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They were so caught up in the moment that neither noticed the whippet slim blonde staring at them from across the restaurant. She was painfully beautiful; tall, slender, with hair as fair as paper, and eyes as blue as the ocean. Her body was dripping in jewels, and her clothes were designer originals. But there was an ugliness that emanated from her, too. A bitterness. Her face was a mask of absolute fury.
“You look particularly gorgeous.” He said, leaning across the table and lifting her hands to his lips.
“You certainly do not scrub up too badly, yourself.” He was wearing a suit without a tie. A grey suit with a crisp white shirt and a fine blue thread running through it. She leaned forward, her expression conspiratorial. “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”
He laughed. “A little, but I’m flattered.”
She grinned and broke the contact when the waiter appeared with a tray of champagne, and two small plates of food.
“I can’t eat snails,” she said with a shake of her head.
“You’ll eat them.” He grinned. “You’ll like them.”
“Are you still thinking that you’re my boss?” She asked dubiously.
He shook his head. “I had a startling revelation last night.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “You have more control over me than I like.” He frowned. “More control than anyone ever has.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. She desperately wanted to believe him. But the part of her that was filled with self-doubt was certain it couldn’t be true. That he was being kind to her because he pitied her. Because he felt offended by the cards she’d been dealt.
So she played it light, even when her chest felt like it might explode with the hope of love. “I look forward to testing that control later,” she promised with a small smile.
His eyes flared with desire, and he allowed himself to glance lower, to the swell of cleavage that was revealed by the flamenco style dress she wore. It was a deep red, and against her tanned skin and dark hair, she looked like a mythical angel. Perfectly beautiful. The fabric was flimsy, and he could see that her nipples were taut. He concealed a small sound of impatience by pouring their champagnes and holding one out to her. She took it and they clinked their glasses together, their eyes holding, in a silent, meaningful toast.
“Can I ask you something?”
He placed his glass down and nodded. “Go ahead.”
“The night we met… at Hank’s birthday, you came onto me pretty strong. Was it just to hurt your father?”
He was careful not to react, but his eyes darkened with painful memories. “There were various factors,” he said, finally.
“Like?” She prompted, leaning back in her chair so she could regard him fully.
“I’ve told you before, I think, that I hate Hank.” He shook his head ruefully. “I know he’s my father, and it’s therefore a pretty disloyal thing to say, but I really have no time for him.”
She frowned. “Why not? What did he do that makes you feel that way?”
“It’s not one little thing. It’s everything. The cheating. The constant cheating. He’s a terrible businessman. If my grandfather – Carter Senior – hadn’t fired him and replaced him with me, Silverlight would probably be bankrupt by now. I simply don’t respect him, Jane. Not the way he lives his life, and not the man he is.”
She darted her tongue out and traced her top lip. She suspected it was mutual, but there was no need to start that conversation. “So you wanted to hurt him.”
“Initially, I wanted you. From the moment you asked to borrow my phone, I knew I would go after you.” His smile was loaded with self-contempt. “I presumed you were there with someone, and I didn’t much care. You would know by now that I’m not easily dissuaded from a course of action once I’ve made up my mind.”
She nodded.
“It was a bonus to discover that you were with him. Any guilt I might have felt about making a play for you evaporated whe
n I found out I could have you, and hurt him, in one move.”
Jane felt the color drain from her face, and Carter saw it. He put a hand on hers, padding his thumb against her soft skin. “I didn’t know you then, Jane. You were just a beautiful woman at a party. I didn’t think about your feelings, because, frankly, I didn’t yet care about them.”
She nodded, but a small part of her was silently freaking out. His cool, calculated move had been designed to wound. He was different to her. Not necessarily good, or bad. Just entirely different.
“Does Hank know about this?”
