“I like to win at all costs…”

But wanting her could cost him everything.

With a multibillion-dollar deal on the line, billionaire playboy Gideon Mortimer can’t afford another tabloid scandal. He’s committed to a chastity contract, but being on the same yacht as Leonie Branson—temptation personified—is pure, unadulterated torture. Relinquishing control of their thrilling sexual chemistry to tenacious Leonie feels tantalizingly worth the risk—to his reputation and his well-protected heart.

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

ZARA COX writes contemporary and erotic romance. She lives in the Garden of England—aka Kent—with her hubby and two kids. She loves to read and travel. In 2017 she managed to visit her number one bucket list destination—Hawaii—and is now actively pleading with her husband to live there! She loves to hear from her readers and you can get in touch with her via Twitter (@zcoxbooks), on Instagram (zaracoxwriter) or Facebook (zaracoxwriter).

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Worth the Risk

Zara Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07144-4

WORTH THE RISK

© 2018 Zara Cox

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Gideon

GREAT-AUNT FLO WAS pacing my office.

Seventy-five-year-olds, regardless of how sprightly they still were, had no business pacing three months after double hip-replacement operations.

Normally I welcomed her out-of-the-blue visits, because out of all my blood relatives, she was the only one I could tolerate for more than five minutes. Which was great, because I adored every wrinkled inch of her.

Normally that adoration was returned.

Today, however, every look she speared at me from her light blue eyes sparked an unsettling amount of disappointment.

My nape tightened.

I ran through the list of possible unsavoury things I’d done since I last saw her—bloody hell, there were a lot—and tuned back in just as she gave a melodramatic sigh.

‘The last straw was when they called you a reckless playboy.’

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. ‘That’s absurd, Aunt Flo. For starters, I’m most definitely not a boy. If we weren’t related, I’d drop my trousers and prove it to you right now.’

Nelly, Aunt Flo’s trusted assistant, choked, spilling the tea she was pouring.

Aunt Flo clicked her tongue. ‘Gideon Alexander Mortimer, this is serious. And no, you can’t charm your way out of it.’

I straightened from where I was perched on the corner of my desk and pulled out a chair. ‘Please sit down, Flo. You’re making me dizzy.’

‘Because you’re hung-over again?’ she sniped.

I wasn’t, and I was more than a little disconcerted by her sharp tone. Usually Florence Jane Mortimer, known as Flo to her nearest and dearest, was soft-spoken, endlessly indulgent and thoroughly enjoyed my brand of wicked humour. Apparently not today.

‘No, I’m not hung-over,’ I stated truthfully. But I could’ve done with more than the two snatched hours of sleep after ending a call with Vadim Ilyev, the Russian businessman whose delay tactics on my multibillion-pound deal had made my life hell for the past few months.

Note to self: never start a conversation with an intransigent Russian after midnight.

‘The senior board members are at their wits’ end.’

I snapped into full focus. ‘What?’ She was talking business. I never tuned out anything to do with the company.

Her lips pursed as she accepted the tea from Nelly and took a delicate sip. ‘The Mortimer Group has a long, untarnished history of excellence.’

‘Yes, one whose final chapter would’ve been written without a happy ending six years ago if I hadn’t stepped in,’ I muttered under my breath.

‘Don’t be a braggart, Gideon. You know how much I despise conceited men.’

My frown deepened. ‘What’s going on, Flo? Usually you’re the first to laud my achievements to anyone who’ll listen.’

She took another dainty sip, her gaze firmly avoiding mine. ‘The board has grown tired of your extracurricular antics.’

‘Doesn’t the very definition of extracurricular mean that it’s my business alone?’ I asked as reasonably as I could manage.

‘Not when you’re the head of a multibillion-pound corporation, no.’

Now it was my turn to pace.

There’d been growing rumblings about my work hard, party harder lifestyle recently, most likely because it was a healthy, fully fuelled juggernaut I had no intention of parking any time soon. But in light of the fact that I’d single-handedly dragged TMG from the dark ages and made it insanely profitable meant those rumblings had been behind my back. No one dared to question Gideon Mortimer about what he got up to when he wasn’t expertly manning the helm of the most profitable construction company in the western hemisphere.

Besides, Aunt Flo had been my bulwark against all that nonsense. A five-time divorcee, she was used to scandal and gossip, and at seventy-five still entertained the occasional gentleman caller in her Fitzrovia house. She supported me, too, because she liked to give her various stick-up-their-arses nieces and nephews a moderately arthritic middle finger.

On top of that, she was the only one who knew what had really happened with Damian that night three years ago. She was also there when Penny dropped the final soul-destroying bombshell.

She alone understood why I went off the rails for a solid six months after my life had crashed and burned. Without her intervention, I’d probably be in jail for murdering my cousin. She’d kept my secret, used her connections to keep the most salacious morsels of my breakdown and the reason behind it out of the press.

If I hadn’t been in awe of her before then, I certainly was by the time the red haze cleared and I discovered I had a semblance of a life left.

The raw double betrayal still haunted me. The one that followed haunted me even more, I wasn’t ashamed to admit. The only time the demons grew quieter was when I deliberately drowned them out with a willing woman and single malt whisky. Apparently that was unacceptable to a few sanctimonious members of my family. I hid a grim smile, wondered whether they would be so hypocritical if they knew the reason behind my behaviour.

‘Especially since you turn thirty-three in four months—’

Bloody hell, I really needed to focus. ‘What’s my age got to do with anything?’

‘You’re no longer a boy. They want to see a marked change, a more grounded outlook on life—’

‘Or what? They’ll vote to chop my bonus in half?’ Who cared? I was already wealthier than I would ever be able to spend in two lifetimes. Plus, with a twenty-three per cent share in a company worth thirty-one billion, I had more clout than every individual shareholder.

‘Or they’ll consider putting Harry in charge for a while.’

I stopped midpace. ‘Harry?’ Derisive laughter spilled out unchecked. ‘Are they out of their damned minds? I taught that little pissant everything he knows—’

‘Which means he’ll do a stellar job. Especially if he conscripts one of your other cousins to assist him. The board are confident they can elect someone else to head the company without the accompanying Page Three snippets of the CEO’s X-rated lifestyle shoved in their faces every time they open their newspapers.’

That neat little nugget was a bullet to the chest. One I couldn’t argue with. I felt it penetrate deeper, causing as much damage as possible.

My cousin Harry was duller than a puddle in winter, with zero personality and even less of a life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to bed fully dressed in his staid brown suits, his brown hair neatly combed, tie in place, ready to spring to work like a robot.

The last family member who’d been thrust into the demanding CEO position had lasted just six months before succumbing to a nervous breakdown and a long stint in rehab.

I’d been considered too young when I presented them with a three-year projection of where the company would be without radical changes—which was basically bankruptcy—and offered to save The Mortimer Group, on condition I was made CEO.

In the six years since I took over, I made the company wildly successful, and unfortunately pissed off more than a few members of my own family along the way.

‘Page Three no longer exists,’ I murmured abstractedly while my mind raced to tackle what could possibly be a real threat to my position.

Despite his shortcomings, Harry was a hard-working and intelligent subordinate, but he was nowhere near ready to take the helm of the company I’d shaped into running like a Swiss watch. Nor was he in any way equipped to be trusted with the biggest deal TMG was within a whisker of bagging. The deal that had demanded ninety-nine per cent of my working life for the last eight months.

‘It’s not going to fucking happen,’ I snarled under my breath.

The clink of her teacup against the saucer preceded Aunt Flo rising to her five-foot-two-inch height. In her Chanel suit, flawless make-up and contemporarily styled hair, she looked a decade younger. ‘No, it’s not. Because the last thing I need is your uncle Joseph giving me one of his damn I-told-you-so lectures.’

