Her Enemy With Benefits: Her Deal with the Devil / My Boyfriend and Other Enemies / Blind Date Rivals

In that moment he knew exactly how to make her come out to play.

He locked fingers, stretched and settled them behind his head. ‘Tell me what you’re wearing.’

A cute little crease appeared between her brows. ‘Pretty obvious, I would’ve thought. Ochre shift dress.’

‘I meant what you’re wearing beneath it.’

Her lips parted in a delightful O of surprise before she clamped them shut. ‘We are so not having Skype sex.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’ She darted a glance away from the screen. Prob-ably trying to find something to cover the inbuilt camera. ‘I don’t see the point.’

‘The point being it’s fun to play. And if you’re half as horny as me it might take the edge off.’ He unlocked his hands and leaned towards the camera. ‘Plus I love seeing you get off.’

A deep crimson flushed her cheeks.

‘Come on, give a guy a little something to tide him over while he’s working all-nighters.’

The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip before she said, ‘I—I—haven’t done this before. I’m not sure—’

‘It’s all about the fantasy, sweetheart.’ He lowered his voice, knowing he needed to say the right thing or he’d lose her. ‘There’s no right or wrong way. Just do what feels good.’

She paused, worrying her bottom lip for a few indecisive seconds, before her chin tilted and he knew he had her.

‘You tell anyone about this and you’re a dead man.’

Victorious, he leaned back in his chair. ‘Consider this a prelude to the real thing.’

She nodded, and a sweep of hair the colour of gold silk swished across one eye before she pushed it back impatiently.

‘Let’s try this again. Tell me what you’re wearing.’

She inhaled and blew out a breath. ‘Pale pink lace.’

‘Bra and panties?’

‘Thong,’ she corrected, and his hard-on twitched.

‘Sheer?’

‘Yep.’

He cursed.

‘Take off your thong.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Patrick—’

‘Do it,’ he said, his voice thick with lust. ‘And I want to see proof.’

‘I’m not doing that—’

‘Relax, just seeing the thong will do.’ He grinned. ‘For now.’

She huffed out a breath but he saw her wiggling, and in a few moments she waved the flimsiest excuse for underwear he’d ever seen in front of the camera.

‘Satisfied?’

‘Not by a long shot, babe, but we’re getting there.’

He wondered how far he could push her and decided to go all the way.

‘Now touch yourself.’ He throbbed, and shifted in his chair. ‘You’re turned on, wet, and as you touch yourself I want you to imagine it’s my tongue.’

She moaned, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard via electronic medium.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said, ‘but only if you do it too.’

Kudos to his sexy Sapphire. She was a quick learner.

‘Okay, but only because you asked so nicely.’

He unzipped and sprang free of his boxers, rigid and straining. As he wrapped his fingers around himself he closed his eyes, visualising the encounter he’d had with Sapphire in her bathroom. How her breasts had bounced as he’d thrust between her legs, how slick she’d been, how her face had looked as she came.

‘Can you feel my mouth on you?’ she said, and it was his turn to groan. ‘Because I’m taking you in all the way as I’m touching myself.’

He wanted to open his eyes, to watch her face, but he knew if he did this would be over all too quickly.

‘Tell me what you feel like,’ he said, moving his hand, wishing it were hers.

‘I’m so wet for you,’ she murmured, giving a little pant of surprise. ‘I think I’m going to come pretty soon.’

‘That’s good, because I was ready to blow the second I imagined your mouth around me.’

‘Let’s do this together, okay?’

He heard the vulnerability in her voice and his eyes snapped open. And, yeah, he immediately wished he’d kept them closed.

She had an incredibly rapt expression, filled with wonderment and excitement and awe, and it made him want to fling himself through the screen and cyberspace to sweep her into his arms.

Her wondrous gaze never left his. ‘Patrick, I’m so close…’

‘Come for me,’ he said, his hand quickening as his muscles tightened in pre-release.

‘Patrick…this feels…oooh…’

She came on a drawn-out keen and it was enough to push him over the edge.

His mind blanked as he blasted to outer space and back, despite the fact this had been a poor substitute for where he’d like to be.

‘Patrick?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I have a newfound respect for Skype.’

