The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

‘Will it cost me?’ His hands found her hips, fingers clenching in the thick towel that scraped her sensitive skin.

      She leaned closer, her lips tingling to taste him. ‘Yes…’ A whisper. This close to him she could barely think, let alone negotiate.

      His eyes gleamed. ‘I look forward to it.’

      He smacked a quick kiss on her lips, leaving her reeling, and headed for the door.

      ‘You have ten minutes to dress that sexy body of yours.’

      With a cocky wink, he was gone.

      One hour and one hair-raising helicopter trip later, Libby found herself back at Waterloo, on the banks of the Thames, squished into a life jacket. She’d assumed he had a jet boat and that it would be a private ride. He did, of course, own a jet boat—but he’d booked them into a tourist ride. Apparently this added to the ‘fun’.

      Alex squeezed her hand. ‘You okay?’

      She nodded, incapable of voicing any of the tart replies queued up on her tongue. Why put herself through this? Why didn’t she tell him to stuff his high-profile account up his gloriously muscular behind?

      Trouble was, now she’d experienced his sexual prowess the stakes were higher than the deal being simply good for business. And, despite her reservations, the exhilaration and serenity of the balloon ride had been an experience she’d never forget.

      He smiled—half-mocking, half-indulgent—and scooped her close with his arm around her rigid shoulders. His lips grazed the top of her head, her forehead, her temple.

      ‘You’re perfectly safe. This skipper is the most experienced. Wait until you see their reactions.’ He tilted his head in the direction of the other participants, lined up on the dock. ‘Feel the sheer thrill of it yourself. I want to make this affordable and accessible for my kids. They’ll love it.’

      Libby looked at him. Saw him clearly as if for the first time. Excitement glinted in his eyes, transforming their colour from dark chocolate to amber, and his hair lifted in the wind, giving him a boyish air, incongruous with the powerful, urbane man she knew him to be.

      And he practically vibrated with energy. He’d called them ‘my kids’. This venture fed his soul.

      A pang of jealousy rolled in Libby’s stomach. It had been a long time since anything had fed her own withered soul. A strict diet of hard work and trigger avoidance had left her seriously malnourished in recent years. She’d pushed aside her own passions, blocking out anything that made her remember Callum, the life she’d planned with him, happier times…

      Her reverie came to a halt as she followed Alex to the front of the sleek powerboat. He’d commanded the best seats in the house. The ones with a direct view of the ride ahead and in line with the inevitable faceful of Thames river spray.

      Libby pressed frigid lips together. ‘You owe me big-time for this,’ she muttered as she took her seat, her hands gripping the icy handrail in front.

      He laughed, tugging her closer to whisper, ‘Why doesn’t that feel like any kind of hardship at all?’

      Before she could formulate a tart reply, the engine fired up and they were off.

      It had been a long time since she’d had so much fun.

      The boat bumped along, taking her stomach for the ride, and she had a unique view from her vantage point of the iconic landmarks lining the Thames. The infectious screams and laughter of those sharing the journey added to the excitement as he’d predicted. Alex gripped her hand tightly, his face full of laughter every time the boat lurched and she screamed.

      By the time she was safely back on dry land she already craved a repeat performance.

      Alex kissed her, their wet cheeks sliding, cold lips clinging around their mutual grins. ‘Told you.’

      ‘You were right. Must suck, being you.’

      He sobered, unclipping the straps on her life jacket and then removing his own.

      ‘Sadly, I have some work to do this afternoon.’ He brushed a wet lock of hair from her face, his palm warm and dry against her hot skin. ‘I need to play the boss for a few hours.’

      His scorching stare told her he’d rather do all the erotic things currently running through her dirty mind, but then he seemed to take command of himself.

      She nodded. ‘I could work.’

      She had stacks to do. For him…for her other accounts. Why did that admission carry less reward than it had a week ago? She lived for work. This job in particular would be incredibly lucrative in professional kudos. Why was playing hooky with the charming, contradictory CEO so much fun?

      He took her hand, turning them away from the dock. ‘Work it is. I’d like you to put together a short presentation, if that’s okay—of the ethos behind Able-Active.’

      She nodded, her mind racing with ideas.

      ‘I think I’ve given you enough of a taste to know what we’re about.’

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘And, if you’re free, I’m hosting a gathering for possible benefactors and investors tomorrow evening. Hopefully my speech and your presentation will help them part with some cash.’

      As she followed Alex to the sleek car waiting for them the thrill of sitting at her desk, even working on such a worthwhile project, carried far less weight than it should.

      A very worrying turn of events.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      THE MARIE ANTOINETTE suite at the Ritz brimmed with elegantly dressed bodies and suited waiting staff. The gilded Louis XVI–style décor and sparkling chandeliers bounced light around the crowded room, which hummed with the chatter of multiple conversations and the tinkle of fine crystal champagne glasses.

      Libby focussed on the heat of Alex’s hand in the small of her back, which was burning through the simple black silk shift dress she’d packed for any social function that arose while she travelled. Not that it was flashy enough for these surroundings, but she was here to do a job—not parade the latest couture.

      Alex had already told her she looked beautiful, despite the simplicity of her outfit. Once in the doorway of her hotel room, when he’d pressed her up against the wall and kissed the freshly applied lip-gloss from her mouth, and again when he’d dug his fingertips into her hip as they’d left his car, whispering to her how he looked forward to repaying his debt for their trip on the river earlier this morning.

      Libby shivered. Nerves? But the assembled guests, hand-picked by Alex as possible investors and benefactors to Able-Active, presented a small and hopefully captive audience. Could her jitters have something to do with the way he kept his hand on her at all times? Circulating the room with her, introducing her to too many people to remember, his act of possession as unnerving as it was thrilling.

      ‘Thank you, James. You’re doing a great job.’ Alex addressed one of the waiters and took two glasses of champagne from the young man’s tray.

      Libby accepted a glass, noticing that James made no eye contact and rushed away more quickly than perhaps he should have.

      ‘The waiting staff are all kids from the Able-Active programme,’ Alex murmured. ‘James has autism.’

      Libby nodded and glanced around the room. These young, smartly dressed waiters and waitresses weren’t, she guessed, typical for the Ritz.

      Molly arrived by their side. ‘They’re ready when you are, Mr Lancaster.’

      Alex nodded and handed his PA his glass of champagne. Turning to Libby, he brushed her temple with his and whispered, ‘Wish me luck.’

      Before she could reply, he made his