I’d spent most of my life wondering when the permanent stick Uncle Joseph had up his arse would turn into a tree. At sixty-eight, he was one of the oldest of the remaining Mortimer clan and probably the one who hated my guts the most, although he had no problem cashing the huge cheques my hard work brought him while not so secretly keeping the lynch mob at the ready in case I fucked up royally.

‘If you don’t want that to happen, then you’ll keep your antics down. At least until this Russian deal is done. That’s what we agreed.’

‘Wait, that’s what who agreed?’

‘An informal family meeting was called this morning.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘To which I wasn’t invited?’

‘It was agreed it would be best if you weren’t involved. Besides, you were tagged on social media with the caption that read “Just Done Being Banged.” I thought you needed your sleep before this meeting.’

‘I was on the phone to an intractable Russian oligarch until three a.m. this morning. Trust me, I had no energy after that to bang anyone.’

‘But you realise there’s a pattern that supports these allegations, don’t you?’ she insisted.

For the first time in for ever I couldn’t hold the gaze of the only person who meant a damn to me. Spiking my fingers through my hair, I paced to the window.

I was pretty sure I knew who’d posted the fake news, and if I hadn’t dumped Mischa last week over her many flaws, I’d do it all over again, just for her insane Instagram obsession.

With a sigh, I faced Aunt Flo. ‘So you had the meeting. And you all agreed to this...rancid little attempt at blackmail?’

Her lips pursed. ‘I’m your greatest ally, Gideon. You know that. But even I’ve noticed that you’ve...regressed a little lately.’

My teeth ground together and I forced myself to remain silent. It was true I’d made full and frequent use of the handful of exclusive gentlemen’s clubs I patronised. And so what if I didn’t date the same woman for more than a handful of weeks and that each sexual encounter left me a little more jaded than the last? Didn’t someone marginally profound suggest that the best way to get over mediocre sex was to fuck someone else?

I grimaced inwardly at the hollow echo of the reminder, ruthlessly suppressing the voice that suggested the bandage I’d slapped over the gashing wound of betrayal was in serious risk of failing.

‘So they elected you to be the bearer of this momentous news?’

She cracked her first smile since entering my office. ‘I was tempted to send one of your uncles just to see what colourful name you’d come up with this time. I believe last time it was a giraffe’s arse?’

I shrugged. ‘Uncle Conrad shouldn’t have walked into my office without knocking. He embarrassed the hell out of the Aston Martin saleswoman. It wasn’t my fault she chose to make her presentation minus a substantial amount of her clothes.’

Aunt Flo shook her head as we shared a grin. After a moment she sobered up. ‘I love you, dear boy. Enough to let you know things are serious this time. There are whispers of board members banding together to gain enough shares to form a majority. I’ll happily throw in my six per cent behind you but if this becomes a reality, it still won’t be enough.’

‘I can’t believe this tripe. I’ve made them all more money than they’ll ever be able to spend.’

She nodded a little sadly. ‘They’re ungrateful bastards. Every last one of them. But they’re still part of this family. And they’re powerful enough to pack a collective punch if it comes to it. I don’t want to see that happen to you.’

‘So they’re holding my sex life prisoner?’

‘Not your sex life. They just don’t want any unsavoury publicity or social media posts like the one from this morning risking this deal. Get one of those sex-bot things that seem to be the rage nowadays.’

I snorted. ‘No, thanks. If that’s my only choice, I’d rather stay celibate.’

Flo’s carefully plucked eyebrows shot up before she laughed. ‘Be careful what you wish for or the lawyers will put that in the contract.’

I froze. ‘What contract?’

She made a face. ‘They want something binding so you take this seriously. They think thirty days of no adverse publicity ought to do it.’

Sweet Lord, this just got better and better. ‘They’ve got the bloody lawyers involved without even discussing it with me first?’ The realisation shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. Same way what Damian had done continued to drill a gaping hole inside me.

Not for the first time, I wondered why I’d bothered returning home to London. Why I didn’t stay in Singapore, co-managing the hotel construction company I started with my brother, Bryce, eight years ago, instead of merging it with TMG. Everything outside the glass walls of this giant skyscraper that housed The Mortimer Group had gone to shit the moment I took the CEO position.

‘Nelly, wait for me outside,’ I heard Flo murmur. She waited until her assistant left the room before she approached. ‘I’m the last one to be indelicate but I’m going to come right out and say it. You’re in danger of being permanently scarred from what happened three years ago. It’s time to take firmer control of your life, Gideon.’

My fist balled and that tight band of rage around my chest I kept especially for such reminders threatened to suffocate me. ‘I was betrayed by my own flesh and blood, Flo. By the person I trusted the most,’ I gritted out.

She laid a gentle hand on my arm. ‘I know. And while this may sound like an atrocious idea to you right now, taking a step back from the...excess may provide a little clarity.’

She meant well, and yet I couldn’t stop the rancid bitterness that ploughed through me. Nor did I particularly welcome the unspoken accusation. The one that suggested I was repeating past mistakes of parents I barely knew.

‘I’m not like my mother, Flo,’ I bit out tersely. ‘If I suffered from any form of addiction, I wouldn’t turn up at six a.m. every morning and work my bloody arse off for this family.’ I knew my mother’s addiction to the heroin that eventually caused her to drive her Maserati off a cliff in Switzerland ten years ago was another invisible stain on my character. ‘There’s nothing to remedy. But I’ll sign their damn paper if that’s what they want. And when I pull this deal off without hint of a scandal, I expect every last one of them to come crawling to me on their hands and knees to beg my forgiveness.’

‘And I’ll sit by your side and we’ll sip cognac and laugh as they do.’

I couldn’t summon the smile she expected so I just nodded.

‘I’ll tell the lawyers to have the papers ready for you to sign this afternoon. Now, I’d better be on my way. I don’t want to be late for my next appointment.’

Alone in my office, I stood at the window and stared, unseeing, at the view.

What the bloody hell did I just do?

You just agreed to behave for thirty days. Ergo, no partying. No gentlemen’s clubs. No sex.

No finding an avenue—no matter how futile—for the demons that crawled out of the woodwork at night and taunted me with might-have-beens. No distraction from the hell of losing the person I’d once believed was my best friend to an act of betrayal that still hollowed me out in the dead of night. My fist clenched as memories raked raw pain over me.

I hoped to God my impending suffering was worth it or someone’s head would roll.

CHAPTER ONE

Leonie. Two weeks later

NO MAN WAS worth it.

I slammed the phone down, and then got even more annoyed that I’d lost my cool. For three days I’d jumped through every hoop imaginable and some I’d never thought even invented.

Granted, if I succeeded, this would be the sale of a lifetime. My fifteen per cent stake in this deal would double my already-impressive bank account but, more important, put me squarely on the map in a place where arrogant billionaires with egos the size of small countries lounged on every corner.

Hell, I could even relocate to another sun-drenched locale. One that didn’t hold the ravaging memories this place did.

I glanced out of my office window and was greeted by the stunning marina a good percentage of the world’s population believed was the gateway to paradise. Most people would give a piece of their souls for this.

Not me.

To me, this would always be ground zero of the worst moment of my life. The most humiliating, too. Definitely the most heartbreaking—

I wasn’t ashamed to admit part of my reason for wanting this deal over and done with was the shattered heart bit. I’d used my work to patch myself together and lately I’d become aware that I might have missed a few vital pieces in my repair job, like a broken leg that hadn’t been set properly.

It supported you by keeping you alive, breathing, reasoning, but toss in more challenging things like trust and emotional investment and, heaven forbid, taking another chance on happiness, and it withered and shrank, its acute flaws lighting with the dire warnings of its impending malfunction.

