbeat echoing hers. Yet his simple act of stroking her hair had her whole body in a flush, her skin tingling, wanting more.

She’d been without intimacy for way too long. And now she was overloading on it.

As if sensing her change, Zac slowly rolled from her, back onto the pillows, hands resting lightly on his forehead. And a few minutes later, with the musky scent of lovemaking still lingering, she finally heard his slow, deep rhythmic breathing.

She was glad he was asleep. It made escape easier.

Cautiously she eased from the warm bed, groped around the floor for agonizing seconds until she found her clothes, then quickly dressed, all the while with one eye on Zac.

It would be so very easy to crawl back between those sheets, back into his arms. Her body ached in a dozen intimate places, a satisfied, languid ache that eventually made up her mind.

No sleepovers. No weekends. No personal talk.

She’d made the rules, now it was up to her to follow them.

With bags in hand she crept down the stairs, across the cool living room and out the front door without looking back.

Ten

You could learn a lot about a woman by the way her hands moved when she talked. Some waved them animatedly, some used touch either subconsciously or with deliberate effect. And some liked to keep their own personal space. Emily, Zac realized, was one of the latter. She made a point of avoiding any physical contact. No brush of the fingers when exchanging files. No accidental arm contact in the elevator or corridor.

At first he thought it was her steely determination to keep that line drawn, but she retained the personal boundary even when they were alone in his office.

He stared at his closed door, then down at the remnants of his devoured lunch burger before shoving it all in the trash.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Her response was a pointed reminder of his position—him boss, her employee. Yet last night they’d been more. With him buried deep in her wet warmth, her legs wrapped around his waist as they rocked in that age-old rhythm.

Yeah, it had been much, much more.

With a soft curse, he ripped his mind back to the present. A hard-on at work was the last thing he needed, not when he had to deal with a hundred other things—like the upcoming Point One event. And then there was Cal, Victor and the whole VP Tech debacle.

He shoved back his chair and stalked to the door, yanking it open.

“Reschedule my one o’clock,” he said, knowing his voice came out too harsh. “I’m going out.”

Emily nodded and picked up the phone. “Will you be back for your three-thirty?”

No questions, just acceptance. Her composure rankled, her once-valued hyper-efficiency now just another thing that drove him crazy.

“Yes.”

He couldn’t escape the building quickly enough, the sudden desire to get behind the wheel and drive urging him on.

So he did. He drove north, up the Gold Coast Highway, then turned right onto Waterways Drive and followed the signs to Seaworld. He passed Palazzo Versace, the Sheraton Mirage, the various takeaways.

On the way he made a few calls and set up more meetings. He succeeded in not thinking about Emily or last night until he passed Seaworld itself, until the road became narrower, the surrounding vegetation thicker.

The western arm of Gold Coast Spit appeared on his left, the sandy peninsula and watery inlet filled with yachts and recreational fishermen. The road continued, through the trees that formed part of Main Beach Park, until the Spit car park appeared.

He pulled in, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and cut off the engine. The classic AC/DC song abruptly ceased, giving way to the familiar sound of pounding waves through the trees and sand dunes ahead.

Easing from the car, he breathed deep, last night’s rain salty and wild on the air. He loved this spot, even more than the small strip of private beach that flanked his house.

He grabbed a bag from the boot and pulled out a wetsuit before heading toward the small board-rental shed. Ten minutes later he was jogging down to the beach toward the flags, a surfboard under his arm.

An hour passed before he finally called it a day, collapsing on the warm sand to let the sun dry him off.

Depending on which direction you faced, you could see the high-rises of Southport, the wilds of South Stradbroke Island or straight out into the vast Pacific Ocean. He’d been surfing here for years, had spotted whales, been caught in powerful storms that were a stark reminder of the power of nature and fragility of life.

How could he keep this thing with him and Emily out of the office when all he wanted to do was rip off her clothes? Hell, even in her usual office getup and those awful clunky shoes, he still wanted her. Yet if he wanted to keep her in his bed, he’d have to keep their after-hours affair a secret.

He hated secrets. Secrets turned people into liars, and he liked lies about as much as secrets.

With a grunt, he finally stood, his toes digging into the grainy sand as he made his way back to the car.

The soft swoosh of the glass door drew Emily’s eyes up from her computer screen. Zac strode in, looking tanned and windswept. When he dragged a hand through his hair, leaving peaks in its wake, her heart did a little flip.

“Your father called.”

His brow dipped as he paused, hands going to his hips. “Right. Thanks.”

“You didn’t give him your mobile number?”

“No.”

Emily paused, feeling as if she were missing something. “He says you’re not returning his calls.”

“I know.” Zac continued toward his office, his mouth grim, shoulders rigid. She grabbed up some papers and followed him in.

He stood behind the huge desk, his yellow smiley stress ball in one fist as he gazed out onto Broadbeach Mall.

Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. They’d all had a laugh when one of his more difficult clients had given him that by way of apology. Everyone knew—especially the client—that Zac didn’t stress.

Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. His profile was the very definition of contained frustration combined with deep thought.

“Do you want me to give him a message next time he calls?”

Startled, he turned to her. “No.” He tossed the stress ball back onto his desk. “I’ll call him.”

“But you don’t want to.”

His silent frown told her she was right, even though he’d rather she not be.

“Zac, whatever happened between you and your father—”

“—is not something I want to talk about.”

The shutters slammed down so abruptly that Emily took a step back. With warm cheeks, she said, “I understand that. But when I was ten, my sister ran out, and I spent thirteen years not knowing if she was dead or alive. When she finally found me, do you think I still cared about all those stupid arguments we’d had years before?”

His eyes widened in brief surprise, weakening the frown.

What are you doing? Shut up, shut up, shut— “People make decisions based on emotion, not what’s logical,” she said quickly. “That’s how they make mistakes. And if Victor’s trying to make an effort you should at least hear him out.”

She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly appalled. Then without another word, she spun and headed out the door.

Emily slapped her notepad on her desk before taking a deep breath. She didn’t know what was worse, revealing that small nugget from her past or Zac acting as if last night had been a complete fabrication of her overactive imagination.

Well, she couldn’t take those words back now. But was it enough to sway him?

With a sigh, she sat heavily in her chair. Yes, he had to maintain their professional boss-employee front to throw off any suspicion. But did it have to feel so real?

She clicked through her e-mails absently.

She’d finally managed to deflect Zac’s familiar non sequiturs that made her totally aware of herself as a woman, and then he went and did a one-eighty. After last night, she’d been prepared to fend off any intimate comments, to remind him they were at work and should act appropriately. But that had never materialized.

What had happened to the flirty, good-humored Zac of before, the guy she’d been able to keep separate from her personal life?

The vibe was all wrong. He was painfully polite. No, more like… She chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully. Disinterested.

Because she’d finally succumbed to his charms, slept with him, and now the chase was over, he wanted to move on?

“Emily? Do you have a minute?”

She didn’t have to turn to know he stood at the door: his eyes burned a hole in her back. Instinctively, she straightened, clicking off her screen saver to reveal the Point One schedule.

“Actually, I’m in the middle of—”

“This is important.”

She stilled, hand on the mouse, then sighed in resignation. Here it comes.

He remained standing as she walked in, then closed the door softly behind her. Her senses barely had time to register his familiar aftershave, that warm radiating body heat as he walked past her to take a seat behind his desk.

She sat, crossed her legs and waited.

He stared at her in silence. And to her credit, she stared right back.

“I don’t want this to be awkward between us,” he finally said.

“Awkward?”

“Us working together, given our…arrangement.”

“I don’t feel awkward.” She gave him her best “restrained and composed” look. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Because if you want out, I’ll understand.”

“Do you want out?” His eyes narrowed.

“I asked first.”

A wry grin creased Zac’s face. “What are we, in eighth grade?” Then more seriously, he added, “I don’t want out.”

Well, so much for your theory. “Well, neither do I.” Her chin went up as she met his eyes, firmly ignoring the little cheer her body made.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

They both paused, Zac scrutinizing her with the same intensity he reserved for a particularly difficult problem.

“Do you think I’m over my head with the Point One event?” she suddenly blurted out.

He leaned back in his chair. “What do you think?”

“It’s a challenge.”

“Which is what you wanted.”

“Yes.”

“What you’ve done so far is good, Emily. And we’re a team here—use the staff to get whatever you need done. And keep me posted.” His smile was brief. “And while we’re in the office, it will always be about work. This is a Valhalla project,” he added. “I know it’s yours, but it’s also mine. We both make this work and we both benefit.”

With a nod, Emily rose to leave.

“Emily.”

She paused, glancing back at him.

“Are you free tonight?”

And just like that, last night came flooding back, playing away in her mind like an erotic movie taken off pause. Despite herself, she felt excitement tingle her skin.

“Yes.”

His mouth curved and suddenly he seemed like Zac again. “Then I’ll see you after eight.”

“Sure.” She left his office way more discomforted than she’d gone in.

Eleven

The precedent was set for the next two weeks. Zac remained cool and professional during office hours. He always asked if she was free that night. Emily always said yes, except for the weekends. Those days were hers alone.

At night Zac spent hours exploring her body, learning what turned her on, what made her cry out in passion or sigh with delight. He focused on her pleasure, skillfully bringing her to the brink of bliss night after night, then taking them both over the edge. And in the early hours of the morning, Emily crept from his bed and returned to her own, exhausted. She made sure she always got to work on time, despite her growing need for sleep and the ever-present ache between her legs.

And she never let anything remotely personal slip again.

“Any plans for Saturday night?” Zac casually asked when their Friday afternoon meeting had broken up.

“Work. And I might get in a book and a bath.”

She ignored the glint in his eye, then the small frown when she reiterated her plans after they were alone in his office.

Yet on Sunday, after she’d slept, read and bathed herself into boredom, she dressed in a pair of gray track pants and an old baby-doll T-shirt and opened up her laptop.

As she put the finishing touches on the launch for Point One and finally pressed “save,” a deep sense of satisfaction engulfed her. This is what she should’ve been doing every weeknight instead of indulging in the joys of mutual sexual pleasure. This was her career, her life. Do this well and there was no telling the kind of contacts she’d make when it came time to set up her business.

Her hands stilled over the keys.

She hadn’t thought about that in…days. Weeks, even. She hadn’t heard back from the university to confirm her second-term enrollment. And, she realized with shock, she hadn’t gone chasing it, either. Carnal pleasure had taken priority, pushing her goals from the limelight. And Point One had firmly kept them in the darkness.

You got caught up in the sex.

She leaned back into the sofa, grabbed a throw pillow and cradled it in her lap.

And the intimacy. And actually feeling desirable and wanted without there being an ulterior motive. For Jimmy she’d been a meal ticket. For her ex-boss, a conquest. And the others had come with their own unique baggage. Not one guy had wanted her for her.

Sure, she may have been clueless when it came to boyfriends, but she’d made sure to bank every single one of her paychecks. She’d always understood the power and freedom money represented.

So what would happen after Point One launched, when her debt to Zac was paid, when she got into her course?

You’ll go forward with your life. Moving on, no looking back. Just like Zac always moved on, with the next eager female.

Thoughts of him with another woman sharing his bed, doing the things they’d done, suddenly made her want to gag.

She rose, threw the pillow across the room and headed for the kitchen. Grabbing the half bottle of mineral water from the fridge, she poured it into a wineglass and gulped it. The bubbles fizzed on the way down, followed by a sudden desperate need for normalcy. Her apartment, AJ, her job. They were normal, they were stable. Not this…this…crippling self-doubt.

Yet her mind was still buzzing hours later, her dreams peppered with gorgeous women vying for Zac’s attention, her mother’s cold, lined face and an empty room where the Point One launch party should have been.

She woke before dawn, a strange feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. After checking all the faucets, the locked front door and windows, then the lights, she texted AJ, then crawled back into bed.

No good.

It wasn’t about her mother: she had no idea if Charlene was still alive, let alone where.

The Point One project?

She ran over the details in her head. No. Everything was on track, the prospectus was out, buyers were calling their sales division and the invites for the launch were going out today.

Yet something wasn’t right. She rolled over onto her tummy, grabbed her glasses, cracked open the venetian blinds behind the headboard and squinted out into the predawn light.

Number seven’s German shepherd was barking, as usual. Number ten had left her porch light on again. But other than that, nothing.

It had to be Zac—or more specifically, the way she felt about Zac. She knew what his life was like, the kinds of women he attracted. Who wouldn’t feel inferior compared to the likes of Haylee Kerans and Trish Sattler?

With a sigh, she dragged herself up and pulled on her jogging gear.

The sun rose halfway into her run, the only other beach activity three lone fishermen and some surfers suiting up in the parking lot.

The office was empty when she got in. Zac had a site inspection that morning. A common occurrence, yet discontent dogged her routine.

AJ finally returned her text and Emily ticked it off her mental list, turning on the computer, then syncing up with Zac’s schedule as she grabbed her coffee. The distinctive aroma made her mouth water, but before she could take a mouthful, the office door opened.

“Hey, Em.” Zac’s chief accountant, Megan Hwong, always reminded Emily of actress Lucy Liu—exotic, poised and confident. “Here’s those budget figures you wanted.” She put a file on the desk, then perched her Armani-clad hip on the corner with a smile.

An expectant, knowing smile.

Emily blinked. “What’s up?”

Megan tipped her shiny black-bobbed head. “Just wanted to see something.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Why?”

Megan leaned in with a grin. “To see if last week was a fluke.”

All sorts of scenarios sped through her mind. “Sorry?”

With an elegant hand, Megan gestured at Emily. “A nice hairstyle, a little lippy. You’ve even ditched those awful jackets,” she added, eying Emily’s sweater-and-skirt ensemble. “We reckon there’s a man involved.”

“What? No!”

“Wow.” Megan pulled back with a grin. “Denial, much?”

Emily took a deep breath then said more calmly, “There’s no man—it’s getting warmer and I felt like a change and…and who’s we?”

“Oh, Kerri and Bob,” she supplied, naming the Accounts team. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

Emily glanced down at the dozen long silvery strands of beads tied into a low knot. “Thanks. A late birthday present to myself.”

“See? With an eye like that, I knew there was a fashion diva inside, dying to get out!” Megan grinned. “You should come shopping with the girls on Saturday.”

Surprise stilled her for one second before she realized Megan was serious. “This Saturday?”

“Sure. Early Christmas shopping.” She mock eye-rolled with a smile as she stood. “I’ll e-mail you, okay?”

“Okay.”

As the door clicked shut, silence engulfed the large office. After all her gentle refusals to social invites, all her deliberate avoidance of personal relationships in the workplace, it took just one, an invitation to shop with one of the most stylish women in Valhalla, to spark something inside, the part of her that longed to indulge in being a woman again.

She stared at the glass door as doubt surged. Was it coincidence that the offer came on the heels of Megan’s casual reference to a man?

Emily gathered up some papers, walked into Zac’s office, then shut the door, leaning up against the solid wood as her mind leaped to a thousand different conclusions, all of them bad.

Finally she straightened and went over to Zac’s desk. No. Megan wasn’t into subterfuge, unlike some. She’d asked, Emily had answered. Case closed.

Her reflection stared back from the huge tinted windows. She saw a twenty-six-year-old blonde in standard office wear—a long black skirt, sensible shoes, panty hose, short-sleeved baby-blue sweater.

