Naughty Or Nice. Rachael Stewart

and his eyes are intense as they watch and wait for my response.

      ‘Is it you or your family telling me I’m not welcome, Evangeline?’

      ‘Both.’ I say it and immediately regret it. It’s too personal, too unprofessional, but I can’t think clearly. Not with him so close.

      ‘Is that your way of asking me to leave?’

      I sense nearby heads turning, ears tuning in.

       Careful, Eva…

      I’m losing myself in the fierce glint of her blue gaze, almost daring her to throw me out. There’s something about the fight in her that I want to provoke.

      It’s so much easier than dealing with all the shit buried ten years deep.

      ‘No, Lucas, I’m not asking you to leave.’

      She wets her lips. Again. And the red shines ever deeper, the carnal colour driving a string of sinful thoughts—none of which have a place in this room, with this audience.

       Or fit with the reason you’re here.

      It’s about business.

      Not her.

      Not…

      A pulse flutters in her throat and she raises her hand, her red-tipped fingers circling over the delicate ripple. Christ, I want to do that—be the person with his fingers over that creamy skin.

      I tighten my hold on the stem of the glass, slipping my other hand inside my pocket. Out of trouble.

      ‘Good.’ I tear my eyes away, looking towards the grand Christmas tree and the big screen that stands proud alongside it, streaming highlights of the product I’m here to secure. ‘Because I think we have a future together…in business.’

      I suck the inside of my cheek.

       In business? What the actual fuck? Do you want to make it any more obvious you want her in your bed too?

      I hear her laugh, and the sound is as surprising as its effect, rippling through my body like an aftershock. I’d forgotten how she can do that—be it with a laugh, a smile or a song when she thinks no one’s listening.

      ‘Of course, Lucas. Of course in business. What else could you possibly be suggesting?’

      She watches me over the rim of her glass, the depths of her eyes alive with suggestion, amusement, confidence. And it’s the confidence that’s my undoing. It’s new. To me, at least. Where there was once a questioning innocence there’s now the maturity of a woman who knows her own mind, her own desires.

      And where do those desires lie now?

      Ten years ago she made it obvious, but now…

      Hell, most women desire me—it’s par for the course. My money and power attract all sorts, even without the body I work hard to hone.

       But you don’t care about other women. You only care for her.

      Cared—not care. Because that would be damn stupid.

      Ten years ago she was forbidden. As the sister of my best friend, as the daughter of the closest thing I had to parents—real parents.

      But, let’s face it, here I am now, her family’s worst nightmare, and all that loyalty no longer applies.

       Just think what you can do with that.

      I look her over, slowly, purposefully, and before I can hold back it’s out. ‘It wasn’t my intention—I came here tonight to secure a deal, to offer you a very lucrative contract… But now I find myself wanting a whole lot more.’

      Her eyes widen and the glass quivers beneath her chin, not quite lowering but not quite lifting either. She’s shocked and I seize the advantage.

      ‘What’s it been, Evangeline—seven years?’

      ‘Six.’

      She says it so certainly it makes me wonder. Has she counted it down to the exact day, the exact moment? Because I sure as hell have, despite my intentional miscalculation. And even then it had been a brief passing—a moment at the Beaumonts’ home before Nate and I flew out on business. But it’s ingrained in my memory. The sight of her with another man—her fiancé. Happy.

      ‘How is Peter?’

      I don’t know why I even ask it. I can see she isn’t married—her bare finger gives that away. And there’s no reason for me to think he’s still on the scene, so why I need the added reassurance is beyond me.

      ‘I have no idea. We broke up not long after that night.’

      My question hasn’t even jarred her, and that tells me enough. She remembers the occasion.

      I don’t want to feel the pleasure-filled rush that comes from this, but it’s there anyway—as is the burning need to taste those lips that keep goading me with their illicit colour, their inviting sheen.

      ‘And Nate?’ I manage to ask. ‘I can’t see him here.’

      Her lashes flutter at my change in focus. Moving from one unsettling topic to another. But the need to talk business, to get back to safer ground, is lost on me.

      ‘My brother had some work to tie up in Hong Kong. He’ll be back for Christmas.’

      I nod and ignore the weird ache her mention of Christmas kick-starts inside me. Christmas at the Beaumonts’ was my tradition for so long. I never dwell on how much I miss it, but in that second I feel it. The cold, dull ache of what once existed but is no more.

      And Nate still has it all, whereas I—

       For fuck’s sake, Lucas, get with it!

      ‘Good for him.’ I crush the ache, but the bitterness is there in the chill of my tone.

      Her eyes narrow and I look away, forcing my shoulders to relax as I sip at my drink, wanting to quash the past just as much as I want it brought to the fore and dealt with.

      But what would that accomplish? Nothing.

      ‘I see your parents made it.’ I gesture to where they’re standing together at the bar, their eyes drawn to us as inconspicuously as they can manage. But I know they are watching. I can feel their penetrative stare as much as I can feel the heat of her proximity.

      ‘They wouldn’t miss it. It’s in their interest to see me and my business do well.’

      ‘I understand they have a twenty-five per cent share?’

      ‘You’ve done your research.’

      ‘I always do my research.’

      I trust no one. Not any more. What little trust I ever gave was destroyed by her brother five years ago.

      ‘I make it my business to know all there is about the companies I wish to work with and the people who run them.’

      ‘And what does your research tell you about me?’

      ‘You or your business?’

      ‘Both.’

      If it had been any other woman I might have thought she was fishing, but looking into her eyes I see she is not. That fierceness is still there, that sense that she has proved herself over and over again, and knows I won’t have found her wanting. And it drives me to the brink.

       Would that confidence extend to the bedroom too?

      ‘Your product has an eager market, but its patent will only protect it for so long. Time is of the essence, and you need a ready production line and a route to market that is as speedy as we