It was too late to salvage the pieces of my heart that betrayal had rotted away, but it wasn’t too late to hit the reset button on the rest of my life.

If only this damn client would play ball.

I sighed and let my gaze drift over the horizon.

The Côte d’Azur in June was living up to its hype where the cloudless blue sky, dazzling sunlight, sparkling ocean and blinding bling were concerned, at least. In the marina, multimillion-pound yachts bobbed smugly in the midmorning heat.

With almost undeniable compulsion, my gaze shifted left beyond the marina wall to the superyacht moored a quarter of a mile away in deeper waters.

La Sirène.

My biggest and riskiest investment to date.

Larger than all of the other boats currently moored, it was a sight to behold. Every client who’d attended the boat show a week ago had rhapsodised over it.

Fresh off the tram lines of the shipping yard in Greece, it was truly breathtaking. The most innovative vessel of its kind with unimaginable luxury to please even the most jaded appetite.

The day I’d received the call that my investment had been accepted, that I was part owner of one of the most breathtaking vessels ever built, was the proudest moment of my life.

But I’d learned to detach myself from falling in love with it. I didn’t get attached to things any more, especially things I was actively attempting to sell.

One by one the stragglers had fallen away until only one remained.

Gideon Mortimer.

A potential client who could be the answer to my achieving next-level status. A client with demands so absurd—

I jumped as the phone rang. I took a beat to calm my pulse before picking up the handset.

‘Branson Sales and Leasing, Leonora Branson speak—’

‘You hung up. I wasn’t done talking, Miss Branson,’ interrupted the deeply masculine, very arrogant voice.

Despite my irritation, the sheer sexiness of his voice sent a decadent shiver over my skin. I turned my back on the view and tried to ignore the sensation.

‘I got tired of being on hold after ten minutes.’

He made a sound as if he was grinding his teeth. ‘It was for less than five minutes and I believe my assistant told you I might have to take a call I’d been waiting for all day. Maybe you need a refresher course on the basics of customer service?’

Maybe you need a refresher course on how to be a human being.

In the six years since I defiantly started my own business on the southern French coast, I’d dealt with clients with egos of all shapes and sizes and heard enough outrageous demands to last a lifetime. Gideon Mortimer’s requests came within the top five per cent.

‘The yacht has a crew of twenty-five. That’s more than adequate to provide the service you need. As for your other requests, the captain also has a helicopter licence, twenty years’ flying experience under his belt and can fly you anywhere you need to go from the vessel.’

‘I’m bringing my most important client on board to finalise a business deal I’ve been trying to close for the best part of a year. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.’

‘And nothing, within my purview and the terms and conditions I sent to your assistant, will. All your demands...within reason, will be met.’

‘“We provide a three-sixty-degree service of excellence, one hundred per cent of the time.” Isn’t that your slogan?’

‘Yes, and the crew you need are ready to be allocated to you should you wish to lease the yacht. That includes three extra staff from my Monte Carlo office. Any more and I’ll have to shut that office down for the summer.’

‘Then do it.’

‘No, I won’t. You’re a potential valued client, but you’re not my only client. As a businessman you’ll understand that I can’t place my eggs in one basket. And frankly, the staffing ratio you’re asking for is excessive so if you’re not willing to budge on that, then we’ve come full circle.’

‘As a businesswoman, you should know that sometimes success hinges on making that one bold decision that could turn a crucial tide in your favour.’

I allowed myself a small smile at the irony. Gideon Mortimer had no idea how much I’d risked to be a part of the consortium that had built the yacht. How much he himself was crucial to achieving my next goal. ‘Trust me, I do. But from where I’m standing, I’m not sure you’re that tide bringer.’ Right now, he was more like a pain in my ass, albeit a very sexy-sounding one.

Silence greeted my response.

Had I been too bold? I might not be the biggest dog in the yard but I hadn’t let that stop me from barking long and loud when I needed to.

I mentally shrugged. If Gideon Mortimer wanted to take his business elsewhere, it’d be a blow, but it wouldn’t kill my plans for the future. It’d just delay it a little.

That stony ache beneath my breastbone rubbed hard, as if reminding me of its existence. I breathed through it.

‘A bold move, insulting a potential client,’ he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘I believe in playing a straight bat. If that’s too offensive for you, I’ve given your assistant the names of much larger firms who could cater to what you want.’ Those firms believed in landing their business no matter what it took. I didn’t.

‘It’s not my assistant’s job to sell the yacht to me. It’s yours. Shouldn’t you be bending over backwards to please me? Or are you inflexible?’

‘I’m flexible in every way that counts. I was a junior athletics gymnast before I went to university and I have three medals to show for it, two of which are gold.’

‘And how long ago was that?’ he mused. ‘Thirty? Forty years? You’ve obviously grown rusty.’

My fingers tightened around the handset as I counted to ten. I’d let a personal detail slip. My number-one rule of business was to keep my emotions out of it. That included not letting clients rile me.

‘I can fly in the special smoked salmon you requested so it’s ready for you each morning. Same goes for the caviar from Iceland and the tuna from Norway. Any other culinary requests will be catered for, you have my word. And...I can stretch the crew to twenty-seven if you really need it. It would involve taking more members of staff from Monaco but with some clever balancing, I could make it work.’

‘My client is bringing a large entourage, possibly his extended family. So might I. That’s why we’re hiring a twenty-cabin vessel. Three weeks is a long time on a boat. We’ll all require various forms of entertainment. A crew of twenty-seven at full capacity would be a stretch. On top of that, I believe you told my assistant the captain is the only one who knows the vessel inside and out. I’ll need an experienced member of crew who is not the captain—since I believe he’ll be otherwise occupied actually piloting the boat—to answer any questions my client will have about the yacht. This is your golden opportunity to turn a lease into a sale. I may be in the market for the right yacht. My client has two and is looking for a third. Does that register at all?’

‘Of course,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Every crew member is given a tutorial on the boat.’

‘Really? And how long was this tutorial?’

I felt heat rise up my neck. ‘Sixty minutes.’

He didn’t respond for a long time. ‘For a five-hundred-foot, five-deck yacht?’ Disbelief rang through his voice. ‘Do you want this commission, Miss Branson?’

I bit the inside of my cheek until my eyes watered. With every atom of my being I wanted to say no. I’d sunk all my capital into this vessel in the hope of making a once-in-a-lifetime sale that would be an answer to all my dreams. But the rental Gideon Mortimer was dangling in front of me, with the possibility of an extension, would also bring in a considerable injection of cash, enough for me to expand my business.

To do that, I needed men like Gideon Mortimer. ‘I want your business.’

‘Then find a way for us to both get what we want.’

I took a breath. ‘Fine. You’ll hear from me by five p.m. today.’

‘Wonderful. And please bear in mind that if you don’t call me back, I’ll remember it for a very long time.’ The line went dead.

This time I resisted the urge to slam my phone. After replacing the handset, I went to the kitchenette attached to the open-plan office, boiled the kettle and dropped a teabag into my favourite mug.

I stirred slowly while counting to a hundred. Then I threw the whole thing down the drain. Normally, I loved my job, loved turning a dream into reality for the average Joe like my grandfather, who’d made my childhood a little bearable by passing his love of sailing to me.

He’d take me out on the water when my mother’s mood swings veered into bitterness and depression, or when my father made one of his transient, illicit visits to the woman who’d never managed to free herself from a man unworthy of her love.

The freedom of being out on the open sea had helped me to forget the man who’d never been interested in fatherhood.

It’d been a natural transition to turn that hobby into a business with Adam, the man I’d thought I’d marry.

Until he’d nearly derailed my life with his betrayal.

But there was a reason Grandma Agnes had claimed my middle name was stubborn. Letting treachery get the better part of me hadn’t been an option.

