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‘Forget it.’ She masked her mortification with sixteen-year-old attitude.
She brushed past him, head high, but as she stepped out onto the deck his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
‘Do you even know what it is you’re asking for?’
‘Yes.’ She tossed her head and flung the answer at him. ‘But don’t worry, I can find myself a real man. One who isn’t intimidated by a woman who knows what she wants.’
‘A woman? Is that what you are?’
‘Obviously one that you can’t handle.’
He’d moved then all right. Pulling hard on her wrist so she’d stumbled and fallen against him. His body had been rock and his mouth had come down so hard on hers it had made her eyes water. She’d felt smothered. She’d gasped and struggled and suddenly the quality of the kiss had changed. His arms had still been like bands holding her tight and close but his mouth had moved more gently—just a fraction, just enough. She’d frozen, just feeling and then the warmth had started—trickling, then all of a sudden flooding through her body. She’d softened, pressing herself against him, and somehow his body had grown even harder and he’d hauled hers even closer. His hands had roved then, sweeping down her back, around her waist. And she’d kissed him back, her tongue meeting his and exploring further—tasting him, breathing in the sharp male scent of him, shaking as it had overwhelmed her. She’d been flying, yearning, instinctively moving, aching for something more.
He’d let her go so suddenly—shoved her from him—and she’d swayed on her feet. Her mind whirling, her stomach swirling. And suddenly she’d been so cold and dizzy and terrified. She’d gone to say something, she never knew what because instead she’d turned and heaved out all of Grandfather’s reeking brandy all over his deck.
He had sworn long and loud and so furiously. She’d never heard such a crude compilation of taboo words and phrases—never had since.
She could hardly blame him.
He’d handed her a tissue to wipe her mouth and taken her arm again—none too gently. He’d locked her into his ute and gunned his foot to the ground, breaking the speed limit all the five minutes back to her home, leaving her to face the wrath of her understandably irate guardian.
But nothing her grandfather said or did had hurt as much as the way Jared had looked at her—it had felt like a kind of hate and she could never forgive him for it.
Chapter Six
‘I’M BACK and want you to spend the morning with me.’
‘And I’d do that because…?’ Jared was back early. Blast.
‘In order for you to design the best ad campaign you need to understand my business from the inside out.’
‘I already have all the information I need to be able to produce the best ad campaign for you.’ She was hard at work on it now and she needed all day to get it right before their meeting on Monday.
‘You don’t have hands-on experience.’
‘You’re promising me hands-on experience?’ She couldn’t help rising to the innuendo.
There was a micro pause. ‘All the hands on you want, sweetheart.’
‘Well, thanks all the same, Jared, but I think I have it under control.’ She sure hoped she did—herself that was.
‘Well, you know I am the client and what the client says goes. I want you to see the factory up and running and so I’ll meet you in Reception at nine-thirty.’
He’d hung up before she could get another word in. Hands-on experience? In less than twenty minutes?
She took a deep breath. So far she’d had two days to prepare for this moment. Not just two days but three whole nights as well—but then she’d barely slept a wink of any of them, too busy thinking and then when she had fallen asleep she’d had to make herself wake. Because when she slept, he was with her…and those dreams were not allowed. And suddenly two days and three nights didn’t feel like nearly enough.
Maybe it was because of the lack of sleep that she felt the need to check her hair was tied neatly and her lips thoroughly coated in pale pink lip gloss.
And surely global warming was to blame for her surge in body temperature when she saw him waiting for her dressed in black jeans and black shirt and intense gaze. For a moment there was the flame in his face too—as he looked over her latest skirt and blouse combo—but it was quickly snuffed.
Professional.
He led her out past Reception and into what looked suspiciously like the tea room.
‘OK, so this is a juicer.’ He pointed to the bench.
She glanced over to where a bunch of about five young workers were sitting at a table with a pack of cards shared out in hands. Oh, yes, definitely the tea room.
