‘I will consider doing the campaign—seriously consider it—if you sleep with me.’

Ross almost looked around, in the vague hope that someone else had suddenly joined the conversation, because he could not believe that those words had come from his own mouth. What an idiot.

He looked at Ally, who looked as shocked as he was feeling. He expected her to make a fish noise at any minute. The words had slipped out. He’d been thinking them, but he normally managed to keep his thoughts behind his teeth. It was pushing her into a corner, asking her to go beyond the call of duty. Of course she would say no—probably at the same time that she threw that glass of red wine in his face.

And he would so deserve it. What was he thinking? Oh, wait … Maybe he wasn’t thinking … maybe he was allowing his little head to do the talking.

Ally just stared at him with her surprised fish face and he shifted in his chair. He wished she would say something and give him a hint of the amount of crap he’d just jumped into.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘Sorry. That was …’

‘Rude? Inappropriate? Offensive?’ Ally tapped her finger against the white tablecloth.

‘All of the above?’

‘Damn right.’

She shrugged a slim shoulder and smiled. Smiled?

‘Okay, let’s go.’

Whoa! Stop the bus! She was prepared to do this? Had he heard her correctly? No, he couldn’t have.

‘Seriously?’

Dear Reader

I have a crazy life. I have a day job, I write, and I run after my two very busy, sociable children. Like millions of woman the world over I am a master juggler, and I like to think that most days I have a reasonable balance between working and writing and being an involved mum. But I have to admit that while I was writing MORE THAN A FLING? I frequently dropped the balls of my life and as a result felt stressed and on edge.

And that’s why I found the character of Ally so easy to write. It’s easy to lose your balance and become super-involved in your career (or your children, or both) and forget to feed your soul. Showing Ally the error of her workaholic ways was fun, and as I got her life on track mine became easier too.

Ross is the exact opposite of Ally, and it’s through him that she realises her job isn’t everything, and that love and fun are far more important. Love and fun are always more important.

Wishing you happy reading!

With my best wishes

Joss

xxx

PS Come and say hi via Facebook: Joss Wood Author, Twitter: @josswoodbooks or at www.josswoodbooks.com

More Than

a Fling?

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum Joss, with her background in business and marketing, works for a non-profit organisation to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.

Other Modern Tempted™ titles by Joss Wood:

FLIRTING WITH THE FORBIDDEN

THE LAST GUY SHE SHOULD CALL

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT …

This and other titles by Joss Wood are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to two people who were taken from us far too soon.

To Robbie Adam, the Third Earl of Thornham, who lost his life spear fishing off the coast of Madagascar …

I swear we could hear your laughter whistling through the trees at Thornham yesterday.

And to Jenny Heske—wild woman, sage, free spirit, soul sister—who passed away in October 2013 at the Norman Carr Cottage, Namakoma Bay, Malawi.

Smart, funny, brave and so, so wise.

Our kids adored you, as did Vaughan and I.

You will always be our Lady of the Lake.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

ONE

‘Getting slow boss?’

Ross Bennett slapped the ball from his opponent’s hands and dropped a three-pointer into the basket. He flashed a relieved smile.

‘Does that look slow?’ he demanded, hands on his hips.

‘Lucky,’ was the quick response and Ross snorted.

It was, actually, since it was the only basket he’d landed in ten minutes. Either his geeks were getting better or he was getting old and slow; he chose to believe that they were getting better.

Despite the fact that he was getting his ass handed to him on the makeshift basketball court abutting his building by two kids just into their twenties, Ross Bennett was having a good day. It would be better if his guys were actually doing some brainstorming on the post-apocalyptic world that was integral to the new game they were designing—rebuilding the world after the apocalypse while fighting pockets of evil zombies and ghouls was not easy!—instead of having so much fun running rings around him.

‘Hey, I don’t mind you playing, but you’ve got to do some work too,’ he stated as they regrouped. ‘If you’re not going to try and come up with ideas for our destroyed world then get your asses back to your desk.’

He saw a couple of sheepish looks and heard one ‘Sorry boss...’ and hid his smile. These guys were some of his best recruits and weren’t sorry at all.

Ross felt his mobile vibrate in the pocket of his combat shorts and pulled it out. Lifting it up to his ear, he mouthed zombies versus ghouls at his staff and gestured them to carry on playing while he took his call. ‘Bennett.’

‘Ross, darling.’

Ross sighed at the dulcet tones of his mother. ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Hi, baby.’

Thirty-three years old and he would always be her baby. Mothers. ‘What’s up?’

‘I was wondering when you might be coming back home...back to London?’

‘Is there a problem. Is Dad okay?’ Since his father had had a heart attack a couple of months back it was a valid question.

‘No, he’s fine. Back to work.’

Back to work: such an innocuous phrase, except when used in relation to Jonas Bennett. Ross felt the familiar burn of resentment and anger.

‘I was just hoping that you might come back for Hope’s thirtieth birthday.’

His little sister was thirty? How had that happened? ‘I hadn’t really thought about it, Mum. What are you planning?’

‘A family dinner.’

Since he was no longer part of the family her statement was wildly optimistic. Ross lifted his face to the spring sunlight and pushed his long, sun-streaked hair back from his face. ‘Mum, I’m happy to have dinner with you and Hope any time it suits you, but I’m not ready to break bread with Dad yet.’

‘Will you ever be? Will this stupid cold war ever end?’

Her guess was as good as his. It wasn’t up to him. ‘I don’t know, Mum.’

‘I hate being in the middle of you two,’ Meg Bennett complained.

Then stop putting yourself into the middle, where you’re going to get squashed like a bug, Ross silently told her.

‘Can’t you just apologise, Ross? You know how stubborn he is. Just apologise and he’ll forgive you. You’ll be part of the family again, he’ll reinstate your position at Bennett Inc., and give you your trust fund back...’

I’d rather swallow poisonous tree frogs.

Ross dragged his hand through his hair. His father, and clearly his mother, thought that his inheritance, his trust fund and his position as the heir apparently were all-important, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. His independence was far more valuable to him any day of the week.

He didn’t need his father’s money or approval...he just needed his freedom. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. ‘Mum, I’m not discussing this anymore. I’ve got to go, so...’

Ross listened to her goodbyes and rested his mobile against his forehead. Then he shoved the phone into the back pocket of his shorts and tossed Table Mountain a look.

It glinted purple and green today, and was without the tablecloth cloud that was frequently draped over it. It was one hell of a view, he thought. He could look at Table Mountain from his office and the Atlantic Ocean seaboard from his house—two of the many reasons he loved Cape Town. Another reason was the fact that it was halfway down the world, so he didn’t have to deal with his mother’s nagging face to face. He liked Cape Town, liked the laid-back, artistic vibe, and he had no problem attracting young people to live here as it was consistently rated as one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

What was more, when he’d been trying to establish RB Media the pounds he’d saved had gone a lot further in this city than they would have done in London, and that was what had initially attracted him here.

Ross looked back towards his huge, multi-functional building and felt a flicker of pride.

RBM was his—achieved through blood, sweat, swearing and—although he’d never openly admit it—a couple of angry tears. Despite the fact that his father had predicted his failure, he now owned one of the most respected games and animation development studios in the world, had the most successful game on the market—Win!—and employed some of the brightest, and craziest minds in the business.

And housed on the top floor of the building was his baby: Crazy Collaborations. It funded projects—water purification, renewable energy, search and rescue detection systems—that could really make a difference in the world.

Yeah, it was all good—even if he still had to endure his mother’s incessant nagging. It would be even better if his guys would stop nattering like old ladies about women—what else?—and do some work.

His geeks were suddenly silent and Ross looked around to see what had grabbed their attention this time. Silently he whistled behind his teeth.

Right, so that was why their tongues were dragging on the floor—and he couldn’t blame them.

Light brown and gold streaky hair pulled back into a bun, sexy black nerd glasses, a knee-length black skirt that hugged surprisingly curvy hips and pulled the eyes down to the most stupendous pair of legs he’d ever seen. Those pins ended in a pair of red heels that seemed to be attached to her feet by magic. The buttons of a classic white open-neck button-down shirt hinted at the lacy bra beneath.

She looked like the hot, sexy, nerdy librarian of his teenage fantasies, who pulled unsuspecting students behind the bookshelves to shove her tongue down their throats.