Maybe in the beginning, with my name over the door and gleaming on my stationery, I’d hoped Adam would crawl back and beg forgiveness for the shitty move he’d pulled.

Or maybe I’d wanted to rub my success in the faces of those who found it so easy to snatch my happiness from me. I wanted to show them that I could exist in their world, hell, even rub shoulders with them.

Whatever. Freud would have a field day with me.

But those sensations had passed quickly and left a burning need to succeed for me and me alone.

But not the memory of Adam’s betrayal.

I rinsed the cup and walked over to the large corkboard where I’d pinned the itinerary for the next three months. I had the same schedule on my laptop but it pleased me to see my hard work laid out in pretty stationery.

May to August was the height of boating season. Most of my full-time staff were all on board leased vessels.

Monaco was especially busy. But a quick calculation confirmed what I’d told Gideon Mortimer. I could spare one member of staff, two at a stretch, which left Andrea, my second in command, and our part-time secretary. At seven and a half months pregnant and seasick even when on land, Andrea was going nowhere.

As if conjured by my thoughts, she waddled in a second later and stopped in surprise when she saw me. ‘Oh, I thought you’d have left for the day.’

‘No, I’ve been on the phone with Mr Mortimer.’

She rolled her eyes and fanned herself with a paper napkin. ‘Oh, jeez, is he still going on about the extra crew?’

Among other things. ‘Yep.’

‘And?’ She shuffled over and dropped heavily into the nearest chair.

‘I’m going to see if any of the other leasing companies can spare any crew members.’

Andrea grimaced. ‘Not to be a pessimist but you don’t have a hope in hell of that happening. They were super pissed when Giannopolous Boats chose you to join in the investment consortium on this yacht deal. They won’t be in a hurry to help you out.’

Just what I’d feared. I forced a shrug. ‘Then come five p.m. I’ll be calling Mortimer back to tell him to look elsewhere.’

Andrea rubbed one hand over her belly and continued to fan herself with the other. I was about to offer to crank up the AC when she looked up. ‘What’s the most important thing he’s asking for that we haven’t been able to provide him, apart from the unnecessary crew?’

‘From the sounds of it, he’s looking to buy a boat, and this client he’s expecting to wow the pants off of is a boat fanatic. He wants someone on hand 24/7 to spout statistics should he need it.’

She stared at me as her eyes brightened. ‘Pregnancy brain might be affecting me but aren’t I looking at the person who learned every nook and cranny of Giannopolous’s business so you could land a spot on the consortium?’

I shook my head. ‘Yeah, but it’s not going to work—’

Andrea started to lean forward, winced and sat back again. Her hand shifted to rub the side of her stomach. ‘Okay, no need to kick me quite so hard, mon petit coeur,’ she murmured to her baby. After a moment, she looked up. ‘Leonie, think about it. You’re exactly what this client needs. Are you really going to lose this commission or sale over one extra person?’

I frowned. ‘He hasn’t even stepped aboard yet and he’s already a giant pain in my arse.’

‘So what? You’ve dealt with worse and come out smiling.’

‘Not like him, Andrea.’ Not with that voice and that take-charge manner that had always been a weakness for me. They said opposites attracted. But I wasn’t shy and retiring one little bit. Besides stubborn, Grandma Agnes had also referred to me as a charging heifer once or twice. Unattractive but accurate. So Gideon Mortimer should be the last person to make my lady parts quiver. But quiver they did. I’d ignored my reaction but its effect lingered for a little longer than I wanted it to.

‘Well, I looked him up on the internet on my break. He’s effing loaded, Leonie. And not just him. His family are seriously influential. Like, related-to-royalty-from-the-year-dot type of influential. He’s a mathematical genius or something. His IQ is through the roof. Don’t ask me what it is, I don’t remember. Did I mention he’s loaded?’

My mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. ‘Yes, you did. Still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t conjure up crew I don’t have.’

‘No, but you can offer yourself.’

‘What?’

‘For the service he needs,’ she stressed.

I pulled my overactive brain from images of me servicing Gideon Mortimer in the most basic of ways to a much more professional arena. ‘It’s not just that. I can’t leave you to man the office for three weeks.’

‘Sure you can. Laurent loses a little more of his mind every time I walk out the door. I thought I was bad, but he’s been getting progressively worse as the birth gets closer. He finishes with the market at midday. He’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the afternoon here keeping me company. Plus, if you do get the rental commission or—please, God—the sale, that would solve a few money issues for us.’

I mulled it over for a minute. If I sold the boat I would be able to do much more than that. I could make Andrea a partner, a plan I’d been mulling over as part of my expansion. ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded eagerly. ‘Absolutely.’ She struggled to her feet and headed towards the back of the office. ‘I need to pee. Don’t overthink it, Leonie. Just call him back and say yes.’

Don’t overthink it.

I took a deep breath and reached for the phone. ‘Hello, can I speak to Gideon Mortimer, please?’

He answered immediately, ‘You’re calling me with a yes, I hope?’

I ground my teeth for a single second. Any more and I risked a cracked molar. ‘Yes. On the crew front, you’ll have the additional staff you need. On one condition.’

‘I hate conditions.’

‘And I detest games, Mr Mortimer.’

‘All games or just specific ones?’ he drawled, amused.

‘For the sake of our potential business relationship, let’s stick to all games,’ I responded tightly.

‘Shame,’ he murmured. ‘What’s this condition?’

‘That you let me have full control of the crew and rotate them the way I see fit without any interference.’ The last thing I needed was any unreasonable demands on my crew.

‘I accept your condition. But before we move forward I also need your reassurance that you will be as flexible as you claim you can be.’

For some absurd reason my breath caught, my imagination latching on to sexual positions and breathless fucking. Exhaling slowly, I reined myself in. ‘Yes. Fine.’

‘No, I need a little more than that,’ he insisted, his tone half amused, half irritated, if such a thing was possible. ‘So say the words, Miss Branson. Tell me you can accommodate my wishes.’

I crossed my fingers and prayed my response would hold true a day, or even a week from now. That I wouldn’t be tempted to throw Gideon Mortimer overboard before he’d bought my boat. ‘I can accommodate your reasonable wishes.’

‘Good. I arrive at seven tomorrow morning.’

The line went dead.

I stepped into my shower two hours later with a sigh of relief. My apartment on the Rue Jean Jaurès in Cannes was large and spacious and beautifully decorated. It was a little on the extravagant side, but I was determined to make a statement straight off the bat. I meant business and I wanted anyone who paid attention to know it. The sea view alone was worth the five figures I paid in monthly rent.

But if I had to pick my favourite thing about my apartment, it was the luxurious power shower and sauna. With multiple jets and settings that delivered everything from rainforest mist to candlelit steam, it’d been love at first viewing.

For the first four months after I started Branson Sales & Leasing I’d lived on bread and cheese just so I could pay the rent. I could afford a more well-rounded meal in the best Michelin-starred establishment these days, but, while I thoroughly enjoyed those solo treats or client-wooing power lunches, my apartment was my sanctuary.

A place to forget men like Gideon Mortimer, with their endless bank accounts and lofty demands and pussy-tingling voices.

I braced my hands on the tiles and willed my irritation away. Two seconds after I’d hung up, I’d realised he hadn’t told me which airport he’d be flying into. His assistant had informed me when I called back that Gideon had left for the day and she had no idea what his plans were since he hadn’t informed her.

So now I had two limos heading to two private airports. It wasn’t a big deal—my business could easily absorb the costs—it didn’t augur well for ignoring the temptation to throw him overboard at the first opportunity.

Just a little longer.

By this time next month, the yacht would either be sold or the rental commission would be a huge boost to my firm’s profile and hopefully attract more clients like Gideon Mortimer.