She placed the papers in Zac’s tray, then stepped in for a closer look. The sweater was cashmere, the V-neck showing off her collarbone, the long dangly beads drawing the eye down. She turned to the side, then front on. The material clung over her hips, a thin black belt defining her waist. Short capped sleeves showed off toned arms. With a frown she smoothed the sweater down over her belly, then her bottom.

Have I lost weight? Have I—

The door suddenly opened and she whirled, cheeks flushed.

Zac.

Their gazes met and held for a heartbeat, then two. Despite herself, she felt her breath hitch as memories crammed her head.

Soft touches. Demanding kisses. Hot skin, sweaty with passion…

She felt the instantaneous heat pool low, then fan upward as he stood there, his eyes grazing her body with a slow smile.

“That color suits you,” he finally said.

“Thank you.”

“But I hate the shoes.”

Her chin went up, a sharp reply at the ready, but his grin somehow negated her irritation.

“Maybe that’s why I wear them.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “First you make a point of saying your new hairstyle is not to impress me, and now you’re wearing shoes you know I hate?”

When he walked steadily toward her, she forced herself to remain exactly where she was. Good, that’s good. Don’t show him you’re affected, or how that boyish grin makes him way too irresistible.

He stopped, so close she could see tiny flecks of gold in his olive eyes, the creases in his bottom lip as he continued to grin at her. And there was his scent, a mixture of shaving cream and some subtle aftershave that always seemed to scramble her senses.

“How was your weekend?” he asked softly. When his gaze dropped to her lips and remained there, she gave an inward curse.

Damn you, Max Factor, and your To-Be-Kissed Pink gloss.

“Fine.”

“Good.” It didn’t sound as though he was pleased, but she let that go.

“What happened to your meeting?” she asked, determined to uphold that professional veneer.

“Rescheduled.” He reached out and plucked something from her sweater sleeve, his fingers briefly brushing her arm before he withdrew. “I just sent you a text.”

She nodded, letting silence command the room.

He leaned in and to her dismay, she jumped, her hip bumping into the desk.

He smiled, his mouth close to her ear, his cheek not quite touching hers but radiating warmth all the same. “Did you need something?”

Can I make a list? “Ahh. No.”

“You sure?”

His breath brushed over her lobe, sending scalding heat through her veins. And when his tongue followed, she bit her lip to stop the groan from escaping.

“You don’t need this?”

His mouth nibbled at the spot where her ear met her neck, then slid down her jaw.

“No…” she managed to croak out, frantically trying to ignore her body screaming yes! through every nerve.

“Or this?” He trailed one finger over her collarbone, then slowly into the valley between her breasts, carefully watching for her reaction.

“Zac, you can’t.”

His grin was full of wicked knowledge. “I can. I have.”

“We’re in your office,” she got out as his finger edged around her bra cup, eventually finding her hard nipple. His other hand came around to the desk and settled by her hip, pinning her there, possessive yet allowing escape if she so chose.

His heat, his breath, the need in his eyes threatened to overwhelm her thoughts.

His finger rhythmically stroked her nipple, producing little shudders that she struggled to quash. His mouth—that wondrous, skillful mouth—curved, teasing her into acquiescence with one smile. And the intense heat from his body engulfed her, spinning her thoughts, negating her halfhearted protest.

She swallowed as arousal pulsed beneath her skin. No matter how hard she tried to keep their arrangement after-hours, her body betrayed her every time. Since Friday night she’d been alone, three nights that suddenly felt like three months, and now she craved him like some illegal drug.

Suddenly she didn’t care that they were in his office or that she’d been the one who’d demanded secrecy. All she wanted was for him to kiss her, take off her clothes and make love to her in that plush leather office chair.

Her phone shattered the moment, the two-time ring muffled through the door before it went to voice mail.

With a gasp she twisted, away from his drugging heat, away from her weakness.

She glared at him as she quickly adjusted her glasses then smoothed down her sweater. “I told you, Zac—not in your office. What would’ve happened if someone had walked in?”

“Then they would’ve won big on the office pools.”

His shrug, such a casual dismissal of her concerns, sent indignation surging. “What?”

“I know everything that goes on in this company, Emily.” He crossed his arms. “The current odds of you being my next conquest are about three hundred to one.”

“Three…”

As she floundered with embarrassment, his smile dropped. “Look, don’t let it worry you. No one cares—”

“I care.”

“Why?” He crossed his arms. “Why does it bother you so much what other people think?”

The familiar hot pulse of shame engulfed Emily as he stood silent, awaiting her reply. Yet she had none to give him, none that would keep him at the distance she so desperately needed him to be.

“Because I refuse to be judged on anything other than my work. And now I have to get back to it.” And she was out the door.

If he hadn’t had back-to-back meetings, Zac would’ve gotten to the bottom of whatever was really bugging Emily. As it was, he spent most of the day thinking about the deeper reason she’d been so upset and how he was going to broach the subject again.

They’d actually started becoming friends. No, not friends. The things he wanted to do to her were not friendly at all—they were downright dirty. For three long, frustrating nights he’d spent way too much time thinking about her skin, her lips, her warm, accommodating body. After such a solid beating, his restraint had lapsed that morning and he’d been unable to keep his hands off her.

You’re lucky she didn’t call it off then and there.

When she’d texted back a simple “can’t” to his request to meet that evening, his first thought was to drive over to her place and demand to know what was going on. Yet he knew that would force her away, and that was the last thing he wanted.

So he ate Thai takeaway at home alone, absently wondering what Emily would say to a proper meal in a proper restaurant. Somewhere public where he could show her off, with candlelight, music and dancing.

She’d shut you down and you know it. So stop complaining.

Dissatisfied, he finished his food, shoved the dishes in the washer, then picked up the phone.

Time to deal with VP Tech.

He hung up thirty minutes later, flush with—not exactly victory, but close enough. Cal had been working on Victor, and while the suggestion to float the company had died in the water, he’d been making headway with advertising the CEO position. They could utilize VP Tech’s young, hungry executives and keep everything in-house. Progress, yes, but Victor still wanted Zac involved, a prospect Zac refused to even discuss. At the moment, Cal was their go-between, a situation Zac felt half guilty, half grateful for.

Desperate for physical exertion, he grabbed his gym bag and headed out, taking two hours to run, row and heave weights at Surfers’ twenty-four-hour gym. Yet after he showered and changed, then got back into his car, his body still hummed with energy, his brain still fixated on VP Tech.

He needed to really lose himself, not just force his muscles into screaming agony. And he knew exactly what to do.

Twelve

Emily swung her front door open but instead of the pizza delivery guy, Zac stood there, his arm resting casually on her doorframe.

“Let’s go out.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Out. Somewhere dark, with loud music.”

“I’m… I’m…” He stepped over the threshold and she instinctively moved aside. “Expecting a pizza,” she ended lamely as he paused in her living room.

He turned to face her, hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised. “Wow. Really living the high life.”

“I’m also working.”

She crossed her arms, refusing to let his appraising dissection of her casual sweats and bare feet affect her.

“I’ve just been on the phone with Cal about VP Tech and now I need to let off some steam. I thought you might like to join me.”

She swallowed. Admit it. You’re thrilled you’re his first choice and he came all this way to ask you. You want to go.

And, her doubt demons added, he could always ask someone else if you turned him down.

“What about the pizza?” she blurted out.

His mouth tweaked. “I’ll wait for it while you go change.”

“I’m not sure—”

He silenced her with a kiss, a deep, blood-pumping kiss that made her legs weak and her brain fuzzy. “Emily,” he finally murmured, a scant inch away from her bruised mouth. “I’m sure. We’ll go someplace no one will recognize us. Trust me.”

What could she say to that?

They were at Heaven, one of Surfers’ popular nightclubs famous for dance music, decently priced drinks and top-notch security, and despite the weeknight, the place was packed. True to Zac’s word, it was a place where no one cared who you were and how much you earned. Emily glanced around the strobe-lighted dance floor. A place where you could relax without being watched or judged. Zac could’ve taken her to any of a dozen private clubs frequented by the super-rich and beautiful, yet he’d picked this one.

Was it for her benefit or his?

She didn’t care. Because right now the familiar, sexy throb-throb beat began to seep into her skin, teasing, tempting, making her body ache with sudden longing.

Come dance, the music beckoned as the lights flashed and the crowded dance floor moved as one. She shifted from foot to foot, suddenly desperate to get out there, to let her hair down and just enjoy the music.

Then Zac locked eyes with hers and everything seemed to fade into watercolor at the edges. For one second, the short velvet skirt and glittery silver tank top she’d dug from her closet felt way too undressed. But when he grinned, offered his hand and said, “Let’s dance, gorgeous,” all her self-consciousness melted away.

Linking her fingers in his, he led her to the dance floor, the heavy bass warming her blood and tingling her skin.

Bodies were everywhere, dancing and laughing, and when the current track suddenly morphed into a familiar Beyoncé hit, the crowd roared, then surged forward, sweeping them up into the vortex.

Zac found a space near the shadowed stage and pulled her close, mashing her body up against his from thigh to collar. Emily’s body responded instantaneously.

“It’s not that kind of dance,” she murmured, sucking in air as his arms looped possessively around her waist.

“Don’t care.”

His breath fluttered against her neck, delicious and warm, and slowly they began to move.

Emily laid her cheek on his chest and squeezed her eyes shut, letting the music and heat wash over her. When she was with Zac, just like this, everything else seemed unimportant. It was like closing a door, a door that held her past, her problems and her doubts at bay.

He made her feel wanted. Needed. Like she was some powerful sexual goddess in control of her destiny.

His hands slid up her back, over the bumpy fabric of her tank, his fingers teasing the soft skin under the straps. And all the while, the crowd spun crazily around them, the music echoing her rising heart rate.

“Hey, Zac! I thought it was you! How are you?”

She felt him reluctantly pull away, and when she turned, a tall, gorgeous blonde stood beside them. Emily blinked, astonishment suddenly giving way to the burn of unwelcome jealousy as the woman dropped a brief kiss on his lips.

If her smile was too stiff when Zac introduced them, he didn’t seem to notice. She nodded politely as fear and irritation solidified in her stomach, the snapshot of this stunning creature kissing Zac burning away in her mind as she overtly flirted with him.

When the woman finally left, Emily was ready to pull out those glossy blond hairs one by one.

“Who does she think she is?” she muttered under her breath as she glared into the crowd. She’d obviously seen the way she and Zac had been dancing, yet she’d kissed and flirted with abandon.

She glanced up to see Zac watching her intently.

“Josie works for Scandinavian Airlines,” he offered. “I met her on a flight to Europe.”

“Was she—” Emily bit her lip, refusing to voice that damning question. It made her sound needy. Childish. Jealous.

But Zac had her all figured out. He reached for her, dragging her back into his embrace. Her breath surged out as anticipation began to sluggishly chug through her veins.

“Was she a girlfriend? No.” He paused to study her, his eyes way too perceptive even in the strobe-lighted darkness. “Why?”

She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t say that she was burning with jealousy, that the mere attention from another female sparked ice-cold fear in her stomach.

“Your exes have no concept of boundaries,” she said, then ended on a gasp as his palms slid boldly over her bottom.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend. But you’re right,” he murmured, backing up and taking her with him until they hit the edge of the dance floor. “They don’t.”

The massive stage curtains fell like a dark cloud at their backs, the shadows swallowing them.

His lips found her neck. She shivered as his breath tripped over her sensitive flesh, his mouth shockingly hot as he began to sway in time to the sensual beat of a familiar chart topper.

The heavy bass swirled, the throbbing pulse filling her chest, her throat. She could feel it vibrate through every muscle, echoing in Zac’s heartbeat as his chest pressed up against her.

“Maybe coming here was a bad idea,” he whispered.

Her heart skipped. “Why?”

“Because of this.” He moved and his hard arousal pressed into her stomach.

She groaned, and for a moment she wished she could remain like this, warm and protected. But then the lights flashed, illuminating the bar crowd for less than five seconds, before dropping them back into darkness. And in those seconds, Emily caught a figure in the throng, staring straight at them.

She stumbled but Zac steadied her. When she glanced back, Louie Mayer was gone.

The enjoyment of the night fled. She couldn’t concentrate on the music, on Zac’s warm body flush against hers, not now.

“Can we get out of here?” she said softly.

Zac’s eyes darkened, then with a short nod, he took her hand and they began the slow process of plowing through the dancers.

Emily lay on Zac’s soft sheets staring at the ceiling, knowing she had a dopey smile on her face. Who wouldn’t grin like an idiot when she’d just been completely and thoroughly loved by Zac Prescott?

“You okay?” Zac murmured in the moonlit darkness.

“Fine.” She turned to him, propping her elbow on the mattress, her head on her hand. “But your stairs are tough on the back. And I think I have a splinter in my butt.”

His grin flashed, sending a bolt of heat through her blood. “So next time, you can be on top. In fact…”

He reached for her and rolled, and she went willingly. Her body still sang with their previous lovemaking, but that didn’t stop her heart from picking up in anticipation.

They lay there wedged from chest to knee, Zac effortlessly cradling her weight. Gently, he brushed her hair back, tucking the long strands behind her ears, before tugging her down for a kiss. A soft, tender kiss that made her chest contract with a longing so deep, so sudden, that it made every bone dissolve with joy.

In that moment, she completely understood why all those women wouldn’t take no for an answer. Zac Prescott was like a drug. Her body burned for his touch, his skilled hands, his sinful mouth. And when they weren’t together, like this, he was all she could think about.

“What do you want me to do?” His breath was warm in her ear, his lips nibbling on her lobe. She stifled a groan and sat up, her brain thick with yearning.

Her heart did another little leap as she stared down at him. Her knees firmly bracketed his waist, her bottom wedged on his abdomen. This was real. He was real.

So why did she get the feeling it could all come crashing down in disaster?

“Emily?”

Zac reached out to grasp her waist. She was like some ancient goddess of fertility, with that womanly hourglass figure, the indented waist, the gentle belly curve. And those breasts…

He reached up and palmed them, each luscious swell of generous flesh heavy in his hands.

His groin began to stir again but he ignored it, instead taking the time to thumb those rosy-budded nipples, grinning when her breath hitched and her eyes began to close in dreamy pleasure.

“What do you want me to do?” he repeated thickly. As his thumbs continued their rhythmic stroking, she began to quiver.

“Just…just…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t…”

She wiggled in frustration and he swallowed a groan. “Look at me.”

His command brooked no refusal. She sighed, slowly opening her eyes. The dark arousal in those depths made every muscle constrict with lust.

“You’re in charge, Emily. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Just when he thought he couldn’t be more turned on, her white teeth nibbled on her bottom lip, the tiny pink tongue briefly flashing out to lick the spot.

A new round of flames scorched across his skin, sending his heart rate sky high.

“I want…” The warm flush spread across her cheeks as she blinked. “I want you to kiss me. All over.”

With guttural triumph deep in his throat, he flipped her, pinning her to the mattress. He slid a knee between her legs, then dragged in a breath at the damp heat pooling there.

“You’re wet.”

She tipped back her head and closed her eyes with a mutter of assent, and he grinned. Shocking her gave him no small amount of pleasure. Seeing her flush, watching those lashes flutter nervously, all told him he affected her, that she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be when they were in the office.

Oh yeah, it pleased him greatly.

He cupped her mound, the curls tickling his hand, and she dragged in a breath.

“I’m going to kiss you, Emily.”

