Payback Affairs: Shattered by the CEO. Emilie Rose

      “I know when to protect my own interests. Or in this case, Mitch’s and Nadia’s.” He hitched a hip on her desk, invading her space with a long, lean knife-creased trouser-encased thigh. “Arrange a cocktail party for the executives of each of the brands by the end of the week. Plan to attend as my date.”

      “Is that wise? Us dating openly, I mean.”

      “I need a hostess, and you’re the one who insisted on exclusivity.”

      So she had. And she’d occasionally provided the same service for Everett. Was that why her former boss had believed she’d be open to a more intimate relationship? “At Kincaid Manor?”

      “Anywhere but there.”

      “Your father always—”

      “I’m not my father. I don’t need to flaunt my wealth or have a woman half my age on my arm to make me feel like a man. And I won’t be taken in by a pretty face or a good lay. You’ll do well to remember that.”

      She gasped at his rude comment. Was he trying to rattle her? If so, it was working. “Are you deliberately being obnoxious so I’ll release you from your part of our agreement?”

      He reached out and traced her jaw. Her pulse stumbled erratically beneath the slow drag of his fingertip.

      “Why would I do that, Tara, when as you said, the sex between us was always good?”

      Her mouth dried and her palms moistened. Arousal streamed through her. But suspicion dammed her response. She scooted her chair out of his reach. What was he trying to pull? First he’d flat-out refused to be her lover and then he’d accepted reluctantly. And now he was trying to seduce her?

      His about-face didn’t ring true, then she realized why. There wasn’t any passion in his eyes despite his comment on their sex life. Rand was cold and distant—the way he’d been the day he’d climbed from her bed and broken her heart, and the day he’d caught her leaving his father’s bedroom.

      He wasn’t at all someone she wanted to be intimate with.

      Not like this.

      She didn’t doubt he could make her ache for him even with this emotionless seduction. He’d always been a skilled lover. But perfect technique wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted the unbridled passion they’d shared in the past, and it looked like she’d have to fight for it.

      He glanced at his watch and stood. “We’re going out to dinner tonight. Wear something sexy and low-cut if you want to get me in the mood.”

      He pivoted on his heel and stalked into his office.

      Aghast, Tara stared after him. And then anger blasted through her. He’d just thrown down the gauntlet.

       If she wanted to get him in the mood?

      Oh, she’d get him in the mood all right. In fact, she wasn’t going to be happy until she’d shattered Rand Kincaid’s icy control and won back the man who’d given her the happiest days of her life.

      Tara knew the minute her eyes met Rand’s that her decision to fight dirty was the right one.

      Tiny bubbles of excitement effervesced in her veins as she descended the stairs to where Rand waited by the front door. She could feel the heat from his unblinking appraisal warming her skin and her core. She forced her fingers from the newel post and indicated her dress with what she hoped looked more like a casual flip than a nervous flail. “Look familiar?”

      “You expect me to remember your clothing?”

      Oh, he remembered all right. His tight voice, flaring nostrils and the color slashed across his cheekbones gave it away. Those telltale signs made the hour she’d spent taking in the cocktail dress two sizes worth every second. Thank God for her grandmother’s sewing lessons and her ancient sewing machine because Tara hadn’t had the time, money or necessity to shop for evening wear since Rand had dumped her.

      “I wore this dress the night we first made love,” she told him anyway.

      His lips flattened and his shoulders stiffened, but he remained silent.

      “I fixed the tear. You know, from when you ripped the dress off of me in your foyer.” His gaze dropped to her bodice as if seeking the mend, and hunger hardened his face. Her nipples tightened in response. Did he remember she hadn’t worn a bra that night? Could he tell she wasn’t now?

      “Are you ready to go?” he asked tightly.

      For the first time in years she felt alive and eager instead of numb. When he looked at her that way—as if he wanted to strip her and take her where she stood—she believed her plan to make him fall in love with her could actually work.

      “Oh, I’m ready.” She added a quick, mischievous smile to the words even though her stomach had twisted into a corkscrew of nerves. “Are you?”

      She didn’t mean for dinner. The desire burning in those hazel eyes told her the ashes of Rand’s desire were far from cold.

      And she had every intention of fanning the flames.

      Even at the risk of getting burned.

      He’d underestimated his opponent.

      And that was exactly how he had to classify Tara from now on, Rand decided as he followed her out of the humid Miami air and into the cool, darkened house. She wanted something from him, and as with any business deal, he’d concede some points but not all. That way everyone left the bartering table satisfied.

      Grace in victory wasn’t a concept he’d learned from his father. Everett Kincaid had relished crushing and humiliating his adversaries. Rand preferred to allow his competitors to walk away beaten but not broken. Defeated, but not destroyed. In the tight-knit, almost incestuous cruise industry no one knew when they’d have to work for or with a previous foe again. Burning bridges wasn’t smart business.

      Time to seal this deal.

      Moonlight shone through the living room windows, glinting off Tara’s loose curls like moonbeams on rippling water split by a ship’s bow. Before she could turn on the lamp he intercepted her hand and carried it to his chest. Her breath caught audibly.

      She’d been leading him around by his libido for most of the evening, starting with a dress that brought back memories hot enough to cauterize his veins, followed by brushing up against him on the restaurant’s dance floor until he was so hard he could barely walk back to their table.

      She was good, very good, at luring a man into her trap.

      It was time to regain control of the situation. He relaxed his clenched jaw and slowly reeled her in. His heart pounded out a hard-driving rock tempo beneath her palm. Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her body flush against his. Hot, urgent desire pulsed through him.

       Sex. Physical hunger. That’s all this is.

      And he could control that.

      “Ran—”

      He smothered her words with his mouth, stole them from her tongue with his. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be distracted from the job ahead.

      She tasted of the tiramisu she’d had for dessert mixed with a hint of the sweet wine she’d sipped throughout dinner.

      And Tara. She tasted like Tara.

      Damn the memories he couldn’t erase.

      Her fingers fisted on his chest, but her resistance lasted only seconds before her body relaxed and curved into his, molding her soft breasts against a rib cage that felt so tight he could barely inhale.

      He still wanted her even after she’d betrayed him, and the knowledge burned like sea water in a fresh gash.

      Rand shut down his emotions and focused on his actions—actions guaranteed to seduce the woman in his arms. He swept a hand down her back, splayed his