Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss: Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife / Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek / Her Ruthless Italian Boss

He glanced at Lizzie, chatting now with Hilda, watched as her slender fingers brushed at a wisp of hair. She smiled, and he felt a tightening in his gut.

He knew a way to silence Stears and his own stirrings. Glancing at Dan and Wendy, he knew he and Lizzie couldn’t fake the real thing.

They could have the real thing.

Or close to it.

He could seduce her.

It might be just what was needed to seal this deal. Lizzie in his thrall, in his arms, would convince Hassell like nothing else could.

He smiled, suddenly looking forward to the evening a great deal more.

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE time dinner was announced Lizzie’s nerves were starting to fray. The game was getting old. Every innocent question and remark sent her lurching upright, nerves jangling, heart beating desperately.

She was tired, hungry, out of sorts. She wanted to let her guard down, release the tension. Stop acting.

Yet she couldn’t.

Cormac moved next to her as they entered the dining room, putting his arm around her waist, curving her to him.

‘Not too much longer, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘You’re doing well.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said under her breath, and he chuckled as if she’d said something amusing.

‘The correct response is thank you.’ He moved off to find his seat, and Hilda directed Lizzie to hers. She saw with a sinking heart that she was between Wendy and Geoffrey, and Cormac was next to Lara. Neither good options, both fraught with danger.

‘The beach is so lovely here,’ Cormac said as everyone began eating the first course, ‘with a nice, shallow sandy bottom. Is the whole island so fortunate?’

Jan smiled. ‘No, the north shore is rocky and quite impossible. The south side is lovely, though…’ He paused. ‘Where the resort shall be built.’ There was a fleeting look of sadness in Jan’s eyes and Lizzie wondered again about the reasons behind building the resort.

She glanced down at her starter, a warm asparagus salad with Gouda cheese. It was delicious, yet she felt so queasy and out of sorts that each mouthful was hard to swallow.

Geoffrey noticed and murmured silkily in her ear, ‘Not feeling yourself, Elizabeth?’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘The jet lag has thrown my appetite off.’

‘Pity.’ He smiled, but his eyes were as sharp as a pair of scissors. ‘Funny,’ he continued after a moment, ‘that I never heard of Cormac’s nuptials. The architecture world is rather small in Great Britain.’

Lizzie felt a cold, plunging sensation in the pit of her stomach; she tasted bile. ‘As I think I’ve said, we’ve been wanting to keep it quiet.’

‘Very quiet.’

‘Yes.’ She took a bite of salad and realised it was a mistake when it stuck in her throat. Coughing, she gulped from her glass of water, conscious of Geoffrey’s amused gaze.

‘It’s just rather convenient,’ he said in a voice meant only for Lizzie’s ears, ‘that Cormac Douglas would suddenly get married mere weeks before this commission was announced. Don’t you think?’

She shrugged. ‘Coincidence, more than convenience, I would say. Besides, it’s not official that the Hassells require a married architect.’

‘We all know the truth…don’t we?’ The double entendre was too much to bear. Lizzie turned back to her salad.

Geoffrey watched her, his eyes glittering with thinly disguised malice. ‘Are you very much in love?’

Despite her best intentions to remain calm, Lizzie could feel a humiliating flush steal across her cheeks and stain the delicate skin of her throat. ‘Yes, of course we are,’ she replied, but by the look of satisfaction in Geoffrey’s steely eyes she hadn’t convinced him in the least.

‘Geoffrey, stop hassling my wife,’ Cormac called lazily across the table. He smiled to take the sting from his words and Lizzie looked up, startled. ‘I know she’s beautiful but she’s mine.’ His eyes fastened on Lizzie and she felt the shocking onslaught of his possessive gaze as if he’d reached across the table and touched her. Undressed her.

‘My, my,’ Jan said. He sounded pleased. ‘Consider yourself warned, Geoffrey.’ Lara flushed.

The moment passed, the conversation moved on, and yet Lizzie still glanced at Cormac—his harsh, angular profile, the way he leaned back lazily in his chair—and wondered just how much he was acting.

I know she’s beautiful… Did he actually believe that? Could she trust anything he did, said? Was anything real?

No. It wasn’t.

It just felt like it sometimes.

