A reunion he never saw coming…

When one impulsive moment leads to another…

Though it has been nine years since Finn Murphy’s marriage combusted, his attraction to art dealer Beah Jenkinson has never dimmed. When work obligations throw them together in a London hotel, Finn hopes a casual affair will satisfy his yearnings. But as events lead them from Europe to Boston to plan their best friends’ wedding, he quickly discovers he and his ex have a lot of unfinished business…

JOSS WOOD loves books and travelling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.

Also by Joss Wood

One Little Indiscretion

Temptation at His Door

Friendship on Fire

Hot Christmas Kisses

The Rival’s Heir

Second Chance Temptation

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Back in His Ex’s Bed

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90442-5

BACK IN HIS EX’S BED

© 2020 Joss Wood

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

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Dedicated to my own “Wilfred Seymour,” my dad.

You taught me to love books and writing and that

there’s always a plan to be made. I miss you

every day. Love you always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

About the Publisher

One

Beah Jenkinson exited the black taxi at the swanky entrance to Claridge’s, grateful for her long vintage cashmere coat. Ignoring the light drizzle, she paid her fare, tucked her designer clutch bag under her arm and sucked in a deep breath.

She could do this; she had to do this…

It was only dinner with one of the most important and elusive art collectors in the world.

And her ex-brother-in-law Carrick.

And her ex-husband, Finn.

Who also happened to be two of her three bosses. Not a big deal.

Liar. It was such a big deal…

“Good evening, madam.”

Beah returned the black-frocked doorman’s greeting with a distracted smile and walked through the doors and into the lobby of the impressive hotel. Allowing her coat to swing open, she resisted the urge to turn and check her reflection in the glass doors, to reassure herself that her off-one-shoulder, tight-fitting cobalt blue cocktail dress with its ruffled hem was suitable.

She knew she looked fine; she always did, and her dress was a perfect combination of business chic and dinner sexy. As per usual, she’d pulled her Orphan Annie curls into a tight chignon and she’d covered her much-hated freckles with expertly applied makeup.

She was thirty years old and looked like what she was, a woman confident in her body and her looks. She had an amazing career, a wonderful life. It was only when she was faced with meeting Finn Murphy that she felt like the insecure, clingy, desperate-to-be-loved young woman she’d been nine years ago.

So annoying.

Needing a minute to regulate her breathing, to slow down her over-fast heart rate, Beah ducked into the plush ladies’ room and sat on the edge of a velvet-covered stool, staring down at her classic nude heels.

Resting her head against the wall, Beah closed her eyes.

You can do this, Jenkinson. It’s just business.

Needing reassurance, Beah pulled her phone out of her clutch bag and hit one on her speed dial. It was early afternoon in Boston, but if she was lucky, her best friend would answer her call. Beah held her breath as the phone rang. And rang. Dammit, Keely was busy; she wouldn’t be able to talk Beah down from this ledge.

“Hi, Bee.”

Beah’s heart settled as air flowed into her lungs. Keely’s voice, as it always did, steadied her, made her feel connected. She’d met the small blonde through the Murphy brothers and they’d instantly clicked. When Beah and Finn announced their divorce, Keely had rocked up on her doorstep with wine, pizza, chocolates and open arms.

“Why are you here?” Beah had asked her, tears streaming down her face. “I thought the Murphys gained custody of you in the divorce.”

“Finn has his brothers. You need someone.”

That’s what Keely had told her as she swept into her life. Although they lived on either side of the Atlantic Ocean these days, they were as close today as they’d ever been.

“Bee? Talk to me, honey.”

Beah straightened, leaned back into the chair and tipped her face up to look at the molded ceiling. “I’m sitting in the ladies’ room at Claridge’s.”

Keely waited for a beat. “Would you like to tell me why?”

Beah turned her head to the right, saw her reflection in the massive mirror and wrinkled her nose. She looked as pale as a ghost. “I’m about to have a working dinner with Finn, Carrick and Paris Cummings.”

“Ah. Are you feeling nervous?”

Not exactly. “Off-balance, maybe. I’m good at my job, Keely, and I meet clients all the time. And I speak to Carrick and Ronan a few times a week. Finn…”

“Finn what?” Keely asked, sounding amused.

“Finn—”

“Hold on a sec, Bee. My PA has a question…”

It was a temporary reprieve, but it gave Beah time to think. Memories tumbled as Beah waited for Keely to return her attention to their conversation. She’d been twenty-one and had left London for New York, excited to work in a new city. With honors degrees in both economics and fine art, she secured an internship at Murphy International—a world-renowned art auction house. Within days, she’d she met the brilliant, terribly sexy Finn Murphy, a stunning combination of geeky nerd and sexy jock.

A few months later she’d hurtled into marriage with the youngest Murphy brother, hauling along a cruise liner’s worth of baggage, all rational thought doused by their hectic sexual attraction.

Like moths to a flame, rivers flowing to the sea and stars burning out, her landing in Finn’s arms and in his bed had been inevitable.