‘Good, because we’re having another business meeting tomorrow night.’

Patrick was a glutton for punishment.

It was the only explanation for why he’d agreed to personally drop off the fabric swatches to Ruby at Seaborns.

Though it wasn’t Ruby he was hoping to see and he knew it.

It had been two nights since his Skype session with Sap-phire and while he hadn’t contacted her since he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She invaded his every waking moment, and most sleeping ones too.

His vow not to be distracted by her during preparations for this show was not working out so great.

He didn’t like feeling this…confused. Women always held some fascination, but in the past he’d been able to relegate them to his downtime without a problem. But Sap-phire? Whether he was working, or at the gym burning off his frustration, she was there, in his mind, the echo of her pleasure reverberating in his ears until he couldn’t think straight.

Turning up at Seaborns today was about proving to himself he wasn’t enthralled. That he had a grip on this thing between them. That he wasn’t such a schmuck he couldn’t control his libido.

Then Sapphire opened the door and his blasé self-talk faded into oblivion.

‘Thanks for dropping the swatches by,’ she said, holding open the door and beckoning him in. ‘Ruby’s dying to match them to the latest batch of gems.’

‘No worries,’ he said, taking great care not to brush her as he entered.

One touch and he’d take her up against the nearest glass display case.

‘Want a drink?’

He swallowed his first response, a resounding no, and nodded out of politeness. ‘Sure, coffee would be great.’

‘Through here.’

He followed her into a tiny kitchenette at the back of the showroom and immediately regretted his decision to stay, manners be damned. The room was no bigger than a box. A very tiny box that resulted in her light cinnamon peach perfume mingling with the coffee bean aroma and wrapping around him in a sweet, tempting blend.

While the percolator did its thing, she propped herself against the bench and he struggled not to stare at the teal silk wraparound dress that did incredible things to her body and highlighted the sparkle in her eyes.

‘Can I see the swatches?’

He wanted to fling the fabric samples at her and make a run for it while he still could. For he knew without a doubt that if she took a step towards him he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.

‘Yeah.’

He fished them out of his pocket and held the swatches at arm’s length, earning an amused smile.

‘For someone who was mighty forward the other night, I find your sudden reticence intriguing.’

‘Just take the swatches,’ he said, gritting his teeth against the urge to say more.

Such as what he’d like to do to her right here, right now, up against the tiny kitchen bench.

‘You? Shy?’ She reached out and rubbed a piece of crimson satin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Rather cute.’

He watched her feel the satin, how the soft material slid between her fingers, and counted to ten. Slowly.

It didn’t work.

He snagged her fingers and hauled her towards him, their bodies slamming into one another with enough force to leave them winded.

He didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, ravishing her mouth with the desperation of a man who’d been pushed to his limits.

This idea of his to keep his distance, to keep distractions to a minimum—so not working.

Her hands tangled in his hair, finding purchase, as he shoved her against the nearest wall and pressed into her.

She groaned and he deepened the kiss, yearning to be inside her with a hunger that left him reeling.

How could he be this out of control over a woman? One who could never be more than a fling, considering his long-term plans?

Crazy.

The percolator made a god-awful noise as it clicked off, the sound penetrating the sensual cocoon enveloping them.

Sapphire broke the kiss, her chest heaving, her eyes flashing. ‘One sugar or two?’

He laughed, easing the tension between them. ‘Two. With a double shot of brandy if you have it.’

‘Sorry, you’ll have to make do with sugar,’ she said, busying herself with organising the coffee but unable to hide the betraying tremble in her hands.

He knew the feeling—this relentless, all-consuming craving that had him off-kilter.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong? If an enforced absence wasn’t working, maybe he should try the opposite? Getting her out of his system?

It couldn’t be any worse than the agonising torture he was going through now.

‘Come away with me for the weekend.’

Her hand stilled, holding the kettle in mid-air as she poured boiling water into her mug.

‘I thought we were going to not see each other during the campaign—’

‘Screw it.’ He dragged his hand through his hair and took two steps, which constituted pacing in the tiny kitchenette. ‘We need to get this thing out of our systems, and staying apart isn’t helping, so let’s go for it.’