He felt a flicker in his trousers and reluctantly admitted that maybe he hadn’t left that fantasy behind in his teens.

Her body rocked, but it was her face that kept his feet glued to the floor.

It was a knock-your-socks-off face—high cheekbones, made-for-sin mouth and a straight nose—a nose that was lifted high enough to give her altitude sickness.

The noise of the traffic from the road behind them faded as she approached him on those barely there, utterly ridiculous, spiked scarlet heels. Her scent reached him first: a light, citrus, grassy scent that made him think of sunshine and light. Those eyes behind her glasses—real? Fake? Who cared?—were a deep, deep blue. Both guarded and, he thought, irritated. And on closer inspection a little shadowed and baggy... Hot Librarian looked as if she needed a couple of nights of getting a solid eight.

‘Ross Bennett?’

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Alyssa—Ally—Jones. You’re a hard man to get hold of, Mr Bennett.’

Good grief, Mr Bennett? That catapulted him straight back to Bennett Inc. and yanked bile up into the back of his throat.

‘I’ve sent you no less than three e-mails and left countless requests on your mobile and answering machine for you to call me back. Don’t you have a personal assistant?’

Ross frowned. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Bellechier.’

Right—the clothing and accessories company. Swiss-based, very upmarket. He recalled the messages, the requests for a meeting to talk about branding and franchise opportunities. He wasn’t interested. Bigger and better brands had approached him and he’d refused them all, but he had to admit it was amusing to see exceptionally well-dressed corporate drones jump through hoops to impress him.

Ross watched as her eyes slowly swept his body, taking in his red V-neck T-shirt, cargo shorts and battered trainers. Just to see her reaction, he dipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulled out the band he kept there and tied the top section of his hair off his face.

Judging by the slight lift of her nose, Ms Prissy liked short, back and sides... She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head like an inquisitive bird.

Suddenly he felt like a piece of prime rib being judged for its freshness. If that interest was sexual he wouldn’t mind so much, but her intelligent eyes were all business.

‘Shorter hair would suit you better,’ she said after a long pause. ‘But long hair works with the bad-boy CEO vibe you have going. I’m glad you lost the goatee, though.’

Ross wanted to look around to make sure that she was still talking about him. Bad-boy CEO? Seriously? Surely a bold geometric tattoo on his right forearm and long hair didn’t make him bad-ass these days? In the nineteen-fifties, maybe.

As for the scruff she’d called a goatee—he hadn’t had one for over a year. And this conversation was starting to get weird...

‘Uh...’

He caught the snort of one of his employees and without dropping his eyes from her face, he told them all to get back to their desks. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Alyssa—Ally—pulled her bottom lip between her thumb and fingers. It made no sense that he wanted his lips where her fingers were, doing what her fingers were doing... What the hell?

Was it five degrees hotter out here than it had been ten minutes ago?

‘You might just do...’ Ally murmured.

Boy Wonder in his pants perked up and looked around. Who’s doing what to who? Can I join in? Hell, he was an embarrassment to suave single guys the world over.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do you always talk in riddles?’

She flashed a row of small, white, even teeth and two shallow dimples appeared, one on each side of her mouth. He’d always been a sucker for dimples...

‘Sorry... So, can we chat? Or can we make a time to chat if now doesn’t work for you?’

Okay, persistent and gorgeous. Ack.

‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude...’ But he would be if he had to. ‘If I didn’t respond to your sixty e-mails and ten thousand phone calls, don’t you think that’s a solid clue that I’m not interested?’

‘I don’t hear “no” so well.’

That, he thought, was a solid gold truth. Actually, he instinctively knew that she didn’t hear ‘no’ at all. And here he was—someone who never did anything he didn’t want to do and never, ever followed the herd.

A saying popped into his head: irresistible force meets immovable object.

‘How did you get my personal mobile and e-mail address, by the way?’

Slim shoulders lifted and fell. ‘I know people who know people,’ she said mysteriously.

He wondered if he would ever get a straight answer out of her.

Anyway, as fun as it was, trading barbs with this gorgeous, ultra-feminine woman—she was a girly girl from her perfect make-up and tousled hair to her dainty toes—he had things to do. ‘Got to get back to work. Enjoy your trip back to wherever you came from.’

‘Geneva—and you haven’t heard my proposal yet.’

‘Nor do I intend to. The Bellechier brand is old-school—slick and snobby. It’s everything that Win! is not.’

She had the temerity to look insulted. ‘Excuse me?’

All five and a half feet of her—in heels—vibrated with indignation.

‘Bellechier is one of the most iconic clothing and accessories brands in the world... I’m wearing Bellechier!’

Ross deliberately yawned.

‘It’s sophisticated!’ Ally protested.

‘Dull,’ Ross countered, just to be argumentative. Okay, not the shoes, but everything else was. He was really enjoying the sparkle in those fire-blue eyes, the flush on her prominent cheekbones, watching her fight to keep her irritation under control. Damn, she was hot.

‘Why would you even consider linking Bellechier with Win!? They have nothing in common.’

‘They do! Of course they do—or else I wouldn’t have travelled twelve hours to see you.’

He tipped his head enquiringly. ‘Are you on crack?’

‘Hey! I’m not the one playing basketball at—’ she snapped a look at her watch ‘—twelve fifteen on a Wednesday morning in this heat! That’s insane!’

‘I suspect that my playing basketball when I should be working is what most offends your corporate sensibilities.’

He hadn’t thought that nose could be lifted any higher but she managed it.

‘I don’t care how you spend your time, or whether you give yourself heatstroke. I just want an opportunity to talk to you about a campaign.’

Ally looked away and he sensed that she was trying to keep her cool. When she looked at him again her face was devoid of expression but her eyes were still spitting spiders.

‘This isn’t the way I envisaged this conversation going... I don’t normally end up in arguments with potential ambassadors in the first five minutes of meeting them.’

‘You do it so well,’ Ross said, his voice super-bland. Time to stop baiting her, he thought. Jamming his hands into his pockets of his cargo shorts, he rocked on his heels. ‘Let’s get this over with, Ms Jones. Even if I was interested in exploring branding opportunities, I don’t see any obvious link between Win! and Bellechier. So—not interested.’

Ally chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘That’s not what my brother Luc thinks. He sends his regards, by the way.’

Luc? Did he know a Luc? A memory of meeting someone called Luc at his old school friend James Moreau’s thirtieth birthday party drifted into his head. And later at James’ sister Morgan’s wedding...

‘Luc? Tall, dark, partial to smokin’ hot blondes?’

Ally nodded. ‘That’s the one. Luc Bellechier-Smith—CEO, my boss and foster brother.’

Huh. He’d instinctively liked Luc—liked the Frenchman’s passion and sense of humour, his quick mind. He couldn’t imagine how and why he’d ended up having Miss Carrot-Up-Her-Bum for a sister—fostered or not.

‘What do you for the company?’

‘Brand and Image Director. Marketing and PR all falls under me.’

‘And it was his idea to approach me?’ he asked, now puzzled. He’d thought that Luc was smarter than that.

‘Yes. We’re talking at cross-purposes due to the fact that we got distracted,’ she said, implying that the distraction was all his fault. ‘We’re launching a new line...would you give me five minutes to explain? Properly?’ Ally looked at the building behind him. ‘Preferably inside, where I presume it’s cooler?’

‘Here is good.’ He was far too attracted to her as it was, and he really didn’t want to extend this torture session any longer. What was wrong with him? He knew women—knew how to deal with them, how to control his reaction to them. They never made him feel off balance, slightly crazy.

‘A boardroom would be better,’ Ally countered.

His eyes narrowed in warning and he knew that she’d caught the hint when she wrinkled her nose.

‘Okay, here it is, then. Never mind that my nose is going to burn and I’m going to freckle...’

He looked for freckles and could find the hint of them under her make-up. On her nose, across her cheeks.

‘Bellechier is launching a new line—’ Ally’s opening gambit was drowned out by a piercing whistle from a balcony on the second storey of RBM.

Ross excused himself and walked quickly towards the building. Eli, his friend and number two, stood gripping the balcony railing, an anxious look on his face.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Jac-tech have picked up a bug in that app we sent them to test and they are not happy. You need to smooth some ruffled feathers, pronto,’ Eli told him, waving his hands in the air.

Along with computer games, RBM also designed game apps for smartphones. It was a very lucrative part of their business.