Then I could be rid of the lingering sense of unworthiness I’d never been truly able to shake since Adam—

Dammit, why was I thinking about Adam again when he hadn’t crossed my mind in weeks? I hated that he’d compounded feelings my father had engendered within me by his blatant dismissal of me as a child.

But then, your fiancé running off with a rich heiress weeks before your wedding had a way of totally sideswiping you. And as much as I tried I couldn’t rid myself of the hollow sensation inside me.

Enough!

I was probably thinking about the past because Gideon’s air of entitlement triggered traits I’d seen in my father before I’d cut off all contact with the man.

As for Adam...it’d been a relief that six months ago he’d finally stopped opening dummy accounts in the hopes of friending me on Facebook. Not so much the hang-ups I’d been getting on my mobile phone lately, forcing me to change my phone number.

Whatever he was selling, I wasn’t buying.

Being rejected once by your own flesh and blood was bad enough. A repeat by the man you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with had a way of sharpening your perspective on men and relationships.

These days I was much more discerning of men to the point where the occasional one night was more than enough for me. The rest of the time, my battery-operated boyfriends sufficed just fine.

I turned off the shower, dried off and sprawled out on my bed. Unbidden, the conversation with Gideon Mortimer replayed in my mind, especially the naughty bits, uttered in that unbelievably sexy voice of his.

Find a way to get us both what we want. Tell me you can accommodate my wishes.

Did he use suggestive words like that in the bedroom? Or was he an outright dirty talker?

What the hell did that matter to me?

I flipped over, my body growing hot and clammy as his deep voice continued to echo through my head. Clamping my eyes shut, I growled in frustration and tugged open the drawer of my bedside table. I hadn’t touched my vibrator in a while, not since the preparation for the busy season had kicked in. Usually I was too tired from a hard day’s work and crashed the moment my head touched the pillow.

Today I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep without a little carnal therapy.

With an anticipatory shiver, I turned on the device. I slid it over my belly and between my legs, my breath catching at how wet I was already. At the first touch of the vibrator against my clit, my nipples pebbled, pleasure radiating from my groin. As a resident of a place that boasted more beautiful people per square metre than anywhere else on earth, I never lacked visual fodder for my sexual fantasies.

A French count with a hot accent.

An Australian bodybuilder here for the summer.

A Californian surfer crewing on a catamaran while learning French.

They were a dime a dozen along the coast.

But of course, the moment I found my groove and my hips began to move in pleasurable rhythm, the deep, sinfully cultured tones of a minor British aristocrat invaded my brain.

Miss Branson...

I need a little more than that...

Accommodate my wishes...

Say the words, Miss Branson...

With a broken gasp, my orgasm tore through me. My back arched off the bed and my whole body shook as I came harder than I had in a long time. I dropped the vibrator and boldly cupped myself, eager to hold on to the release for a little longer as my body continued to convulse, my gasps growing louder as I teased out of the last of my climax.

The descent was slow and languid, my body humming contentedly as I regained my breath.

And then with a groan, I buried my face in the pillow.

Hell.

Gideon Mortimer hadn’t made an appearance yet and he was already more than a pain in my arse. He’d just elevated himself to an ache in my pussy.

CHAPTER TWO

Leonie

AT A QUARTER to seven I stood by the limo in the private airstrip that serviced Nice airport. A few more phone calls this morning had finally furnished me with the info of at which airport Gideon would be landing.

As his private jet landed and taxied closer, I eyed the gleaming silver Aston Martin DB11 parked next to the limo.

Although currently driverless, it still evoked irritation. There were no other planes scheduled to land for another hour—I checked with VIP staff. Which most likely meant one thing.

The client I’d risen at the crack of dawn to pick up had arranged his own ride.

Deep breaths...

I despised the careless waste of money his unreasonableness triggered. Which was a little ironic considering the line of business I was in but still... I shrugged away my ire and watched the sleek private jet come to a standstill.

Two minutes later, the jet’s engines powered down and short steps dropped onto the tarmac.

And from fifty feet away I caught my first glimpse of Gideon Mortimer.

Holy God.

I’d thought his sex-stroking voice was sinfully aggravating. But the man’s face, lean hips and long-limbed body...everything about him was captivating enough to make my jaw sag in wonder for three embarrassing seconds before I caught myself.

Still I couldn’t look away.

Dark brown wavy hair, glossy beneath the resplendent sunshine, tossed about in the morning breeze. As I watched him approach in a slow saunter, I could’ve sworn every movement he made was precisely choreographed by the director of a perfume ad.

Aviator shades perched on a patrician nose stopped me from seeing his eyes, but that didn’t even matter. I was already preoccupied with the square jaw that held an I-didn’t-bother-to-shave-deal-with-it stubble that prompted fingers—not mine—to test its roughness.

As he drew nearer, my gaze dropped to his mouth.

Dear heaven. Every millimetre of that mouth was built for filthy, decadent sin. For making fast and furious friends with a woman’s lady business, and not disengaging until someone was clawing at silk sheets, screaming for mercy.

Thank God I took the edge off last night, otherwise I’d have a hard time functioning right now. Gideon Mortimer was the epitome of everything I’d thought him to be—sinfully handsome and very much aware of his power over women.

Just like the man whose blood unfortunately ran through my veins; the man I’d never called Dad because he didn’t deserve the title. A no-good son of a bitch I’d never forgiven for what he did to my mother. To me.

Those reminders helped shore up my foundations as I briskly tugged on my bespoke Armani jacket and pinned a cool professional smile on my face. ‘Mr Mortimer?’

He ignored me, peering first into the limo and then, frowning, at his immediate surroundings before his jaw clenched. ‘Jesus, she didn’t even bother to turn up,’ he muttered. ‘Fucking unbelievable.’

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘Mr Mortimer?’ I waited for him to pluck his sunglasses off his face before I thrust out my hand. ‘Welcome to Nice. I’m—’

‘Not who I’m expecting. As much as I appreciate a pretty smile and saucy little chauffeur’s uniform, your boss should’ve come here herself, like she promised. I should’ve guessed that promise of flexibility was too good to be true. Probably that bragging about her gold medals, too,’ he muttered under his breath as he turned towards the Aston Martin.

‘First of all, this isn’t a chauffeur’s uniform. It’s bespoke Armani. Second, I don’t believe she promised she would be here. If you would just—’

‘What are you? Her assistant? Her driver? Are you even old enough to drive this thing?’

‘Mr Mortimer—’

Again he cut me off. ‘Fucking typical. Forget it.’ He pointed his electronic key at the sports car. The boot popped open and he threw his weekend bag into it and slammed it with repressed force. ‘When someone gives their word I expect them to abide by it.’ The set to his jaw suggested he wasn’t talking about the wrong he believed I’d committed. ‘Tell her she just lost my business.’

‘Did she even have it in the first place?’ I snapped. ‘Or were you just toying with her in between playing with your millions?’

He froze with one hand on the door. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Are you sure you want to be excused? Only you seem to enjoy riding roughshod over anyone who so much as throws the tiniest protest your way.’

He slowly leaned his rangy body against the car, crossed his ankles and folded his arms. It was really hard to know which part of his body to look at. Or to avoid looking to prevent sensory overload. He moved like the gears of a well-oiled machine, with impressive fluidity and contained power. I tried not to think of what all that power could do if concentrated between a woman’s legs.

Because the potential to unleash mayhem was there. Barely restrained. Waiting to explode. Something about his unshaven face and the beaten leather jacket draping his body spelled unbridled danger I had every intention of avoiding.

‘You have something to say to me?’ he asked in a tone saturated with English boarding-school arrogance.

