The Dare Collection November 2018. Christy McKellen

I can make that work.’

      A cloud drifted over his face. ‘Trust isn’t a commodity I find very easy to part with.’

      The little rush of affinity warmed me before I killed it dead. If the Devil didn’t trust, there was a good reason for it. ‘The other company you’re thinking of going with, have you used them before?’

      He cracked a hard smile. ‘Don’t come at me with that angle, Leonora.’

      It was the second time he’d used my given name. When had we even agreed to that? And why did each enunciation make me wildly hot?

      ‘Why not? Why would you decide to go with them and not me?’

      ‘Because they’re weren’t as...intransigent.’

      My fingers tightened around the folder. ‘I can guarantee you a better service.’

      He remained silent for a short mile. ‘That remains to be seen. Now, run me through your list,’ he said briskly.

      A little more settled now we were on a business footing, I went through the extensive list of everything, from how often the sheets were changed on board the yacht to the ingredients used on the most elaborate meal. I’d found out early in my career not to leave any detail unmentioned.

      By the time I was done, he was pulling up in front of the Riviera One hotel in Nice. The cheapest room in the six-star hotel was upward of fifteen hundred euros a night with a stay in the presidential suite extending to the tens of thousands. It was number one on my client recommendation list.

      I wasn’t even a little bit surprised that Gideon was greeted by name by the doorman when he stepped out of the Aston Martin.

      ‘Bienvenue, Monsieur Mortimer.’

      ‘Thanks, Pierre, it’s good to be back. How are the wife and kids?’ he asked after he tossed his keys to the valet.

      ‘Very well, monsieur. I must thank you again for that letter of recommendation.’

      Gideon clapped the man on the shoulder. ‘If you must, but that’s the last time. Thank me again and I’ll have you fired.’

      Pierre looked startled for a moment, before he chuckled. ‘Understood, monsieur. I’ll make sure your bag is delivered right away.’

      ‘Good man.’

      He sauntered into the stunning atrium of the art deco hotel as if he owned the place, striding over to the VIP concierge desk. ‘Everything is ready for you, Mr Mortimer. If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask and I will personally see to it,’ the chief concierge said.

      ‘I know you will. I might even start by asking you to teach true customer service to a few people I’m thinking of doing business with,’ Gideon replied, sending me a speaking glance as he pocketed his black key card and headed to the lift.

      ‘If that comment was aimed at me, I’ll have you know I haven’t had a single complaint since I started my business. In fact, I have several glowing testimonials I’m happy to show you if you want.’

      He had the audacity to grin. And, oh, what a spectacular sight it was. It transformed his face from devilishly handsome to downright sacrilegious, stopping my breath dead two seconds after the brilliance of it hit me square in the chest.

      Sweet God.

      I entered the lift and clung to the railing, desperately willing myself to avoid looking at him, and failing, as he lounged against the wall, arms crossed.

      ‘I have a feeling you’re not very happy with me, Leonora,’ he mused. ‘Is it because you find me too demanding?’

      God, why was he saying my name like that? ‘Wasn’t that the impression you wished to create?’

      His shrug was shamelessly unapologetic. ‘My mum used to call me her greedy little bastard, among other things. The way I see it, why ask for the moon and stars when the sun is just begging to be tossed in, as well?’

      The use of the past tense triggered curiosity I wrestled down. ‘And you don’t care if your greed earns you a certain reputation?’

      ‘I’m a big boy. I can take care of anyone who pays me a less-than-stellar compliment to my face. What they say behind my back—’ he shrugged again ‘—I care very little about.’

      The realisation that he meant it, that power and privilege had insulated him against the barbs of ordinary men, grated. It was the same entitlement that my father fed on, using it to prey on defenceless people like my mother until she was a husk before throwing her away. The same entitlement with which another woman had looked at my fiancé, decided she wanted him and had taken him without compunction, Adam’s own collusion aside.

      Dammit, there I went thinking about him again. Something about Gideon Mortimer triggered unwanted memories. The sooner I got our business squared away, the better.

      Except, if he signed on the dotted line, I’d be stuck with him for the next few weeks.

      ‘You should learn to school your expressions better, Leonora.’

      I refocused on him but didn’t bother to hide my derision. ‘Pray tell, what do you think you see?’

      ‘There’s a lot about me you don’t like. But you’re swallowing your pride for the sake of our business relationship. Bravo on that, by the way. But there’s something you do like and you’re desperate to keep that under wraps.’

      My heart rate spiked just a little north of uncomfortable. ‘Wow, you can tell all of that just by looking at my face?’

      ‘I can tell that by the way you’re gripping that railing as if your life depends on it, and the way you’re plastering yourself so hard against the wall. Oh, and the way you haven’t stopped looking at my mouth since we entered the lift.’

      I opened my mouth but the lift doors parted just then, possibly saving me from voicing a response that would’ve killed this deal once and for all. With a cocky smile, he stepped into the corridor and waved me out. When I was two feet from him, he braced his hand on the door frame to his suite, stopping my progress.

      ‘It’s okay, Leonora, you can tell me what you really think of me. One of my many assets is a thick skin.’

      I took a breath, got hit with that sinful aftershave again and clenched my gut against all the decadent sensations buffeting me. He was just a man. His type was a dime a dozen in this part of the world.

      Except it wasn’t true.

      Gideon Mortimer was exceptional in many ways. Magnetic. Charismatic. Electrifying. And extremely easy on the eyes.

      ‘I was going to advise you not to get high on your own supply but I realised I’d be wasting my breath. What I’d like to know, though, is why have you brought me to the penthouse suite?’ I was too busy being dazzled by his smile to check what button he’d pressed. Foolishly, I’d assumed we were going to the tenth-floor brasserie, where I usually met with clients.

      He dropped his hand and turned towards the imposing double doors that led into the impressive luxury suite. ‘We haven’t finished our discussion, and I need a shower before my next appointment in twenty minutes. Two birds and all that. You don’t object, do you?’

      I didn’t answer because his question sounded annoyingly rhetorical.

      Swiping the key card, he shoved the doors open, leaving me trailing after him with a reel of indecent images of a naked, shower-soaked Gideon cascading through my heated brain.

      When I eventually made it inside, he was standing before the floor-to-ceiling glass windows staring at the stunning Côte d’Azur view. I’d been in this suite a few times. The magnificent blend of art deco and modern furnishings, the deep blue of the sky outside and the sparkling ocean never failed to leave me breathless. Today that image, framed around Gideon Mortimer like a specially commissioned painting, was threatening to stop my