‘Is that really necessary?’
He looks up at me, his eyes grey like storm clouds. ‘Sign it, Cora. It’s non-negotiable.’ He drops my hand and returns his focus to his work; my wrist burns like crazy the whole time I walk away from him.
CHAPTER TWO
Three hours out of Sydney
TWO HOURS. THAT’S SOME kind of record, given I’ve had a hard-on since she left the cabin. I wanted to press the call button again almost straight away, but I have this sick obsession with testing myself.
‘You’re showing yourself to be weak-minded. Grow a backbone.’
My father’s words
—no, not my father. The man who raised me. I make the mental correction with a grimace. He said that to me when I was thirteen years old. I don’t even remember what my supposed offence was now, just that, yet again, it was something I’d done wrong. I test myself often and that habit has its birthplace in Ryan’s little pearls of wisdom. I’m doing it now, as though waiting proves something to myself. As though waiting to see how long I can go before drawing Cora back to me proves that I’m not weak-minded.
Cora.
It’s an unusual name, not one I’ve heard often, but it suits her. Cora with her shimmering dark hair, eyes that are the clearest shade of brown, almost like caramel, skin that’s got the hint of a tan, but nothing like mine, and a body that is...
What?
So different to what I would classify as my usual ‘type’. I’ve dated a lot of models—and by date I mean fucked—in my time. I’m talking women who are almost as tall as me, lithe and slim, no breasts, no hips, and Cora definitely isn’t that. I had to use all my willpower to stop staring at the way the button-up shirt pulled across her tits.
I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes, imagining what they’d feel like in my hands, the weight of them, the roundness of them, the softness...they’d be soft because they’re real. I mean, without inspecting them closer I couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure but they’re in proportion with the rest of her body. Nice, rounded hips and an arse that swayed as she walked away. A neat waist and a face that is...beautiful. There is no other word for it. Something about her pushed through me until I wanted to drag her out of the chair across from me, pull her into my lap and pop all the damned buttons to save her shirt the hassle.
I had to get rid of her before she realised how close I was to acting on that impulse.
But she didn’t want to go. She stared at me and I realised: I wasn’t alone. She wanted me too.
Which brings me back to the whole ‘deserving a medal’ thing, because I’ve sat here on the one damned beer, checking the valuations for Roosevelts when honestly I just want to find wherever Cora’s hiding.
In the end, at precisely the two-hour mark, sufficiently tested, I press the call button. This time I stand up, preferring to be on my feet when she enters. She only takes a few seconds to appear, which tells me she hasn’t been sleeping. I guess she’s used to flying through the night, but it’s almost dawn in LA. She must be exhausted.
She doesn’t look it though. Her eyes lift to mine and there’s that same insouciant challenge in them that flared in her features before.
‘Yes, sir?’
Businesslike, crisp. I wonder if she has any idea how sexy I find that.
‘How do you know Miss Hancock?’
The fingers of one hand fidget at her side. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’d fidget.
‘We used to work together.’
I frown. ‘She’s been with Hart for six years.’
‘Right. Before that.’
I nod. ‘And you’re still close enough that she’d call you to fill in for her at a moment’s notice?’
Her frown is a little quirk of her lips. Her face is so expressive; I can read her like a book. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’
‘Six years is a long time. Presumably you fly a lot? I know she does.’
‘Hmm, then again, there’s email, Facebook—you know, ways to keep in touch when we’re not in the same city.’ She winks, and a little dimple digs itself into her cheek. My cock strains at my pants. I want her.
‘Did you need something?’