‘It’s a brand new app...we told them it would have bugs.’ Ross slammed his hands on his hips. ‘Who has their panties in a wad? The suits or the tech?’

‘Suits,’ Eli replied. ‘Who else?’

Ross yanked the band from his hair and raked his hand through it. ‘Figures. Why can’t they keep their noses out of it?’

‘Because they are power-hungry control freaks?’ Eli threw his words back at him. ‘Get your ass up here and deal with it. I’m in development, you deal with the suits.’

‘Yeah, coming.’

Eli jerked his head. ‘Who’s the babe?’

Ross grinned and dropped his voice. ‘Another co-branding offer. Give me two minutes and tell Grace to video conference Paul at Jac-tech.’

Eli saluted and turned away. Conscious of the dull headache brewing behind his eyes, Ross spun around and walked back to the source of the pain in his butt. ‘I have to go.’

‘But—’

He should just tell her to get lost, that he wasn’t interested in any branding deals, but there was something about her—apart from her space-high hot factor—that intrigued him. It was those eyes, he realised, the layers and layers of blue. Confidence, sassiness, intelligence, and once or twice a flash of something deeper, darker. Wilder...

He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

‘The Riebeek.’

Of course she was. Stately, old, rich... His mouth twitched. It suited the boring clothes and the severe hair, but not the shoes. Those shoes intrigued the hell out of him. ‘Be in the lobby bar at seven-thirty. You can buy me a drink and have your five minutes.’

‘At least thirty minutes if I’m buying,’ Ally stated, in a don’t-mess-with-me voice.

‘Fifteen.’ Ross countered, backing away.

‘Twenty.’

‘Twenty minutes, two drinks.’ Ross whirled around and walked away. At the door, he glanced over his shoulder and sent her a wicked grin. ‘Kick-ass shoes, by the way.’

‘They’re from the new line—the one we want you to endorse. It’s not boring or snooty!’ Ally shouted at his back.

Ross had to smile.

He liked women who could think on their feet. And women with dimples.

* * *

Sitting at the long dark bar in the hotel that evening, Ally felt out of her depth—and she knew that it was all Ross Bennett’s fault.

She crossed one leg over the other and stared at her glass of icy white wine. She’d completely cocked up their first meeting and that never happened to her... She was always professional, calm and collected. She just hadn’t expected the CEO of RBM to be playing basketball at noon and looking so...

Incredible? Amazing? So super-freaking-perfect that her heart had tripped over itself and bounced off the inside of her ribcage? Ally bit the inside of her lip. Within ten seconds of seeing him she’d known that Ross Bennett had the elusive X-factor she needed for the face of the new line. In fact he had it in spades—along with the sexy-factor and the hot-factor and any other damn factor she needed. That meant that Luc and Patric—the know-it-alls—had, essentially, done her job for her.

Ross would be abso-freaking-lutely perfect as the new face of Bellechier. If she, social hermit that she was, was conjuring up fantasies of ripping his clothes off with her teeth and getting him naked and on top of her as soon as humanly possible, then normal women—and not a few men—would do the same when they saw the commercials. At the very least it would make them buy Bellechier...

Lots and lots of Bellechier products. Holy smoke. The couple of random pictures she’d found on the net had not done justice to the sheer presence of the guy. He practically radiated charisma and testosterone and heat and sexiness, and that meant...dammit...that meant Luc and Patric were right.

Blergh.

Ally glanced at her watch, realised that she still had a while to wait for Ross and returned to the primary source of her aggravation—specifically her brothers. Ally wrinkled her nose, as always uncomfortable with the word. She wasn’t technically their sister—because the Bellechier-Smith family had never formally adopted her—but she had been part of their family since she was fifteen years old so what else could she call them? Anyway, they were the reason she was in Cape Town, and she was not amused because she now had to eat her words.

She hated it when that happened.

She adored Luc and Patric, and she knew that they were fond of her, but they weren’t close. When she’d arrived at Bellechier Estate as their foster sister they’d both been at university and living their own lives. To their credit, they had initially tried to connect with her but she’d been distant and wary and had resisted their easily offered comfort and compassion.

Because pushing people away and stuffing her emotions down rather than expressing them was what she had been taught to do. Her father’s motto had always been: Buck up, don’t cry, deal with it. That was just what he’d done when her mother had dumped on him the six-month-old daughter he’d never known about, and she supposed that was the way he’d dealt with life. How well he had taught her to do the same.

After losing her dad at fifteen, it had been easier, and far less scary, to withdraw into the bubble of self-sufficiency and emotional independence she’d created while living with her introverted, just-deal-with-it father. Thirteen years later and that bubble now had the thickness of a Sherman tank.

She’d had some therapy, and had attended sessions long enough to learn that she was ‘emotionally unavailable’—that her father’s insistence that emotions were wrong had, in the therapist’s words, ‘mucked her up’ for life. He had tolerated her only if she was reasonable and unemotional and, despite her foster parents’ encouragement to express and display her emotions, she’d never quite got the hang of it.

Emotions were messy and ugly. Indulging in them, allowing them to be a factor in her life, was like climbing into a small car the size of a sardine can and playing chicken with a F-17 fighter jet. Something was going to crash and burn and it wouldn’t be the fighter jet. No, it was far better to be sensible and safe.

Why was she even thinking about her past? Ally wondered, switching her thoughts back to the task on hand. She was good at that, she thought with a twist to her lips. She could always focus on work...it was the best way to distract herself from the memories and to keep her from thinking how empty her life was. Work was where she found silent companionship, where she felt safe, needed and valued. It was a harmless place to invest time and emotions.

So, Ross Bennett... He wasn’t a celebrity, an actor, a musician or a sportsperson. He was—she glanced at the folder on the seat next to her—an entrepreneur and the creator of a computer game. A computer game that was selling squijillions, apparently.

Ally recalled the conversation at a family dinner a couple of nights ago that had led to her leaving Geneva and heading south.

‘Run it by me again, Luc.’

Luc had tapped the stem of his glass with his finger. ‘Today’s heroes are not always sportsmen or actors or models. There are others who are doing amazing things...explorers, eco-warriors, conservationists.’

‘Titans, pioneers, visionaries...’ Patric added, leaning forward and placing his arms on the table. ‘Social media has changed the way we live our lives.’

‘Computers, gaming, technology.’ Luc snapped his fingers. ‘Entertainment, but not films or music.’ Luc’s face broke out into a smile as he snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it... That’s who I want.’

Oh, good grief, Ally thought, this is going to come out from left of field—far, far left. ‘Who?’

‘Ross Bennett.’ Patric leaned back in his chair and Luc raised his hand to high-five his brother. ‘Well, him and his game.’

‘Win!?’ Patric asked.

‘Win!’ Luc confirmed.

Patric whistled. ‘That’s pure genius.’

Win what? Ally wondered, seeing Luc’s satisfied smile. She exchanged a confused look with Gina, Patric’s wife. ‘Who?’

‘Ross Bennett,’ Luc said, as if she hadn’t heard the first time. ‘Win!’

‘Win what?’ Ally demanded, frustrated. ‘Stop talking in code!’

‘Ross is an ex-London-based entrepreneur who relocated to Cape Town. He is responsible for bringing some of the brightest computer geeks in the world together to create the best-selling computer game...ever. It’s a sports and leisure game called Win! He’s recently been named one of the most influential people in the world under thirty-five. He is also the founder of... Jeez, I can’t remember its name. but it’s some kind of technology think-tank that takes the brightest of the bunch—inventors, visionaries—and lets them work on developing new tech and systems to benefit developing countries.’

Blah, blah, Ally thought, scrabbling in her bag for her smartphone. ‘Yeah, but is he hot?’ She caught the dual rolling of eyes and prayed for patience. ‘He’s selling one of the most iconic brands in the world, hot is the minimum I require!’

‘He’s tall.’ Luc offered.

God save her from cretins, Ally thought, pulling up her search engine and typing his name in. Twenty seconds later her small screen was filled with a masculine, angular face dominated by a long nose and a rather gorgeous pair of hazel eyes. The goatee would have to go, and the highlights in his brown hair would need to be redone or taken out altogether. He wasn’t, looks-wise, in the league of their other ambassadors—although she was, admittedly, making that call on the basis of a couple of grainy photos on a very small screen.

