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She took the seat he’d indicated, brushing her skirt over her lush backside to sit.
Is she doing that deliberately?
But then her knuckles whitened on her smartphone as she retrieved it from her purse. She wasn’t just nervous, she looked scared, as if she would rather be anywhere else but in his office—with him—despite the mutual flare of attraction.
Interesting.
She had to know he was giving this interview under duress, and if she had done her research she would also know he wasn’t a good man to cross. If someone displeased or threatened him, he acted swiftly and without mercy. Just ask that artless girl who had lured him in and sacrificed her virginity, believing their rare sexual chemistry could be bartered for something more.
He frowned, aware he was thinking of that girl again whom he’d exorcised from his consciousness five years ago.
‘Do you mind if I record this, Mr Cade?’ the journalist asked, engaging the voice app on her phone with shaking fingers.
‘Go ahead, Lacey,’ he said, pleased when the use of her given name made her stiffen.
Of course, he had no intention of allowing anything to go into print he hadn’t agreed to. One of the stipulations his PR team had insisted on was that he would have final approval on the article before it went to press. And he would also demand any notes or tapes be destroyed as a matter of course. But, even so, he didn’t usually allow his words to be recorded.
‘And please call me Brandon,’ he added.
As expected, the offer had her head jerking up. This time, their gazes locked and held. The surge of heat crackled in the air between them. But he was prepared for it now. Enough to find himself enjoying the flare of reaction lighting the gold shards in the rich brown of her irises and flushing her pale skin a vivid pink.
Yes, she could feel it too, this rare electric chemistry. But what had unnerved him five years ago with that girl excited him now. His sex life had been non-existent since the Misty debacle, and had lacked the visceral spark of attraction for years, which this woman had ignited without even trying.
Why not play with it, and her—see how far she wished to take it? It wasn’t as if he would be risking anything. At thirty-one, he was even more cynical and ruthless than he had been five years ago. No way would she be able to get under his skin and fray the tight leash he kept around his emotions, the way that virginal girl had once done.
And who said she even wanted to? She was a journalist. She had to know how to use an attraction like this to her advantage—despite the pretence of nerves. The tremor in her voice, the wary tension in her gaze and the white knuckles were probably a carefully rehearsed act. But, even so, it was a good act. And an original approach, which he found surprisingly beguiling. After all, when was the last time he’d been treated to the thrill of the chase?
‘Fire away, Lacey’ he said, husky desire deepening his voice as he said her name again, his gaze still locked on hers, daring her to look away.
She blinked, the flicker of panic unmistakeable, but then she took a deep breath and let it out again. The movement made her breasts lift against her blouse.
Lust gathered like a fireball in his groin. He crossed his arms and leant his butt against the desk, gratified when her gaze lingered for a second on the bulge of his biceps in the fitted shirt.
Bingo.
Her gaze rose, but alongside the turmoil he could now see a fierce determination not to be intimidated.
A slow smile spread across his lips.
Good luck with that, Lacey.
‘Mr Cade, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the helicopter is ready to depart now for Paris.’
Oh, thank You, God.
The knots in Lacey’s gut loosened as Brandon Cade’s executive assistant interrupted them signalling the end of the longest twenty minutes of her life.
What had made her think seeing this man again would be doable? Every single thing about him still disturbed her. The intense focus in his dark, penetrating green gaze. The way his body had filled out in the last five years—his biceps bulging under the starched cotton of his tailored shirt every time he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his suit trousers stretching over his thighs as he leaned on the desk in front of her. The gruff murmur of his voice which prickled over her skin every time he spoke. The way he said her name with a deliberate intimacy, which was clearly meant to disarm any woman who came within a ten-mile radius. Sitting less than two feet from him, no wonder her pheromones were toast.
Everything about him was imposing, exciting, overwhelming, just as it had been five years ago. But then she’d been an untried girl. Now she was a mother, a career woman, a proper journalist—even though, from the hooded look in his eyes, she knew he didn’t rate her as one.
How did he still have the power to unsettle her so completely? Maybe because he wasn’t just physically imposing any more, though the chemistry between them was still disturbingly volatile. Now so many things about him reminded her of her little girl.
Theirlittle girl.
Given the brevity of the encounter which had created Ruby, it had been easy to persuade herself Cade had contributed virtually nothing to her daughter’s DNA, but seeing him up close and personal, in broad daylight for a full twenty minutes... Not so much.
Ruby had the same mossy-green eyes with hints of steel. When Lacey had first forced herself to look at him properly, she’d recognised the colour with startling clarity. But, whereas the colour of Ruby’s irises was sweet and beguiling, and so innocent, on Brandon Cade it was completely the opposite. The look in his eyes was so harsh, and yet so sharply observant, she’d been struggling to breathe, scared he could read all her secrets.