Another murmur, another sigh.

“First, your mouth.” He pinned her face with one hand, the other still resting possessively between her legs.

When Zac’s lips came down on hers Emily couldn’t hold back her sigh of delight. Of all the things she’d missed about being intimate, kissing topped the list. Yet every other kiss paled in the wake of Zac’s. He started tender, almost gentle, but soon it deepened into something hot and breathless. When he pulled back she whimpered, no longer caring how it made her sound, just needing his lips on hers.

“Relax.” His mouth went to her jaw, curving into a smile against her skin. “You wanted to be kissed all over, right?”

“Yes.” Although she was quickly regretting her request, because his still hand between her legs had become an almost unbearable distraction.

“So let me kiss you.”

For endless minutes he lavished attention on her neck, then her breasts, before slipping down to her belly button, his hot breath creating a shivering path across her skin.

She knew where he was headed. Every nerve screamed with anticipation. Yet when his mouth closed over the most intimate part of her, the sudden shock wrenched her off the bed with a gasp.

He murmured gently and repositioned himself, cupping her bottom firmly in his palms before applying himself to the task of pleasuring her.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except feel…his strong hands, his teasing hot tongue, his warm breath. Even his chin, dusted with stubble, intimately grazed across her swollen flesh, creating an almost unbearable friction.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the ripples of ecstasy began to build. And Zac kept right on going, his tongue swirling around her hardened bud, his mouth kissing, sucking, teasing her into incoherence.

The trembling began, first in her legs, then her body, then suddenly the orgasm crashed, wave upon wave of rapture forcing a whimper from her lips.

Behind her eyelids everything went a shimmering, iridescent black. Her body twitched like she’d been shot with a thousand volts, skin throbbing with awareness. Through the thickening euphoric haze, she realized Zac had returned to her, his mouth a shocking musky combination of her passion and his desire.

Her blood throbbed through her veins, echoing deep within as Zac smoothly eased inside her, joining them in the familiar lover’s dance.

He groaned, bathing her in need, before he opened his eyes and that heat-laden gaze locked on hers.

It was the ultimate act of intimacy, him moving deep inside, making love to her while their eyes held. Zac saw her every expression, every tiny move, as he slid out, then with a wicked grin, firmly back in. He heard every gasp, every murmur. And soon he was ready to explode, nerves raw from her erotic gasps of pleasure. When he finally went over the edge, she followed a moment later, their cries of release echoing off the bedroom walls.

Emily tried to catch her breath, but Zac’s weight pinned her down.

“Too heavy?” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

“A little.”

He rolled, taking her with him so she was on top, half sprawled across his chest. Beneath her cheek she felt the strong pounding heartbeat, his crisp hair teasing her skin.

This. Right here. If everything collapsed into dust right now, she wouldn’t care.

The minutes ticked by, the only movement when Zac reached down to cover their cooling bodies with the sheet.

“I heard back from admissions,” she eventually said.

“You got into uni.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

With a smile she slowly rolled off him to settle on her back. So why do I feel so…calm? “Better than good. It’s…” She blinked, struggling to define the burning need she’d never had to quantify until now. “It means progress. A goal achieved. It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

The silence settled around them, until Zac shifted and sheets rustled softly.

“Did you like living in Perth?” he said softly.

“Not really.” She moved to her side to face him, tempering her curt reply with a small smile. “Nice city, great beaches. But I prefer Queensland.”

The moonlight reflected his serious gaze. “What about your friends? Family?”

“What about them?”

He said nothing, until she finally let out a sigh.

“My mother’s brother died and left me his place nearly three years ago. So I moved.” She shifted her weight, drawing the sheet firmly around her. “My sister AJ lives in Robina. Everyone else is…gone.”

He studied her in silence. There was something serious and honest in that look. It told her whatever she chose to reveal would remain between them. And more important, he wouldn’t judge.

So instead of throwing up those familiar defenses she lay back, stared at the ceiling and answered him.

“When I was seventeen I started temping for an agency in Perth.” It was easier to talk in the dark, where his all-seeing eyes couldn’t drag out any more than she was willing to give. “It was good money and interesting work, but eventually I wanted something permanent. So I applied for an office manager’s position at Hardy, Max & Taylor.”

“The accountancy firm? That wasn’t on your CV.”

“No. I quit after six months.”

“Why?”

She was a good liar, although not as good as AJ. To get through their childhood, to survive, lying had been a necessity for the Reynolds girls. But needing to and wanting to were two different things.

“One of the managing directors cornered me on the balcony at the Christmas party and tried to feel me up. Not only was I a ‘hot piece with a great rack’—sexual harassment was alive and well in corporate Australia.”

Zac made a small noise, a cross between a curse and a growl. When she turned, his profile squeezed her heart. He was angry—no, furious—and trying to rein it in.

“Did you report it?” he ground out.

“No.” At his puckered brow, she sighed. “I was twenty-two. I had no money, no power to take on one of Australia’s leading private companies. Someone would’ve leaked my complaint and then the TV stations would’ve been all over it. I didn’t want that kind of publicity. And anyway, it wasn’t such a big deal. He didn’t actually do anything.”

“That’s bull and you know it.”

Abruptly she sat up, dragging the sheet with her. “Don’t make this into some big emotional speed bump, Zac. I kneed him in the groin, he threatened sexual misconduct, so I quit. End of story.”

“So you’re saying that didn’t have any lasting effect?”

“What do you want me to say? It didn’t stop me dating, although my choice in men was poor to say the least. It didn’t stop me marrying Jimmy,” she snorted self-deprecatingly. “It didn’t stop me living my life.”

“Right. A life that involves secret sex with your boss?”

Zac abruptly swung from the bed, the cold floorboards on his bare feet barely registering.

“You’re angry.”

His jaw tightened as he glanced back to her rigid figure. “Damn right I am.”

“So…what? Are you saying you want to change our arrangement?”

“I’m saying,” he snapped on the bedside light, then yanked on his boxers, then his pants with sharp jerky movements, “that once in a while it’d be nice if we went out somewhere. Together, in public, instead of sneaking around like our sex life is some big covert operation.”

“What about tonight?”

He shoved his hands on his hips. “That hardly counted. I’m not ashamed of us—are you?”

Zac knew his words hit home the second her breath hissed out. Her pale face humbled him, tiny barbs of guilt thickening his throat.

“Look, Emily…”

“No, you don’t have to say anything.” She slid to the other end of the bed, taking the sheet with her. “I… I think I should go.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.” She gathered up her clothes, adding, “it’s late,” as if that explained everything.

“Stay.”

Her face froze in an expression he couldn’t read.

“I can’t.” She made it to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

Thirteen

It was as if last Monday night had happened in a parallel universe.

Every day that week Emily brought him lunch, organized his clients and performed exactly like the efficient assistant she was. No secret glances, no tensing up when he accidentally brushed her arm. Every time he opened his mouth, her cool blue eyes remained professional and distant.

She remained in the office after he left for the night, always working. He didn’t text her to come over and she didn’t offer. Yet after a few days he wondered if he should’ve pressed the issue instead of letting it ride, because he had no idea what to say or what he could do to fix this. Her wall of silence shut him down before any words could form.

Despite her aura of back off, she still distracted him. Her black suits had finally given way to skirts that now skimmed her knees, tucked-in tops and thin belts emphasizing every dip and curve of her luscious body. To anyone else, her perfectly suitable office attire wouldn’t have rated a second glance. But to Zac, who knew exactly what was under those silky shirts and soft-to-touch sweaters, it blurred the line between demure and obscene.

He’d fantasized a hundred different ways to peel off those clothes.

“So, who are you two backing?”

Daniel from HR stood at the door, the racing form in his hand. Zac didn’t miss the way Emily quickly backed away from his desk, pulling the files she held protectively against her chest.

“The race. The Melbourne Cup?” Daniel said with a grin. “We’re in conference room three—thanks, Em—with nibbles, drinks and a flat screen. We just need your bets.”

Emily glanced at Zac, then back to Daniel, before she gave the younger man a smile. “Come on through and I’ll get some money.”

He’d forgotten about the Melbourne Cup, the biggest day in Australian racing, when the whole nation stopped to watch a horse race. It was a major social event in practically every business, and Valhalla was no exception. And, he thought later as he made his way to the conference room, Emily had a real talent for organizing people. As Valhalla’s unofficial social director, she was the one everyone came to to organize birthdays, retirements, the annual Christmas party. More importantly, she'd jumped into the Point One launch with expert efficiency, and was currently on target and under budget.

She’d make a damn good life coach.

He mingled with his employees, chatting comfortably but always with one eye on Emily. A few times she caught him looking and every time, glanced away.

It took thirty minutes to circulate and get to the spot where she stood, but he did so with purposeful deliberation, waiting until she broke off a conversation and approached the table laden with food.

“Are you free tonight?”

A casual observer would have missed how her outstretched hand stilled briefly before she finally took the tiny quiche and popped it in her mouth. But Zac knew he had encroached on her personal space, from the way her eyes blinked to her fingers gripping the wineglass she held. Tension radiated out like an invisible force field, yet he still itched to brush back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, to test the soft skin of her cheek.

Common sense overrode desire, even though he hated holding back and his muscles ached with the effort.

“You have a client dinner.” She solved his conundrum by efficiently sweeping back the offending lock of hair. “Eight o’clock at the Palazzo Versace.”

He frowned, mentally reshuffling.

“And I’ll probably be working,” she added, taking a sip from her wineglass. “The launch is less than five weeks away.”

He stared at her elegant profile. “Right.” The subtext was glaringly obvious. He’d crossed the line and she was backing off.

Her mobile phone rang then, which was his cue to move away.

“This is Emily.”

He went over to the food, selected a celery stick and thoughtfully chewed.

She paused. “Hello?”

Another pause, then she frowned and clicked the phone off.

He moved back, ignoring her fleeting glance. He was in her space and it annoyed her.

Well, good.

She took a sip of wine, the silence between them growing as everyone buzzed with pre-race excitement. Would she say something? A thin smile flattened his mouth. Probably not.

Just then Jenna Perkins, one of his junior architects, walked over, and she gave the woman her full attention, nodding and smiling in the appropriate places. And when someone turned on the TV, he finally conceded, giving her the space she so obviously wanted.

Emily glanced at Zac’s retreating back, determined not to let that swoop of regret get the better of her. She should’ve put the brakes on long before now, but she’d been caught up in the sex. Amazing sex.

She’d been obsessed with their illicit nights, enthralled by Zac’s lovemaking. He applied himself to the task of pleasing her with uninhibited enjoyment, and while she secretly reveled in every single second, she’d crept from his bed, anxious and flustered, way too many times. And after that incident in his office, she needed to take control.

“I must be out of my mind,” she muttered, shoving a cracker in her mouth and crunching down.

“Sorry?”

Emily glanced up into Jenna’s quizzical face.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself. What were you saying?”

“I said—”

Emily’s phone rang again. Another hang-up.

Jenna gave Emily a gentle shoulder nudge. “I was just asking about Zac…if he’s seeing anyone?”

Emily swallowed back a choke. “Why? Are you in terested?”

“Dating the boss? Please!” Jenna laughed, waving her glass for emphasis. “That’d just be too weird. And anyway I’m twenty-two and he’s what…thirty?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Yeah, too old. No, I was just asking a question.” She nodded to a guy across the room and smiled.

Emily followed her gaze. “Mal’s in charge of the office betting pool, right?”

“Hmmm?”

At Emily’s cryptic silence, Jenna turned innocent brown eyes on her. “What? Noooo…”

“Jen.” Emily sighed. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Come on, we’re only having a little fun.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Zac doesn’t mind.”

“Betting on the boss’s sex life is not my idea of fun.”

“Whatever.” Jenna downed the dregs of her wine with one gulp. “Jeez, you’d think you were one dating him the way you protect him.”

Emily stared at Jenna’s retreating back, her mouth open in a surprised little “Oh.”

An hour later, Emily made her way back to the office. She’d picked a long shot, only one of three horses left unclaimed on the office sweeps, and no one had been more surprised than she when Total Surrender had actually won, putting a nice three hundred dollars in her pocket.

She’d laughingly accepted the congratulations and gentle ribbing before leaving everyone to finish the food and wine. Work output would be close to zero for the remainder of today. But not for her. There were simply too many things to do to justify bunking off for the rest of the afternoon.

Total Surrender. She unlocked Zac’s office with a soft snort. Very apt, her winning horse. Definitely not a predictor of things to come, not when she’d put her foot down and Zac had backed off. Yet the sense of victory she’d expected to feel hadn’t materialized.

She walked in the door, paused, then tilted her head with a frown.

Something wasn’t right.

She sniffed the air, noting an unfamiliar scent—musky and thick, definitely not Zac. Another worker, perhaps?

Except for the cleaners, no one else had the keys.

Quickly she tested the locked drawers. Still locked. She skimmed over the blueprint cabinet. Nothing missing.

Then she went to her desk.

Inside the top drawer, next to her stapler and spare pens, a note was taped. It said cryptically, “Look out your window.”

Zac was still at the party, so it wasn’t him. She walked hesitantly to the office window, drew the blinds aside and stared down into busy Broadbeach Mall.

Their corner office afforded her an expansive view, from the monorail tracks stretching from the Oasis Centre to Jupiters Casino across the busy highway to the traffic-ridden roundabout directly below on Surf Parade. Nothing seemed amiss in the restaurants and eateries in the mall below. At twenty floors up, she wasn’t sure she would see anything. Unless…

Her gaze snapped up, to the Sofilel Broadbeach hotel windows directly across. Almost at eye level, a sign was taped to a window.

“Just you. Where you buy your morning coffee. Ten minutes.”

A thin thread of panic shot through her bones until outrage quickly overtook it. Someone had been in here, in her work area, in her things. Were those hang-ups a part of this, too?

That anger gave her courage, straightening her back and drawing her mouth into a thin line of determination.

Seven minutes later, she stalked into Bennetti’s. After scanning the few customers and two staff, her gaze landed on a familiar figure sitting at a secluded table, casually sipping a short black.

When Louie Mayer’s oily smile spread across his face, she swallowed a spurt of fear.

Showing fear gives them the upper hand. Another one of her mother’s little life truths. Emily grimly smoothed back her perfectly contained hair. Thanks, Mum. Handy advice when dealing with crims.

“You’re looking good, Emily.” Louie smiled, easing back in his chair as he frankly appraised her. Suppressing a shudder, she gave him her best haughty look.

“Your boss got paid, if I recall. What do you want?”

The man really was huge, she realized as he stood and pulled out a seat for her. When she shook her head, he frowned and remained standing, his arms crossed, the black cotton T-shirt stretching taut until she was sure it groaned.

“Looks like you got a good thing going at work, huh?”

Emily frowned. “What?”

“Oh, just that you seem to be enjoying some personal after-hours attention from Zac Prescott.”

His dirty smirk made her want to slap him. Her fingers jerked before she purposefully relaxed them.

“That’s none of your business.”

His grin spread wider and a gold front tooth glinted in the light. “Ah, but it is. Very much my business.” He leaned in, and Emily was suddenly enveloped in a cloying musky aftershave. “Your rich boyfriend ponied up Jimmy’s debt quicker than a teenager sculling a beer at Schoolie’s week. Which tells me a coupla things.” He paused, eyeing two blondes as they walked up to the counter. His eyes lingered on their butts as he continued. “One—you and he are more than coworkers, especially now I’ve seen you both in action. And two, he has cash to spare.”