But still...on a scale of one to ten he clocked in at seven, eight... She needed at the very least a twelve.

‘Jeez, Luc, I really don’t think so.’ Ally thought that they needed to play it safe, stick to what was trusted and true. ‘He just isn’t popping for me.’

Yeah, he was cute—but cute didn’t sell high-end merchandise. ‘Look, if you want someone different, who’s related to sports, then I’ll have another list of suitable candidates by morning. Suave, debonair, sophisticated candidates who match the brand.’

‘I don’t want someone who matches the brand. I want someone who brings a little extra. My gut instinct tells me that this is the guy,’ Luc stated, his voice taking on that tone that suggested that he was digging his feet in. ‘He’s a new breed of CEO—part bad-ass—’

Patric leaned across the table to interrupt him. ‘Did you hear about how he walked into a meeting with the boss of the biggest movie studio in Hollywood and then refused to give them the rights to adapt Win! into a movie because they were too—as he later explained— “up their own ass corporate”?’

‘I read that he’s sold the rights to an independent, small company because they understand the vision of Win!. He’s very determined, very focused, and he marches to the beat of his own drum.’

Direct translation, Ally thought, prima donna. Just what she needed.

‘Luc, trust me on this. He’s not the right guy,’ Ally said in her most rational voice. She didn’t work well with people who coloured outside the lines. They confused her.

‘No, Alyssa, trust me,’ Luc responded. ‘I’ve met him a couple of times and I thinks he’s exactly who we are looking for. He’s rich and successful in his own right, even though he comes from a wealthy family. He’s in touch with a new generation of tech-savvy people who have money. He’s charismatic and interesting. I want you to go to Cape Town, meet the guy, and if you still think he’s the wrong choice then we’ll talk again.’

The wrong choice? Ally now thought. Hah! The perfect choice.

Her mobile rang and she glanced down at the name that flashed on the screen. Luc...of course. She slid her finger across the screen and answered the call.

‘Where are you?’

‘Waiting to meet Ross Bennett again,’ Ally replied in a resigned voice. ‘He’s a strong candidate.’

‘I am the man!’ Luc crowed with a loud, undignified whoop. Ally hoped that he was alone in his office and that nobody could hear his self-congratulations. ‘And that is why they pay me the big bucks, ladies and gentlemen!’

‘Yeah, Luc.... You are the man,’ Ally grumbled. ‘Luc one, Ally zero.’

Luc was silent for a minute before he spoke again. ‘Ally, you can’t possibly be upset because I had an idea that panned out...can you?’

‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted.

Luc’s chuckle was warm and affectionate in her ear. ‘You are such a pork chop, kid. We run Bellechier as a team effort—you know this. I might be the CEO but I frequently ask my dad for help and advice. When Patric gets stuck on a design he calls our mother and they talk it through. You can’t find the face and we’re trying to help you out. When are you going to stop taking everything so personally, sweetheart?’

But it was personal. Because if she wasn’t performing at a hundred per cent she was failing them, wasn’t she? They’d given her so much, and since she couldn’t give them what they most wanted—her thoughts and feelings—she gave them what she could—her labour and her loyalty. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise...you’ve done nothing wrong!’

His words were kind but Ally could imagine Luc shoving his hand into his coal-black hair in frustration. She frequently frustrated her very emotionally expressive and intelligent family. Dammit.

She looked for an excuse to end this conversation. ‘I’m just a bit tired, Luc.’

‘Tired, thin...probably undernourished. You’re working far too hard and you are going to burn out, Alyssa. And then Maman is going to kill me!’

Back to this old chestnut... She’d always been thin—that was nothing new. And, yes, she was working hard, but she always had. ‘Luc, I’m fine! How many times do I have to say it?’

‘We don’t believe you...mostly because you look like a panda and you barely touched your food the other night. Are you coping at work?’

Ally’s eyes narrowed as the barman topped up her wine and she sent him a grateful smile. ‘Do you have any complaints?’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Then I’m coping at work.’

Ally heard the long breath he expelled. ‘You are the reason I don’t have a girlfriend, Ally; I spend too much emotional energy worrying about you.’

Ally had to smile at that. ‘Rubbish. You don’t have a girlfriend because you have a low boredom threshold.’

‘That too. Listen, with Ross try your best, okay? Be charming...funny...because despite the fact that you are as prickly as a hedgehog I know you can be both. Je t’adore, Alyssa.’

She wished she could give him those words back but, as always, they stuck in her throat.

‘Bye, Luc.’

Luc disconnected and Ally dropped her phone into her bag. Her brothers: good-looking, smart, kind. Even if she was prepared to get involved with a man, could get involved, she’d probably still be single because they’d set the bar extremely high.

One day maybe she’d feel brave enough to try to find a man who matched up. Maybe one day she’d have the time to try. One day.

But not any time soon.

TWO

‘Something with your wine?’

Ally looked up into those amazing green-brown-gold eyes and her heart kerplopped in her chest again. His caramel-brown hair was squeaky clean and had been left to curl down his strong neck. Even in the low light of the bar she could see the sun-kissed blond streaks and tips. Too natural to have come out of a salon, she decided, and he didn’t seem to be the type to fuss. He’d removed the two-day-old shadow off his face—sadly, in her opinion—and his cargo pants and vivid red tee had been replaced with a very nice fitted pair of dark jeans and a loose button-down black linen shirt, the cuffs of which he’d rolled up his tanned arms.

Oh, yeah...he so had the X-factor and the Y-factor...and the make-her-hum-factor.

‘Ally?’

The way he said her name, in his deep, quizzical voice, had her pulling herself together. ‘Wine... Hi... The wine is fine. Why do you ask?’

‘You were scowling into it.’ Ross slid onto the stool next to her and ordered a beer from the bartender. Then he turned back to her and made a big point of inspecting her from top to toe. ‘You surprise me, Jones. I was expecting another black and white combo. Nice.’

So he’d noticed...good. Changing his perception about Bellechier—that it was snooty and snobby—was her first goal, and that was why she’d deliberately chosen a very different outfit for this evening. He needed to see that their new line was fun and casual and would suit his obviously casual approach to life and work.

So as part of her strategy for the evening she wore the only dress she had brought with her: a short, flouncy cobalt number that was trimmed in black and cinched in at the waist with a funky silver belt. It also happened to come from the new line they were launching in a few months’ time.

This morning she’d wanted to look professional, and had opted for one of her many easy to wear, smart but comfortable outfits that travelled well. But tonight Ross Bennett needed to get a sense of the line, an idea of what they wanted him to promote, so she’d slipped on the dress and teamed it with another pair of kick-butt shoes. She’d just forgotten how damn short it was.

Now she resisted the urge to pull the skirt towards her knees. She was not comfortable in anything that only hit midthigh and felt particularly conscious of the amount of time Ross was spending looking at her legs.

It made her feel squirmy and hot, unsettled. Dammit, she wanted him to think about the line, about business, not her legs.

Ally flushed under his scrutiny. ‘Thank you. This dress is from the new line we’d like you to endorse.’

‘Okay, not what I expected.’ Ross smiled his thanks as his beer was placed in front of him. ‘And that’s a damn nice watch you’re wearing—very unusual. Is it also part of the line?

‘No.’ Ally looked down at the man’s watch that dangled on her wrist. Flipping it around, she touched the face with its very distinctive dial and ran her finger around the oyster-style band. ‘It was my dad’s—the first Bellechier watch he owned. He bought it before he even started working for Bellechier.’

‘Your real dad or foster dad?’

From a flyaway comment of hers he’d remembered that she was fostered. That was impressive, she thought. ‘My real dad. He was CFO of Bellechier for ten years and Justin Smith’s best friend.’

Ross frowned. ‘Justin Smith? Don’t know him. How does he fit into the picture?’

Ally sipped her wine before she explained. ‘Quick Bellechier history lesson: Sabine Bellechier is my foster mum and her great-grandfather established Bellechier watches in the early twentieth century. Sabine was an only child and she inherited Bellechier. She fell in love with the Bellechier Sales Director—Justin Smith. Justin then took over the CEO position and together they expanded into apparel and accessories. Their sons, Luc and Patric, have a double-barrelled surname: Bellechier-Smith.’

‘Ah, okay. I get it.’ Ross nodded at her wrist. ‘So how did your dad die? And when?’