Beah was terrified that on meeting him face-to-face again, history might repeat itself.

Since their divorce they’d both made a silent but concerted effort to avoid each other, even though they both still worked for Murphy International. Living on two different continents helped, and on the few occasions she’d needed Finn’s expert opinion on a painting or an objet d’art, she sent him detailed photographs or, if that didn’t suffice, he met the client on his own.

They’d made avoiding each other into an art form.

“Look, I know you can’t possibly be nervous about having a business meeting because you’re nothing like the girl you used to be,” Keely said, returning to their conversation. “You’re head of acquisitions, responsible for advising Murphy’s rich clients on their collections, about what they could acquire and what they should dispose of. You’re smart, funny and gorgeous.”

This was why every woman needed a best friend, someone to shore up her defenses when the cracks started to show. “You need to remember how far you’ve come, what amazing things you’ve done, Bee.”

Beah closed her eyes, happy to let her friend talk.

“You walked out of your marriage and soon afterward you moved back to London, joining Murphy’s UK office. You worked your tail off, clawing your way up the ladder to become one of the most powerful people in the organization. Murphy’s is lucky to have you, Bee, and that’s why they pay you the very big bucks, because they know your clients are loyal to you and will walk if you walk. Hell, you could open your own art consulting company right now and you’d have a list of wealthy clients as long as your arm.”

Yeah, about that…

“Um, actually, that reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Beah said, and asked Keely to switch to FaceTime. When Keely’s face appeared on her screen, she smiled at her brown-eyed, blond-haired friend. “There you are…”

Keely waved her words away, eyes bright with curiosity. “What? Have you met someone?”

Beah rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time to date.”

“No, you don’t make time to date because you use your busy work schedule as a shield. You think that if you keep busy, you won’t have time to feel anything for anyone.”

Okay, a bit too close to the truth. And not something she wanted to think about right now… “Do you want to hear this or not?” Beah demanded.

Keely handed her that patented, I’m-so-smart smirk. “Sure, go for it. But we will revisit this topic at a later date.”

Not if Beah could help it.

“Michael Summers. Have you heard of him?” After Keely shook her head, Beah continued. “He’s a prominent art adviser, consultant and dealer. One of the most respected in the world. He has decades of experience and is an art guru…”

Beah twisted her vintage flower ring around her middle finger. “He wants to retire and he’s looking for someone to run his business, to start taking over his client list.”

“You?”

“Me.” Beah nodded. “It’s a hell of an opportunity, Keels. He’s a legend and I’m honored he wants me to join him. But…”

“But it would mean leaving Murphy’s.” Keely tapped her finger against her cheek. “Could you still work with Murphy’s or would you be persona non grata?”

Beah tasted panic in the back of her throat. Murphy’s was the only place she’d ever worked, all she knew.

Beah pushed her fear away; she was just scared of the unknown. Change was never easy and she hadn’t signed an oath in blood or a lifetime contract to work for Murphy’s.

She was allowed to move on. “Not that they ever would, but they would be stupid to blackball me because a lot of Michael’s clients purchase art from Murphy International. They’d be cutting off their nose to spite their own face.”

“And I presume Murphy’s has had other employees leave, other salespeople, nicking their clients?”

“Sure, it happens all the time.”

“And Murphy’s has survived?” Keely persisted. “So in this context, you are not thinking of yourself as an employee but as a Murphy, as Finn’s wife.”

“Ex-wife.” Beah corrected, feeling the familiar pang in her chest. She’d loved adding Finn’s surname to hers. Beah Jenkinson-Murphy felt damn right.

Had felt right.

“If you were working for any other company, would you be hesitating?” Keely demanded, as forthright as always.

“Probably not. This is a hell of an opportunity. And an even bigger commitment. If I take this position, I might be able to schedule dinner with you in, maybe, five years or so. My life will go into hyperdrive.”

“Mmm, interesting.”

Beah knew that when Keely said “interesting” in that tone of voice, she had many, many thoughts on the subject. Beah glanced at her watch and grimaced. “Condense your thoughts into two sentences, Keels, or I’m going to be late.”

“Why haven’t you jumped at Michael’s offer if it’s so amazing, Beah? I suspect it’s because you are letting your personal feelings for your ex and his family cloud your judgment, which is strange because you profess to be very over Finn Murphy.”

Beah was over him. After nine years, she had to be.

“Also, apart from the prestige of working for someone of his stature, Michael’s offer also intrigues you because you’d be so busy you wouldn’t have time to think, to feel, to date. It’d be another excuse for you not to engage in real life.”

This? Again? Beah loved Keely, she did, but her best friend was both opinionated and stubborn. And sometimes, an attack was the best defense. “And you? Are you dating?”

Keely didn’t flinch at her accusation. “This conversation is about you, not me.” Keely cleared her throat and Beah knew her next words might have the potential to sting. Keely, forthright and honest, rarely pulled her punches.