White-hot panic made her heart surge. “You’re blackmailing me?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He reached out to stroke her hair, but she flinched away. The amusement in his smile fled. “Call it an investment. You pay up every month, and the papers won’t get to hear about Zac Prescott’s private life, starting with him boning his secretary and his ‘compulsive gambling problem.’”

“But you took the last of my money! I don’t have—”

“Use your brain, blondie.” His eyes hardened. “You’re sleeping with a multimillionaire. That doesn’t come for free.”

Her heart beat loudly in her ears, deafening her to everything else. For one split second, she could imagine herself doing actual physical harm to another human being.

She pictured herself surging to her feet and running. Running away from this café, away from this man’s threats. Away from everything.

She’d started over before, she could do it again.

You can’t run. Not this time. She breathed deep, once, twice, forcing calm into her limbs, her brain.

She had to stall him.

“I need time,” she finally said.

Mayer shrugged and glanced at his watch. “You’ve got a week. I’ll be in touch.” And with a wink and a pat on her shoulder, he walked out.

Zac was out at a site inspection, not due to return today. Everyone else was either still in the conference room or pretending to work. The hall was abuzz with chatter and laughter, so no one noticed Emily leaving at four-thirty.

She couldn’t stay at the office, not when it’d been breached so easily. Grilling the security guard and watching video surveillance hadn’t brought her much joy, so now she sat in her Toyota in the basement car park, mulling through her options.

Her body buzzed with alternate flashes of outrage and panic, her skin tight and itchy. Her foot jiggled nervously on the clutch, her fingers clicking the brake button in and out, in and out, before she suddenly realized what she was doing and shoved her hands under her thighs.

She didn’t want to go home. What she really wanted to do was press “rewind” and start today all over again. She couldn’t afford to pay off that criminal, not even with her increased paycheck. And asking Zac for money? She’d rather earn it busking on Broadbeach Mall.

She shivered, remembering Mayer’s fingers on her arm, the way his eyes had insultingly appraised her, the dirty tilt to his mouth.

She rubbed her arms then crossed them. That awful aftershave still lingered in her nostrils, taunting, smothering. It was a reminder that she was trapped, a pawn for someone else to manipulate.

No.

Her hands shot out and she grabbed the steering wheel, hard. I will not be a victim. I will not let that thug win. Determination surged up, charging her body with renewed energy.

He’d given her a week. Could she think of something in that time?

She had to.

Her phone beeped suddenly, pulling her from her focus.

U free later? My place @ 11—2 late?

It was Zac. The only person who’d been honest about what he wanted from her, who didn’t lie and manipulate. A man who hadn’t given up, who disoriented her with just one kiss, who made her forget the entire world when she was in his bed. Her own personal form of escapism.

Which was what she needed right now.

She returned the text, familiar eagerness heating her skin.

I’ll be there.

Zac had just walked through to the living room when he heard the key in his front door, then the lock snick open.

The lights clicked off, plunging him into darkness.

He whirled. “Emily?”

The instant the figure moved from the door to the window, a dark silhouette against the full moon glimmering through his open window, he knew it was her.

Dressed in some sort of long coat?

“What are you wearing?”

She said nothing, just flicked on the small reading lamp. The soft light speared out, bathing her in gold from head to toe.

Zac’s mouth went dry.

Her hair was piled up in a tousled mass, a few strands brushing her collar, one curling seductively over one eye. She was skillfully made up, her eyes wide and mysterious, her eyebrows shaped into a come-hither arch. And her mouth…

He swallowed, knowing he was staring but unable to look away. Her luscious Cupid’s-bow mouth was painted a deep red, the full bottom lip in a slight pout that conjured up all sorts of erotic images.

He couldn’t breathe.

She took one slow step forward, then another, hips swaying as her heels clicked on the polished floor. He glanced down. Red stilettos with a peek-a-boo toe. Long red and black ribbons that looped around her ankles, then tied in festive bows at the sides. He’d bought her those last week.

She paused a few feet away and his eyes went to her hands, to the belt she was slowly untying.

“What are you..?”

“Stop talking.”

As she plucked open the large buttons on her coat, her gaze firmly on him, he could feel anticipation building, bubbling up to heat his blood, shred his breath.

She was stripping. For him.

Unable to move, much less think, he watched her peel away one lapel, revealing a black satin strap over one bare shoulder.

He finally tore his gaze up to meet her eyes, and what he saw crushed his lungs. Even after everything they’d done, touched, tasted, she still looked uncertain.

How could she not know how desirable she was?

Man, she could bring him to his knees with nothing more than a look from those intelligent eyes. She undid him, turning every bone in his body to mush.

With a sharp inhale, almost as if she was dragging in courage, she grasped both lapels and pulled the coat apart.

A groan rattled in his throat.

The black push-up bra firmly cupped her breasts, creating an erotic valley between. He looked his fill, spotting a tiny diamanté flower perched in the center, winking in the light. Then his gaze crept lower, to the black bikini knickers tied at her curvy hips with two jaunty bows. A thin silver chain looped low around her waist, ending in a string of tiny stars hanging just below her belly button.

A rocket surge of lust sped through his blood.

Her body was flawless. Every curve was designed to be touched, every dip a perfect place for his tongue. From the silky smoothness of her thighs to the pebbly roughness of her pink nipples, there was not a section of her skin he hadn’t tasted. If there were any imperfections, he’d yet to see them.

Why did she always bring out the caveman in him?

“Emily…”

Her mouth wavered, fists still bunched on the coat, flashing him. “Zac?”

Control was way overrated.

He surged forward with a rough growl, grabbed her by the lapels and slammed his mouth down on hers.

He kissed her hard and deep, a kiss born of frustration, of passion, of desperate need. He wanted her to know exactly how keyed up he was, how much he wanted her.

Her soft exclamation muffled against his lips as she pressed up against him, her breasts hot and eager. He knew she could feel his arousal, his groin hard as it pressed into her belly. Somehow they made it across the room, but the stairs proved too much and he stumbled, sprawling backward on the steps with Emily on top.

“Ah, what the hell,” he muttered as he pulled the coat from her shoulders, trapping her arms behind her. She grinned, all wicked and wanton, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

He reared up to capture her lips and they tangled for long, sensuous moments, breath heaving, blood thumping.

Then the intercom buzzed.

“Zac…” She mumbled beneath his lips.

He pulled back and caught her soft earlobe between his teeth, grinning when she gasped.

Just as he went in for another kiss, the intercom jarred in his brain again.

He groaned. “If it’s not someone bleeding from a major artery, I’m ignoring it.”

Her small burst of laughter shook her body, sliding her against him. The breath he sucked in was sharp and painful.

“Hurry up and tell them to go away,” she said, peeling away from him with a smile.

“Don’t move.” He rose, stalked over to the door, and with eyes fixed firmly on her near-naked body reclining on his stairs, slammed his fist on the intercom. “What?”

“Hi, Zac.”

The woman’s familiar purr cut through the air, dousing the moment like an Antarctic wind. With one sharp movement, Emily dragged the coat around her and stood.

Zac chewed back a curse. “What do you want, Haylee?”

“You never replied to my e-mails.”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up, hands going to her hips. Her indignation would’ve been humorous if he weren’t so irritated.

“We broke up, remember?” he said.

Her sigh echoed over the intercom. “Look, can I talk to you for a moment? It’s important.”

Zac glanced back to Emily, but all she did was wave a hand, tie her belt, then walk into the kitchen.

His decision.

Emily watched from the darkened kitchen window as Haylee stalked up to the front door. She’d gone all out, dressed in a shiny leather miniskirt, thigh-high stiletto boots and a sheer blouse that left her naked underneath as she passed under the porch light. Her hair shone, the Cleopatra fringe adding sexy mystery to a striking face and dark makeup.

Gorgeous, confident and sexually aggressive.

Emily’s insides cramped as she turned away.

She heard the door swing open, then Zac’s curt, “What do you want, Haylee?”

There was a long pause, too long. Emily chewed on her lip. Eavesdropping is a bad idea. Bad, bad. Before she could convince herself, she quickly scooted back to the window, gently prying the venetian blinds apart.

Haylee had her hands on her hips, one hip thrust forward, chest out, her bold expression a mixture of smoldering and come-here. Emily swallowed. The woman knew how to command the moment, she’d give her that. But Zac…well, his entire crossed-arms posture just gave off waves of irritability, eyes firmly fixed on Haylee’s face.

“I had to see you.”

Zac frowned. “What for?”

“Do I need a reason? We were good together, Zac.”

“I told you. You have to stop this.”

Haylee responded with a pout that looked artfully practiced for maximum effect. “Do you really want to make me say it, baby? Because I will.”

Zac sighed. “Haylee…”

“I know I can convince you to give us another chance. I want you, Zac. Right here, right now.” When she moved in, pressing up against his chest, a thin film of fury cleaved Emily in two, leaving her breathless. Her nails dug into her palms yet she remained motionless, balanced on a knife edge.

Zac had hold of Haylee’s wrists and was firmly pushing her away, his face marred by a deep frown.

“But I don’t want you. Not now, not ever. Stop harassing me. Stop calling my office. Stop everything.”

Then he dragged his impersonal gaze down her body. Emily almost felt sorry for the woman. She recognized the lost-all-patience-and-was-done-being-polite look. And so did Haylee, judging by her shocked expression.

“You’re turning me down?” she spat out, yanking her arms back. “How dare you? Where the hell do you get off? I can name at least a dozen guys who’d be willing—no, thrilled—with what I’m offering.”

Zac crossed his arms. “Then by all means, take them up on

Her eyes narrowed, darting past his shoulder. “It’s someone else, isn’t it? You’ve got someone else in there.”

“That’s none of your business.”

When she surged forward, Zac’s arm shot out to bar her way.

“Hey. Hey!” Haylee yelled into the house, straining against Zac’s arm. “You do know you’re only one skank in a long line? When Zac’s finished with you, he’ll just drop you for some other easy lay! Hey!” She squealed as Zac grabbed her shoulders, pivoted her, then gave her a small shove.

After a brief stumble she whirled, fury twisting her face into ugly lines. “Don’t you touch me.”

“Leave. Now.”

With a foul curse and a rude gesture, Haylee spun away, then stalked down the path.

Wow. Emily pulled away from the window, then returned to the living room. Zac stood with his back resting on the closed door, concentration creasing his forehead.

“That was…” Emily began.

“Unfortunate.” He sighed and pushed off from the door, his hands going to his hips.

“Do you think she’ll make trouble for you?”

“With the clients? I doubt it.” Zac shrugged. “But Josh…”

“You don’t need Josh Kerans’s business.”

“No. But he is an extremely influential man.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but…” They both knew what he meant. Rich, workaholic father, spoilt daughter. It wasn’t hard to do the math.

“Well.” She took a breath. “If there are any problems, you can’t argue with an eyewitness.”

He paused, an odd expression on his face. “You’d do that?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes blew any niggling worry from the water. And when he smiled, her heart melted.

“Come here.”

She went willingly, eagerly into his arms, met his lips with a sigh of satisfaction, letting his mouth and hands cleanse the moment.

She didn’t want to think about anything she’d said or done these past twenty-four hours. Zac filled her senses, her mind and soon, her body. And right now, it was all she needed.

Fourteen

Emily never thought Jimmy’s old gambling contacts would’ve come in handy. But after a few calls and a few pointed tugs on the heartstrings, she had the most likely places Rafe Santos—aka “Joe”—would be, including a description from a former band member.

It was late Friday night, a night for revelry, dancing and shadowy assignations. After checking out five different nightclubs and two strip joints, she’d seen more than her share of excitement.

Last one. She glanced up at the familiar pink neon proclaiming Romeo’s and sighed. This was one of the clubs where Jimmy’s band had once played. Same indifferent young thing at the entrance, collecting her entry fee, same mirrored walls and ceilings. Same huge bouncer at the foot of the stairs. But this time, as she passed by, the man’s eyes latched onto her barely contained breasts straining against the leather bustier, lingering on her until she reached the foot of the stairs. Knowing her butt encased in a short, tight denim skirt now commanded his attention, she forced down her distaste as she clicked up the neon glass stairs in her red-and-black ribboned stilettos. The closer she got to the top, the more heavily the frantic dance music pulsed in her throat and belly. Her head began to throb with the beginnings of a headache. Focus. You’re here to bargain with a bookmaker, hopefully so he will drop his blackmail attempt.

Strobe lights, loud music and heat from dozens of sweaty dancers simultaneously hit the moment she paused at the top of the stairs. The place was cavernous as she remembered, with a split-level dance floor, a stage area and a massive bar that spanned the entire length of the room. And past the bar, in the shadows, a handful of circular lounges were cordoned off by waist-high smoky glass, a VIP area where special guests could observe the action yet still remain private.

And there Rafe Santos was.

She pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath as a slick-looking guy in an expensive suit sidled up.

“Hey, babe, howsabout you and me—”

She didn’t stick around to hear the rest of his suggestion. With her gaze firmly on her quarry, she made her way across the room, ignoring the looks, shrugging off a couple of propositions. She stared right at the group in the private booth, at the guy lounging on the comfy love seat, his arm around a stunning blonde.

As she approached, Santos flicked his gaze over her, then back to the guy standing with his back to Emily. He held up a finger, silencing his bodyguard, then returned to her, his eyes sidling up and down her body in all-male appreciation.

The guard turned with a frown. “This is a private booth,” he said, stepping forward. “You need to—”

“John.”

One word from his boss and he froze, a comical snapshot of menacing indignation. Santos went on smoothly. “You would send a pretty girl away without knowing why we’ve attracted her attention?”

The bouncer gave her the once-over with a bored look in his eyes. “You always attract women, Mr. Santos. This one isn’t worth—”

“I think I’m perfectly capable of deciding who is worthy of my time, John.”

Now that she was here, with one of the city’s most powerful bookies a few feet away, panic began to set in. The man is a criminal. Just what are you going to do? Who do you think you are?

The guard’s smug expression reflected all her unspoken doubts and fears as he edged aside, allowing her entry with only the tiniest of space. Her arm brushed his and she barely managed to stop herself from recoiling.

Confidence. You ooze confidence. This is just another role to play. Emily shut everyone out and put all her focus on the man she’d come to bargain with.

He’s not much older than me, was her first thought. Her second was he was an extremely good-looking man. With a smooth-shaven head and dark coffee skin spread over broad cheekbones, Rafe Santos was an exotic blend of Australia’s multicultural heritage. Filipino, Pacific islander…possibly some Italian in those frankly compelling eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a deep navy suit and a silk tie, ankle casually crossed over one knee as he lounged back in the sofa and appraised her.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Catalano?” he asked smoothly, the rich, cultured voice flowing over her. It was a charismatic, built-to-seduce voice, one Emily could dispassionately acknowledge without succumbing to its charms. Beside him, one arm possessively around his shoulders, the blonde woman shot her a look of haughty distain. Emily ignored her.

“You knew I was coming?”

“An attractive woman is in my clubs asking for me and I make a point of finding out who she is.” His smile was all charming seduction. If she were any other woman, if he weren’t a criminal who didn’t exude barely leashed danger, it would’ve worked. “I knew your husband—”

“My ex-husband.”

