A Virgin For The Taking. Trish Morey

He’d been fascinated watching her retreat, seeing her calm herself before facing him and stating her case. He’d been impressed by her no-nonsense sense of her own worth in the company—in spite of himself.

      But right now he was more impressed with the way the droplets of water were soaking tantalisingly into the fabric of her top. He liked what it did to rattle her composure. He liked even better what it did to her breasts. In an instant they’d firmed and peaked and, like an invitation he couldn’t refuse, he was drawn closer.

      ‘You’re turning out to be a woman of considerable talents,’ he murmured, as he bridged the few steps between them. He came to a halt immediately before her. She was tall enough, but still she had to turn her head up to look him in the eye. That was good—that gave him an uninterrupted view of the sweep of her throat and the swell of tanned-to-honey-gold skin that disappeared tantalisingly under her singlet top.

      She swallowed as he reached out a hand between them, her eyes wide like a startled doe’s, fearful and uncertain. He put his fingers to the pearl choker at her throat, lifting it gently from her satin smooth skin, feeling the pearl’s warmth where it had lain against her flesh.

      ‘And is this one of yours, too?’

      She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, as a fear she hadn’t felt in a long time resurfaced, threatening to swamp her. Danger, she recognised. The man meant danger. He was way too close, way too imposing and when he’d reached out a hand she’d thought—Oh, Lord, just the way he’d been watching her breasts had felt like the graze of a man’s hand. And if his gaze could be that powerful…If he’d reached out to touch her there…

      But instead he’d picked up her choker, the trace of his fingertips against her throat a tingling trail, searingly heated, shockingly intimate. She shuddered under his touch, a rush of realisation, some sixth sense alerting her that this danger was like nothing she’d known before. This brand of danger was more potent, more powerful and much more magnetic.

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, his voice husky and low and further tugging on her senses as he examined the piece. ‘Just like its wearer.’ His eyes lifted till they met hers. ‘Did you design it?’

      Breath rushed into the vacuum of her lungs. But she couldn’t let herself reflect on what he’d just said, even though his rich dark eyes seemed intent on making her forget everything else. She had to concentrate on the necklace—and on what he’d asked.

      It shouldn’t be so hard, not to talk about one of her favourite pieces. Suspended on a band of nitrite, the single gem was held in place by an intricate coil of gold. The pearl, a magnificent eighteen-millimetre perfect round, had been a gift from Laurence following the success of their first collection. It had seemed appropriate that she should wear it today.

      ‘I made it,’ she admitted at last, reaching up to her neck instinctively, only to encounter his hand still cradling the piece. For a second their fingers brushed and lingered—and she saw something fleeting skid across his eyes, a spark, a surge of flame, and a corresponding heat pooled low in her belly.

      ‘That’s some pearl,’ he murmured without letting go, his eyes now on her lips and not on the pearl at all. But there was no time to consider why that should be so, not with his mouth hovering near, the subtle tugging pressure he was exerting on her choker drawing her closer.

      She swallowed, tried to make her mouth work, her senses filled with the scent of him, warm and woody and wanting her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, already imagining the taste of his lips on hers, already liking it. ‘Laurence gave it to me.’

      He blinked, his eyes changing from caramel warm to granite cold in an instant. Then he dropped the choker and straightened.

      ‘No doubt you made it worth his while.’

      The mood shattered, with her thoughts in total disarray. This time when her fingers found her pearl they circled the precious gem like it was a talisman, praying for it to give her strength. But she would need more than a pearl if she intended to keep this man at bay.

      So she gathered her thoughts and bit back, ‘Oh, yes. I’d certainly like to think so.’

      Anger lit the eyes filled so recently with desire. Anger and disgust.

      ‘Tell me it’s not true,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me you didn’t sleep with my father.’

      She stared up at him and allowed herself a half-smile. So he wasn’t disgusted with her? He was disgusted with himself, disgusted that he could be attracted to someone his father had slept with. Maybe Laurence’s gift would protect her after all, because as long as Zane saw her as the pearl master’s mistress, she would be safe from him. And, more importantly, she would be safe from her own quavering resistance.

      ‘I don’t have to tell you anything! It’s none of your business.’ She moved to go around him and return to her desk, but his hands grabbed hold of her shoulders, dragging her in, imprisoning her close to him.

      ‘Did you?’

      She looked down at his hands. ‘I’m surprised you can even bear to touch me.’ Then she focused her gaze until it was needle sharp and hitched one eyebrow provocatively. ‘Or are you merely intent on ensuring you inherit all your father’s assets?’

      She didn’t wait for his response. She shrugged off his hands and marched to the desk, collecting up her designs and plans. ‘Excuse me, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have work to do. And then I’m going home—to pack.’

      ‘Why? Where are you going?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted halfway across the room. ‘But it’s going to be bad enough working with you until the launch. There’s just no way I can stomach the thought of living with you, as well.’

      ‘What do you mean,’ he called out behind her, ‘“until the launch”?’

      She dragged in a breath and slowly swivelled around, sending up a silent apology to Laurence as she did so. But it wasn’t so much that she wouldn’t honour his deathbed request, she told herself, she was merely putting a time limit on it.

      ‘I’m giving my notice, Zane. I’ll stay until the launch of the new collection. I’ll finish what I have to do. But then you won’t have to put up with me any more. I’ll be leaving Broome—for good.’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      LAURENCE HAD CLEARLY had other ideas. A few days later both Ruby and Zane sat dumbfounded in Laurence’s former office as his executor explained the terms of his will.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ Ruby said uncertainly. But it wasn’t that she hadn’t heard the lawyer the first time; it was just that it made no sense.

      Derek Finlayson breathed an apologetic sigh. ‘I realise it’s a lot to take in right now, but basically what it comes down to is that you and Zane have been bequeathed equal shares in ninety per cent of the Bastiani Pearl Corporation. As of now you each control forty-five per cent of the business.’

      ‘But…’ She looked around for help, but Zane wasn’t giving any. He sat, rigid and fixed, his face a tight mask. ‘But I don’t want it.’

      Zane swung his head around, the disbelief in his features reading like an accusation.

      She shook her head. Nothing made sense. Just last weekend she’d moved her things out of the house and into a cabin at the Cable Beach Resort. It was five-star luxury all the way, but that wasn’t the reason she’d chosen it. It was because it was about as far away as she could possibly get from Zane. And she’d figured it would only be for the short term. Already she had some interviews lined up with jewellery manufacturers in Sydney. In the past few years, she’d made herself a solid reputation with the Bastiani Corporation. The successful launch of the Passion Collection would seal it. If all went well, she’d be on her way out of Broome in just a matter of months.

      But if she stayed…

      She