I steeled myself to hold his gaze. ‘Funnily enough, yes. Question is, are you going to listen or keep talking over me?’

Dark grey eyes flecked with gold and hazel, surrounded by the most lush lashes I’d ever seen on a man, raked me slowly from head to toe, and back again. He lingered on my legs, my hips, paused the longest on my breasts. Gideon Mortimer was a breasts man. And my breasts were tightening, tingling, in preparation to savour that revelation.

Oh, hell, no.

I clenched my fist over the car key until faint pain in my palm distracted my body from the thick, drugging sensation swirling through me. I couldn’t be attracted to Gideon Mortimer. I just couldn’t.

Before he could respond, I held out my hand once more. ‘Good to meet you, Mr Mortimer. I’m Ms Branson.’

His arms dropped and he looked from my outstretched hand to my face. ‘You’re Leonora Branson?’

‘Yes.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Shit. I thought she...you fobbed me off with an assistant.’

‘I know. You made your feelings very clear on the matter.’

He had the grace to grimace. ‘Apologies. I’ve had a testy few weeks.’

A little mollified, I attempted another smile. ‘Apology accepted.’

He took my hand as his gaze made another subtle pass over my body. ‘How old are you, Leonora Branson?’

Nope, not going near that one. ‘Old enough to have run a successful company for six years with a portfolio of satisfied customers.’

‘Doesn’t really answer my question, does it?’ he said.

‘No, it doesn’t. Besides not playing games I also don’t give out personal information. Is that going to be a problem?’

‘Only if you have a problem with me being impressed that someone so young would be in the position you’re in.’

The unexpected compliment blew a hole through my irritation, just as the pressure of his hand on mine was eroding my intention not to be seriously seduced by his drop-dead gorgeousness.

I knew I was younger than I looked, a fact that had surprised a few people who thought at twenty-six I had no business running a multimillion-pound company. ‘I...’ God, what had he said? Something about being impressed? ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said in a deep, gravel-rough voice that reminded me of what I did to myself last night.

I tugged at my hand. He kept a hold of it for another long second, a frown flicking over his face as his jaw clenched and unclenched.

The depth of his examination began to grate. Then the grating turned into something else. Something darker, saucier. Something that emphatically reminded my pussy that a vibrator wasn’t enough any more and what it truly yearned for was a hard, experienced cock.

Please. Not now.

I exhaled in relief as he dropped my hand and then relief morphed to irritation as he turned to the sports car.

‘Are you leaving in that?’

‘I should hope so, since I asked for it to be delivered for that very purpose.’

It took monumental effort not to grit my teeth. ‘You should’ve informed me you would be driving yourself. As you can see, I came to pick you up.’

He tossed a mocking glance at the Rolls Royce and his mouth quirked. ‘It’s a gorgeous ride, but I’m in the mood for a little more horsepower this morning.’

Calm. Be calm. ‘Very well. Shall we arrange a time to meet later?’

‘I have meetings scheduled all day. Then a hot date with the sexy roulette table at the Casino de Monte-Carlo later. She’s always a tease, but an enjoyable one.’

In anticipation of a hectic Monday getting the crew ready to sail, I’d given myself the day off tomorrow. I watched it disappear in a puff of smoke. ‘Why did you ask me to come here this morning if you can’t meet with me?’

‘I asked you to come because it’s a half-hour drive to my hotel. And I believe in time efficiency.’ With that, he opened the passenger door and raised an eyebrow at me. ‘So are you coming, Miss Branson?’ The suggestive decadence in his tone should’ve made me madder. But my traitorous pussy grew damper.

‘I can’t just leave the car here.’

‘There you go again, throwing obstacles in the way of our fledgling...liaison.’

I cast a look towards the hired driver of the limo and nodded, dismissing him and the waste of money Gideon had just cost me.

I grabbed my small purse and the folder I’d brought with me before heading over to the Aston Martin, where Gideon Mortimer stood holding the door open for me.

That small act of chivalry was still unravelling a tiny wave of shock through me as he slid behind the wheel. The throaty engine roared to life the same time I was hit with a lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he was wearing. It was like a shot to the chest from a double-barrelled gun. Compounded by the power of the car when he accelerated out of the airport and the play of his thighs when he aggressively changed gears, I was struck dumb for several minutes.

The busy streets of Nice were filled with tourists at this time of year but Gideon seemed to know how to avoid getting caught up in traffic. At the first set of red lights, he slanted a glance at me. ‘Is the crew issue resolved?’

Shit, he had to give me the tough question straight off the bat. I took a moment to savour my freedom for one last time. ‘If you go ahead and lease the boat, I’ll resolve the crew issue but I won’t act on it until we have an agreement. If and when we do it’ll bring the manpower total to twenty-seven. Trust me, I can make that work.’

A cloud drifted over his face. ‘Trust isn’t a commodity I find very easy to part with.’

The little rush of affinity warmed me before I killed it dead. If the Devil didn’t trust, there was a good reason for it. ‘The other company you’re thinking of going with, have you used them before?’

He cracked a hard smile. ‘Don’t come at me with that angle, Leonora.’

It was the second time he’d used my given name. When had we even agreed to that? And why did each enunciation make me wildly hot?

‘Why not? Why would you decide to go with them and not me?’

‘Because they’re weren’t as...intransigent.’

My fingers tightened around the folder. ‘I can guarantee you a better service.’

He remained silent for a short mile. ‘That remains to be seen. Now, run me through your list,’ he said briskly.

A little more settled now we were on a business footing, I went through the extensive list of everything, from how often the sheets were changed on board the yacht to the ingredients used on the most elaborate meal. I’d found out early in my career not to leave any detail unmentioned.

By the time I was done, he was pulling up in front of the Riviera One hotel in Nice. The cheapest room in the six-star hotel was upward of fifteen hundred euros a night with a stay in the presidential suite extending to the tens of thousands. It was number one on my client recommendation list.

I wasn’t even a little bit surprised that Gideon was greeted by name by the doorman when he stepped out of the Aston Martin.

‘Bienvenue, Monsieur Mortimer.’

‘Thanks, Pierre, it’s good to be back. How are the wife and kids?’ he asked after he tossed his keys to the valet.

‘Very well, monsieur. I must thank you again for that letter of recommendation.’

Gideon clapped the man on the shoulder. ‘If you must, but that’s the last time. Thank me again and I’ll have you fired.’

Pierre looked startled for a moment, before he chuckled. ‘Understood, monsieur. I’ll make sure your bag is delivered right away.’

‘Good man.’

He sauntered into the stunning atrium of the art deco hotel as if he owned the place, striding over to the VIP concierge desk. ‘Everything is ready for you, Mr Mortimer. If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask and I will personally see to it,’ the chief concierge said.

‘I know you will. I might even start by asking you to teach true customer service to a few people I’m thinking of doing business with,’ Gideon replied, sending me a speaking glance as he pocketed his black key card and headed to the lift.

‘If that comment was aimed at me, I’ll have you know I haven’t had a single complaint since I started my business. In fact, I have several glowing testimonials I’m happy to show you if you want.’

He had the audacity to grin. And, oh, what a spectacular sight it was. It transformed his face from devilishly handsome to downright sacrilegious, stopping my breath dead two seconds after the brilliance of it hit me square in the chest.

Sweet God.

I entered the lift and clung to the railing, desperately willing myself to avoid looking at him, and failing, as he lounged against the wall, arms crossed.

‘I have a feeling you’re not very happy with me, Leonora,’ he mused. ‘Is it because you find me too demanding?’

God, why was he saying my name like that? ‘Wasn’t that the impression you wished to create?’

His shrug was shamelessly unapologetic. ‘My mum used to call me her greedy little bastard, among other things. The way I see it, why ask for the moon and stars when the sun is just begging to be tossed in, as well?’