His mouth thinned into a smile but his eyes cooled—a powerful man displeased at being corrected. Emily swallowed. “Jimmy was a regular,” he went on, taking a drag from his cigar. “A little too erratic for my tastes, but still, good for business. Pity he died.”

“Yes.”

His eyes never left hers as he took another drag. “John, go and bring some more wine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“White, I think. Something from the Margaret River.” He uncrossed his legs and eased forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Join me for a drink. And sit.” He gestured to the sofa.

Ringed by two impassive bodyguards, she could do nothing but acquiesce. He smiled as Emily slowly sat on the sofa. “A good Australian wine is so much better than overpriced French champagne, wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. As he studied her intently, she slid back into the lounge and crossed her legs. It eased her already-short skirt up even higher and spread Santos’s grin a little wider.

“I need to ask you a favor,” she began.

“Ahh. A favor for a pretty girl. I like the sound of that.”

She swallowed down her apprehension. The way she worded her request was of the utmost importance. “Can we speak privately?”

He raised one eyebrow. “But we are.”

She glanced at the bodyguards, at the hostile blonde. “Not entirely.”

He paused, his teeth flashing in the shadows. “Intriguing. Helena.”

The blonde rose elegantly, then stalked out, followed by the guards, who repositioned themselves a few feet away, this time facing the club crowd.

With a silent prayer, she began. “I know you’re a powerful man, Mr. Santos. An influential man. I respect that. And I thank you for your patience while I sorted out Jimmy’s debts.”

“And I thank you for your prompt payment.” He eased back in the sofa, hitching his elbows along the back of the seat.

Emily nodded, nerves strung out like ragged ribbons on a breeze. “So I’m wondering…” She breathed out slowly, blinked, then took a breath. “I’m asking you to withdraw your current request.”

His eyes narrowed through the thick plume of smoke coming from his lips. “Which is?”

She met his gaze unwaveringly. “That I pay you to stay silent about my relationship with Zac Prescott.”

He was still for a moment, picking her apart with ruthless efficiency.

“I see.”

He took another slow drag from his cigar, blew, then watched the smoke hover gently in the thick air. Emily felt her heartbeat emphasize every dragging second, thump-thumping hard in her chest and drowning out the heavy music.

“And what did you bring to bargain with?”

His eyes slid over her face, breasts, then her legs with disturbing familiarity. She forced herself to remain still, forcing down the surge of disgust as his mysterious gaze finally reached her feet. His wolfish grin spread, spearing ice into her veins. What had she brought, except herself?

Suddenly Santos’s focus snapped up and into the crowded club. “I think we have a visitor.”

Emily turned and stared past the wall of guards to the approaching figure.

What on earth was Zac doing here?

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Prescott.” Santos smiled, then nodded at the bodyguards to let him pass. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Zac’s glacial eyes grazed over Emily, taking in her skimpy attire and expanse of leg in silence, before he returned to Santos. “I came for Emily.”

Emily blinked. “You were following me?”

“I got an anonymous call.”

She frowned, glancing back at the now-silent Santos as he studied his cigar tip.

When he finally met her eyes, his cold expression revealed nothing. She was the first to glance away.

“Emily.” Zac’s firm command brooked no refusal yet she remained seated, glaring at him.

Santos sighed. “If you two are going to fight, could you please take it elsewhere?”

“No.” Emily spun back to him, desperately trying to ignore the overwhelming presence an angry, six-foot-two Zac made. “I came here to talk with you about…what I’d mentioned before,” she added cryptically. Then she looked up at Zac. “Go home, Zac. Please.”

“Only if you’re coming with me.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“I think it does.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s right,” Santos drawled. “If I was blackmailing you to keep silent about your affair, then he has a right to know.”

“What the—?” With a growl Zac surged forward, but a beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Emily shot to her feet the exact moment he whirled, ready to do battle, but Santos’s sharp, “Enough!” froze everyone in their tracks.

“Miss Reynolds. You and Mr. Prescott may go now.”

“But what about—”

His expression blanked, those dark eyes icing over, and Emily’s pulse jumped in alarm. “I am not concerned with how you paid your debt, Miss Reynolds, just that it was paid. Blackmail is not my style. It’s a very messy business with no guaranteed return, not to mention dangerous to my health. I like my life too much.” He nodded, his small smile doing nothing to assuage her nerves. “I thank you for bringing this issue to my attention. Rest assured you will not be getting any visits from Mr. Mayer again. Understood?”

Emily nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Let’s go,” Zac murmured, firmly taking her wrist.

She rose shakily, relief flooding her limbs, but before she could escape, Santos’s hand was on hers.

She whirled, wide-eyed, as she met his eyes.

“If you ever get bored with playing it safe…” He caressed her knuckles, smile widening as Emily felt the blush rise up.

Zac’s hand tightened around hers, a deep warning rumbling in his throat. Santos flicked a glance at Zac, shrugged, then let her go, his chuckle quickly swallowed by the music.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Zac hissed, taking her elbow as they exited the club into the warm night.

She wrenched back and ground to a halt. “I was thinking I could get him to change his mind.”

“Dressed like that?” He bit off a curse, dragged a hand through his hair. “It was dangerous and stupid, Emily. What if something had happened to you? What if—”

“Nothing did.”

“But what if it had? You were being blackmailed. Why didn’t you come to me with this?”

“Because I needed to fix it. Jimmy was my mistake, okay? My lapse in judgment, my stupid decision.”

“And you’re damned lucky it worked out the way it did. Bloody hell, Emily, just what were you prepared to do?”

They glared at each other, teetering on a thin tightrope. The awful truth lay in his furious gaze, laced with worry and concern. It squeezed the fight right out of her.

She took a step back. “I… I don’t know. I just thought—”

“Don’t do that again.” He gripped her arms, tight. “Don’t put yourself in danger and don’t—” The gravity of the situation they’d just left crushed Zac under its weight, her confusion tangling his words. What the hell was he trying to say?

You’re mine.

His expression must have given him away, because her eyes suddenly widened, a spark of lust rending the air. With a thick, frustrated growl he captured her mouth with his.

Emily’s surprise quickly melted into need as her body instantly responded, lips automatically parting, her breath hitching as she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back.

It was an angry kiss, one born of frustration and worry and desperate desire. And she matched it, letting all her tension go in this frantic meeting of breathless gasps and hot mouths.

When he finally yanked back, his heaving chest matched hers.

“No secret is worth that, Emily. Do you hear me?” He tunneled his hand in his hair, glaring out into the night. “This was about us. Not just you, not just me. At least give me the courtesy of telling me before you jump in to try and fix something.”

He clamped his mouth shut as a bunch of revelers approached, moving aside as they stumbled and laughed by. Staring at their backs as they made their way into the club, he said curtly, “Where are you parked?”

“Around the corner.”

He led the way, walking the short distance in cool silence.

When they finally reached her car, Emily fished for the keys in her tiny handbag, face warm, feeling utterly stupid in light of Zac’s argument.

He was right. What had she been thinking? She’d gone there full of bravado, ready to bargain, but what could she have done if Santos had demanded something more?

She blinked, furiously dashing away half-formed tears.

“Emily.” She jumped when Zac placed a hand on her arm, yet summoned enough courage to meet his gaze.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

I think I love you and I’m scared. Every relationship I’ve ever been in gets ruined. I don’t want to lose you when I leave Valhalla. All those doubts and more jostled for position, but instead she said slowly, “You should go to your brother’s wedding.”

He sucked in a breath then rolled his eyes heavenward, muttering something incomprehensible. “Not that again?”

“You need to.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

She leaned back on her car. “I see the way you react every time you deal with your father. You get all tense and jittery, like someone stuck a key in your back and wound you up too tight. He’s been calling for the past few months and yet you refuse to talk to him. Look.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “I admit what I did tonight was thoughtless and stupid, but at least I did something. I faced the problem.”

He said nothing, just stood there with a hard jaw and hooded eyes in the pale streetlight, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Finally he said, “When I was seventeen, I told my dad I wanted to study in Sweden. So he pulled considerable strings to get me into Sydney University instead. I left anyway and he disowned me. Just like that.” He clicked his fingers for emphasis.

She knew verbatim his career highs and triumphs, knew he’d gotten his degree from the exclusive Lund University. But she hadn’t a clue what had driven him to the other side of the world.

“So why did you return?”

His response came easily, as if he’d been expecting the question. “Five years is a long time. It gives you distance and clarity. And Australia has always been my home. I thought coming back would change things. I thought he’d changed.”

“But…?”

“Victor Prescott is—” He scowled, pausing to kick at the chipped curb with one toe. “A brilliant businessman. A clueless father. My mother left when I was seven.” He sucked in a breath, his troubled expression suddenly hardening. “I remember begging her to take me, too, but instead she left me with a man who divorced her within weeks, then destroyed every photo of her I had.”

Emily’s heart went out to him. “Oh, Zac.”

“Yeah.”

Zac crossed his arms. Damn. He’d let this go, had moved on. Yet somehow the bitter betrayal still clung like sticky cobwebs inside.

“Did you ever go looking for her?” Emily was asking softly.

He wrestled with the memories, indecision warring. But Emily’s expression, eyes wide and open in the pale light, somehow comforted him. He trusted her with his most confidential business transactions, so why would he not trust her with this?

“Between study and classes, every spare hour I had, I looked. But she’d vanished and I barely had enough money to live, let alone offer as an incentive. Then, after I returned to Sydney I got a letter from her lawyer telling me she’d died and left me all her money.” He paused, catching the mixture of poignant sadness and understanding fleet across Emily’s face before her expression cleared.

It was enough for him to continue.

“You know what the worst thing was? While I’d been studying, my mother had been alive and well, living on a small farm in the next town.” He clenched his fist briefly then let it go. “So Victor and I argued and I nearly punched him out. Not my finest moment,” he said with a humorless smile. “I surfed my way around Australia with the money she’d left me, trying to forget who I was, who my father was. Then I started Valhalla.”

Emily was silent for a moment, digesting that information as things slowly clicked into place. His confession answered so many questions, put a lot of things in perspective.

“Zac, I am so sorry,” she began. “But I still think you need to do this. There’s nothing worse than regret, thinking you should’ve done something differently. Trust me, I know.”

His gaze turned astute as he searched her face. “What do you regret?”

“Lots of things.” She jingled the keys. “It doesn’t matter.”

He stilled her hand, his fingers warmly covering hers. “It does, otherwise it wouldn’t get to you.” He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. “So it matters to me.”

“I don’t…” Lord, she was so tired of maintaining the walls of silence. Making love with Zac made her forget the truth of who she was and where she’d come from. For a few hours she could be someone desirable, someone wanted.

Someone loved.

Yet how would that change if he knew who she really was and how she felt about him?

So instead of answering, she leaned in, grasped his neck and dragged him down for a kiss. He frowned, resisting, but when she gently pushed apart his lips and slipped her tongue in, he yielded with a frustrated mutter.

They kissed, out in the open, on the darkened street where anyone could have seen them. Emily didn’t care. All she cared about was the here and now, Zac’s hard, warm body pressing her up against the cold car door, not the ghosts of her shadowy past.

“Let’s go,” she finally murmured. “I’ll meet you at your place.”

“Emily…”

“Please.” She lifted large eyes to his, unashamedly using every seductive trick to sway him.

He stepped back with a groan and dug in his pocket for his car keys. “Hurry.”

They made love frantically, barely getting their clothes off and making it to the bed before he was on top of her, then inside her. She cried out, thrusting her hips up, wanting this, wanting him.

When they came, it was like a violent explosion, with tangled limbs, racing breaths and crashing heartbeats.

Finally, they lay replete in his bed, Zac nuzzling her neck as their bodies cooled.

“Hungry?” he murmured.

She shivered. “Starving.”

“Then let’s eat.”

When he slid from the bed and the cool air rushed over her damp skin, she wanted to weep.

He must have caught her shiver because he gently pulled her to her feet, bringing her flush against his naked chest. Still warm, she realized, her palms automatically going to those firm muscles, gently sprinkled with dark hair. Then, to her surprise, his arms went around her, he buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, like he was imprinting her scent on his brain. As if she was truly desirable and he couldn’t get enough of her.

He placed a soft cotton robe around her shoulders, tying it in front before giving her a wink. “Stay here.” And he headed for the stairs.

They ate picnic-style in the middle of his huge bed, devouring crusty bread, dip, olives and four different cheeses. She’d expected to be uncomfortable, eating seminaked in Zac’s bed after what they’d just done between the sheets. But instead, they shared stories about their respective houses and the local wildlife that dropped in on occasion.

Emily finally reclined on the pillows with a groan, an odd feeling of contentment seeping into her limbs.

“I can’t fit any more in.”

“Not even cherries?” He held up a bag with a grin.

Emily grinned right back. “No.”

He rattled the bag. “Just one?”

His boyish charm worked its magic: with a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, she sat up and stuck out her hand. “All right.”

“Nuh-uh.” He plucked off the stalk then beckoned. “Closer.”

She leaned in a few inches.

“Closer.”

Another inch more, straining from her cross-legged position.

His gaze darted to her neckline and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Emily glanced down and noticed the robe had parted, revealing more than she cared to. Chomping down on a soft groan she dragged the robe closed.

Suddenly the comfortable moment disappeared like vapor in the air, replaced by something warmer, more heated. Intimate.

Zac crooked his finger. “Closer,” then stuck the ruby-red fruit between his lips, eyes dancing.

She hesitated for one breath, maybe two. But the temptation proved too much.

Her hands went down to the mattress as she eased her legs out, shifting until she was on all fours. Zac’s gaze turned quizzical but his smile remained, the cherry sitting ripe and tempting between his lips. But when she leaned forward, gave a mischievous grin and started to crawl toward him, that smile slowly dropped.

His gaze fell to her neckline, then snapped back up to her face. Oh, she knew what she was doing, all right. The heady feeling of empowerment was like a shot of pure adrenaline through her veins as she eased her way forward, finally stopping a breathless inch away. His ragged breath bathed her cheek as she paused, her mouth close but not touching the cherry offering. His whole body glowed warm, like someone had lit a fire inside. It reflected in those eyes, all-seeing eyes that probed hers, studying, cataloging, waiting for her next move—almost relishing it, judging by the way his expression tensed as she exhaled gently before inching her mouth closer.

When she latched onto the cherry and gently bit into the flesh, he choked out a throaty groan. She grinned and eased back, chewing as the deliciously sweet juice coated her lips.

The moment solidified with sudden clarity as Zac battled through the steadily growing waves of lust. Emily in his robe, her hair tousled and falling around her shoulders, the neck gaping to reveal generous breasts. Her bright blue eyes, twinkling with mischief.

And one bright-red drop of cherry juice shimmering on the curve of her bottom lip.

Her tongue was nearly out before he acted, dipping his head to steal the juice, licking, then sucking her swelling bottom lip. Her answering groan was like gasoline on glowing embers.

They sat there, joined only by a kiss, one that seemed to go on forever. Sweet, sticky, exploratory cherry-kisses in between soft laughter and knowing smiles. But then the mood changed, the kisses becoming deeper as their breath mingled, tongues tangling.

She tasted of cherry juice, white wine and olives. Zac breathed deep, dragging in the musky reminder of their lovemaking combined with the remnants of their meal. Senses reeled as his body weighed in, his groin demanding action.

It took superhuman effort to pull back from her heavenly Cupid’s mouth. Her small whimper, eyes wide and dark with arousal, shattered him.

He quickly rose and stuck out his hand.