Ally’s mouth dropped open. ‘God, you are so nosy!’

‘Then tell me to butt out.’

‘Butt out,’ Ally shot back, but she couldn’t help but like his straightforward attitude. After the fake politeness she endured day after day it was refreshing.

She leaned back in her chair and played with her belt buckle. The words were out of her mouth before she could haul them back.

‘He died of a heart attack when I was fifteen.’

In a foreign country halfway across the world. But Ross didn’t need to know that—and, besides, she never spoke about those dark weeks after his death. To anyone.

‘My mother left when I was a baby.’

‘That sucks,’ Ross said with no hint of morbidity, which she appreciated. After a little silence he sent her a mischievous look. ‘You can ask me about my family if you want to. I might not answer, but you can ask.’

‘Thank you, but I’m not nosy. And I’d really prefer it if we kept this conversation to the business at hand.’ Mostly because she wanted to ask him a whole bunch of personal questions...which was very, very out of character for her. She’d learnt a long time ago about the notion of quid pro quo.

Ross slapped his hand on his chest. ‘Ouch. Touché.’ He rested his elbow on the bar and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘So, no personal stuff. Damn, that’s boring. Are we going to talk about clothes now?’

‘No, the campaign.’

‘Ugh,’ Ross replied, taking a long swallow of his beer. ‘Let’s go back to talking about your clothes, then. Specifically these shoes of yours. How the hell do you keep them on your feet?’

‘You’re beginning to sound like you’re slightly obsessed with my clothes,’ Ally said, and made the mistake of slamming her eyes up to his. Green deepened to gold as she watched them heat and she could almost hear his words... I’m obsessed with getting you out of them.

Oh, wait—maybe that was her silently saying, yelling, panting that phrase. But there was definitely heat in his gaze...something she was pretty sure she hadn’t imagined.

Ross just looked at her as she fumbled around for something to say. She was so out of practice with this man-woman attraction thing, Lord, she hadn’t even been on a proper date since who could remember when.

Blow her down with a feather... And that made her imagine Ross drifting a feather over her torso, lower, lower, and following its path with his wicked mouth.

Feeling herself starting to ignite from the inside out, she fumbled for her wine glass, lifted it up to her lips and allowed the icy liquid to slip down her throat. She drained the glass and gestured to the bartender for a refill.

‘I would pay a lot of money to be on the road trip you just went on,’ Ross drawled in a husky voice...a bedroom voice.

‘Uh, yeah...sorry about that.’ Ally shook her head and held up her hand. ‘Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to...take a...Ladies’.’

Ross stood up as she did and somewhere, in a part of her brain that still had some sort of cognitive thinking, she appreciated his manners. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, she quickly walked over to the Ladies’ restroom, slammed the door open and paced the small area in front of the basins.

She wanted him in the worst take-me-now, stop-this-throbbing way. Every pore on her skin was prickling, and she was intensely aware of every breath he took, each flick of his eyelids, every movement of his strong thighs, each bob of his throat. His deep voice sneaked into places that had been so cold for so long and set her nerve-endings on fire...

She wanted to ask him up to her room for a one-night stand and the thought terrified and shocked her. They hadn’t even discussed the launch of the new line, but at this moment it didn’t matter and she so didn’t care.

Ally shoved her hands into her hair and pulled. She’d never not cared. Who was this stranger in her head?

Ally looked at herself in the mirror above the sink and didn’t recognise the flushed, wild-eyed woman looking back at her. Lifting her finger to her lips, she closed her eyes in horror. This crazy, sexy-looking woman wasn’t her. She looked out of control and fairly unhinged.

Ally ran the tap and flicked some cold water onto her cheeks, patting them dry with a paper towel, taking long deep breaths to get her heart-rate to slow down. She didn’t do crazy and she didn’t do unhinged and she didn’t put herself into situations that could get complicated...

And she never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. Or she wouldn’t if she allowed herself to have a social life.

She’d never felt so attracted to a man. He set her libido alight with his masculinity and his hottie factor, and she could dismiss that a lot more easily if she wasn’t so mentally attracted to him. She liked the fact that he was an alpha male—smart, decisive, mentally strong. He was a lot like her brothers and it annoyed her—scared her, kicked her off-balance—to realise that he would be the type of man she’d look for in the future, if or when she got her act together.

Well, this wasn’t the right time, and she wasn’t ready for a relationship.

But Ross isn’t about a relationship, her lady bits protested. He is pure lust...biology at its most basic form. He would be about pleasure and relief and hot, raw sex...we could do with a whole bunch of that!

Ally gripped the edges of a basin and dropped her head. Even if she threw every caution she had to the wind—and she had a truckload—she might still have to work with him. Because, despite his current opinion, Win! was a perfect match to their new line, and it was her job to convince him of that. She was good at her job and she rarely failed. So when Ross became the new face of Bellechier it would be rather awkward to work with him and keep a ‘pretend you haven’t licked me from top to toe’ expression on her face.

Because she just knew that he would lick her from top to toe. And back up again...lingering in certain places... Ally squirmed against her damp panties and scrunched up her face. Damp panties...? This man was more lethal than she’d thought.

Get a freaking grip, Jones! She was not going to ‘do’ Ross in any shape or form. That was just crazy and it was time she pulled herself together. She’d wobbled a little bit, had a strange physical reaction to him, but now it was time to be sensible and...professional, dammit. Cool. Controlled.

All the things she was so good at.

Ally put her hand against her sternum and breathed. Long, deep and slow. It was no substitute for hot, sweaty sex but it did bring her colour down and whip her thoughts into line.

If only it would work for the ‘do me now’ look in her eyes...

* * *

Ross placed his forearms on the bar and looked at his foot, resting on the gold rail of Ally’s chair. What was he doing? He should be heading home. He still had hours of work ahead of him tonight. He had a full day tomorrow and he was nuts even to consider prolonging this evening with a rather lost beauty with dark rings under her eyes.

He’d toss back his drink, pick up takeout on the way home, take a cold shower and head into his home office.

Those resolutions flew out of the room as he watched Ally walk back towards him. She wore her hair down tonight and it was longer than he’d expected, way past her shoulder blades and naturally wavy. She’d reapplied lipstick in the bathroom and her bland corporate face was back—which was totally at odds with that sexy, sexy dress. Pity... He rather liked the flashes of wildness he occasionally glimpsed in those black-ringed navy blue eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that he was watching her as she stopped between two empty tables and twisted her neck. Ross swallowed as she gripped her hands behind her back and pushed her chest out and... Hell, she wasn’t as scrawny as he’d first thought. Her dress outlined her breasts and pulled across her flat stomach, lifting the hem of that dress up another inch.

In any other woman that stretch would have had him walking out through the door, because it was such an obvious move, but he could see from Ally’s painfully scrunched face that she wasn’t even remotely concerned whether he was watching or not. He could see pain flicker across her face as her shoulders rose and then slumped, the way her eyes contracted when she rolled her head on her shoulders.

Then she glanced across to the bar, saw that he was watching and immediately straightened her spine, giving him a long, cool look. So, Ms Priss didn’t like anyone seeing her less than cool and controlled.

‘Problem?’ he asked when she slid back into her seat.

‘A muscle in my shoulder is on fire,’ Ally replied, wincing. ‘I swung my suitcase off the luggage conveyor and felt the twinge. Crazy, since I’m always picking up luggage.’

I can massage it for you. Ross opened his mouth to say the words and closed it again. And after I rub you into a gooey mess I’d like to sleep with you.

Ross sighed. She’d never accept—not in a hundred years. Smart, uptight women didn’t do that. Especially after five minutes of conversation.

She was uptight and she didn’t look like an idiot. In fact she had the most intelligent glint in those amazing eyes. And smart, uptight girls rarely said yes to casual sex.

He thought that was tragic.

Ross decided that it would be a very good idea to get his mind out of the bedroom and back onto the purpose of this evening.

‘So, tell me what you and Luc are thinking about with Win! and Bellechier.’

Ally looked at her new glass of wine and sighed. ‘It’s getting late... Have you eaten? My treat.’ She flashed a smile. ‘You might be more receptive to my suggestions on a full stomach.’

‘Nice try.’ But maybe dinner wasn’t such a bad idea. Ross shrugged his agreement. ‘Do you want to eat here or on the terrace?’