The appetiser was cleared and the first course—Piska Kora, a dish of red snapper with garlic and lime—presented. Geoffrey, fortunately, was talking to Dan on his other side, and Lizzie tried to make polite conversation with Wendy.

Her mind whirled, however, spinning with new, unwelcome possibilities. It was obvious that Geoffrey was suspicious. It wouldn’t take much for his suspicions to turn into cold, hard fact…and what then?

Both she and Cormac would be exposed. Ruined.

Lizzie toyed with her fish, unable to actually take a mouthful. Suddenly she was well and truly frightened. Frightened of discovery, of shame, of ruin.

She should have stepped off that plane and spat out the truth. Jan would have believed her then, but she’d been so intrigued by Cormac’s proposition, enticed by the excitement. Cormac had used that, played her mercilessly.

And she had let him.

This situation was her own fault.

Nothing was real…except for that. The fear. The danger.

‘Elizabeth, you haven’t eaten. Are you well?’ Hilda’s question was of gentle concern, but it caused everyone at the table to glance at Lizzie’s untouched plate, and Cormac gave her a quick, knowing look.

‘I’m sorry…my appetite is a bit off,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it looks delicious,’ she added lamely, flushing yet again.

‘Perhaps the dessert will tempt you,’ Hilda said with a smile. ‘But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

Lizzie nodded and smiled, knowing she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t feel better until she was safely back in Edinburgh, back in her own home, her own job, her own role.

Bolo di Kashupete, a sweet cashew cake, followed the fish, and Lizzie forced herself to take a few mouthfuls. She had drunk half a glass of the rich dessert wine and found it had clouded her head and made her dizzy.

A mistake, she realised, as another wave of jet lag crashed over her. She couldn’t afford too many more.

‘Our gardens are lovely in the moonlight,’ Jan said after they’d had their coffee. ‘Perhaps the ladies would like to take a stroll? There is a bit of business we must discuss,’ he addressed the men, and Lizzie knew they’d been kindly dismissed.

Wendy pleaded fatigue and excused herself to bed, leaving Lizzie to stroll the landscaped walks with Lara and Hilda.

The sea was only a stone’s throw away, yet it felt as if they were in a separate world amidst the gravel paths twisting through tropical plants and flowers, the sweet scent of orchids and hibiscus heavy on the balmy air.

The night was alive with the sounds of the island, the raucous call of a macaw, the scamper of geckos and the frantic fluttering of dragonflies.

‘You must love it here,’ Lizzie said, and Hilda smiled.

‘It’s home. It always has been.’

‘Do you think the resort will change it very much?’ Lizzie couldn’t help but ask.

‘I hope not. To tell the truth, we have considered this resort because we cannot sustain the island’s economy on our own without tourists. Ever since the sugar plantation failed, we’ve needed a new source of income.’ Hilda sighed. ‘It is our hope that a small, environmentally friendly resort will both help the islanders and allow others to enjoy what we’ve been blessed with…without changing things too much.’

And provide them with some needed income, Lizzie thought. You did what you had to do to get by, she knew. To make it through, to survive.

Wasn’t that what she was doing now? Trying desperately to survive, to come out of this weekend unscathed, unsullied?

If only she could.

‘Tell me about your wedding, Elizabeth,’ Hilda said brightly. ‘Cormac mentioned how quickly you were married—so romantic! Was it a big wedding?’

‘No, very small,’ Lizzie said quietly, conscious of Lara’s silent, speculative glance. ‘Just a few friends and family.’

‘Very nice,’ Hilda agreed. ‘And you are hoping for children?’

Lizzie remembered what Cormac had said about starting a family. It was impossible to imagine. ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied. ‘In time, of course.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Hilda’s eyes were bright even in the moonlit darkness. ‘All in good time.’

‘What about you, Lara?’ Lizzie asked. She was desperate to change the subject. ‘How long have you and Geoffrey been married?’

‘Six months,’ Lara said in a bored voice. ‘But it seems like for ever.’ She laughed, a rather nasty sound, and Hilda looked uncomfortable.

What a strange group they were, Lizzie thought. Hilda had been happily married for forty years, Lara unhappily married, it seemed, for just a few months, and she not married at all.

‘What about your sons, Hilda?’ she asked. ‘They’re all married?’