The use of the past tense triggered curiosity I wrestled down. ‘And you don’t care if your greed earns you a certain reputation?’

‘I’m a big boy. I can take care of anyone who pays me a less-than-stellar compliment to my face. What they say behind my back—’ he shrugged again ‘—I care very little about.’

The realisation that he meant it, that power and privilege had insulated him against the barbs of ordinary men, grated. It was the same entitlement that my father fed on, using it to prey on defenceless people like my mother until she was a husk before throwing her away. The same entitlement with which another woman had looked at my fiancé, decided she wanted him and had taken him without compunction, Adam’s own collusion aside.

Dammit, there I went thinking about him again. Something about Gideon Mortimer triggered unwanted memories. The sooner I got our business squared away, the better.

Except, if he signed on the dotted line, I’d be stuck with him for the next few weeks.

‘You should learn to school your expressions better, Leonora.’

I refocused on him but didn’t bother to hide my derision. ‘Pray tell, what do you think you see?’

‘There’s a lot about me you don’t like. But you’re swallowing your pride for the sake of our business relationship. Bravo on that, by the way. But there’s something you do like and you’re desperate to keep that under wraps.’

My heart rate spiked just a little north of uncomfortable. ‘Wow, you can tell all of that just by looking at my face?’

‘I can tell that by the way you’re gripping that railing as if your life depends on it, and the way you’re plastering yourself so hard against the wall. Oh, and the way you haven’t stopped looking at my mouth since we entered the lift.’

I opened my mouth but the lift doors parted just then, possibly saving me from voicing a response that would’ve killed this deal once and for all. With a cocky smile, he stepped into the corridor and waved me out. When I was two feet from him, he braced his hand on the door frame to his suite, stopping my progress.

‘It’s okay, Leonora, you can tell me what you really think of me. One of my many assets is a thick skin.’

I took a breath, got hit with that sinful aftershave again and clenched my gut against all the decadent sensations buffeting me. He was just a man. His type was a dime a dozen in this part of the world.

Except it wasn’t true.

Gideon Mortimer was exceptional in many ways. Magnetic. Charismatic. Electrifying. And extremely easy on the eyes.

‘I was going to advise you not to get high on your own supply but I realised I’d be wasting my breath. What I’d like to know, though, is why have you brought me to the penthouse suite?’ I was too busy being dazzled by his smile to check what button he’d pressed. Foolishly, I’d assumed we were going to the tenth-floor brasserie, where I usually met with clients.

He dropped his hand and turned towards the imposing double doors that led into the impressive luxury suite. ‘We haven’t finished our discussion, and I need a shower before my next appointment in twenty minutes. Two birds and all that. You don’t object, do you?’

I didn’t answer because his question sounded annoyingly rhetorical.

Swiping the key card, he shoved the doors open, leaving me trailing after him with a reel of indecent images of a naked, shower-soaked Gideon cascading through my heated brain.

When I eventually made it inside, he was standing before the floor-to-ceiling glass windows staring at the stunning Côte d’Azur view. I’d been in this suite a few times. The magnificent blend of art deco and modern furnishings, the deep blue of the sky outside and the sparkling ocean never failed to leave me breathless. Today that image, framed around Gideon Mortimer like a specially commissioned painting, was threatening to stop my breath altogether.

He really was too much.

Even as the thought deepened in my mind, he was shrugging off his leather jacket, all fluid grace and masculine beauty, carelessly tossing it away to leave a Black Sabbath T-shirt that moulded to his divine V-shaped torso. My gaze dropped lower to lean hips and powerful thighs. And his tight, masculine arse encased perfectly in his jeans.

Thoughts of sinking my nails into that prime piece of flesh as he penetrated me topped my dirty thoughts with even filthier images. Images that should’ve shamed me but instead just escalated my craving.

For the first time in years, I truly acknowledged my woefully neglected libido and admitted that I needed to get laid.

Pretty. Damned. Soon.

He started to turn. I swallowed before I did something unseemly like drool, and fixed my gaze somewhere over his right shoulder as he approached.

‘What else did you want to discuss?’ I prompted, hoping to get back on an even keel.

He stopped a foot in front of me, stared down at me with narrow-eyed intent, then jerked his head behind him. ‘That window is fantastically reflective. I think it’s only fair that if you’re going to ogle me like that, I should return the favour?’ His voice had grown thick and raspy and, oh, so sinfully delicious.

The punch of heat to my pelvis triggered liquid warmth in my pussy. But I raised my chin in challenge, even as I pressed my thighs together in a useless effort to hide my arousal. ‘I meant business, Mr Mortimer. Let’s talk business.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you like what you see. I’ll happily supply you with a list of things I like about you, too, if you like.’

I didn’t want to know. I truly, truly didn’t. ‘What makes you think I want to hear such a list?’ Hell, even my voice was a husky mess.

‘I’m taking a leaf out of your book and playing a straight bat, too, Leonora.’ His wicked tongue stroked all over my name. ‘But speaking of business, I meant what I said earlier. What you’ve achieved is impressive. Even more so in such a cut-throat world.’

I didn’t want to be affected by the sincere respect in his eyes and tone but a different sort of warmth licked through my veins. ‘I’m not scared to go after what I want.’

The heat in his eyes receded. ‘I know one or two people who share those views.’

I had the distinct idea we weren’t talking business any more. ‘But not you?’

A hard gleam lit his eyes. ‘Oh, I believe in going after what I want. It’s in my blood, after all.’

‘Oh?’

‘My grandfather was a little like you. He started everything in his life much earlier than strict norms dictated he could,’ he said. ‘He opened his first shop when he was fifteen. Had three more by the time he was seventeen. By twenty-one he was married with two kids and two mistresses stashed on opposite ends of London. He tried to instil that ambitious ideology in his children and grandchildren. Some hit the mark, others didn’t.’

I was aware we’d strayed from the professional but I couldn’t curb my curiosity. ‘And you’re one of those who overachieved before their eighteenth birthday, I’m guessing?’

‘I borrowed ten thousand pounds from the family trust fund after my first term at university. While everyone was obsessed with becoming the next dot-com millionaire, I started an on-campus three-square-meals food delivery service long before it became a thing. I had five universities under my belt and was turning over half a million by the time I was twenty. I had zero interest in food production, but I left university with enough capital to start my own company.’

‘So if you’re following his footsteps, why aren’t you married with a clutch of kids like your grandfather?’ I wasn’t going to ask about extramarital bits on the side. That was beneath me.

Like a storm cloud blotting out the brightest sunshine, his face closed up completely. With a graceful swivel that wouldn’t have been remiss on a male ballet dancer, Gideon turned and started walking away.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Shower,’ he tossed over his shoulder.

‘We still have fifteen minutes.’

‘I’ll be back in five. Or...’ He paused on the threshold of a door I guessed led into a bedroom.

I held my breath. ‘Or?’

‘Killing two birds is still an option. Your choice entirely, though.’ With a mocking grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he disappeared into the bedroom.

I couldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

Everything about what I was contemplating was wrong. Unprofessional. And yet my feet moved a second later, drawing me inexorably to the open doorway of Gideon’s bedroom.

He stood next to a four-poster bed, reefing his T-shirt over his head. Once my gaze locked I couldn’t take my eyes off the ripped muscles of his broad, strokeable back displayed in all its indecent glory. My brain was struggling to track when his hand went to the buttons on his jeans.

I must have made a sound because he turned.

Stormy grey eyes drifted over me before he flicked open the first button. ‘Are you sure you want to step over that threshold, Leonora?’ There was something dark, dangerous and a touch apprehensive in his voice. As if he was fighting his own demon.

