The Inconvenient Laws of Attraction. Trish Wylie

she really couldn’t let that happen again.

      Continuing down the stairs, she allowed herself a brief foray into fantasy where she could hand out a little quid pro quo. In that universe she would have the same effect on him as he had on her. She would play on it, winding him tight, getting him so hot and hard for her, he’d beg—

      She took a deep breath and blew it out with puffed cheeks. Since that train of thought wasn’t helping any, she started looking for loopholes in his stupid rules as she made her way back to the office. Women like her didn’t have hot, steamy casual sex with men like him—even if they were tempted.

      Really, really tempted …

      CHAPTER THREE

      BLAKE walked around the vast expanse of space that had been one of Charles Warren’s last purchases. The view of Central Park’s lush green treetops, rolling lawns and duck ponds beneath the sharp contrast of the Manhattan skyline was spectacular, there was no denying that. But could he see himself living there?

      Hell, no.

      ‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it?’

      Olivia followed him around with a file cradled against her breasts and the same transparent enthusiasm as a realtor looking to make a sale. It wouldn’t last. After several days in her company one-on-one, Blake knew she started the day in a better mood than she ended it. He liked to think he’d had something to do with that.

      ‘Amazing would be one word.’ Turning towards her, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Little over the top, don’t you think?’

      Everything about the place had been over the top since they arrived on the red-carpeted steps outside one of New York’s most prestigious landmark hotels. A liveried doorman had touched the peak of his cap as they stepped into the revolving doors. The manager had met them in the foyer, shaken Blake’s hand and practically fallen over himself to make it clear he could get anything from anywhere at a moment’s notice. There had even been maids in traditional uniforms who magically scurried out of sight when the doors to the penthouse were opened. Blake had hated every moment.

      Even while he stood inside three floors of some of the largest square footage known to Manhattan apartment-kind, he could feel the walls closing in on him.

      ‘It’s … opulent …’ she replied after some thought.

      ‘Opulent would be another word.’

      Looking at the long sofas placed at right angles to a massive wood-burning stove, he took his hands out of his pockets, sat down, and stretched his arms along the cushions at the back. As he set his feet on the glass coffee table, he saw Olivia frown in disapproval before she controlled her expression.

      ‘You could redecorate.’

      ‘What would you change?’ he asked, idly swaying his feet from side to side. When she frowned again, he stopped the movement and stifled a smile. There were times she made it too easy for him.

      ‘It’s not mine to change.’

      ‘If it was …’

      Her gaze flickered briefly to his, then away. She’d been doing that a lot. Different sides of an elevator, more than an arm’s length away when they were walking, subtle side-steps if he moved any closer—he’d noticed them all and each and every one had either amused or bugged him to varying degrees.

      ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t fall under the remit of my professional opinion,’ she replied as she wandered around the room.

      ‘Humour me.’

      ‘I don’t think that’s in my job description either.’ Smiling sweetly, she turned to face him; she decided several items of expensive furniture provided a safe distance between them.

      ‘Kills you to even think about breaking a rule, doesn’t it?’

      ‘Your rules, not mine.’

      Seemed to Blake she’d been pretty damn close to breaking a rule when he’d been inches away from kissing her. But since thinking about reminding her had the same effect on his body it always did, he lifted his feet and pushed upright. ‘May as well check out the bedrooms.’

      ‘I’ll wait here.’

      ‘Where I lead, you follow.’

      She lagged behind more noticeably on the second floor than she had when he’d looked at the large kitchen with its black marble counters or through the rounded bay windows overlooking the reflecting pool and plantings in the plaza’s courtyard. She remained silent while Blake threw open random doors to increasingly decadent bedrooms and mosaic-tiled bathrooms; each and every room possessed a chandelier whether it needed one or not.

      Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpeting in the master bedroom, he walked across to the giant bed, sat on the edge and bounced a couple of times before looking to where Olivia watched warily from the door.

      ‘Take a seat.’ He patted the covers. ‘If we’re lucky we might see a camel before the harem gets back.’

      ‘It’s not that bad.’

      He held her gaze and waited.

      ‘Okay,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Maybe it’s a little over the top.’

      It was the kind of understatement the place could use in Blake’s opinion. Restless again, he walked to the windows. ‘Remind me how many properties I own in Manhattan.’

      ‘Fifteen.’

      ‘Current value of this place?’

      ‘Fifty-three million … give or take …’

      When he looked over his shoulder—brows raised in disbelief—she cut a smile loose, distracting him from the ridiculous price tag with how it lit her up from inside. She should smile like that more often, he thought, forcing his gaze to look out of the window again. For a moment, when her reflection came into focus on the glass, he watched her looking at him. Her smile faded as she bit her lower lip and checked him out from head to toe. She did that a lot. It was her ‘tell’ in the game they were playing, his way of knowing she was bluffing when she’d claimed she wasn’t attracted to him.

      ‘Sell it,’ he said firmly, forcing his gaze from her reflection to the clear blue sky above the city. ‘There’s a private jet on that list, isn’t there?’

      ‘Three of them,’ she replied with resignation. ‘Let me guess, you want to sell them, too.’

      ‘Explain to me why I need three private jets.’

      ‘Senior executives use them to—’

      ‘Join the Mile High Club?’ His gaze sought her reflection again. ‘Understandable. The restrooms on commercial airlines can be a tad tight when it comes to wriggle room.’

      She sighed. ‘You’re very cynical when it comes to people with money. Isn’t that going to be a problem when you look in the mirror?’

      It had taken long enough. Blake bit back a smile, ‘Is that an opinion?’

      Pressing her lips together, she breathed deep, striving for what remained of the patience he’d been purposefully testing. ‘I don’t see why we’re visiting these properties if you’re going to sell everything.’

      ‘And now she’s questioning my decisions …’

      ‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘That’s eight properties and three private jets, bringing your running total to approximately one hundred million dollars.’

      Resisting the addition of a congratulations, she opened her file, made a note, snapped it shut and left the door. Blake turned away from the window and followed her into the hall, his mood improving by the second.

      ‘Hold off on the sale of a jet. Apart from the Mile High possibilities, we might need it when we go to look at