“Come with me.”

His rough command made Emily shiver. Without hesitation she took his hand.

He led her into the master bath, soft bedroom light spearing into the darkness, illuminating a massive chrome and white-tiled extravaganza complete with skylight and huge corner spa, another view of the Pacific Ocean serving as the backdrop.

When he went to turn on the light, she stopped him. “Can people see in?”

His mouth quirked. “What do you think?”

“I think…no.”

“Ah, but do you know for sure?” He peeled off her robe with expert hands, backing her up against the sink until her bare bottom hit the cold tiles.

Her shock drowned in a groan as his hands went to her arms, pinning her as his mouth descended. With a tiny click, he’d flicked the lights on, bathing them in a soft golden glow.

“Does it bother you, Emily?” He asked between hot kisses. “That anyone could walk along the beach and see us together? Or is it…” She gasped as his hand slipped between them, fingers going straight to the core of her heat. “Exciting? Arousing?”

“Yes.” He knew her body too well, knew when she was eager for him. His rough chin grazed her neck, his mouth dipping to capture one swollen nipple.

She whimpered, hips jerking as lust exploded, those exquisite sensations quickening her blood.

“Wait, my sweet,” he whispered, before grasping her shoulders and turning her to face the mirror.

She stared at her shadowed reflection, a wide-eyed, disheveled reflection, naked and bent over at the waist. Behind her, Zac swept a hand over the curve of her bottom, then across her back, his eyes heavy with desire.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, before glancing up to see her watching him through the mirror. His eyes locked on hers, lingering, and suddenly Emily knew what he was waiting for.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His mouth curved into a sensual grin.

Emily’s breath caught when he grasped her hips and nudged her legs apart with one knee, only to explode out as he swiftly entered her from behind.

Ohhhh… The wicked delight of his hot naked flesh in hers, their eyes locked through the mirror, shadow and soft golden light shafting across his face, freezing his expression in a moment of ecstasy.

Everything felt suddenly too hot, too sensitive, yet Zac couldn’t withdraw. She surrounded him completely, her hot warmth, her pliant body beneath his hands. Inside and out.

He rocked back, slowly withdrawing, and her breath hissed out. “Zac…”

His name on her lips, pleading, wanting him, nearly sent him over the edge. Instead he gritted his teeth, took hold of her hips and began to thrust.

She was exposed and vulnerable, yet she held his gaze through the mirror, bold, languid eyes watching as he made love to her.

That only turned him on more. When he eased the pace to drive in deeper, she hauled in a stuttering breath, eyes closing, head back as she braced herself on her elbows and went with the rhythm. She rocked with him, completely in sync, and it was all he could do not to lose it then and there. Instead he bent forward and wrapped his arm around her waist, planting long, languorous kisses along her spine as he quickened the pace. He felt her shudder, then gasp. And all of a sudden, she cried out, her eyes springing wide open.

When he felt the orgasm quake through her, her entire body clenched in exquisite torture around him, he finally let go, their cries echoing off the tiles.

Eventually they shared a hot bath in that massive spa, lazily washing each other between wet kisses. Then Zac wrapped his arms around her and dragged her to sit between his legs. They languished in the bubbles, his chin on her shoulder, his hands absently stroking her arms.

Emily breathed in the damp heat, the curls of steam smelling faintly of sandalwood and vanilla, and wondered if the moment could be any more perfect—lying wet and naked with the man she loved.

The frightening realization dawned just as the fiery red sunrise began to streak across the sky.

She was in love with a man who was only supposed to be temporary. A physical distraction only.

She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to hold on to the moment instead of facing the reality for what it was.

Yet how could she not think about reality when Zac’s hard body was pressed against her back, his hands splayed possessively under her breasts?

“Come with me to Cal’s wedding,” Zac said softly, breaking the silence.

Emily paused, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why?”

“Because I want you there.”

And I want to be there. More than anything. Instead, she bit her lip and remained silent.

At her silence, he gently turned her to face him, water swirling as she went. “Look, you’re my assistant. No one’s going to question you being with me.”

Great. “It’s not that.”

His expression told her he wasn’t convinced. “So…?”

So why did it feel…bad? As if she was breaching the line they’d drawn. She was his bedmate, not his girlfriend. They didn’t share anything except their bodies.

Not true, a little voice inside reminded her. There’s trust. Professional respect. And he knows things about you, private things, and he’s still here.

Yeah. But if he knew all of it, he’d run a mile.

“It’s your brother’s wedding, Zac. A private family gathering. Surely they wouldn’t want—”

“I want.” He reached out and pulled her in, his mouth dipping down to hers. “There’s no one else I’d trust to be there.”

Conflict warred briefly, until his lips skimmed hers and desire swiftly replaced it. Her eyelids sagged. Where’s your list when you need it? Yet for the first time, she felt no urge to list those pros and cons because there was only one answer in her heart.

She was sick of letting fear and doubt shape her actions. He needed her. She’d be there.

“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll go.”

“Good.” He finally kissed her, yet despite the warm tenderness, trepidation still oozed through her body like an ever-growing toxic spill.

Fifteen

“Why is it,” AJ said casually as they ate lunch at Madison’s in the Oasis Centre as the March heat scorched the sidewalk outside, “that no matter how many problems a relationship is having, couples can still overlook them to have sex?”

Emily followed her sister’s eyes to the far table, where the guy and girl they’d been covertly watching argue were now deep in a passionate kiss. “Is that a question or a statement?”

AJ turned her bright blue gaze back to Emily. “I’m talking about you and Zac.”

“And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rubbish. You love him. And I’m assuming he has feelings for you, given the fact he’s been your knight in shining armor at least twice now. But you haven’t really talked, have you?”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Right. Let’s recap, shall we?” AJ crossed her arms, pinning Emily with a firm look. “The Point One launch was a huge, glittery, publicity-laden hit. You made the man heaps of money and provided an in-depth report in favor of his new events division. He gives you a pair of the most amazing Louboutins for Christmas, which, by the way, are worth hundreds. Then you pick me over Mr. Yummy for the holidays. So okay, I’m flattered—” AJ shook her head with a comical look of disbelief “—but in God’s name, why?”

“I told you,” Emily muttered past a forkful of salad. “After the launch, I think people were beginning to suspect something.”

“Oh, please. You’ve been together for…” she mentally calculated “…close to four months—”

“—twenty-one weeks.”

AJ’s brows went up with a smirk. “And it’s just sex, huh? Right. I think you’re just grasping at straws. Maybe you don’t want it to work out.” She smiled as the waiter refreshed their empty water jug and the teenager smiled back, flushing as he left. Emily shook her head.

“How do you do it?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Do what?” AJ tossed a long lock of red hair over her shoulder and returned to her club sandwich.

“Make men fall at your feet.”

“Good genes, I guess.” She grinned, her mouth full. “Our mother was gorgeous before the drugs and booze ruined it. But back to you—why didn’t you say something to Zac at the Point One launch?”

“You’re kidding, right? I barely had time to breathe, let alone deal with any personal issues.”

“Okay, then…your New Year’s Eve party? A perfect time after you’ve had a few drinks, loosened up…” AJ wiggled her eyebrows. “And there’s that midnight kiss…?”

Emily shook her head. “We were in the penthouse suite of Point One—”

“Sounds promising.”

“—surrounded by Valhalla staff,” Emily finished pointedly. “We all ate, drank and watched the fireworks over Sydney Harbour. I avoided Zac—” or had he avoided her? “—went shopping with Megan and her girlfriends on the Sunday after, then came home a few days later.”

AJ snorted and sat back in her chair. “That’s just dumb. Why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Er, probably because he’s fine with the way things are?”

“How could he be? What’s not to love about you?” AJ’s righteous indignation made Emily smile. “And why haven’t you asked him?”

“You know why. I’m gutless about this stuff. I don’t want to spoil the time we have left by ruining it. And anyway, I know him. Zac loves women. He never falls in love with one.”

AJ tossed down her sandwich and reached for a napkin. “Well, now you’re just not giving the guy enough credit.”

“We agreed it’s just about sex.”

“Since when is something ‘just about sex’? He makes you glow, Em. Look at you.” She eyed Emily’s floral shift dress with approval. “All this and a decent pair of shoes. There’s hope for you yet.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” AJ gently shoulder-bumped her sister. “And we both know it’s more than clothes and looks. People can change—just look at me.”

Emily grinned despite herself.

AJ grabbed her water glass with a leisurely smile. “If a juvie runaway can come back from the brink of a glorious criminal career—” she waved her glass theatrically “—her sister can find a good guy who truly deserves her. Right?”

Emily shrugged, pushing a piece of tomato around on her plate in silence.

AJ sighed and covered Emily’s hand with hers. “Em. This isn’t something you need to pro-con, okay? Sometimes you just have to listen to your heart and leap right on in, regardless of the consequences. And—” she arched her eyebrows before spearing Emily’s tomato with her fork “—that stupid office betting pool means squat when you’re leaving in less than a month.”

Half an hour later, Emily avoided her reflection as the elevator returned her to the office. AJ had a point. Well, she amended as she unlocked the office door, AJ always had a point. But this time, Emily began to wonder if she was actually right.

She sat at her desk, then placed her purse in the drawer.

The months leading up to the Point One launch had flown. Two weeks prior, she’d relocated to Sydney to oversee the preparations, and even with that temporary move she’d felt the keen stab of loss. Sure, she’d spent those fourteen days living and breathing work, yet with the breaking dawn, in the split second she struggled from deep sleep to slow awareness, she’d felt it in the huge hotel and the cool sheets: emptiness.

It was almost painful, the launch night. She’d watched Zac circulate, his powerful presence and barely contained elation commanding her eyes every time she glanced over. And when he’d singled her out, praising her work and congratulating her in front of that rich, influential crowd, his perfunctory kiss had seared a path across her burning cheek.

Hours later, just before sunrise, his exhilarating euphoria had only heightened their passionate reunion.

Tell him how you feel.

With a sigh, Emily grabbed a notepad and pen, then checked her phone messages. After noting the calls, she flicked the page and slowly drew a line down it, filling in the two columns with the familiar “pro-con.”

Every night her body rejoiced in his arms. During the day, the cracks had begun. The strain of the facade was beginning to tangle with her mind, winding her up into a tight mass of nerves.

Yet in public Zac was flawlessly—almost effortlessly—the epitome of the platonic boss.

What if she put it out there and he responded with indifference? Pity? A polite “thank you”? Worse, what if he called their arrangement off? She swallowed a spurt of panic. If time had flown these last few months, the weeks she had left would surely drag if he rejected her, especially when she’d agreed to go to his brother’s wedding in two days’ time.

Which reminded her…She clicked open a folder on her computer. She had to make a recommendation to the selection panel for her replacement.

When the office door swooshed open she glanced up, head crammed full of things to do, a pleasant smile on her lips.

That smile froze as a uniformed policeman walked in.

His bars indicated someone high up…a senior sergeant, or maybe a local area commander. Nervousness hit her stomach as she darted through worst-case scenarios.

Keep calm. Act normal. She gritted her teeth. Great. Now she was channeling her mother.

“Can I help you, Officer?” she said calmly, shoving those memories aside.

The cop tucked his cap under one arm. “Is Zac around?”

“Let me check. Can I get your name?”

“Senior Sergeant Matthews.”

Emily rose fluidly, walked over to Zac’s door, knocked, then went in.

“You have a policeman here to see you,” she said when he dragged his gaze from the computer screen.

He glanced past her shoulder and the small frown quickly spread into a smile.

“Tim!” Zac rose, hands braced on the desk. “What can I do for you?”

As the policeman walked past Emily, his expression grim, Zac’s smile slowly dropped.

“Close the door behind you, thanks, Emily,” Zac said.

She did as he asked, then returned to her desk. Dread pooling in her stomach. This wasn’t about her. It couldn’t be.

And yet…She drew in a short breath. Something more serious than, say, a parking ticket would warrant a personal visit from a Senior Sergeant.

She heard Zac’s muffled exclamation. Moments later, the cop emerged, his mouth flattened into a severe line.

Emily watched him leave, then swiveled back to Zac. His head shaking in disbelief as he stared at the papers in his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

He pivoted and she quickly followed.

“Haylee issued me with an AVO.” He slapped the restraining order down on his desk, one hand on his hip.

“What?” She swiftly closed the door.

“An Apprehended Violence Order.”

“I know what it is.” She paused, struggling to remain calm as outrage scorched the back of her throat. “This is payback, for the night she turned up at your house.”

He crumpled up the papers, hurling them across the room with a foul curse, but when she made a move toward him, the radiating waves of fury brought her to a stop.

“She’s lying, Zac. We both know you didn’t do anything.”

His jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “That won’t matter—the accusation alone will be damage enough. I have to call Josh.” Zac had picked up the phone and was dialing.

“Zac,” she said louder. He ignored her.

She moved, swiftly cutting off his call, eliciting a furious scowl. It was painful to watch him struggle to get a handle on his emotions. Despite everything in her past, every crappy thing that had happened to make her who she was, she’d never wished she could turn back the hands of time so fervently as right now.

“I was there, remember?” she said. “And I’ll sign whatever needs to be signed as your witness.”

His expression changed as the words sunk in. “You’d do that?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?” He frowned. “After we’ve gone to such lengths to keep us a secret?”

Because I love you.

Fear slammed into her with such a force that she took a step back, desperate to avoid his gaze. Instead she homed in on the discarded AVO.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” She walked over, picked up the papers and began smoothing them out, seeking calm in the rhythmic movement.

Zac stared at the papers she held out, his thoughts spiraling. She was actually going to step up and risk her privacy, possibly unveil her personal life to be scrutinized and gossiped about.

Yes, he wanted entry into that private room, but not like this.

He shook his head and took the papers. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I have a solicitor. He can deal with it, make it go away.”

“How?” Her hands went to her hips. “You have to go to court, unless she decides to drop it—which I don’t see happening. She’s a woman scorned, Zac, and she wants to hurt you. And she’ll do that by hurting your company.”

“You’re giving her way too much credit.” He tossed the papers onto his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

When she just glared at him and refused to budge, he glared right back. Yet beneath his irritation, a shot of admiration sparked. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes dark with righteous anger, her hands on her shapely hips, one leg thrust forward. Damn if she didn’t look absolutely adorable right now.

“Emily,” he began.

“Fine.” She sighed before whirling and stalking out the door.

As expected, Josh Kerans was unavailable. So Zac called Andrew, his solicitor, who directed him not to approach Josh or Haylee. When Emily stuck her head in and asked for a long lunch, he nodded absently before trying to get back to business.

But a horrible feeling hijacked his thoughts, encroaching into work. He hated doing nothing, yet nothing was exactly what Andrew had instructed him to do. “Lie low for the rest of the week,” he’d said. “Go to your brother’s wedding. I’ll get us an expedited hearing date and we can refute everything in court.”

Which didn’t placate him one bit.

They boarded their Sydney-bound flight early Friday morning, then an hour later switched at Sydney for the small country plane that would take them west to Parkes.

Emily remained silent as they drove through Gum Tree Falls, then down the dirt road to Jindalee, the outback spa resort where Cal and his fiancée were holding the ceremony. Sure, she’d anticipated Zac’s mood wouldn’t exactly be joyous, but this complete emotional shutdown was ominously disturbing.

Twice, she’d asked, “you okay?” and he’d replied with a nod and a short “yeah.”

