Dreaming Of... Bali: The Man to Be Reckoned With / Nine Month Countdown / Harry St Clair: Rogue or Doctor?. Fiona McArthurЧитать онлайн книгу.
if you’d known that he was—”
“Hello, Riya.”
Every time he said her name, it was like flipping a switch on inside her. A caress. An invitation. For what, she didn’t even want to speculate. Her skin tingling, Riya turned.
He stood at the huge arched entrance into the kitchen.
Once again, Riya felt the impact of his presence like a magnet pulled toward a slab of iron.
The beard was still unshaved, but he had changed. Now his clothes reflected the casual power he exuded so easily. The rumpled shirt had been exchanged for a white dress shirt and a formal jacket this time. The snowy-white collar a contrast against his sunburned skin. His hair gleamed with wetness, looked more black than brown.
He looked knee-meltingly gorgeous. Case in point, her knees practically buckled beneath her.
“You didn’t come back to the office, haven’t been answering my calls,” he said, waving his cell phone.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to be at your beck and call,” she retorted, not trusting the invasive intimacy of his smile. In fact, she had liked him better when he was angry and threatening. “Not everything I do is about you.”
That small smile turned into a grin, and his teeth gleamed against his tanned skin. It lit up his whole face, softening the harsh angles of his features. And the mouth...she had been right. It was made for smiling and something else that she didn’t want to think about.
“From now on, it’s going to be all about me,” he said, stretching his arms by his sides. The casual gesture drew her gaze to the breadth of his shoulders. That jacket was cut perfectly, following the wide swath of his shoulders and the narrowing of his waist.
Alarm spiked through her. “No.”
“I have a proposition for you.” Something glimmered in his gaze. “You’re not chickening out already, are you?”
Jackie gasped, and Riya wondered if her mother could explode from the tension radiating from her. She infused steel into her voice. “We don’t have a deal.”
“We do now. You’ve...persuaded me to take a chance on you, Riya.”
There was no way to arrest the heat blooming up her face. He was doing it on purpose. Saying her name like that, insinuating with that smile that there was more between them than his hatred and her risky gamble. She wanted to run away and hide in her bedroom, hope it was all a bad dream.
Next to her, Jackie began again. “Riya, how dare you not tell me—”
Nathan shot Jackie a look. Pure arctic frost, it was the only way Riya could describe it. Granted, he probably was the one man who could shut Jackie up without meaning to, but Riya had a feeling he would have the same effect on all of them, even if he had just been Nathaniel Ramirez. And not the adored heir of the estate.
He had that kind of a presence. Contained and controlled with a violent energy brimming underneath the calm facade.
How was it possible that she could notice so much, understand so much about him just in a few hours?
“Come,” he said in a cajoling tone as if she were a recalcitrant child. When she still didn’t move, he caught her wrist and tugged.
Her bare skin tingling at the contact of his rough fingers, Riya followed, past the nonplussed staff, who had gathered in the huge dining hall, and her pale mother, through the door and out into the lush acreage behind the house.
A cold breeze blew her hair in her face, and with a soft huff, Riya pulled it all to the side. The night was inky black, only the moon and carefully placed lights on the ground illuminating the path for them.
But instead of dulling his presence, the dark intensified her awareness of him. The graceful line of his shoulders, the taper of his lean chest to his waist and the corded energy of his thighs when she stumbled and he steadied her.
Her own senses revolted against her mind, determined to observe and absorb every little thing about him. They’d reached the well-lit-up gazebo in the south corner of the estate when Riya realized his long fingers were still wrapped around her wrist.
Dragging her feet on the grass, she tugged her hand away.
The splish-splash of water from another fountain, the relentless whisper of the cicadas, a hundred different fragrances carried around by the breeze greeted her. The very place she had always found blissfully peaceful was now ruined by the man playing a cat-and-mouse game with her livelihood. And something much worse.
Grasping the fear that was the only way to puncture her awareness of him, she lashed out. “You couldn’t have given me an evening to brace myself? Let me figure out how and what I’m going to tell my mother, to figure out my future?”
“You left without a word to anyone. Is this how you run the company?”
“The very company that you threatened to tear into pieces?” she threw at him. “You asked me to get out. Very clearly.”
“You were blackmailing me.”
She bristled at the outrage in his voice. “I was doing no such thing.” And because she couldn’t bear to simply stop thinking of it as her company, she continued. “Even if your plan is to dismantle the company and sell it for bits, you’ll need a skeleton staff to see through the memberships for the rest of the year. I recommend you keep Sam Hawkins on. He’s been there from the beginning and Martha Gomez too. She needs this job and she’ll be invaluable to—”
All of her panic ground to a halt as his long-limbed stride ate the distance between them.
“I don’t remember firing you. Are you resigning, then?”
Riya reached behind her and grasped the wooden column. But there was nowhere to go and he was standing too close.
The lights from around the gazebo cast him in shadows.
Close enough to realize how many different shades of blue his eyes could turn depending on the light. Close enough for her to see the shape of his mouth, which had a hint of gaiety to it. Close enough for her to breathe and learn the scent of him and realize why he affected her so much.
She had never before experienced the weird pull in her stomach, the feverish tremble that gripped her, the constant fascination with every aspect of him.
Fisting her hands by her sides, she clamped down the shaky realization.
His gaze rested on her mouth for a nanosecond. Only an infinitesimal fragment of time, but her lips tingled. “I didn’t quit. But have you left me a choice?”
As if the tension became too much even for him, he moved to her side and leaned against the structure. “The staff’s murderous glares after you left would have turned me into dust if I hadn’t told them you were just having a tantrum.”
Her breath left her in a huge whoosh, the sound amplified in the silence. “Building up their hopes that everything’s okay is just cruel. Does nothing get to you?”
“No.”
His response wasn’t threatening or emotional. Scarily, it was honest.
His watch glinted in the light as he folded his hands. “I’ll give you and your staff one chance. Prove that Travelogue and you are worth taking on as part of RunAway International.”
Catching the immediate thanks that rose to her lips, she turned toward him. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Whether it was because of how close he was standing or because he was giving her a chance, she had no idea.
Ruthlessly killing her own hopes, she shook her head. “I don’t want to work for you.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean why not?” She moved away, exasperated by him and her reaction to him. “Because you and I have a history, that’s why. And not a good one.