Absurdly, it was that note that made me a little bit reckless. ‘I’m a big girl, Gideon. A big girl who wants to be done with this meeting.’

His jaw clenched and he turned away. A second later, I imagined I heard him mutter, ‘Shit,’ under his breath but when he turned back around, that expression of sexy male confidence was back. ‘Fine, it’s your funeral,’ he bit out. With that, he coolly stepped out of his jeans, leaving on a pair of boxers that didn’t hide the impressive, mouth-watering bulge behind the thin layer of clinging cotton.

Oh. Sweet. Lord.

The man was really well endowed, and from his swagger as he headed for the bathroom, he knew it.

I was replaying every ripple of sleek muscle when I heard the loud hiss of the shower ten seconds later.

I should leave. Retreat to the living room like a sensible professional before it was too late. But again my feet moved of their own accord, crossing the room to yet another, even more dangerous doorway, my pulse racing like a wild thing.

Was this really happening? Was I really doing this? I met the man less than an hour ago, for heaven’s sake.

A cloud of steam greeted me as I entered. My fingers tightened around my folder as I stared at the parts of Gideon’s body I could see through the gaps in the fog.

One hand was braced on the tiles beneath the shower, while the other sluiced water through his hair. And, holy shit, the reality was way more potent than the fantasy. I wanted to be that water licking over his skin, dipping and sliding over the hard, sleek muscles framing his arse. I wanted to be the gel he grabbed off the shelf and glided lazily over his massive chest, under his arms and lower to his fog-shrouded stomach.

My pussy tingled, my clit plumping and screaming for attention.

‘We can continue this discussion or you can leave. What you can’t do is stare at me like that unless you want to give me specific ideas.’

Heat that had nothing to do with the shower temperature singed my face. Resolutely, I cleared my throat and reopened my folder. ‘I’d like to know about your guests. There’s a confidentiality clause that every crew member signs so their privacy will be protected.’

‘First things first, did you take my advice and relocate your crew members from Monaco?’

‘Not exactly.’

He turned and speared me with piercing grey eyes. ‘One thing you should know about me, Leonora, I despise the nebulous. After you explain what not exactly means, I never want to hear those two words or anything resembling them again.’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re an unpleasant boor?’

He flashed that grin again but again his eyes remained flat. Clearly, my question about having a wife and kids had struck a nerve that still rankled. I curbed my curiosity as he answered, ‘All the damn time.’

‘And let me guess, you wear it as a badge of honour?’

‘You’re changing the subject. Explain yourself. And if you’re staying in here, come closer. I can barely hear you over the sound of the shower.’

With every cell in my body I wanted to withhold the information. Or miraculously find a different way of sealing the deal that didn’t involve spending almost a month on a boat with this man.

Because my stupid body seemed bent on betraying me, craving him in all the specific ways he’d just suggested.

‘Leonora?’

With a deep breath, I did what I came here to do. Offered myself up on a silver platter. Professionally, of course.

My starving libido and needy pussy could take a running jump.

Directing my gaze to his face and nowhere near his spectacular body, I answered, ‘I’m the extra staff member. I’ll be joining the crew on Monday.’

Several expressions flitted across his face in vivid real time. Anticipation. Hunger. Triumph. Black fury. That last one stayed for a few seconds too long. Then he veered away from me as if he couldn’t stand to look at me. He jerkily sluiced back his wet hair and his shoulders heaved as if he was reining himself in.

It was beyond fascinating to watch.

‘Fuck.’

The word was delivered with such venom I would’ve taken a step back had I not felt more than a little powerful at eliciting such a charged response.

‘Problem?’ The question was a shameless taunt.

He didn’t answer. He continued to stand, head bent beneath the spray.

It prompted me to speak just to defuse the thick tension. ‘Or if you’ve changed your mind and no longer need extra crew, I assure you you’ll still be well catered to.’

Another few beats went by. Then he lifted his head and looked at me, and my stomach dipped as a lethally gorgeous smile spread across his face. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, Leonora. I still want what I want, for good or ill.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

That darkness descended on his face again. ‘It means my every instinct suggests it’s a bad idea to take you up on your offer. But I’m going to anyway.’

My mouth dried as he twisted the shower tap off. Steam and silence shrouded us as he stared at me.

‘Why is it a bad idea?’

He speared me with a telling look. ‘Don’t play games, Leonora. You know,’ he said, his voice softly accusing. ‘It’s why you’re in here when you should be safely in the living room. It’s why I’m going to stay put right here while you hand me a towel and leave. Because if I step outside, all bets are off.’

Leave, that voice prompted, a little more insistently. My feet refused to comply.

‘So what? You plan on using me as some sort of litmus test of your control?’ I asked, my voice a husky mess even to my own ears.

‘Yes,’ he answered honestly. ‘I’ve been accused of not having enough...restraint lately.’ Eyes on me, he licked a drop of water that dripped onto his upper lip. ‘So I’d be ever so bloody grateful if you’d hand me the towel, Leonora, and leave.’

I sucked my own lower lip, crazy sensations careening through me as he continued to hold my gaze in the sultry bathroom. ‘Say please,’ I commanded.

His sinful lips slowly parted as he reached out and swiped a slow hand across the glass, clearing a swathe of condensation. His gaze bore deeper into mine, before dropping down my body, and I watched him suck in a pained breath. His eyes were twin pools of turbulent hunger when they met mine again. ‘Please,’ he gritted out.

My hands were nowhere near steady as I plucked a towel off the heated rail and took a step towards the stall door.

The steam was fast dissipating, revealing more of Gideon’s mouth-watering body. In another minute he’d be fully exposed to me.

For another tense few seconds, we stared at each other.

Then those sleek fingers pushed the glass door open and, eyes still holding mine, he held out his hand.

My arm extended but I didn’t let go. Couldn’t. We stayed connected, our breathing turning more frantic as seconds ticked by.

When he snapped the towel from my fingers it was like a gunshot in the heated room.

I didn’t linger to watch him wrap the towel around his lean hips, or step out of the stall. But as I walked away, I knew I’d never been more turned on in my life. Never wanted to fuck another man the way I wanted to fuck Gideon Mortimer.

CHAPTER THREE

Gideon

AFTER TWO LONG weeks of self-enforced celibacy—maddening, unrealistic and utterly fucked-up celibacy I’d imposed on myself because I’d never been a half-measures kind of guy—the delicious challenge of Leonora Branson was like a shot of morphine in my bloodstream.

Hell, she’d nearly made me blow my load with that ‘say please’ shit.

I’d never begged for anything in my life.

She’d made me want to beg. For the damned towel and a whole lot more besides. It was that combination of sexy stubbornness and pure defiance that did it. Not to mention that unfettered boldness.

But if I was honest, she’d floored me back at the airport by being the polar opposite of what I’d expected. Her stiff intransigence over the phone had reminded me of a schoolmistress, and instead she’d turned out to be a nineteen fifties pin-up bombshell.

Simply put, Leonora Branson—even her name was cruelly deceptive—was too bloody gorgeous for her own good. Coupled with the intelligence that shone from her eyes and her impressive achievements with such a new business success, it was enough to throw me seriously off guard.

It was almost amusing that she was doing her damnedest to wrestle all that brain power and fist-biting perfection into a military-like Armani suit. Leonora would command attention adorned in a sack and still have sex-starved fuckers like me at her mercy.

Or seconds away from stroking their cocks in the shower in full view of her.

Bloody hell.

I sucked in a shaky breath, knew that if I didn’t shut off the image of those wide, delicious ocean-blue eyes, I’d come all over the bathroom tiles.

Her expression was cool and collected when I stepped into the living room five minutes later, save for the telltale pulse beat at her throat. I barely managed to resist the urge to test her resolve.

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