‘Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?’ She topped off her mug and placed the kettle on its stand.

He winced. ‘Sorry, that didn’t come out right.’

‘I get it.’ She handed him his coffee. ‘We’re going a little stir crazy. I guess a weekend away can’t hurt.’

‘Great. I’ll set it up—e-mail you the details.’

She nodded, cradling her mug, staring at him with wide eyes over the top of it.

He couldn’t read the expression in those rich blue depths, but if she was half as shell-shocked as him he couldn’t blame her.

Hopefully this impulsive weekend away would ease this clamouring attraction between them once and for all. And then he could concentrate on more important things—like putting his plans into action.

‘What’s got you in a tizz?’ Ruby held out an arm, effectively blocking Sapphie’s exit from her workshop.

‘Nothing,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t snapped at her sister. It was a sure-fire sign something was going on, considering she’d been nothing but the epitome of calm since Tenang.

Before Patrick showed up, that was.

Ruby pointed to a spare stool next to her workbench. ‘Sit. Spill.’

Sapphie shrugged, pretending she didn’t have a care in the world, when all she could think about was getting naked with Patrick face to face. Or other bits to other bits, more precisely.

‘I’m getting angsty about the show.’

Ruby frowned. ‘I thought you weren’t allowed to get ang-sty? Part of your new relaxation routine?’

‘There’s only so far yoga can take you, Rubes.’

Her sister’s astute gaze swept over her. ‘This isn’t about work, is it?’

‘’Course it is—’

‘Why don’t you just bonk him and get it out of your system, already? You’ll feel a lot better for it. Trust me.’

Sapphie screwed up her nose. ‘Euw! Please don’t elaborate on how you and Jax managed to brainstorm that auction.’

Her sister’s smug grin reeked of sin. Half her luck.

Ruby laid down her pliers, pushed her loupe out of the way and crossed her arms.

‘You’ve been working like a maniac this last week. Why don’t you take the weekend off? Call Patrick? Get together—’

‘He’s taking me away for the weekend,’ she blurted, unable to keep it a secret any longer.

She’d had no intention of telling Ruby anything, expecting to be teased, interrogated or both for the next millennium, but with her departure to destination unknown creeping ever closer Sapphie had to say something for no other reason than articulating made it real.

Ruby clapped. ‘Way to go, Saph.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Dirty weekend away, huh?’

Sapphie’s first instinct was to say It’s not like that, but after withholding the promise she’d made to their mum on her deathbed and the resultant fallout she’d vowed never to keep the truth from her sister again.

Which meant full disclosure. Within reason.

‘I haven’t been out with anyone in a while, he seems keen, so it’s a bit of harmless fun.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Ruby nodded, her sly grin particularly worrying. ‘So it’s just a fling, right? Nothing serious?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then why are you so flustered?’

‘I’m not,’ Sapphie said, making a mockery of her declaration by edging backwards and tripping over a crate.

Ruby chuckled. ‘I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. It’s cute.’

‘Cute is puppies and newborns. Cute is not the relationship I have with Patrick.’

‘Oh? Then what would you call it?’

Raunchy. Decadent. Naughty.

Very, very naughty.

Images of what they’d done in her bathroom and the boardroom and via Skype in her bedroom earlier this week flashed across her memory and heat touched her cheeks.

Ruby held up her hands. ‘Never mind. Spare me the details. I can see how good it is written all over your face.’ She slugged her on the arm. ‘Proud of you.’

At least that made one of them. Sapphie wasn’t entirely proud of using Patrick—for that was exactly what she was doing. He wasn’t her type, and she had no intention of continuing this dalliance once their work together on Fashion Week ended, so using him didn’t sit well.

The fact he seemed more than happy to use her back was a moot point.

‘Stop thinking so hard. You’ll get frown lines.’ Ruby swiped a finger between her brows. ‘There’s nothing to overanalyse here, sis. Mutual gratification. Fling. Whatever you want to call it—just enjoy.’

She fully intended to. As for what happened after? She’d cross that mannequin when she came to it.

‘Where are you taking her?’ Serge propped himself on the end of Patrick’s desk, the epitome of male chic in one of Fourde’s five-grand-a-pop suits.

