The Right Mr. Wrong

No. That wasn’t enough. She reached up and stopped him stepping back. She kissed him.

He met her again, his arms swiftly coming tight around her, and she clung right back. Her mouth parted, her tongue seeking greater intimacy—to stroke and torment as good as she was getting. Memory and reality slammed together.

She felt the rumble deep in his chest. He pulled her tighter into his heat. She felt him hot and hard. Her heart ripped open. No one had ever made her feel like this. Not just lust—not just turned on. But touched. Somehow he woke something so deep within her, something she’d never been aware of until him. And he made her want more. Always more. She wanted everything.

No.

She pushed back, her breathing choppy—wildly waving a hand in the air, seeking some stability. He reached out and held her hand hard—allowing her the distance but supporting her at the same time because he knew just how close she was to stumbling. Falling. For him.

Oh, no.

‘That shouldn’t have happened,’ she said firmly.

For once he wasn’t smiling, his chin was lifted, determination written in the intensity of his eyes. ‘You wanted it as much as I did. You wanted more. You want me.’

She did. But she shook her head. ‘This can’t happen, Liam. I can’t let this happen.’

FOUR

Liam stared sightlessly at the designs on his screen, unable to stop thinking about Victoria. He’d had his victory, right? He’d teased her. Traded barbs. And it had happened—he’d drawn her in. He’d kissed her. But even better, she’d kissed him back. She couldn’t deny their explosive chemistry. And she hadn’t. So he’d proved the point, right? But the second he’d taken that success, she’d stolen it back with her decree—she couldn’t ‘let this happen’.

Why not? The need to know drove into him. But his need to follow through did more than dominate. The desire to have her—to win—consumed. He didn’t want her to ‘let it happen’ either. He didn’t want her in passive mode. That was what bugged him most—her lack of honesty. She hadn’t just ‘let’ that kiss happen. She’d pulled him close—taken for one hot moment. And now he wanted it all—it was pure chemistry. Undeniable and so strong. He wanted her to push for all of him. Not to be the one pleasing, the one offering, or ‘letting’, but the one taking. He wanted her to admit it—to ask. To demand.

And he’d answer the only way he could.

* * *

‘No, we have to have that fabric sample by Tuesday morning at the latest. Needless to say, if we don’t receive it by that time we won’t be looking at your supplier again.’ Vivi, on the warpath, ended the call and immediately placed another. Typing with one hand while texting with another and talking on her earpiece to someone else altogether. Clients were melting down at the prospect of Gia extending her time in Italy; one reporter was psychotic over her not being back in London in time for some interview.

‘Could she do an interview on Skype?’

‘Gianetta doesn’t Skype. You’ll have to reschedule.’

Liam’s last-minute photo shoot had caused an almighty headache but Gia seemed determined for it to go ahead, meaning Vivi was busier than ever on the day she should have had as a break. Usually being busy was good. But being busy for something Liam-related? Not so much. It meant she thought about him all the time. Most especially in the too few hours she’d had to snatch sleep. Memories stole into her mind—like wicked little elves breaking into a locked garden to frolic and play and torment. She remembered the slide of his hands, the steel of his body, the intensity of his expression...

She tossed, turned. Gave up.

Maybe she should hit the nearest open-all-hours sex-aids store and grab a vibrator? But she was in Italy and had no idea where or how to find one. Besides, she already knew the thing wouldn’t work it for her. She wanted hot, real touch.

With just one look, one smile, she’d been bitten again. Just as she had five years before. But their affair couldn’t be repeated. She’d not just walked away from her family, she’d lost herself. That was a huge part of what she’d run from in the end. Looking back, she knew she’d been sheltered. Her relationship with Oliver had been sweet—in truth a little cloying. With Liam it’d been fevered, uncontrolled passion. But he’d been right the other day. She’d felt guilt and it had worsened as those weeks passed. Leaving Oliver for Liam made her conscience burn—unnecessarily maybe—but it had. Worse had been her need of Liam. Conflicted—insecure—her emotions flailed and never found the foothold she’d needed. Not from him. She’d never get it from him.

The ‘goodbye’ kiss the other morning told her. She couldn’t touch him again. She had to turn her back on temptation. He’d always be too much for her to handle. She’d fought too hard to make something of her life. She wasn’t losing it for another short-lived affair. So she forced focus. Sent him a very brief, businesslike email explaining the shoot details she’d arranged.

His reply came back within ten minutes. For twenty more she stared at it, her blood heating, until finally she picked up her phone.

‘You can’t call me ‘darling’ in an email,’ she said as soon as he answered.

‘Why not?’ he asked innocently. She could hear the wicked smile in the words.

‘It could be considered sexual harassment.’