‘I love the view of Table Mountain from the terrace, and I could do with some fresh air,’ Ally replied, immediately slipping off her stool. ‘That sounds great.’

Ross dropped his car key into the back pocket of his jeans behind his wallet and picked up both their drinks as Ally walked ahead of him. Nice view, he thought. Curvy ass and long shapely legs.

He could easily imagine his hands holding that sexy butt as her legs encircled his hips...

Down boy, he told himself. Do try not to totally embarrass yourself.

* * *

‘So what do you think?’ Ally asked, leaning across her plate as she waited for his response to her succinct top line explanation of why she thought their products could be branded together.

‘No,’ Ross replied, and grinned at the spark of annoyance that jumped across her face. ‘Come on, Jones. I’ve rejected branding opportunities from massive soft drink brands—why would I accept your offer?’

Ally thought for a minute, wondering how to express the thoughts that were tumbling around, half formed and half baked. ‘Because those other companies wanted to brand Win! But I think I want you, not the game.’

Ross frowned. ‘God, that sounds even worse.’

Ally pushed her plate of uneaten steak and salad away and leaned her arms on the table. ‘We wouldn’t brand Win!. We’d use you.’

‘Still not getting it—and getting more scared by the moment,’ Ross muttered.

‘Initially I thought, like Luc, that Win! and the new Bellechier line would be a good fit. It’s a sporting and lifestyle game and our new collection is a lot more relaxed. Good synergy.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Ross was looking at her as if she was about to drop a concrete block on his head. ‘Are we going to be done with this conversation soon?’

‘We were on the wrong track looking at Win!. We should be looking at you. The man behind the game...’

Ross groaned theatrically and released a graphic swear word. ‘Sorry, but that is such a load of BS.’

Ally shook her head. ‘It’s really not. Win! is super-hot, and anyone who is tech-savvy—which is everybody between the age of thirteen and thirty-five—would be interested in the man behind the phenomena. Who did this? How did he do it? Add to the fact that you are...well, young, successful and a good-looking guy—’

‘You think so?’

Ally draped her arm over the back of her chair and held his eyes. ‘Are you fishing for compliments now? You know that you are hot, Bennett. We both know that you are hot.’

He lifted one eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Don’t get excited; that’s a professional observation.’ Ally knew that her voice held ice but she couldn’t be certain that her eyes weren’t slowly undressing him. ‘I also love the idea of Crazy Collaborations—a technology think-tank—but I think that we’d have to stick to you as creator of Win! for the campaign.’

‘We’re not sticking to anything because the answer is still no.’

Dammit, she wasn’t anywhere near changing his mind. ‘What would it take?’

‘To get me to do the campaign?’ Ross leaned back in his chair. His mouth held a hint of a smile and his eyes narrowed in thought.

‘Mmm. Come on—hit me. What would it take? What’s the number? The demand? Where’s the line in the sand?’

‘You sure you want to know?’

Ally nodded, resigned. He was going to throw a ridiculous number out there, or ask for something stupid, impractical, unobtainable or all three. She’d been here before—matching demands with deliverability and, more importantly, deciding whether they were worth what they were asking.

Some were. Some weren’t.

Ally rolled her head and looked at him from under her lashes. Oh, well, in for a penny...or for many pounds. ‘Hit me.’

‘I will consider doing the campaign—seriously consider it—if you sleep with me.’

Ross almost looked around, in the vague hope that someone else had suddenly joined the conversation, because he could not believe that those words had come from his own mouth. What a flippin’ idiot.

He looked at Ally, who looked as shocked as he was feeling. Guppy look, Ross thought as his words registered and her eyes widened. He expected her to make a fish noise at any minute. He raked his hand through his hair. The words had slipped out. He’d been thinking them, but he normally managed to keep his thoughts behind his teeth. They were at best wildly inappropriate, and at worst sexual harassment of the worst kind.

It was pushing her into a corner, asking her to go beyond the call of duty. Of course she would say no—probably at the same time that she threw that glass of red wine in his face.

And he would so deserve it. What was he thinking? Oh, wait... Maybe he wasn’t thinking...maybe he was allowing his little head to do the talking.

Ally just stared at him with her surprised fish face and he shifted in his chair. He wished she would say something and give him a hint of the amount of crap he’d just jumped into.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘Sorry. That was...’

‘Rude? Inappropriate? Offensive?’ Ally tapped her finger against the white tablecloth.

‘All of the above?’

‘Damn right.’

She shrugged a slim shoulder and smiled. Smiled?

‘Okay, let’s go.’

Whoa! Stop the bus! She was prepared to do this? Had he heard her correctly? No, he couldn’t have.

‘Seriously?’

Those eyes bored into him. ‘Wasn’t it a serious offer?’

‘Yes. No... Dammit, I didn’t expect you to say yes!’

Ally cocked her head. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I didn’t think that you were the type.’ And, more worrying, he really didn’t want her to be the type. Over the years he’d met far too many women who’d use any weapon they could, including their sexuality, to get one step higher up the corporate ladder. Grasping, greedy, power-hungry women who thought it was acceptable to sleep, lie and manipulate their way to the top.

The realist in him knew that he was a target for those predatory types. He had money, influence and, according to that stupid poll recently, power. What that meant exactly he had no damn idea, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Luc’s sister used the same tactics.

Disappointed, yeah...but he was attracted enough, wanted her too much, not to take what she was offering.

And he did want to have sex with her. He wanted to see whether her eyes deepened or lightened in passion, whether she huffed or moaned her pleasure, whether her skin was as fragrant as he thought, whether those long legs could wind around his hips just as he’d imagined they could.

Ross took a sip of whisky and nearly choked when Ally stood up and draped a black leather bag over her slim shoulder. ‘So, shall we go upstairs?’

‘Fine.’

Ross nearly bit his tongue trying to get the word out. Your room, my room, the lobby floor, Ross thought in a daze. He couldn’t believe that his stupid flip comment was going to lead to him getting it on with this gorgeous woman.

Utterly bemused, sure that he was operating in an alternative reality, he stumbled to his feet.

This was proof that God did, indeed, look after the intensely stupid.

* * *

How could she be both incredibly turned on and scorchingly angry? Ally wondered as she stepped into the lift ahead of Ross. She didn’t have any objection to sleeping with Ross—her monologue in the Ladies’ earlier was proof of that—but she despised the link between sex and her career.

How dared he make sex with her a condition of doing business? That behaviour was no longer acceptable in any circumstances! Sex was sex and work was work and the first one should never be used as a tool for negotiation. This was the twenty-first century and men didn’t get away with that kind of testosterone-fuelled crap any more. And it hurt like a man-o-war sting that he thought that she was stupid enough, desperate enough, insecure enough about her job that she would even consider sleeping with him to get what she wanted from him.

She might be one or all of those things—but she’d never use her body as she would her laptop or her mobile.

As for the turned-on part—jeez, Louise. She was in a small, slow lift with a super-fine guy who twisted her panties with just one look out of those lazy gold-green eyes. Despite the fact that he was a Neanderthal, she wanted him in the worst way possible. But there was no way she could have him...ever.

But she could teach him a lesson in sexual harassment. Oh, yeah, she was going to harass the hell out of him...

Ally watched the doors close and was grateful they were the only occupants of the lift. She knew it would take about a minute to get to her floor, so she’d better get busy.

Before she could talk herself out of it she whirled around, grabbed Ross’s shirt and slammed her mouth on his. His mouth opened in surprise and she took the opportunity to slide her tongue inside. Her body sighed at the heat and spice of his mouth. She opened her hands and spread her fingers across his wide chest, her palms loving the feel of hard muscles and the slow thump-thump of his heartbeat.

It took him only seconds to react, and then his hands were in her hair, and he was in charge of their kiss, and he was angling her face to tongue her deeper. One hand dropped to yank her hips against his. The hard, hard length of his erection pushed against her stomach, and she had to restrain herself from reaching down and cupping him, sliding her thumb up and across its full tip.

If she did that she’d never stop this, and she had to...

Ten seconds more, she thought as the doors slid open and the bell dinged. Ally wound her arms around his neck and tangled her tongue with his in a low, sexy swirl that had him moaning into her mouth. She withdrew and plunged again, and was only dimly aware that Ross had shoved out his hand and was holding the doors open, keeping the lift on that floor.

‘I want you,’ he growled in between hot, wet kisses.

‘I know.’