‘What’s it to you?’ Patrick practically snarled, and instantly regretted it. It wasn’t Serge’s fault a week’s worth of cold showers and iceberg documentaries hadn’t taken the edge off. Throw in the lack of sleep from working all hours to distract himself, and he was a grouch.

‘Come on, mate, we’ve always discussed our women in the past.’

He’d deliberately shut the door on his past. And Sapphire was no ordinary woman.

He didn’t want to discuss her with Serge, didn’t want to hear the usual ribald jokes and innuendo. Sapphire deserved better than that, and the last thing he needed as Fashion Week crept closer was to lose his right-hand man because he’d punched him in the mouth.

Which led to the question: why did he feel so strongly about this? About her? He had a job to do in Melbourne: make Australia and the world sit up and take notice of Fourde Fash-ion’s latest branch before he moved on to bigger and better things. That was his primary goal.

Sapphire was great as a temporary distraction but that was all she could ever be. Temporary.

For he had monumental dreams. Ones that involved taking on his folks head-on back in Europe.

Yeah, he’d do well to keep the endgame in sight. Despite the extremely attractive distraction.

Serge slid off his desk and stalked towards a side table, pointing at the basketball-size globe. ‘Let me see.’ He spun the globe with a finger, jabbing at it to stop it when the map of Australia came around. ‘Well, look-ee here.’

Patrick didn’t like where this was going. He’d played Serge’s stupid flag game in the past, when bedding women had gone in conjunction with partying. Not that he’d ever kept tally of the nationalities of the women he’d slept with, so he could stab a pin into a country as some kind of warped bedpost-notch equivalent, but he’d laughed when Serge had presented him with his round-the-world dalliances.

Later, he’d kept the globe as proof of the life he’d left be-hind—a life deliberately shunned because it had left him feeling shallow and worthless. Two feelings he’d had a gutful of after his major screw-up.

It served as a visual reminder of how far he’d come and a place he’d never return.

Serge let out a low wolf-whistle. ‘Just as I suspected. No flag on Melbourne.’

He hated Serge’s sly smirk.

‘I’m guessing that’s about to change come Monday.’

‘I haven’t got time for childish games.’ Patrick lowered his voice with effort. ‘And neither do you. Showtime in two weeks and we’re nowhere near ready.’

‘Chillax. We’ll get there. We always do.’

Patrick wished he had half Serge’s confidence. He might be taking charge with Sapphire when it came to sex, but no amount of planning or executing could guarantee a faultless show.

So many variables could go wrong—from a broken stiletto to a thread unravelling, from a model’s hissy fit to a competitor sabotaging.

Patrick didn’t like the unknown. He intended on planning for every contingency and if that meant working night and day for the next fortnight so be it. After this weekend, that was.

This weekend was all his. And maybe, just maybe, sex with Sapphire would ease his stress levels and make concentrating on work easier.

‘If I can’t talk about your dirty weekend, can I ask if you’ve had any feedback from Hardy and Joyce on the Fashion Week presentation?’

Yeah, Patrick had heard from his folks. A vague, general go-ahead while they focussed on more important matters, like booking the Louvre for an innovative Fourde Fashion show or gearing up for Milan.

As if they’d deem the Aussie office worthy of more than a cursory glance.

Well, he had news for them. He’d make them sit up and take notice of Fourde in Melbourne. Then he’d confront them with his plans to take them on in Europe.

They’d probably ignore him again, as they had the first time he’d mentioned it. When they realised he was for real they wouldn’t like it. Worse, they’d probably laugh at him.

But he was sick of being patronised. It seemed nothing he did could make up for the mistakes of the past but this time he intended on making his mark. He’d make them—and the world—pay attention to Patrick Fourde for all the right reasons.

‘I don’t need their approval,’ he said, unclenching his fists beneath the desk.

‘Man, you better get laid this weekend because you’re wound tight.’ Serge shook his head. ‘I asked if you’d had feedback, not their approval.’

Sadly, Patrick had a feeling even sex with Sapphire wouldn’t alleviate his long-standing stress levels when it came to his folks.

‘They’re busy as usual. We’ll gain their attention soon enough.’