He snorted. ‘Doesn’t everyone in the fashion industry call each other darling?’

‘Not me.’

‘Why? You give them a frosty look and scare them off?’ He chuckled. ‘Is this the phone equivalent of that?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly.

‘Hmm,’ he murmured. ‘Am I allowed to sign off my emails with a kiss? A little ‘x’ like they all do?’

‘Not me,’ she repeated, regretting calling him now because the wretch always seemed to make her smile. To make her take a step closer.

‘Of course not. I’m thinking you’re more triple ‘x’, right?’

‘Liam, you are my ex,’ she said pointedly. ‘And you’re staying that way.’

‘It didn’t feel over the other morning,’ he answered softly. ‘Is it sexual harassment to say I’m looking forward to seeing you again?’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I guess not.’

‘I think sexual harassment would be something much worse than a ‘darling’,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Explicit suggestions...instructions maybe.’

She closed her eyes, her flush blooming, her body five steps ahead of her brain even though her brain was on overtime—sending images that were way worse than triple X-rated. He wasn’t saying anything bad. Not really. It was all in the way he said it.

‘I am looking forward to seeing you again,’ he repeated in that deceptively soft, dangerous voice. ‘Watching you come...here. Watching you work. And seeing you satisfied when all is done.’

In the echo of his words all kinds of explicit suggestions—instructions—filled her head. And she wanted them. She did. She’d always wanted him. She wanted what they’d had. She wanted more. She probably always would. But she could resist. She would.

‘You’re not going to answer back?’ he prompted.

‘No.’ She forced herself to say it to him.

Practice made perfect, right?

* * *

‘You really need me to go with you?’ she asked Gia later that day, trying to hide the high-pitched ‘please say no’ edge in her voice.

‘Of course.’ Gia barely grunted her reply.

Twenty-four hours later Vivi landed in Genoa with Gia, Alannah and a couple of male models, Nico, a pair of stylists and scores of bags.

The coastal city was beautiful, but the boats in the marina were mind-blowing. Vivi was used to excess. Working for Gia, she met pop stars and actors, oil barons and media moguls—all of whom loved to have pretty models surrounding them. So she’d seen some fancy boats and apartments in her time. But this was something else again. But they were whisked past far too quickly for her to really appreciate them, and taken to a large shed on the furth

est side of the facility. They went through another round of security and were finally allowed in. Liam’s boats were locked away, carefully hidden from view.

He was waiting for them. Vivi tried to stay at the back of the group. Tried to stay busy helping one stylist manage her bags. But she couldn’t resist looking as he relentlessly watched her coming nearer towards him. His eyes were dark. The longer cut of his hair didn’t soften him any, or make him look casual. He looked like a pirate. She tried to stop the slither of her body towards him, it was so unfair of him to be so irresistible. She’d never seen him sailing all those years ago. It’d been winter, Christmas. He’d been covered up until she’d stripped him in that hotel room. But now? All bronzed and in shorts and boatshoes and standing easily along the wooden deck of that beautiful cruiser? There was too much skin on show, too much man. He looked every inch the warrior who knew how to fight, how to seduce, how to win.

She turned away. Gia was in raptures. The boat ‘in the flesh’ was even more marvellous than she’d expected. Nico was an over-the-top nightmare, already barking orders and deciding on angles. Vivi hadn’t even noticed the boat. Now she forced herself to pay attention.

She stepped onboard, drawing breath as she did. He’d designed this? She carefully gazed around, stared at the boat and then him. He’d been so competitive. So ruthless in achieving what he wanted. She’d have thought he’d be all function over form. But this was beautiful. Elegant. Simple. Every feature well thought out, sleek and stylish. No wonder he’d become so successful so quickly. He deserved to be. She felt a bubble of pride. Astonished, she realised she was pleased for him—and she couldn’t hold back her smile.

He looked at her, his eyes mirroring her smile. ‘You’re surprised.’

Reluctantly she nodded. ‘Don’t be offended. There was a lot I didn’t know about you back then.’ She had a feeling there was still a lot—back then she’d been too self-absorbed to realise it.

He nodded briefly. ‘You need a hand with those bags?’

‘No, I have it covered, thanks.’

But she didn’t. Nico was bellowing orders, as was Gia. Alannah was tired and demanding caffeine. Vivi needed thirty extra helpers to carry all the gear to where it was needed. She glanced at Liam, who was standing too close and watching with a far too amused look on his face.

‘Can’t those pretty boys help, or are they scared of breaking a fingernail?’ he asked.

She refused to laugh. ‘They’re getting their make-up done.’

‘Ah, well. Since I’m handsome enough without make-up...’ He stepped forward and took a heavy bag in each hand. ‘You tell me where to put them.’