It was now or never, Ally thought, desperate for more...so much more. If she let him get out of this lift then she’d let him into her room and she’d be flat on her back and naked before her head had stopped spinning.

She wanted to see him, explore him, taste him, touch him. But not like this. Because while she didn’t need to love a guy to have sex with him she did have to like him, and there should be at the very minimum mutual respect between them.

Ally wrenched her mouth away, ducked out from under his arm and hit the close doors button before he could even react. She stepped out of the lift as the doors started to close.

‘What the hell, Alyssa?’ he demanded, hot eyes blazing, his hands easily pushing the lift doors open again.

‘Yeah, so not sorry. Did you really think that I was that easy or that desperate? That I would just fall into bed with you so that I could get you to sign on the dotted line?’ She gave him a frosty smile and gestured to his tented pants. ‘Enjoy trying to hide that as you walk through the lobby... Oh, hello! Do you want me to hold the lift for you?’

Ally stepped aside to let two elderly ladies into the lift and grinned when Ross turned his back to them.

Except that now she had an eyeful of that super-fine taut ass she’d had her hands on a minute before.

Ally placed her hand on her forehead and stumbled towards her room.

This was the problem with playing with fire: you ended up getting a little scorched.

THREE

Ally touched the side of her Bellechier sports watch as she jogged up to the steps that led to the hotel’s seaside entrance and placed her hands on her knees, hauling in wet air. Humid, she thought, and hot already at seven in the morning. She glanced at her watch: six miles in fifty minutes. Not her best time, but acceptable—especially since she’d tossed and turned all night and when she’d finally slept had had incredibly restless dreams.

All featuring last night’s sexy jerk.

Behind her sunglasses Ally scowled at the waves smacking the beach across the road and promenade. She might have left him in an awkward position last night—good, he so deserved it!—but she hadn’t emerged from their dizzying encounter unscathed. She’d felt tense, fidgety...horny, dammit.

Apart from her inability or unwillingness to connect...and her crazy work schedule...and the fact that she hadn’t dated or felt attracted to any man in a long time...apart from all that she was still a reasonably normal woman in her late twenties and she did get normal urges.

Up to now she’d always been perfectly content with a bit of self-love and was easily able to sort herself out. She’d tried that last night and, like most of the few lovers she’d had, she hadn’t delivered. She had just ended up feeling more frustrated and hornier than before, which sucked. Maybe it was time to cave in and buy that dildo she’d seen online. Except that now she wasn’t sure that it would help. She wanted masculine fingers between her legs, a hard body above hers, the hot, thick thrust of an erection pushing into her.

She still wanted Ross and that pushed up her irritation levels. Even a long run hadn’t banished her frustration; maybe a cold shower would do the trick.

Ally stood up, placed her hands on her hips and walked to the low wall that separated the beach from the promenade. Placing one foot on the low wall, she did some warm-down stretches as she watched the ships on the horizon and thought about the day ahead.

She was booked on a flight back to Geneva that night so she had the day open to do as she pleased. She could buckle down in front of her computer—as long as she had her computer she could work anywhere—and get a solid eight hours in either in her room, one of the lounges or on one of the many verandas in the hotel. That was what she should do.

Bellechier had a second store opening in Hong Kong and another in Miami, and there were countless items on her to-do list to ensure that these new additions exuded the same class and charisma as their other stores. As Brand and Image Director, it was her job to make sure that the look and feel of the new stores was everything their customers expected them to be.

Then she had magazine adverts to approve, paperwork regarding their sponsorship of a yacht race to plough through and a new face to find for the new line.

Ally wiped the perspiration from her brow before resting her forehead on her knee. She wished she was the type of person who could just pull on a bikini, grab her e-reader and towel and hit the beach—who could spend the day in the sunshine doing nothing. But that just wasn’t Ally. No: she’d sit down and within a half-hour she’d be feeling guilty because she wasn’t being productive, feeling tense because she’d be making mental lists of what she could be doing.

The truth was that she was happiest working; at work she didn’t have to think about anything else except the next task she had to do. Work was her entertainment. She felt safe there. It was her demanding lover. Ally looked at the beach again and sighed.

Intellectually she knew that she should want to take time off, that she was entitled to relax, to have some fun, but she couldn’t translate the thought into acceptance. Working was her way of repaying her debt to Sabine and Justin; it was her way of saying thank you. She couldn’t be the soul-sharing, emotionally expressive daughter they wanted—dear God, she would be if she could—so hard work was all she could give them.

She’d do anything they asked unless it involved her heart—not that she was sure she had one any more. She knew what her life could have been like, and the thought of it still made her shiver. If Sabine and Justin hadn’t pulled her out of that sterile hotel room the Thai authorities and later the British Embassy had shoved her into after they’d removed her dad’s body from the beach in Phuket, God knew what would have happened to her. She had no other relatives—none that she knew of anyway—and no one else would have run to her rescue.

She owed them for giving her a home and an education, but she couldn’t risk loving them too much—just in case they got whipped away as well. She didn’t think she could survive that.

She had to work this morning, but it would be an absolute sin not to spend some time on the beach. So...what if she printed out those reports she needed to go through on her portable printer and took them to the beach with her? She would still be working...and getting a tan. And since she needed to concentrate while reading them she wouldn’t have time to think of Ross Bennett—the A-grade sexy dipstick.

But she’d only be productive if she didn’t think of his clever mouth, his big hand on her breast, that hard thigh pressing into her crotch. Ally sighed as her skin prickled and her crotch throbbed. Casting a last look at the ocean, she turned to walk back into the hotel. Here we go again.

A cold shower was her last resort; if that didn’t work then she was definitely ordering that sex toy.

* * *

Like most of his gender, Ross hated apologising. It made him feel stupid and weak and...stupid.

But stupid he had been, and although Ally had punished him for it—being in a lift with two nosy old ladies with a full erection had not been fun—he knew that he still owed her an apology. He’d tried most of last night and all of this morning to find a reason why he didn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—and still hadn’t found one.

He’d opened his big mouth and by doing so he’d screwed up, and he was enough of a man to admit it. For most of the morning he’d tried hard to ignore his conscience but at noon, when he realised that he’d achieved sweet FA, he’d given in and left his office to head over to Ally’s hotel.

He needed to apologise—not only because his conscience dictated it but also because his father had never been able to do so... Saying sorry is for wusses, pansies and pathetics. That was one of Jonas Bennett’s favourite sayings. But Ross had always vowed to be as little like his dad as possible.

Propositioning Ally in the way he had was the kind of thing his father would do: when Jonas wanted something he used any means he could to get it. Winning, getting his way, coming out on top was all that mattered to him, and last night Ross had proved that in certain ways he was still his father’s son.

He loved and hated that fact. Loved that he had his father’s drive, passion and work ethic. Hated the fact that he also had his deeply competitive streak. And his stubbornness.

His mother was either a fool or a saint for staying married to him for nearly thirty-five years. How did she do it? Love, she’d once told him, wasn’t an emotion but an action. When you’d been married as long as they had, she’d added, sometimes you had to choose to love and to fight for love.

That sounded too much like hard work, and Ross had yet to find a woman who interested him enough to consider the possibility of a lifetime with her. Ally Jones definitely wasn’t a candidate. Besides, even if he was looking for ‘the one’, he wouldn’t choose a tense, pushy, uptight corporate drone. He’d left that world behind years ago—and all the stress that went with it; why would he ever get involved with a woman deeply entrenched in it?

No, he liked to keep his personal relationships simple and above all honest. So if he hooked up with someone he always made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. One thing was for sure: when he did find Wonder Woman—he was still too busy to commit the time needed to find her—he’d never let his partner feel she had to compete with his work for his attention, as he’d had to do as a child.

Right—enough introspection. Let’s get this damned apology done and dusted so I can get some work done today.

He believed Miss Jones was on the beach, the concierge told him, so Ross walked out through the doors leading to the promenade, flipping his sunglasses onto his face to hide his eyes from the blistering glare of the midday sun.

Standing at the wall, he scanned the beach, which was reasonably busy for a Thursday in September. Female faces were hidden under floppy hats, caps and sunglasses, so how was he going to find her?

By going up to every single woman on the beach and acting like a pervert, that was how. Perfect. Just what he needed.

