Her Deal with the Devil. Nicola Marsh

Riling her with his practised charm, swanning through high school with an entourage of popular kids, teasing her whenever he got a chance.

      For some unfathomable reason he’d taken great delight in annoying the hell out of her during their study sessions, succeeding to the point where she’d been flustered and irritable.

      The more she’d ignored him, or feigned indifference, the more he’d pushed, niggling until she snapped. Sadly, her cutting remarks would only spur him on, so she’d learned to curb her annoyance and focus on their assignments in the hope he’d get the message.

      He hadn’t.

      She’d become an expert in patience, honing a cool tolerance in an effort to fight back her way.

      Until the day she’d had no comeback.

      The day he’d kissed her.

      ‘Why are you really here, Patrick?’

      ‘Honestly?’

      She rolled her eyes. Did he even know the meaning of the word, with his glib lines and smooth charisma?

      ‘I heard the rumours and wanted to see for myself.’

      Uh-oh, this was worse than she’d thought.

      She could handle him seeing her without make-up and in workout clothes. She couldn’t handle him knowing about Seaborns’ reputed financial woes. It would undermine everything and scuttle her entire plan before she’d had a chance to present it.

      ‘You of all people should know better than to listen to a bunch of rumours.’

      She attempted to brush past him but he snagged her arm. The zap of something was beyond annoying.

      Ten years and he still had that effect on her? Grow up.

      ‘The reports of my life in the media are highly exaggerated. How about you?’

      She could try and outbluff him but, considering she had to meet him at his office tomorrow for the pitch of her life, it wouldn’t be the smartest move.

      ‘What have you heard?’

      ‘That Seaborns has been doing it tough.’

      ‘No tougher than most during an economic decline.’

      A blatant lie. Not that she’d let him know. If her sister hadn’t married mining magnate Jax Maroney the jewellery business that had been in their family for generations would have gone under.

      And it would have been entirely Sapphie’s fault. She’d been too busy playing superwoman, trying to juggle everything on her own, to let anyone close enough to help. Her stubborn independence had almost cost her the company and her health.

      The bone-deep fatigue and aching muscles had scared her, but not as much as the thought that she’d almost failed in making good on her promise to her mum.

      No way would she take the business so close to the edge again. She’d do whatever it took—including play nice with this guy.

      ‘Really? Because the grapevine was abuzz with news of Ruby shacking up with Maroney to save Seaborns.’

      Bunch of old busybodies—socialites who had nothing better to do than spend their lives sipping lattes, having mani/ pedi combos at the latest exclusive day spa and maligning people.

      She’d spent a lifetime cultivating friendships in the moneyed circles she’d grown up in, had made an effort out of respect for her mum with Seaborns’ bottom line firmly in sight. Rich folk liked to be pandered to, and with the ‘old school’ mentality at work they stuck to their own. Which equated to them spending a small fortune on Seaborns jewellery.

      But it was at times like this, when gossip spread faster than news of a designer sale, that she hated their group mentality.

      ‘You heard wrong.’

      She hated having to justify anything to him, but she knew how hard Ruby had fought for Seaborns and she’d do anything for her amazing sister and their company.

      The fact that Patrick was partially right—Ruby had initially married Jax for convenience to save Seaborns—rankled. If they hadn’t fallen head over heels Sapphie would have personally throttled her self-sacrificing sister for going to such lengths for their business.

      ‘Ruby and Jax are madly in love. They can’t keep their hands off each other.’

      ‘Lucky them.’

      His gaze dipped to her lips and she could have sworn they tingled in remembrance of how commanding his kiss had been for an eighteen-year-old…how he’d made her weak-kneed and dizzy with one touch of his tongue…how he’d made her lose control.

      Her lips compressed at the memory. Damn hormones. Just because it had been over a year since she’d been with a guy it didn’t mean she had to go all crazy remembering stuff from the past.

      Or noticing the way his dark brown hair curled around his collar, too long for conventionality. Or the way stubble highlighted his strong jaw. Or how he never wore his top button done up, making the tanned V of skin a temptation to be touched.

      Yep, damned hormones.

      ‘You’re flustered.’ He took a step closer and it took all her willpower not to step back. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

      Oh, yeah. But she wasn’t going there, and especially not with him.

      Once she sealed this deal she needed a date. A hot guy with nothing on his mind but drizzled chocolate and a sleepless night.

      As if she’d ever find a guy to live up to her fantasies. The guys she dated were staid, executive types on tight timelines who demanded little. Guys like her.

      ‘Yeah, there is something you can do.’ She met his gaze, determinedly ignoring the quiver in her belly that signalled Patrick Fourde would be the kind of guy to make all a girl’s fantasies come true. ‘Be prepared to be wowed by the best designs Seaborns has ever produced.’

      He inclined his head, the sunlight picking up spun gold streaks. ‘I’ll keep an open mind.’

      ‘That’s all I’m asking for.’

      ‘Pity.’

      How one word could hold so much promise, so much sizzle, she’d never know. The guy had suave down to an art. He’d had that elusive something as a teen and it had evolved into a raw, potent sex appeal that disconcerted her.

      Not that she couldn’t handle him…it…whatever.

      ‘Did that practised schmooze work for you in Europe?’

      Those cobalt flecks flared and an answering lick of heat made her squirm. He didn’t speak, and his silence unnerved her as much as the banked heat in his steady stare.

      ‘Because personally it doesn’t do much for me.’

      ‘What does?’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘What does do it for you?’ He leaned in deliciously, temptingly close and she held her breath. ‘Because I’d really like to know.’

      His breath fanned her ear, setting up a ripple effect as every nerve ending from her head to her toes zinged.

      She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell a delectable combination of crisp designer wool and French aftershave with a spicy undertone.

      Heady. Tempting. Overwhelming.

      Powerless to resist, she tilted her head a fraction, the tip of her nose within grazing distance of his neck.

      And she breathed. Infusing her senses with him. Closed her eyes. Imagined for one infinitesimal moment what it would be like to close the gap between them and nuzzle his neck.

      She had no idea how long they hovered a hair’s breadth apart, the inch between their bodies