Serge nodded. ‘The old Hollywood glamour concept is brilliant. And the designs…’ He kissed his fingertips in a flamboyant European gesture. ‘Magnifique.’

Patrick had no doubt his idea would wow the fashion world. What he doubted was gaining the recognition from the two people who mattered the most.

‘So you’ll be ready for a preview showing first thing Mon-day morning?’

‘Yeah, we’ll be ready.’ Serge smirked and spun the globe with his finger, hovering over Melbourne again. ‘The question is, will you?’

‘I’ll be here.’ He stood, glanced at his watch, making a grand show of having somewhere else to be when in fact he needed to get rid of Serge so he could get on with his plans. ‘I’ve never mixed business with pleasure before and you know it.’

‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Serge said, giving the globe a final spin before lumbering towards the door. ‘And come Monday there’ll be a pin there to prove it.’

Patrick frowned, not liking Serge’s immature ribbing, and liking the fact he was probably already mixing business with pleasure less.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘THERE ARE RULES for the weekend.’

Sapphie wriggled in the soft leather seat as Patrick slowed his Ferrari to enter the Southbank precinct. She didn’t care what his rules were, as long as they involved the two of them naked. ‘Such as?’

‘No work talk. No checking e-mails. No leaving the hotel room.’

‘But what if I get hungry?’

‘You’ll get plenty to eat.’ He stopped at a red traffic light and shot her a loaded glance packed with sizzle that implied food wouldn’t be the only thing on the menu.

Her body pinged in anticipation. ‘Any other hoops you want me to jump through?’

‘No, but there will be acrobatics involved.’

She laughed at his exaggerated wink as the lights changed and he concentrated on steering through the heavy Friday night traffic.

Banter was good. Banter kept her nerves at bay. And it detracted from the constant doubts whirring through her head as she overanalysed this situation from every angle.

She wanted him. There was no question. But the after-math? A thousand scenarios, none of them pleasant, plagued her.

Despite his reassurances to keep business and pleasure separate, what if sex screwed things up—literally?

They were both mature, consenting adults with a major attraction going on, but deep down she couldn’t quite subdue the tiny voice that kept chanting, This is Patrick you’re going to sleep with.

The same Patrick who’d tracked down her favourite cola flavoured lollipops when they’d crammed for an exam one week during the school holidays.

The same Patrick who’d collated her assignments and e-mailed the lot when she’d missed a few days with the flu.

The same Patrick who’d rescued her on the night of the grad dance and proved with one scintillating, unforgettable kiss that he wasn’t solely the annoying rebel she’d branded him.

And that was what scared her the most. That on some intrinsic level she still craved this guy like a wistful teenager. If those old yearnings were resurrected…

Nope. This was physical all the way. Come Monday they’d revert to work, with a side-serve of flirting.

‘We’re here.’

Sapphie had been so busy battling with her doubts she’d lost concentration and missed the moment when he steered his boy-toy through the driveway of the Langham Hotel and cut the engine.

‘Ready?’ His hand sneaked across the console and found hers, his gentle squeeze reassuring.

‘Hell, yeah,’ she said, earning a wicked grin that made her belly go into freefall.

The next five minutes passed in a blur of bags and valet parking and checking in as Patrick took charge. She liked that about him—how the laid-back guy he’d once been had developed into a go-getter who hadn’t lost his ability to have fun.

Decadent weekends away in posh hotels reeked of fun and something she’d never done. She’d stayed in luxurious hotels for work, but never checked in to one with the intention of wallowing in the room.

The new her approved. Spending the weekend holed away was on par with a few hours’ meditation or yoga or Pilates.

The old her? Too scared to put in an appearance for fear a stray incense stick would clobber her.

As Patrick handed over his credit card—he’d bristled when she’d insisted on paying half, so she’d let it go for the sake of his manly pride—she glanced around at the exquisite swirled cream marble floors, the sweeping staircase, the fountain cascading water to the ground floor, the stunning floral arrangements.

Combined with the hint of ginger and lemongrass in the air, the Langham exuded a quiet elegance that appealed to her battered soul.

Maybe if she’d taken time out to appreciate places like this over the years she wouldn’t have ended up almost losing Seaborns and driving a wedge between her and Ruby in the process?