Worth The Risk. Zara Cox

it because you find me too demanding?’

      God, why was he saying my name like that? ‘Wasn’t that the impression you wished to create?’

      His shrug was shamelessly unapologetic. ‘My mum used to call me her greedy little bastard, among other things. The way I see it, why ask for the moon and stars when the sun is just begging to be tossed in, as well?’

      The use of the past tense triggered curiosity I wrestled down. ‘And you don’t care if your greed earns you a certain reputation?’

      ‘I’m a big boy. I can take care of anyone who pays me a less-than-stellar compliment to my face. What they say behind my back—’ he shrugged again ‘—I care very little about.’

      The realisation that he meant it, that power and privilege had insulated him against the barbs of ordinary men, grated. It was the same entitlement that my father fed on, using it to prey on defenceless people like my mother until she was a husk before throwing her away. The same entitlement with which another woman had looked at my fiancé, decided she wanted him and had taken him without compunction, Adam’s own collusion aside.

      Dammit, there I went thinking about him again. Something about Gideon Mortimer triggered unwanted memories. The sooner I got our business squared away, the better.

      Except, if he signed on the dotted line, I’d be stuck with him for the next few weeks.

      ‘You should learn to school your expressions better, Leonora.’

      I refocused on him but didn’t bother to hide my derision. ‘Pray tell, what do you think you see?’

      ‘There’s a lot about me you don’t like. But you’re swallowing your pride for the sake of our business relationship. Bravo on that, by the way. But there’s something you do like and you’re desperate to keep that under wraps.’

      My heart rate spiked just a little north of uncomfortable. ‘Wow, you can tell all of that just by looking at my face?’

      ‘I can tell that by the way you’re gripping that railing as if your life depends on it, and the way you’re plastering yourself so hard against the wall. Oh, and the way you haven’t stopped looking at my mouth since we entered the lift.’

      I opened my mouth but the lift doors parted just then, possibly saving me from voicing a response that would’ve killed this deal once and for all. With a cocky smile, he stepped into the corridor and waved me out. When I was two feet from him, he braced his hand on the door frame to his suite, stopping my progress.

      ‘It’s okay, Leonora, you can tell me what you really think of me. One of my many assets is a thick skin.’

      I took a breath, got hit with that sinful aftershave again and clenched my gut against all the decadent sensations buffeting me. He was just a man. His type was a dime a dozen in this part of the world.

      Except it wasn’t true.

      Gideon Mortimer was exceptional in many ways. Magnetic. Charismatic. Electrifying. And extremely easy on the eyes.

      ‘I was going to advise you not to get high on your own supply but I realised I’d be wasting my breath. What I’d like to know, though, is why have you brought me to the penthouse suite?’ I was too busy being dazzled by his smile to check what button he’d pressed. Foolishly, I’d assumed we were going to the tenth-floor brasserie, where I usually met with clients.

      He dropped his hand and turned towards the imposing double doors that led into the impressive luxury suite. ‘We haven’t finished our discussion, and I need a shower before my next appointment in twenty minutes. Two birds and all that. You don’t object, do you?’

      I didn’t answer because his question sounded annoyingly rhetorical.

      Swiping the key card, he shoved the doors open, leaving me trailing after him with a reel of indecent images of a naked, shower-soaked Gideon cascading through my heated brain.

      When I eventually made it inside, he was standing before the floor-to-ceiling glass windows staring at the stunning Côte d’Azur view. I’d been in this suite a few times. The magnificent blend of art deco and modern furnishings, the deep blue of the sky outside and the sparkling ocean never failed to leave me breathless. Today that image, framed around Gideon Mortimer like a specially commissioned painting, was threatening to stop my breath altogether.

      He really was too much.

      Even as the thought deepened in my mind, he was shrugging off his leather jacket, all fluid grace and masculine beauty, carelessly tossing it away to leave a Black Sabbath T-shirt that moulded to his divine V-shaped torso. My gaze dropped lower to lean hips and powerful thighs. And his tight, masculine arse encased perfectly in his jeans.

      Thoughts of sinking my nails into that prime piece of flesh as he penetrated me topped my dirty thoughts with even filthier images. Images that should’ve shamed me but instead just escalated my craving.

      For the first time in years, I truly acknowledged my woefully neglected libido and admitted that I needed to get laid.

      Pretty. Damned. Soon.

      He started to turn. I swallowed before I did something unseemly like drool, and fixed my gaze somewhere over his right shoulder as he approached.

      ‘What else did you want to discuss?’ I prompted, hoping to get back on an even keel.

      He stopped a foot in front of me, stared down at me with narrow-eyed intent, then jerked his head behind him. ‘That window is fantastically reflective. I think it’s only fair that if you’re going to ogle me like that, I should return the favour?’ His voice had grown thick and raspy and, oh, so sinfully delicious.

      The punch of heat to my pelvis triggered liquid warmth in my pussy. But I raised my chin in challenge, even as I pressed my thighs together in a useless effort to hide my arousal. ‘I meant business, Mr Mortimer. Let’s talk business.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you like what you see. I’ll happily supply you with a list of things I like about you, too, if you like.’

      I didn’t want to know. I truly, truly didn’t. ‘What makes you think I want to hear such a list?’ Hell, even my voice was a husky mess.

      ‘I’m taking a leaf out of your book and playing a straight bat, too, Leonora.’ His wicked tongue stroked all over my name. ‘But speaking of business, I meant what I said earlier. What you’ve achieved is impressive. Even more so in such a cut-throat world.’

      I didn’t want to be affected by the sincere respect in his eyes and tone but a different sort of warmth licked through my veins. ‘I’m not scared to go after what I want.’

      The heat in his eyes receded. ‘I know one or two people who share those views.’

      I had the distinct idea we weren’t talking business any more. ‘But not you?’

      A hard gleam lit his eyes. ‘Oh, I believe in going after what I want. It’s in my blood, after all.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘My grandfather was a little like you. He started everything in his life much earlier than strict norms dictated he could,’ he said. ‘He opened his first shop when he was fifteen. Had three more by the time he was seventeen. By twenty-one he was married with two kids and two mistresses stashed on opposite ends of London. He tried to instil that ambitious ideology in his children and grandchildren. Some hit the mark, others didn’t.’

      I was aware we’d strayed from the professional but I couldn’t curb my curiosity. ‘And you’re one of those who overachieved before their eighteenth birthday, I’m guessing?’

      ‘I borrowed ten thousand pounds from the family trust fund after my first term at university. While everyone was obsessed with becoming the next dot-com millionaire, I started an on-campus three-square-meals food delivery service long before it became a thing. I had five universities under my belt and was turning over half a million by