‘No, sadly.’ Hilda frowned for a moment. ‘They’re all living abroad, pursuing careers. It’s one of the reasons…’ She paused, shrugged. ‘Perhaps one day. It happened for Cormac, it can happen for them.’

Lizzie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The guilt was overwhelming and she fought to ignore it. There was no point in allowing herself to be swamped in misery, despair.

The rambling path they’d been walking on ended in a little square, a fountain burbling in the middle. The moon cast a sliver of silver on the scene, illuminating the still figure of a man on a bench.

With an indrawn breath Lizzie realised it was Cormac. Alone.

‘What a lovely spot for a couple to sit,’ Hilda murmured. ‘Lara, let me show you our wild orchids…’The older woman led Lara away, leaving Lizzie alone with Cormac.

‘That wasn’t very subtle,’ she said with a little laugh, and Cormac looked up, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

‘We’re newly-weds. We need some time alone.’ He spoke cynically, a darkness in his voice and, Lizzie guessed, in his soul—a darkness beneath that light, charming exterior, that easy confidence. A darkness she couldn’t understand or penetrate.

She glanced around uneasily, conscious that Lara and perhaps even Geoffrey could be lurking in the shadows, listening. She moved closer to Cormac, sat next to him on the bench.

‘Cormac,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Geoffrey suspects. He told me as much at dinner.’

‘Is that why you couldn’t eat a bite? You were as pale as a ghost.’

‘I don’t want to be discovered,’ Lizzie hissed. ‘You, of all people, know what’s at stake.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘Nothing is going to ruin this deal, Chandler. I’ll make sure of that.’

‘How?’

‘I can handle Stears.’ Cormac’s tone was so coldly dismissive that Lizzie felt like shivering, despite the sultry night air.

They were silent, the gentle lapping of waves a shushing sound in the distance, the chirrup of insects loud in the stillness of the evening.

‘You could have told me about Lara,’ Lizzie whispered after a moment. When Cormac didn’t bother answering, she felt compelled to ask, ‘You had an affair with her, didn’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘So?’

‘You could have warned me!’

‘It wasn’t relevant.’

‘Wasn’t relevant?’ Lizzie’s voice rose and, when Cormac raised one cynical eyebrow, she strove to lower it. ‘Cormac, she’s slept with you. She…she knows you in a way I…’

Too late, Lizzie realised this was not a good conversation to have—not now, not with Cormac, not when he leaned towards her and said softly, ‘In a way you want to, Chandler?’

‘In a way I don’t,’ she snapped. ‘All I’m saying is a woman who’s been with a certain man can tell when another woman…hasn’t.’

‘We could remedy the situation, you know.’

Lizzie stiffened. He wasn’t actually…suggesting…they…She swallowed. ‘Very funny.’

‘I didn’t realise I was being amusing.’

She glanced at him, saw the glimmer of a smile in the darkness and wished she could see more of his face. Even then she wouldn’t know what he was thinking.

‘You don’t want to sleep with me,’ she began, and she heard his soft chuckle.

‘Actually, I do. Can’t you tell I desire you?’

‘No…you’re just playing with me. Flirting.’ Suddenly she desperately wanted that to be true. And didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t know what she wanted.

‘Flirting usually leads to something else,’ Cormac murmured in a low, languorous voice. ‘Something more.’

‘That isn’t a very good idea, though,’ Lizzie protested weakly, ‘considering…’

‘Actually, I think it’s a very good idea.’

Lizzie swallowed, scooted a bit further away on the bench. He was teasing her, toying with her. He had to be. She just didn’t know how to handle it. ‘How did the meeting go tonight?’ she asked in a desperately blatant attempt to change the subject.

Cormac smiled, amused. ‘Dan White is a strong contender,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Hassell is so thrilled he’s having a child, and White’s like a big, friendly dog, jumping all over the place, licking and slobbering.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Hassell has made this weekend not about the designs, but about who we are.’

Lizzie regarded him quietly. ‘And you don’t want him to see who you really are,’ she said.

Cormac’s expression sharpened, his mouth twisting sardonically before he shrugged. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’

‘Don’t—’

‘Shh.’ Suddenly his whole face softened into a smile, a sexy smile that had sudden need flooding through Lizzie’s limbs even as her mind spun in confusion.

He reached up, tangled a hand in the silken strands of hair blowing against her cheek and drew her closer to him.

