Escape By The Sea. Trish Morey

her go, his eyes missing nothing of her ramrod-straight spine or the forced stiffness that hampered her movements. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered a few moments ago, when she’d all but rested her cheek against his hand. She hadn’t been stiff or hampered when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

      ‘Evelyn,’ he called behind her, and she stopped and turned, gripping her purse tightly in front of her chest. ‘Something that might make you feel more relaxed in my company…’

      ‘Yes?’ She sounded sceptical.

      ‘As much as I enjoyed that kiss, I have a rule about not mixing business with pleasure.’

      She blinked those big blue eyes up at him and he could tell she didn’t get it. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA. Whatever I do tonight, a touch, a caress, a kiss, it’s all just part of an act. You’re perfectly safe with me. All right?’

      And something—he’d expected relief, but it wasn’t quite that—flashed across her eyes and was gone. ‘Of course,’ she said, and fled into to powder room.

      There. He’d said it. He blew out a breath as he picked up the leftover ring from the coffee table, snapped the box shut and returned it to the safe. Maybe it was, as he had said, to put her at her ease, but there’d also been a measure of wanting to remind himself of his golden rule. Because it had been hard enough to remember which way was up, let alone anything else in the midst of that kiss.

      He hadn’t intended it to go so far. He’d meant to tease her into submission, give her just a little taste for more, so she’d be more malleable and receptive to his touch, but she’d sighed into his mouth and turned molten and turned him incendiary with it.

      And if he hadn’t frightened her away by the strength of his reaction, he’d damned near frightened himself. He’d had to leave the room before she could see how affected he was, and before he looked into her ocean-deep eyes and decided to finish what he’d started.

       He ached to finish what he’d started.

      Why did he have that rule about not sleeping with his PAs? What had he been thinking? Surely this was a matter that should be decided on a case-by-case basis.

      And then he remembered Inge of the ice-cool demeanour and red hot bedroom athletics and how she’d so neatly tried to demand a chunk of ice for her finger by nailing him with her alleged pregnancy.

      There was good reason for his self-imposed rule, he reluctantly acknowledged. Damn good reason. If only he could make himself believe it.

      She didn’t recognise herself in the powder-room mirror. Even after repairing her make-up and smoothing the stray wisps of her hair back into its sleek coil, she still looked like a stranger. No amount of lipstick could disguise the flush to her swollen lips. And while the ring on her finger sparkled under the light, it was no match for the lights in her eyes.

      Not when all she could do was remember that kiss, and how he had damn near wrenched out her mind if not her soul with it.

      It was wrong to feel excited, even though its impact had so closely mirrored that of the first. But he’d simply been making a point. He’d been acting. He’d said as much himself. It had meant nothing. Or else why could he so easily have turned and walked away?

      Yet still she trembled at the memory of his lips on hers. Still she trembled when she thought of how he’d felt, pressing hard and insistent against her belly, stirring secret places until they blossomed and ached with want.

      Want that would go unsatisfied. Cheated again. Just an act. ‘I don’t sleep with my PA.’

      And part of her had longed to laugh and tell him that he’d had his chance, years ago, and blown it then. Another part had wanted to slump with relief. While the greater part of her had wanted to protest at the unfairness of it all.

      Damn. She’d known this would be difficult. She’d known that seeing him again would rekindle all those feelings she had been unable to bury, unable to dim, even with the passage of time.

      She dragged air into her lungs, breathed out slowly and resolutely angled her chin higher as she made one final check on her appearance. For surely the worst was over. And at least she knew where she stood. She may as well try to enjoy the rare evening out.

      How hard could it be?

      ‘Remember,’ Leo said, as they made their way to the presidential suite, ‘keep it light and friendly and whatever you do, avoid any talk of family.’

      Suits me, she thought, knowing Leo would be less than impressed if she started telling everyone about Sam. ‘What is it exactly that their sons are supposed to have done?’

      ‘You didn’t see the articles?’

      She shook her head. ‘Clearly I don’t read the right kind of magazine.’

      ‘Or visit the right websites. Someone got a video of them at a party and posted it on the web.’

      ‘And they were doing something embarrassing?’

      ‘You could say that. It was a wife-swapping party.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘Oh, indeed. Half the board were implicated and Culshaw couldn’t stand seeing what he’d worked for all his life being dragged through the mud.’ He stopped outside the suite. ‘Are you ready?’

      As ready as I’ll ever be. ‘Yes.’

      He slipped her hand into his, surprising her but not so much this time because it was unexpected but because it felt so comfortable to have his large hand wrapped around hers. Amazing, given the circumstances, that it felt so right. ‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered, so close to her ear that she could feel his warm breath kiss her skin, setting light to her senses and setting flame licking at her core.

      It’s make-believe, she warned herself as he tilted her chin and she once more gave herself up to his kiss, this time a kiss so tender and sweet that the very air seemed to shimmer and spin like gold around her. She drew herself back, trying to find logic in a sea of sensation and air that didn’t come charged with the spice of him.

      It meant nothing, a warning echoed as he pressed the buzzer. It was all just part of the act. She could not afford to start thinking it felt right. She could not afford to think it was real.

      She had just one short evening of pretending this man loved her and she loved him, and then the make-believe ended and she could go home to her falling-down house and her baby son. Alone. That was reality. That was her life.

      She should be grateful it was so easy to pretend…

      A butler opened the door, showing them into an impressive mirror-lined entry that opened into the massive presidential suite, Eve’s heels clicked on the high gloss parquet floor. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors either side reflected their images back at them, and Eve was struck when she realised that the woman in that glamorous couple, her hand in Leo’s and her eyes still sparkling, was her. Maybe she shouldn’t feel so nervous. Maybe they could pull this off. It had seemed such a crazy idea, and questions remained in her mind as to the ethics of the plan, but maybe they could convince his business colleagues they were a couple. Certainly she had twenty thousand good reasons to try.

      ‘Welcome, welcome!’ An older man came to meet them and Eve recognised him from the newspapers. Eric Culshaw had aged, though, she noticed, his silvering hair white at the temples, his shoulders a little stooped as if he’d held the weight of the world on them. Given the nature of the scandal that had rocked his world, maybe that was how he felt. He pumped Leo’s hand. ‘Welcome to you both,’ he said, smiling broadly.

      ‘Eric,’ Leo said, ‘allow me to introduce my fiancée, Evelyn Carmichael.’

      And Eric’s smile widened as he took her hand. ‘It is indeed a pleasure, Evelyn. Come over and meet everyone.’

      Eve needed the few short seconds to get over the scale of the suite. She’d arranged the bookings