Ross stepped onto the beach, ignoring the hot sand that crept into his flip-flops as he made his way to the most populated part of the beach. He looked out to the sea and watched as a woman walked out of the waves and pushed her wet hair back from her face.

He instantly recognised that body, its essential bits covered by fluorescent aqua triangles; he had felt it tremble under his touch last night. A waist he could span with both his hands, curvy hips, legs that went on for ever. Ross swallowed, realised that saliva had disappeared from his mouth and stood still as she strolled up to a beach blanket and dropped onto it, tipping her elfin face up to the sun.

A fist grabbed his heart and squeezed. She was utterly, maddeningly, crotch-jumpingly beautiful and he still wanted her. Probably would do anything to have her.

Just for a night...a couple of nights; just to get lost in that face, that body, the comprehensive femininity of her. And, because he’d been an utter ass, he probably never would.

That sucked.

Ross ran a hand through his hair, gestured to a beach vendor and bought two bottles of water from the elderly man. Cracking the seal on one, he took a long sip and headed to the beach blanket where Ally lay back on her elbows, smiling at two toddlers who were arguing over a spade.

He sat down next to her, handed her a bottle of water and jumped right in. ‘Sorry.’

Ally took the bottle, raised her eyebrows at him and curled her lip. ‘You think a cold bottle of water and a half-assed apology is going to work?’

‘No.’ Ross twisted his lips in frustration. ‘But I thought I would give it a go.’

Ross removed the bottle from her grasp, cracked the lid for her and handed it back. ‘I opened my mouth and spoke without thinking—not something I often do. I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.’

Ally cocked her head.

Bloody Nora, the woman had a stare that had all the power of an industrial laser. And why did that turn him on?

‘Then why did you follow me up to my room?’ she asked.

What? Was she kidding? Judging by her puzzled look, obviously not.

‘Have you looked at yourself lately? You are seriously hot!’ He sighed and lifted one arrogant eyebrow slowly. ‘Men are simple creatures, Jones. When they hear “let’s have sex” everything else goes out the window. I thought I’d hit the mother lode. Yeah, I messed up, but you were prepared to ignore that and nail me anyway. I wasn’t going to turn you down. A saint couldn’t—and I’m no saint.’

‘I just bet you aren’t,’ Ally muttered, sitting up and reaching for her bag.

Pulling out a pair of sunglasses—Bellechier, slick and sexy—she pushed them onto her face and leaned back on her elbows again, bending her knees and digging her toes into the sand. Drops of water still lay on her skin, gathered in her belly button, and Ross wished he could sip the salty water from that little receptacle, slide his mouth over her flat stomach, explore the skin that covered her hipbones.

Frick, the woman could rock a bikini.

‘Gorgeous day,’ he mumbled, staring hard at the ships on the horizon, waiting to dock in the harbour further down the beach.

‘Very.’

‘So...sorry.’ He thought he needed to say it again—hopefully for the final time.

Ally tipped her head back and her wet hair, curly with salt water, almost touched the sand behind her shoulderblades. ‘Your apologies could use some work, Bennett.’

True. ‘So I’m forgiven?’

Ally shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’

It did, actually. Ross lifted one shoulder. ‘I’m a straight shooter, Ally. Normally. Despite last night’s mix-up, I don’t play games and I don’t confuse sex with business.’

Ally looked at him and he couldn’t believe how relieved he felt when he caught her mouth twitching with amusement. Leaning over, he pushed her glasses down her nose and saw that her eyes were lighter, almost dancing with mischief. He felt stupidly relieved.

‘What?’ he asked, not entirely sure if he really wanted to know why she was smiling.

‘So how long did you spend in the lift facing the wall?’

‘Far too long,’ he growled. ‘Those wrinklies thought I was sick. They kept asking if I was all right.’

Ally grinned. She lifted the water in a toast. ‘Are you expecting me to apologise?’

‘For the kiss or for leaving me high and dry for the rest of the night?’ Ross asked sourly. Ally gurgled and he couldn’t help smiling at her infectious laughter. ‘I loved the kiss and I deserved the frustration. I’m a big boy. I coped. Are we done with this now?’

Ally hiccupped a laugh. ‘Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easily.’ She dropped her knees and sat up, pushing her glasses into her hair. ‘You, mister—’ she rammed a finger into his bicep ‘—are going to sit through my entire presentation and you are going to seriously consider my offer.’

Ross flopped back into the sand and groaned loudly. Gorgeous and pushy...why was life punishing him like this?

* * *

She’d arrived in Cape Town yesterday and so far she’d kissed a hot man, had a swim in the Indian Ocean and spent some time in the sun, Ally thought, walking from her hotel room to the lift. That was more excitement than she’d had all year.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the lift doors, she nodded her head at her professional look. She felt a great deal more confident in a short flared skirt and ruffled white top; talking to Ross in that tiny bikini—the only one in her size in the hotel shop—had made her feel self-conscious and far too exposed. She’d caught the glances he gave her and been very glad she’d recently hit the salon for her monthly waxing and defoliating session. Imagine sitting there with hairy legs, fuzzy underarms and an untidy crotch—how mortifying that would have been! Ally felt herself blush and told herself not be ridiculous.

Business, Jones. Try to act professional, you moron.

Ally rolled her shoulders... It was back to business now and she would be all and only business. Ross had reluctantly agreed to take her back to RBM, where he would listen to her whole proposal for the campaign, sit through her presentation and seriously consider Bellechier’s offer. She didn’t know if his about-face was because he was embarrassed about his behaviour last night or because he’d rethought his position, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that she’d got a second chance to do her job—a job that she was good at—and that after this meeting she’d be able to go home to Geneva and tell Luc that she’d given it her best shot.

If Ross said no she could go on to the next candidate feeling utterly guilt-free—she’d tried. Luc would be disappointed—and that sucked—but he wasn’t unfair. He knew that there were some horses—asses?—that were too ornery and too stubborn to drink when they were led to water.

Ally stepped out of the lift and her heart bumped when she saw Ross standing by the indoor fountain. His black shorts hit his knee and he wore a checked orange and white button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved. She suspected that he left his beard to grow for days until it started to annoy him and then he shaved again. She wondered what he’d look like in a suit and tie. Gorgeous, she decided. He had that tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped frame that would make a hessian sack look good.

Ross turned as she approached him and immediately took her laptop bag off her shoulder and gripped it in his hand. Lazy eyes started at the tips of her feet and ended on her face.

‘I really, really prefer the bikini, Jones.’

Ally twisted her lips in annoyance but her skin flushed with pleasure. ‘Can you at least try to be businesslike, Bennett?’

‘But it’s so much more fun making you blush.’ Ross placed his hand on her lower back to guide her to the lifts that would take them to the underground parking lot and Ally sucked in her breath at his touch.

Concentrate, Alyssa.

‘Are you always this serious, Jones? Do you ever cut loose, have some fun?’

No, but she’d never tell him that, she thought as Ross jabbed the button of the lift.

‘Well, do you?’ Ross pressed.

‘Of course I do,’ Ally lied. ‘All the time. I work hard but I play harder.’

Ross’s thick eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Really? And how, pray tell, do you cut loose?’

Damn, Ally thought, thinking fast. ‘I dance. Latin American mostly.’ It wasn’t a complete lie—more like a very stretched-out truth. She had taken dance classes when she was a teenager and she’d been pretty good. Until her dance partner had declared that he couldn’t dance with someone who couldn’t communicate and had dumped her for a tall redhead who never shut up.

‘Okay, dance. What else?’ Ross said as they stepped into the open lift.

Okay, now she had to flat-out lie so that he didn’t realise that she did nothing but work. She fiddled with her watch and thought hard. Dammit, what did normal people do?

‘I go clubbing, meet friends for supper, go to the theatre. Movies.’

‘What was the last movie you saw?’ Ross leaned his shoulder into the wall of the lift, half smiling.

‘Why are you interrogating me?’ Ally demanded.

‘Why are you lying to me?’ Ross countered.

‘And why would you think I’m lying?’

‘Because a person who sends e-mail messages at ten-thirty on a Saturday night and leaves voice messages with me on a Sunday morning, Sunday evening and at nine p.m. on Tuesday night does not have a rocking social life. She might even be a bit work-obsessed. And...hmm...who was that person?’ The lift doors opened with a ping and Ross grinned. ‘Oh, wait! That was you. So what was the last movie you saw, Jones?’

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