‘Shh,’ he said again, and kissed her.

The feel of his lips—hard, unyielding, and yet so achingly tender—sent every thought spinning from Lizzie’s brain. A part of her knew—had known, anyway—that someone must be watching for Cormac to do this. Yet, even as her brain acknowledged that fact, the rest of her body kicked into gear, flamed into desire.

Cormac’s lips caressed her own, his hand drifting from her cheek to her throat and then to her breast, his fingers expertly, easily teasing her.

Lizzie gasped against his mouth, felt his smile. She’d never been touched like this, and even though she knew it was a performance—a charade—she could not keep herself from reacting.

Wanting. More.

Her arms wound around his neck, fingers lost in the crispness of his hair. She felt herself lean forward to press her breasts against the wonderful hardness of his chest.

Even in the softened haze of feeling she realised that someone must be watching this blatant, brazen display and she stiffened in shame.

She pulled away, jerking herself out of Cormac’s arms, and looked around.

No one was there.

She glanced at Cormac. He was leaning back against the bench, a smile playing about his lips—the lips she’d just kissed. She could still feel the soft, salty taste of him on her tongue. In her mouth.

‘There’s no one,’ she said, and he shrugged.

‘I thought someone was coming.’

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you really?’

He grinned. ‘No.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Don’t play with me, Cormac.’

‘But it’s fun to play.’ He rose from the bench in one lithe, lazy movement, reached for her hand. ‘Come on, Chandler. Time for bed.’

Woodenly she took his hand and didn’t even resist when he kept hold of it, all the way back to the bedroom. Her mind was spinning—spinning from Cormac’s kiss.

And the revelation that would have been obvious to a woman with any experience—any woman but her.

He wanted her. Wanted. Her.

Her.

Why, Lizzie wondered numbly, was that so amazing? So flattering? Cormac had most likely slept with hundreds of women. She was just one more.

No. She would not let herself be notched up. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…

Except it—he—was so hard to resist.

It felt wonderful to be wanted.

Back in the room, Lizzie stood by the door while Cormac began to undress, unself-conscious as always. The shutters had been closed, the bed turned down, the soft light from a lamp casting shadows on the tiled floor.

Lizzie watched him shrug off his shirt, the desire from their kiss still pulsing through her. She leaned against the door, one hand on the knob as if she would flee from the room, from what she was feeling.

‘Going somewhere?’ Cormac asked, one eyebrow raised. He was bare-chested, his hands at his belt buckle.

Lizzie closed her eyes, then snapped them open. ‘No…but we need to talk.’

‘All right. Talk.’

‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Cormac.’ Lizzie blushed, lifted her chin. Cormac simply waited, his hands still at his buckle. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t pretend that far.’

His gaze travelled over her slowly, resting on her still aching breasts. His mouth curved in a knowing smile. ‘I don’t think you were pretending all that much.’

Lizzie’s blush intensified; her whole body felt hot. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Before this weekend, I never gave you a thought that way, but now…’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve come to realise I’m attracted to you. As you well know. And,’ she added defiantly, ‘you are to me.’

‘Yes, I am. As I told you before.’ He walked towards her and Lizzie’s hand tightened on the doorknob.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t come closer.’

He paused, took a little step. ‘What are you scared of, Lizzie? Me? Or yourself?’

‘Both,’ she admitted in a raw whisper, and he spread his hands wide.

‘I won’t hurt you.’

Lizzie choked on a laugh of pure disbelief. ‘Cormac, all you’ll do is hurt me.’

‘It would feel very nice at the time,’ he murmured. His eyes raked over her slowly, purposefully, his mouth curling into a smile of seductive promise.

Lizzie shook her head, knowing she was convincing herself as much as him. ‘I’m not into casual affairs. I’m not that…’

‘Sort of girl?’ he finished. ‘But I’m sure you could become one.’ He paused. ‘Who knows what could happen, if we give it a chance?’

‘Are you saying we might actually have a relationship?’ Lizzie said in a voice ringing with disbelief…and damning hope.

Cormac shrugged. He took another step closer and his fingers trailed temptingly down her bare arm. ‘I’m saying let’s see what happens.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He laughed—a rich, indulgent sound. ‘Yes, you do.’