Which did absolutely nothing to calm her worries.

Finally, at the end of a long dirt road, Jindalee appeared. The homestead sprawled across the land, the green corrugated iron roof glinting in the sun atop large slabbed and roughly mortared walls. The iron porch railing was decorated in loops of white and silver-blue organza, sprigs of silvery gum-tree leaves serving as bouquets in between. Large earthenware pots filled with banksias and waratahs flanked a blue carpet that ran across the small grassy yard, up the stairs and stopped at the huge wooden double doors.

Past the main homestead she caught a glimpse of the skeletal frame of a massive extension. To the left, another blue carpet led to the wedding marquee and beyond that, a handful of guest suites.

When Emily opened the car door, the late-afternoon heat slammed into her, stealing her breath. She paused for a moment, then exited, the familiar strains of classical music floating in on the warm breeze.

“Mozart’s Concerto for Two Pianos,” she murmured, shoving a loose lock of hair behind her ears.

Zac looked up as he took their bags from the boot, the first real look since they’d started this trip.

“You like classical music?”

“I like Mozart,” she replied, shouldering her handbag. “I saw Amadeus about a billion times. I’m told it was my uncle’s favorite movie.”

“The one who left you the apartment?”

She nodded. “I never knew my mother had family until his solicitor contacted me.” She closed the car door with a solid thunk. “From what the neighbors tell me, he was a pretty good guy. He used to watch movies with Kitty from One B every Saturday night.”

She let him digest that little piece of information as they mounted the steps. Then the doors swung open and Cal and his wife-to-be stood in the entrance.

Emily watched Zac smoothly make his way through Ava and Cal’s warm welcome and the inevitable wedding-guest introductions. If his smile appeared too tense or his shoulders too rigid, she said nothing. Just having him here was a major step.

They were shown to their rooms, two elegant side-by-side suites decorated in cream and gold with a huge four-poster bed in the center. As Zac placed her bag on the bed, Emily’s gaze slid over the opulent coverlet, the whispery canopy. It was so massive, so in-your-face, it felt like a huge elephant in the room. It tauntingly reminded her that everything had changed.

She hung up her suit pack, the wardrobe door blocking her from Zac’s view.

“What time’s the ceremony?”

“Seven.” He dragged off his tie, then undid the top button of his shirt, the tanned skin at his neck forming a tempting V. She swallowed.

“Are you going to talk to Cal and Victor?”

“I can hardly avoid them.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He gave her a small smile. “I know.”

She let it go, instead flipping the top of her suitcase open. Why on earth had she said yes to this? This was a wedding, a celebration joining two people in love. If that wasn’t a slap in the face, what the hell was?

“I’ll let you unpack.”

One glance was all it took. One glance to see the uncomfortable tension riding his body as he stiffly grabbed his bag and made for the door, and her reason became clear.

She was here for Zac, to be whatever he wanted her to be this weekend—his date, his support, his emotional sounding board. He trusted her with his family secrets, a trust that simultaneously humbled and shamed her. What had she trusted him with?

She was sick of hiding—behind unspoken truths, behind awful work clothes. Even behind the possibility of a broken heart. She’d spent years protecting herself, making decisions based on fear.

She sank to the bed, staring unseeing at the closed bathroom door, at the polished golden handles and white glossy wood until spots danced before her eyes.

A mixture of dread and excitement rushed in, making her limbs tremble. She was actually going to do it. After the wedding, after the reception. She’d pick her moment and then…

Then she’d tell him how she felt. Damn the consequences.

Sixteen

“Callum Stephen Prescott, do you take Ava Michelle Reilly—”

Emily’s eyes skimmed over the bride, a shimmering, smiling vision in off-the-shoulder white satin, a tiny tiara of diamonds holding back waves of black hair, and her throat caught. Well, what do you know—brides did glow.

Then she looked over to Cal. Dark and gorgeous in a sharp gray dress suit and sky-blue cravat. But it was his expression that held her: a rapt look of such happiness and pride as he gazed on Ava that it actually made her breathless.

She swallowed thickly, forcing back unexpected tears.

“You okay?” Zac whispered beside her with a frown.

She nodded, unable to speak.

When he silently offered her his handkerchief, she took it and carefully dabbed under her eyes. “It’s just a little…” Fanning herself with her hand, she gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve never been to a wedding before.”

“Really?”

“Shhhh!” An impressively decked-out woman to their left frowned. Emily gave her a watery smile, mouthing an apology.

Zac bent in, his lips close to her ear. “What about your own?”

She sighed, her eyes fixed on the beautiful picture Cal and Ava made as they recited their vows. “We signed papers at the town hall. Hardly cause for tears of happiness.”

When Cal and Ava finally kissed, their joy was so palpable everyone laughed, then began cheering as the kiss just kept on going.

She shook her head. “I didn’t think it would be so…so…”

“Emotional?”

“Exactly.” She offered him his hanky back and he took it, eyes never leaving her face. She smiled nervously. “What?”

“I love your shoes.”

She choked out a laugh. “Thank you for them. I think I’ll concede I’m hopeless when it comes to buying footwear.”

He glanced down at her feet, at the soft leopard-print high heels, the tiny pearl strands looped around the ankle. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

She flushed. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

With a grin and a wink, he swung his gaze back to the ceremony, leaving Emily to swallow the lump in her throat. Hope bloomed low in her chest, a tentative bud curling around her heart. “Zac…”

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the bride and groom. As Cal and Ava accepted congratulations, posed for photos and smiled their way through the small gathering, Zac couldn’t keep his eyes off Emily. She was no longer his conservative, efficient assistant. Dressed in a short flippy lemon skirt, a silky white tank and a cap-sleeved tangerine-colored cardigan that emphasized her womanly curves, she was elegant yet mouthwatering.

She’d even ditched her glasses. Her hair was swept up at the sides, the blond curls tumbling down her back. Unable to help himself, he ran a hand up her back, tangling his fingers in the soft waves.

She glanced up at him and her mouth stretched into a smile, her eyes shimmering from still-damp tears.

And that’s when it happened.

The sounds of the wedding, the nesting rosellas, the clink of the caterer putting down the final settings, everything just fell away. His heart leaped as emotion slammed into him with such power it left him struggling for breath.

He was hopelessly, totally in love with Emily. His assistant, who couldn’t stand a messy filing system. Who harbored a secret love of cheesecake and mocha lattes. Who accessorized her desk with hot pink and sky blue. Who danced in the dark. Who had woeful taste in shoes yet chose lingerie that made his eyes roll back in his head. Who kept her past locked down, allowing no one entry.

He’d never been so hell-bent on discovering what made a woman tick. She was more than just a challenge: those tiny pieces of information she doled out just made him hunger for more. He’d managed to piece together the basic framework, but she hadn’t offered more than he’d asked.

Craving movement, he went in search of the circulating waiter. He was fully aware he was living on borrowed time. She was leaving Valhalla next month, and by leaving the company she’d also leave him.

No going back, just moving forward. Like she’d been doing all her life.

So where the hell did that leave him?

He watched in brooding silence as his stepmother approached Emily. Emily returned her smile, and soon they were deep in conversation. Unbidden, Zac’s mouth tugged up. Isabelle had a way of putting people at ease, which he suspected came from her honest, working-class background, devoid of the polished sheen of wealth. His gaze lingered on Emily’s face, the way her eyes creased when she laughed, the way she held her hips, one forward, one back, her back straight.

Then Victor joined them and familiar panic snaked through every muscle, urging him forward.

“You’re Zac’s assistant and his date?” Victor was asking as Zac approached with two glasses of champagne.

“Yes.” She glanced up at Zac, smiling her thanks as he offered her a glass.

If Zac hadn’t been watching the man so carefully, he might’ve missed that brief expression. But when their eyes met, Zac knew.

You’re sleeping with your assistant.

The faint aura of censure accompanied an eyebrow raise, judgment quickly masked behind an impassive expression.

Zac scowled. Nearly thirty years old and he was still proving to be a letdown, tainting the exacting standards of the Prescott name.

His fingers involuntarily tightened on the glass stem before he downed the contents like water.

Well, Dad—screw you.

“I’m starting uni in April,” Emily said.

“Doing what?”

“Small-business degree. I’m going to be a life coach.”

Victor’s bushy eyebrows went up. “A what?”

And here it comes. Zac shoved a hand in his pocket, forcing back an irritated growl.

“A life coach. You help clients determine their personal goals, then help them achieve them,” Emily said.

“Like a career consultant, darling,” Isabelle explained. “But more…”

“Broad,” Emily added with a smile. “Holistic.”

“Right. And there’s a demand for it?” Victor asked.

Zac frowned. He’d been expecting Victor’s usual halfhearted interest laced with thinly veiled skepticism. Instead it sounded as if the man was almost…interested.

“A huge demand,” Emily said. “And it can be business-oriented, too—large corporations, government departments have life coaches under long-term contracts, which means a steady client base.” She glanced at Zac. “Working at Valhalla has given me some excellent experience in the field.”

“I’m sure it has.” Victor’s face was the epitome of politeness, yet annoyance still wound its way around Zac’s chest. He had no doubt his father knew more about Emily than even she did. He was hard-core through and through, leaving nothing to chance, no sudden surprises lurking in the background. He knew this because of the way Victor watched Emily when he thought no one was looking. A calculated study, as if weighing up his options before deciding on appropriate action. The look was as familiar to Zac as every traffic light along the Gold Coast Highway from Surfers to Broadbeach.

It was Cal’s wedding, for heaven’s sakes. He should be happy for his brother. Dammit, he was happy. The man had everything—a lovely wife, a cute baby and a burgeoning business out here in Sydney’s far west. Yet every time he spotted Victor, every time he thought about dealing with VP Tech, he cramped up. Like now.

“You two need to talk,” Cal had said earlier in his suite. “Despite whatever he’s done, he has changed. Hell, he’s even agreed to consider our suggestions. Once he realized it’d give him more time to focus on his new pet projects—”

“I didn’t come here to discuss business, Cal.”

“Right.” Cal had lifted one eyebrow as he tied his cravat with smooth precision. “So what did you come here for?”

“You’re my brother. You’re getting married, remember?”

“And Victor is your father. You can’t ignore him forever.”

“That’s what Emily says.” Zac muttered, absently fingering the wedding bands Cal had entrusted him with.

Cal straightened his cuffs. “Smart girl, that.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help but smile. “She is.”

When Cal finally held out his hand, Zac dropped the rings in his palm. “Ready?” Cal said.

“Are you ready?”

Zac saw the look flicker in Cal’s eyes, his chest imperceptibly swelling as he nodded. Who would’ve thought his cool, workaholic brother would get emotional at his own wedding?

“Mate, I’ve been ready for months. Let’s go.”

Now, as the sun finally set and everyone gathered under the wedding marquee for the reception, Zac hung back on the porch watching the proceedings. Lounging against the railing, cast in the half shadows of the dying sunset and nursing a drink, he watched the man who was his father make his way slowly through the throng, smiling as the local townsfolk congratulated him in breathless awe, bailed him up to chat or simply bathed in the cast-off glow of a billionaire legend.

Victor actually smiling?

He took a slow sip of his drink. Maybe the surgeons did more than remove a tumor.

When Victor finally broke away, strode up the steps and disappeared into the house, Zac swallowed the last of his champagne, clamped a lid on his emotions and pushed off the railing. Perfect timing.

Yet just as he approached the door, he heard a voice from inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

It was Emily—he’d recognize her voice anywhere.

“No, my fault,” Victor returned. “I’ve actually been looking for you.”

Zac hesitated, curiosity overriding purpose.

“For…?” He heard the smile in Emily’s voice.

“I find your business venture very interesting.”

“Really?”

Wow. Victor making small talk. Zac stayed still, wondering where the conversation was heading.

“And you’re actually quitting work to study?”

Zac frowned. Victor never asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to.

“Yes,” Emily said slowly.

“That’s a bold move, considering the current economic climate.”

“I know. And uni fees aren’t cheap.”

“How’s your start-up capital?”

“I have enough,” she said cautiously.

“Which means you don’t. Most small businesses fail within five years, you know.”

“Yes. Mr. Prescott—”

“Emily. Let me cut to the chase. I don’t know what Zac’s told you about me—”

“Zac doesn’t talk about his family.”

“Really.”

Zac could imagine Victor’s raised bushy eyebrows, a picture of skepticism.

“Really. I work for him. We don’t…have that kind of relationship.”

“But you do have a relationship.”

There was a slight pause, then Emily said, “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question.”

Despite himself, Zac grinned. That’s my girl.

Victor snorted in amusement. “No, I guess it’s not. So let me get to the point. I’d like to offer you this.”

Another pause, a small rustle and a gasp.

“That’s a lot of money, Mr. Prescott,” Emily said faintly.

Zac’s grin fled.

Unthinkingly he surged forward, shoving open the doors in one almighty heave. In the long hallway, both Victor and Emily turned as one, a perfect visual of surprise. It took only one second for Zac to register the check in Emily’s fingers, her flushed cheeks, Victor’s scowling countenance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed the check, staring down at the bunch of zeros before returning slowly to a now-inscrutable Victor.

“Zac,” Emily said calmly. “Your father was just—”

Zac rounded on his father. “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Dad?”

Victor crossed his arms. “If you just slow down one second, everything can be explained.”

“Maybe you should take this out of the hall.”

Zac whirled at the sound of Cal’s voice. He and Ava stood in the doorway holding hands, wearing twin expressions of concern. Behind them, a hushed blanket of whispers spread across the wedding guests who’d stopped to blatantly stare at this exciting development.

Zac gave a curt nod and strode past them, into the reception area.

He struggled, trying to rein in his fury, but it was a losing battle. The past surged up to scorch his throat with painful, crushing memories and a desperate desire to be free of Victor’s suffocating influence.

The doors closed, underscoring the moment with finality.

“I’ve had enough of secrets. He,” Zac stabbed Victor with an accusing finger, “was offering money to Emily. A lot of money.”

Emily gasped. “Just what are you implying?”

Zac raised one eyebrow, glaring at Victor. “Why don’t you tell them, Dad?”

“Zac…” Cal warned.

He ignored his brother, instead turning to Emily. “Were you going to take it?”

Are you completely insane? Her wide-eyed stare mirrored that thought, her mouth dropping for one second, just before she snapped it closed and placed her hands on her hips.

“What do you think?”

Of course not. He pulled his back straight, struggling with the dark ghosts of his past, but the automatic answer on his tongue was a second too late.

“You,” she breathed, giving him a glacial look, “are an idiot, Zac Prescott.”

With supreme dignity she turned on her heel and strode for the door.

Zac swallowed in disbelief. What have you done? “Emily. Wait.”

As Cal opened the door, she turned back to him, eyes eerily calm, expression neutral. “You need to deal with your family, Zac.”

Then she was out of the room, and Cal closed the door behind her.

No. This was wrong. Zac surged for the door, but Victor’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“She’s right, you know,” Victor said calmly. “You can be an idiot.”

Zac felt the fury burn from the inside out as he rounded on the older man. “You do not get to—”

“Shut up, Zac,” Cal butted in. “Let him explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” Zac lashed out. “He was giving her money to walk away because she just wasn’t good enough for a Prescott. That’s the kind of stuff you do, Dad, right?”

