Single Girl Abroad. Kelly Hunter

it a while until you know what’s going on.’

      ‘And here I thought you were the reckless type.’

      ‘Guess you were wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to slow us down. You could try helping in that regard. Because God only knows where we’ll end up if you don’t.’ His eyes glittered with a darkly sensual promise. ‘You want to risk it?’

      Suddenly, Luke’s refusal to come in for coffee and whatever else she might have offered him seemed like a very good move. Vacating the elevator before giving in to the primitive edge of desire that swirled around them seemed like an even better one. ‘No. You’re right. No coffee and give my regards to the boys.’ Madeline took a step back and put her finger to the control panel when the lift doors would have closed. ‘Do you still want to attend the art exhibition together on Friday?’

      He nodded.

      ‘Okay, good. So I’ll just … go.’

      ‘Wait.’ That deadly soft voice stopped her; flowed over her. ‘You forgot something.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Your goodnight kiss,’ said Luke grimly and hauled her into his arms as the lift doors began to close. Surely, he thought as her lips opened beneath his, soft and warm and willing. Surely he wouldn’t invite catastrophe with just one more little kiss.

      And still her taste slammed through him, hot and wild and perfect. Still, his breath came hard and harsh and his body ached for just that little bit more when finally he released her.

      ‘Go.’

      Turning, Madeline pressed the button and waited for the lift doors to open once more, while every muscle screamed at her to turn around and lose herself in the white-hot desire to be found in Luke Bennett’s arms. But he’d warned her not to unleash him, and it seemed a warning well worth heeding. For now.

      She looked back as she stepped out—how could she not? He stood leaning against the back wall again, with his hands in his pockets, his head thrown back, and his eyes were as hungry as hell. Madeline looked down over him as the lift doors began to close, looked down to where a lady really shouldn’t look.

      And smiled.

      Friday came around quickly for Madeline. Bruce Yi had wasted no time in getting Elena to extend an invitation to the art exhibition; one invitation and two distinct names.

      Bruce Yi’s request for more information on the South Singapore apartment project arrived half an hour after Madeline had emailed Elena an acceptance to the gallery show on her and Luke’s behalf.

      Madeline had the information at her fingertips, all ready to go. She’d had it ready for weeks. Cursing, she stared at the folder and thought of the hope and ambitions it contained. Of the year of work that had already gone into visualising the project. Delacourte was ready for this project. She was ready, and it’d be so damned easy now that she had a card to play to simply play it, and get what she wanted out of the deal, and leave Jacob to fend for himself. Surely as the head of Delacourte Enterprises it was her job to be ruthless in the pursuit of profit? Luke had as good as told her to work Bruce Yi to her advantage and let Luke and Jacob take care of Bennett business. Surely Jacob could protect himself from Bruce Yi’s machinations?

      Couldn’t he?

      Damn, damn, and damn!

      Madeline opened her desk drawer, shoved the file inside it, and slammed the drawer shut.

      An empty desk now, and another stronger curse for good measure.

      William had been the softest businessman in the world. He’d taught her many things during their time together, but ruthlessness hadn’t been one of them. Madeline had been left to discover ruthlessness by herself in the wake of William’s death. She’d had some tough decisions to make when it came to restructuring the company, what to keep and what to shed, but she’d made them, and worn them, and Delacourte had emerged the stronger for them.

      Could she really abandon a ten-year friendship with one of the finest men she knew to the beast that was business?

      A grim little smile twisted her lips. It would surprise no one if she did. She who’d married a soft touch for his money, buried him three years later, and never looked back. She who continued to play by rules no one else could fathom. The trophy wife who thought she had the wit to rebuild Delacourte. The woman who saw in a homeless street waif the spark of something pure and good and had known just the man who could take that spark and coax it into a strong and steady flame. The woman who loved the security that only extreme wealth could bring, but who nonetheless donated her annual wage to charity.

      Delacourte made the money, paid Madeline and hundreds of others a wage, and Madeline gave her portion away. That was the way of it ever since William’s death and the why of it was unfathomable even to her.

      The workings of such a system, however, depended entirely on putting Delacourte Enterprises first. Everything else flowed on from that. That much she did know.

      She’d already sacrificed love to the altar of financial security. Why not friendship too?

      Round and round her thoughts went as the afternoon wore on. First one way and then the other.

      Round and round again.

      At four-thirty, Madeline put her office phone to her ear and called the dojo in search of Luke. When he wasn’t around, she got his mobile number from Jake and called him direct.

      ‘There’s access to gallery parking at this show tonight. I thought I might take the car,’ she said when Luke answered his phone. No need to mention that a goodly portion of her reasoning for wanting to take the car was a heartfelt desire to stay out of elevators that had Luke in them. ‘So I’ll swing by the dojo and collect you around seven? How does that sound?’

      Silence. Then, ‘Wrong,’ muttered Luke dejectedly. ‘So wrong in so many different ways.’

      ‘Luke Bennett,’ she scolded, thoroughly amused and not particularly surprised. ‘Is this a money thing?’

      ‘No, it’s a car thing. The money thing is only a peripheral problem in this particular instance. The boy acquires a car. The boy picks the girl up in his car. The girl is impressed by the lad’s ability to procure, drive, and run said car. The car is a metaphor for his ability to provide for her. That’s how it works.’

      ‘Quaint,’ she said, smiling into the phone. ‘What say I take your ability to provide all manner of things as read, and cut you a break seeing as you’re a stranger in a foreign land and pick you up at seven?’

      ‘What say I hire a car?’ he said a touch desperately.

      ‘Now why would you want to do that when I’ve a perfectly good vehicle sitting here practically unused?’ she said sweetly. ‘Would it help if I let you drive?’

      ‘No, that would merely add insult to injury.’

      ‘Whatever happened to equality of the sexes?’

      ‘The Bennett boys opted out. What kind of car is it? No, let me guess. It’s a pastel-coloured fuel-efficient compact.’

      ‘It’d serve you right if it was,’ said Madeline.

      ‘It’s not lime green with those smiley hubcaps that don’t turn round, is it? Because if it is, we’re walking.’

      ‘It’s a Mercedes convertible.’ Madeline wasn’t above a little teasing of her own. ‘SL class, twelve purring little cylinders. Lots and lots of buttons to play with. You’ll like it.’ A strangled sound happened along the phone line. ‘Luke Bennett, are you whimpering?’

      ‘Yes, but only because the tailor just found my inside leg with a pin. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the thought of being picked up from my brother’s house in that car by a woman whose wealth is vastly superior to my own. My ego is far more robust than that.’

      ‘Of