Lizzie closed her eyes. ‘You could seduce me, Cormac. I know you could. I…I find you hard to resist,’ she admitted painfully, her face on fire. ‘But I’m asking you not to. I’d hate myself in the morning…and I’d hate you. That can hardly be good for your commission.’

He stilled, then smiled, letting his fingers skim across her shoulder, over her breast, his smile deepening as he felt her react. He tilted her chin, met her tortured gaze with light, laughing eyes. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t.’

He brushed her lips in a kiss that still managed to sear her soul. ‘You keep telling yourself that, Chandler. Maybe one day you’ll come to believe it.’

He dropped his hand and, as if released from a prison, Lizzie stumbled backwards. She grabbed her pyjamas, clutching them to her chest as she escaped into the bathroom to change.

She would keep telling herself that, she thought fiercely. It was the only way to make sure it stayed true.

Cormac stretched in bed and laced his fingers behind his head. His pose was relaxed, calculatingly so, yet a restlessness surged through his body.

A restlessness caused by both desire and dissatisfaction.

Lizzie wanted him. He knew that. And he wanted her…more than he’d care to admit.

It had started as a challenge; it had become a need.

If only she weren’t so innocent…so damn moral, clinging to her virtue like some outraged virgin…She couldn’t actually be a virgin, though. Could she? In this day and age? At twentyeight?

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in her pathetic, shabby pyjamas, and he found his lips twitching as he asked, ‘Hey, Chandler. Are you a virgin?’

Lizzie stiffened, betraying colour flooding her face. A twenty-eight-year-old virgin. No wonder she was playing so shy.

‘Even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t sleep with you,’ she said in a strangled voice, her chin held high, and he felt a reluctant flicker of admiration for her spirit.

‘But think how I could introduce you to the pleasures of the flesh,’ he murmured enticingly, just to see her flush intensify. ‘The pleasures of love.’

She threw him a hard, heated look. ‘But there’s no love involved, is there, Cormac?’

He leaned back against the pillows, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘That’s what you want, is it? What are you going to do, wait until marriage?’

‘Maybe I will.’ Lizzie lifted her chin. ‘Or at least wait until I meet a man who loves and respects me,’ she finished with cold dignity. ‘You do neither.’ She slipped into bed, her back to him, a sad, hunched little form.

Cormac leaned over and tucked the sheet around her shoulder. ‘But you still want me,’ he whispered, and she stiffened under his fingers.

‘It means nothing.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, felt the shudder run through her body, and smiled.

Cormac lay in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing. His body still throbbed and ached from the kiss they’d already shared, from the knowledge of her body, inches from his, tense and still. He could smell her scent, lemony shampoo and something else that was just pure Lizzie.

Pure lust.

He hadn’t felt such desire—need—for a woman in a long time. Perhaps ever.

He thought of what she wanted…Love. Respect. His mouth twisted in sardonic acknowledgement. He supposed he could give her that.

If Lizzie were in love with him, Jan would never doubt they were a happy couple. Stears would stop his innuendoes, as well.

The commission would be his…and what an enjoyable way to achieve it.

His mind flicked over the possibilities, the problems. Lizzie would have to believe he was in love with her…for how long? How much? He needed to be believable. She could never suspect.

It was a risk, a challenge—the rush he craved. And now it was a need.

He smiled. He wanted her; he would have her, willing, in his arms.

Soon.

Lizzie sighed, and he could tell by her easy breathing that she was asleep. Knowing such respite was hours away for himself, he rolled quietly out of bed.

He took his sketchbook and pencils from his suitcase and, sitting in a chair opposite the bed, stared hard at the still, sleeping figure before he bent his head and began to draw.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUNLIGHT was slanting in wide beams on the floor when Lizzie awoke. She lay still for a moment, listening to the gentle whoosh of the sea only metres from their bedroom, the call of a macaw and the rustle of the palms in the breeze.

She glanced over at Cormac and tensed, expecting to see him awake and gazing at her with that sardonic knowledge in those glinting hazel eyes.

Instead she found him asleep, and she shifted carefully on her side so she could study him.

He was a beautiful man. In sleep, his face was softened, relaxed, his thick lashes sweeping his cheeks, his mouth, usually pulled into a frown or a scowl, now softened into a half smile. His hair was mussed like a boy’s. He had the beginnings of a cowlick, and it made her smile.