At everyone’s frowns of confusion, Zac laughed, the bitterness hot in his throat. “‘Money always talks loudest.’ Isn’t that what you’ve always said, Dad? You paid Mum to leave, just like you did a bunch of my unsuitable girlfriends. And let’s not forget you bought me a place at Sydney uni, right?”

“I think,” Ava gently said from the door. “I should go and check on Emily.” When she took her husband’s hand and squeezed it, Zac’s anger deflated.

“Ava…” His gut pitched in self-disgust. “It wasn’t my intention to ruin your wedding.”

She waved a hand. “Not ruined, just…made it more entertaining. It seems we’ve started a tradition.” Her lips curved as she and Cal shared a joke before she nodded. “Just don’t kill each other, okay?” With a smile she swept the doors open, then closed them firmly behind her.

The room plunged into thick silence. Zac glowered at Victor, memories and past grievances fusing to form a heavy stone in his gut. I dare you, Dad, he glared. I dare you to deny the truth.

“Look, most of those girls were more interested in themselves than in you,” Victor began.

“Way to go, Victor,” Cal muttered and threw himself down into a one-seater.

Zac scowled. “So that made it okay, Dad? You had no right.”

“I had every right! I was protecting you!”

“From what? From leading my own life? From my own mother?”

“She was sick, Zac!” Victor exploded. “You were barely a year old when I came home one day to find you alone in the bathtub! God knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there.”

Zac sucked in a breath, the icy shards piercing his heart. “No.”

“Yes. She couldn’t cope—with a baby, with being my wife, with the constant scrutiny and attention, the expectations that entailed.”

Victor’s craggy face creased for one second before he quickly composed himself and went on.

“She wanted to leave and I let her go. The settlement was generous.”

“And then she disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“You know,” Zac said, “it took me a long time to come to terms with what you’d done.” He dragged a hand through his hair. Liar. It’s always been there, eating away at you.

“I kept the truth about your mother from you, and I’m sorry.” Victor’s brow dipped and he stepped back, a sudden picture of remorse. “I didn’t want you to think it was your fault she left.”

“But you never explained anything. I asked, but you either ignored me, said ‘she’s not coming back,’ or changed the subject. Jesus, Dad, you not only tossed her things out, but destroyed every single photo!”

“I was angry,” Victor ground out. “And okay, in retrospect, I should’ve handled it better. You were a withdrawn, solitary child, and your mother was not well.”

“So you just cut her loose?”

“No!” Victor barked. “Your mother just wanted privacy. So I let her go on the condition she got help and you stayed with me. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I blamed her for a long time. But there was nothing more I could’ve done. She didn’t want to be found—not by you, not by anyone. And my job was to make sure you were safe and well taken care of.”

“I needed a father, Dad.” When Zac felt his voice crack, he stopped, swallowing thickly. “But you were always working. I didn’t need the latest PlayStation, I just needed you. I needed you to tell me the truth, to let me make my own mistakes. I needed—”

He choked, the past saturating every corner of his mind, overwhelming, suffocating. He shoved one hand through his hair, head downcast. Dammit, mate. Get. It. Together.

With gritted teeth, he finally lifted his head. “Do you know I’ve never heard you say ‘good job, son’. Not once.”

Victor frowned. “I’m sure I—”

“Not once.”

Victor’s craggy face reddened. “Then I’m sorry, Zac,” he said stiffly.

Zac’s eyes widened as they met Cal’s, mirroring stunned surprise.

“And I don’t want VP Tech,” Zac added, on a roll. “I design houses, Dad. I love my job and I’m bloody good at it. I just don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on involving me in a company I have absolutely no interest in.”

He paused, the cool air stilling as both brothers waited for Victor’s answer. When no one said anything, Zac glanced at Cal. His brother just shrugged.

“Because it was the only way you’d ever talk to me,” Victor finally said.

“What’s wrong with the phone?”

Victor’s eyebrows shot up. “You refused to take my calls. It took a threat to get you down here.”

Damn. Zac scrubbed one hand across his face. The man had a point.

They both fell silent until Victor said, “Look, after I was diagnosed with that tumor, I began thinking about things…regrets, mostly. How I’d do things differently. And you topped the list, son.” He smiled, a thin humorless smile tinged with remorse, be fore exhaling heavily. “The way I handled things with you was inexcusable. My major regret.”

Shock rooted Zac to the spot as reality suddenly tipped sideways. This was crazy. Victor didn’t apologize, much less talk about his feelings. What kind of world was it where Victor Prescott recognized he was wrong?

The same one where Cal gave up the Prescott legacy, apparently. And one where Emily walked out on him.

Emily. He paused, breath shallow and garbled. What the hell had he done?

“So what was that check for?”

Victor crossed his arms. “My new project. I’m looking for a few good small businesses to help off the ground. I offer silent financial partnership, they do the work, and we both benefit.”

Zac glanced at Cal, who nodded. “He’s right.”

“And if you hadn’t burst in,” Victor added, “I would’ve explained that to her.”

Zac studied his father with a critical eye. His hair was thinner, grayer. There were darkening circles under his eyes, eyes that normally held such authority and command but now were simply those of a man who’d experienced life and all its ups and downs, had worked murderous hours for something he passionately believed in.

Looking at the man with whom he’d fought so hard for so long, he realized that now that everything was out in the open, he was more sad than angry. Sad that things had turned out the way they had, sad for all those lost years.

It didn’t hurt quite so much. For once, his mind was clear with purpose.

Zac shook his head. “She wouldn’t have taken it.”

“Hmmm. Well.” Victor slowly loosened his tie with a sigh. “I was trying to do something nice.”

Zac’s eyes narrowed. The past had taught him to refute it. Argue. Deny. Yet the truth lay heavy in the air, truth that couldn’t be denied or ignored.

For the first time in a long time, Zac actually believed him. It was a start, however small.

He gave Cal a contrite look. “Sorry about messing up your wedding, mate.”

“You didn’t. And I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Cal said pointedly.

Zac nodded. Could he be a bigger idiot?

He surged for the door, grabbed the handle and wrenched it open. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”

Seventeen

When Zac’s phone rang as he strode along the path to the guest suites he had half a mind to ignore it. But then he glanced at the display. His solicitor. “Andrew.”

“I texted you but you didn’t call back.”

“Sorry. Patchy reception,” Zac said. “What’s up?”

“Good news,” Andrew said. “The AVO’s been dropped.”

Zac paused, rubbing his temple as relief washed over him. “Mate, thank you. I really owe you for this one.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me. When I fronted up at the station, it’d already been taken care of.”

Confused, Zac thanked him again, then hung up. The only way that could’ve happened was if Haylee had withdrawn the charges. Which meant…

He pounded on Emily’s door, a faint thread of relief mingling with overwhelming trepidation the longer the seconds grew.

Finally, the door opened and Ava stood there. She said nothing, just gave him a small smile and a pat on his arm and left.

Emily was zipping the top off her suitcase and shoving it open. Seeing her flushed and barefoot, her shoes kicked across the room, quickened his heartbeat, forcing every single thought from his brain.

She barely glanced up when he gently closed the door.

“Leaving?” Zac said softly.

“Well, I hardly think it’s appropriate to stay, do you?”

In silence, he watched her scoop up a pile of neatly folded clothes, then stuff them into the bag.

“Emily.” He paused to clear his throat, then started again. “Look, I—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Zac.” She kept right on packing, refusing to meet his eyes. “That’s quite okay.”

“No. It’s not. Can you—” He frowned as she disappeared into the bathroom. A few seconds passed before impatience sent him to the door, only to barely avoid a collision when Emily came barreling back out.

When he grabbed her arms, she gasped.

He dropped his hands. “Can you stop for a second and just talk to me?”

She took a step back, her toiletry bag pressed up against her chest, her eyes cool. “About what?”

“About what an idiot I am.”

His lips tweaked encouragingly, but hers remained flat.

“Okay.” He grasped her arms more gently this time, and felt the tiny shiver she tried to suppress. Slowly, he guided her from the doorway, across the room and down onto the solid pine chair before taking a seat next to her on the edge of the bed.

“I hesitated back there, I admit it. And my only excuse is…well.” He sighed with a shrug. “Okay, I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”

She finally met his eyes, giving him a thorough going-over. “You actually thought I’d take the money? After everything that’s happened?”

“Not for one second,” he said firmly. “It was just shock, seeing Victor pull that stunt. I choked and I’m sorry. He’s used money as a bargaining tool all my life, and watching you two at the reception, chatting so easily—”

“I was doing that for you.”

“Me?”

She tossed her toiletry bag on the bed and eased back in the chair. “Calming the waters. Putting your dad in a good mood. For you.”

He started. “I didn’t realize.”

“Well, I was.” She firmly crossed her arms and legs, the overt body language telling him he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.

“And did you go and see Haylee for me?”

A small frown passed fleetingly across her brow. “No. I saw Josh.”

The look on his face tilted her chin up. “I offered to help, you refused. So I called Josh’s assistant and found out where he was having lunch.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. We talked about a few things. Apparently Haylee’s been acting out since her parents’ divorce last year. She has a bit of a problem letting go of her exes.”

“She…”

She stared at him, daring him to make an issue of this. Hell, he should be delighted to be in the clear, but instead, all he could think of was that she’d sacrificed her privacy to help him.

This time, she’d been the one to charge in and save him.

And by doing that, she might as well have taken out a full-page ad about their relationship. Which had to mean something. Surely it meant something?

“You really are quite extraordinary, do you know that?” he murmured with a smile. “What on earth would I do without you?”

She stilled, her bright blue eyes capturing his for long, agonizing seconds before they suddenly began to flutter.

“I’m sure my replacement will do a great job,” she said softly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

They stared at each other as the air practically crackled with unspoken words. But as Zac took a breath and opened his mouth, Emily got in first.

“My mother was a cokehead, a drunk and a welfare cheat,” she blurted out. “I don’t know who my dad was—my mom had an affair with some guy, then went back to Pete, my stepfather. AJ is actually my half-sister, six years older. My mother taught us to shoplift when I was five. When we got caught, Charlene and Pete did a runner and we were shipped off to the Department of Community Services, then foster care when DOCS couldn’t find any relatives to take me. I was ten.” She paused, gauging his stunned silence before continuing. “AJ ran off and I didn’t see her again until I was twenty-three, when she tracked me down through my uncle’s obituary. Yes, I’ve had it tougher than some, but I would never take money from your father. Never.”

She finally stopped to take a breath, clamping her mouth shut. Yet past her defensiveness, the bright eyes that held his so steadily, Zac could see the turmoil. Turmoil that had been shoved down deep, then covered over by hyper-efficiency.

Chaos, uncertainty and disorganization—they all scared the crap out of her.

“I’m not telling you this for sympathy,” she added quickly, her face reddening. “I just… I thought you should know.”

His silence, his expression laced with concern and sympathy, ripped at Emily’s composure, the walls she’d built crumbling as she wrestled with tainted memories. Her mother’s booze and drug-soaked hangovers, the constant hunger-filled days. Charlene and Pete screaming at each other. The dead-of-the-night departures. Too many goodbyes.

She hadn’t planned on saying this much, but it was like her mouth had yanked the steering wheel from her hands and had floored it. Zac did that to her, made her feel crazy, out of control. He’d invaded her life, challenging her self-preservation, demanding she open up to him, and now she couldn’t reconstruct her defense no matter how hard she tried.

“I’m a foster kid who was given up by her parents—no wonder I suck at relationships. For years I kept everything in a suitcase. Ready to leave in minutes. It took me ages to actually buy furniture. I’ve never…” Felt I’ve belonged anywhere. Until now. She swallowed, her stomach fluttering.

His expression softened.

“Your past doesn’t define who you are.”

“But it does influence you. You know that. Which is why I said yes to you. It was about sex, not emotion.”

He flinched as if she’d landed a physical blow. “Do you think that’s all we are?”

Her breath hitched. “Isn’t it?”

His expression was a tangle of emotions she couldn’t quite unravel. “You tell me.”

This was it. He wanted the truth and she’d never lied to him before. But instead of leaping into that abyss of uncertainty, she took a shuddering breath. “I find myself—” she glanced up at his unreadable face, then quickly away “—wanting more. Feeling more. Look, the fact is, I think I’m in love with you, and it’s a strange, scary thing. But this doesn’t have to mean—”

She ended in a squeak of surprise as Zac surged forward, ending up on his knees before her.

Her wrists captured by a pair of strong hands, silenced by those intense eyes as they searched her face, she could see the dark edges of his pupils, the small lines bracketing his mouth.

“Emily.” He paused to breathe in deep, his eyes closing for a brief second before they returned to hers with burning intensity. “I know there’s comfort in predictability. And I know you hate chaos and disorder. But that’s what love is—it’s crazy, unpredictable and full of mistakes.”

“Look, you don’t know…What?” She frowned. “Are you saying…What are you saying?”

“I said,” he slid his hands down to capture hers, “I love you.” He gave a wry snort. “I’ve actually been in love with you for months.”

She was totally and utterly speechless.

“Em? Sweetheart?” He gently shook her hands, his mouth curving into a slow smile. “Can you say something?”

“No one’s said that to me in a very long time.”

Zac drew in a long breath. Lord, she was amazing. She may be compact, fitting under his chin, yet the power she wielded was infinite. She could destroy him with a few mere words.

“Then let me repeat it. Emily Reynolds, I love you. I love the way you’re so hyper-organized, I love the way you blink and chew on your lip when you’re nervous…the way you’re doing right now,” he added with a grin. “I love your loyalty, your sense of right and wrong. And—” his mouth swooped down, so close he could feel the warmth from her cheek on his “—I love kissing you, making love to you. I love every single inch of your gorgeous body.”

All the words Emily had prepared, silently rehearsing over and over in her head, disappeared into a delicious haze as Zac kissed her slowly, tenderly, thoroughly.

When he finally pulled back, his hands still cupping her face, swelling elation threatened to choke her. It was like she’d been soaring a thousand feet off the ground.

“Do you want to add anything?” he murmured, eyes dark with flickering arousal.

“I think I found someone to fill my position.”

His laugh rumbled through her, shaking her entire body. “I don’t think anyone could ever do that, my love. And while we’re on the subject of you leaving…”

“Yes?”

His arms tightened around her. “You should at least consider Victor’s offer. He knows a good investment when he sees it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” A myriad of emotions passed over his face until he settled on one Emily recognized. Peace.

When his lips gently met her upturned mouth again, it was like their first kiss all over again. Desire rampaged through every vein, arousing her, filling her with such a need that she thought her heart would explode from it.

Was it possible to be any happier right now?

“Marry me, Emily.” His lips moved across her neck, little flares of heat on her skin. “I won’t lose you. Be my wife.”

Yes. Yes, it was.

Her breath hitched as she pulled back and stared into his face. His eyes may have been languid with desire, his mouth curved into a sexy smile, but his expression was deadly serious.

This was so much more than she ever deserved. Ever expected. Ever hoped. Joy surged until she was sure her face would crack from the huge grin.

“You’re not going to lose me. And yes, I will marry you.”

In between laughter and a few tears, they kissed again, until suddenly, kisses were no longer enough.

Their clothes were quickly discarded, the bedcovers yanked off, and they fell to the mattress in a tumble.

“I love you, Emily,” he murmured, loving the way her eyes widened and her full mouth curved.

“And I love you, too, Zac.”

And then, suddenly, words were no longer necessary.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8803-8

PROMOTED TO WIFE?

Copyright © 2011 by Paula Roe

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