He opened the bedroom door and saw the unmistakable opening of her lips as her roving gaze drank in the unashamed luxury of her surroundings and it was a timely reminder that, despite her innocence, she was still a woman. And who was to say she wouldn’t be as conniving as all other women, once she got into her stride? ‘I hope it meets with your satisfaction,’ he drawled. ‘I think you’ll find everything in here you need, Tara.’
Did she recognise the cynical note in his voice? Was that why she turned a defiant face up to his?
‘I’m only staying the one night, mind.’
He wanted to tell her that she was mistaken, but for once Lucas kept his counsel. Let her sleep, he thought grimly—and by morning he would have decided what their fate was to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TARA OPENED HER eyes and for a moment she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. She was lying in a bed—the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in—in a room which seemed composed mostly of huge windows. Windows to the front of her and windows to the side, all looking out onto the fairy-tale skyline of New York. She blinked as she levered herself up onto her elbows. Like giant pieces of Lego, the tall buildings soared up into the cloudless October sky and looked almost close enough to touch. Sitting up properly, she leaned back against the feathery bank of pillows and looked around some more—because last night she’d been too dazed and tired to take in anything much.
It was...amazing, she conceded. The ceiling was made of lacquered gold, the floors of polished parquet, so that everything around her seemed to gleam with a soft and precious life. On an exquisite writing desk stood a vase of pure white orchids so perfect that they almost didn’t look real. And there, in one corner of the room, was her battered old suitcase, looking like a scruffy intruder in the midst of all this opulence.
She flinched.
Just like her, really.
Lucas must have put a glass of water on the bedside table and she reached out and gulped most of it down thirstily. On slightly wobbly legs she got out of bed and found the en-suite bathroom—a monument to marble and shiny chrome—and, after freshening up and brushing her hair, thought about going to find Lucas. She needed to talk about returning to Ireland and he needed to realise that she meant it and he couldn’t keep her here by force. But her legs were still wobbly and the bed was just too tempting and so she climbed back in beneath the crisp sheets and before she knew it was dozing off.
She was woken by the sensation of someone else being in the room and her eyelids fluttered open to find Lucas standing beside the bed, staring down at her. His jaw was unshaven and the faint shadows shading the skin beneath his vivid green eyes made it look as if he hadn’t had a lot of sleep. Black jeans hugged his narrow hips and long legs and his soft grey shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, offering a tantalising glimpse of the butterscotch-coloured skin beneath. Tara swallowed. It should have felt weird to have her one-time boss standing beside her bed while she lay beneath the duvet wearing nothing more than a baggy T-shirt, but somehow it didn’t feel weird at all.
This is my new normal, she thought weakly. The same normal which was making her breasts sting with awareness as her gaze roved unwillingly over his powerful body. Because this man has known you intimately, she realised. Known you in a way nobody else has ever done. She felt a clench of exquisitely remembered desire, low in her belly, and before she could stop them vivid images began to flood her mind as she remembered how it felt to encase him—big and hard and erect. Despite everything she’d been brought up to believe, it hadn’t felt shameful at all. It had felt right. As if she hadn’t known what it really meant to be alive and to be a woman—until Lucas Conway had entered her and she’d given that little gasp as brief pain had morphed into earth-shattering pleasure.
Her heart was thumping so hard she was afraid he might notice its fluttering movement beneath her T-shirt and so she sat up, her fingers digging into the duvet, which she dragged up to a deliberately demure level, just below her chin. Only then was she ready to give him a cautious nod. ‘Good morning.’
He returned the nod but didn’t return the sentiment. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Good.’
They stared at each other cautiously, like two strangers forced into close proximity. Tara cleared her throat, wishing she could get rid of the sense of there being an unexploded time bomb ticking away unseen in one corner of the room. But maybe that was what babies really were. She forced her attention to the pale sunlight which splashed over the wooden floor. ‘Is it late?’
‘Just after eleven.’
‘Right.’ Her fingers didn’t relax their hold on the duvet. ‘I nee
d to start thinking about leaving—and it’s no good shaking your head like that, because I don’t work for you any more, Lucas. You can’t just tell me no and expect me to fall in with your wishes, just because that’s what I’ve always done before.’
His eyes narrowed and she saw the hard light of the practised negotiator enter them, turning them into flinty jade colour. ‘I wouldn’t dream of laying down the law—’
‘You’ve had a sudden personality change, have you?’
He completely ignored her interjection, and didn’t respond to the humour which was intended. ‘We need to talk about where we go from here,’ he continued. ‘Just hear me out, will you, Tara?’
Once again she shifted awkwardly but the movement didn’t manage to shift the syrupy ache between her thighs, which was making her wish that he would tumble down on top of her.
And where did that come from?
Since when had she become so preoccupied with sex?
She swallowed.
Since the night Lucas Conway had introduced her to it.
With an effort she dragged her thoughts back to the present, wondering why he was talking so politely. He must want something very badly, she thought, instantly on her guard. ‘Okay,’ she said.
He traced his thumb over the dark shadow at his jaw, drawing her unwilling attention to its chiselled contours. ‘Would you like coffee first?’