“While I hate that you, and Finn, were hurt by your divorce, it was, in many ways, good for you, Beah. You learned to stand on your own two feet, to ask for what you want, to chase down a goal. Though I sometimes do think you’ve become a little too independent.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Let me put it this way… I worry you push people away, that you don’t allow anyone to get close.”

Because that was what Finn had done to her.

“I’m close to you,” Beah protested.

“Mostly because I push and pry and keep pounding on the door when you slam it close,” Keely replied.

Beah couldn’t argue with her.

Over the past nine years, Keely had been her North Star, her compass point, her bedrock. She didn’t need anything more than to know she was standing in her corner. Keely’s friendship was the equivalent of having her own thirty-girl squad. “I have you, Keels.”

“But as fabulous as I am,” Keely replied with asperity, “I do not have a pair of big arms, a low voice and a non-female point of view. You need love, Jenkinson, and God knows, you need sex. When did you last go on a date? And for the love of God, do not tell me the last person you had sex with was Finn Murphy,” Keely demanded.

Beah shook her head. She’d had sex since divorcing her ex. Not often and not great sex, but it still qualified. Just.

Beah glanced at her watch and grimaced. If she didn’t hustle, she would be late and she was never late. She stood up and tucked her clutch bag under her arm. It was a fantastic excuse to end this frustrating conversation. “I need to go, Keely. My bosses won’t be impressed if I’m late, and Paris Cummings hates tardiness.”

“I suppose I should know who Paris is but I don’t,” Keely said, sounding peeved.

“Art collector, old money, a property developer. Reclusive and grumpy.” Beah said, heading for the door. Paris Cummings was an art collector she’d been pursuing for years, and she had to attend this dinner and help woo the stubborn collector to their side of the fence.

And that meant sitting at the same table as her ex-husband, pretending they hadn’t spent the best part of a decade avoiding each other.

Beah blew Keely a kiss and tucked her phone back into her clutch. She placed the bag under her arm and pulled an insouciant smile onto her face.

She was no longer the impulsive wild child who, within a week of meeting Finn Murphy, moved into his luxurious apartment and married him in Vegas on the three-month anniversary of the day they met.

She was successful. She was confident. She was in control…

At the entrance to the very upmarket restaurant, Beah smiled at the maître d’ and surrendered her coat. Resisting the urge to check that no red curls had escaped her smooth chignon, she looked over the exquisitely decorated dining room, her eyes immediately going to the best table in the room.

As if he could feel her eyes, Finn jerked his head up and their gazes clashed.

Beah’s feet felt glued to the floor and she couldn’t pull her eyes off his masculine, oh-so-handsome face. There was a hint of the nerd he’d once been, in the wire-rimmed glasses over sharply intelligent eyes and a slow-to-smile mouth. A close-cropped, super-short beard covered his cheeks and jaw; his dark blond hair was overlong and could do with a trim but his shoulders were wide in a designer suit, exquisitely tailored for his tall frame.

Finn pushed his way to his feet, unfurling his long, muscled body. He wore a black shirt without a tie and his eyes, a light green, remained on her with laser-like intensity.

He used to look at her like that while they were making love, as he was about to slide into her. Like she was a puzzle he didn’t understand but needed to complete…

“Ms. Jenkinson? Ma’am?”

Beah heard her name being called from a place far away and wrenched her eyes off Finn onto the concerned face of the maître d’.

“The Misters Murphy are expecting you and, I’m sure, delighted to have you join them.” He gestured her to precede him.

Beah forced herself to cross the room, to keep her face impassive. Yeah, she could pretty much guarantee Finn Murphy was not delighted to see her.

She wasn’t thrilled to see him, either.

Fifteen minutes earlier…

It was just another dinner with another client in a swanky restaurant. While he wasn’t a fan of the concept, he’d attended more than a few as an owner of Murphy International.

There was no reason to feel nervous.

Finn Murphy lifted his hand to loosen the tie cutting off his air supply and silently cursed when he realized he wasn’t wearing a tie and the collar to his black shirt was open.

He was not nervous. Stressed maybe, but not nervous. He and his brothers were in the final stretch of preparing for one of the biggest art auctions in a generation and it was his responsibility to ensure every piece auctioned—including paintings by the old masters, impressionists and cubists, negatives by Ansel Adams, and one of the best collections of Jade in the world—was beyond question and reproach. Every provenance for roughly eight hundred items needed to be checked, verified, collated.

If his nerves didn’t play up when he was falling off three-hundred-foot buildings BASE jumping or flying down black-diamond ski runs, then he had no reason to feel jittery while waiting for the arrival of one of the wealthiest art collectors in the world.

And his wife.

Ex-wife, dammit.

Finn picked up his water glass, put it down again and reached for his glass of red wine, lifting the crystal rim to his lips. He would not look at his older brother, not just yet. Carrick could look past Finn’s devil-may-care attitude to the rolling mess below his seemingly steady surface.

He didn’t want to talk about how the thought of seeing Beah again, even if it was just a business dinner, made him feel nerv—a little tense. They’d once been as close as two people could legally be; now they were little more than across-the-pond work colleagues, vague acquaintances.

“Take a deep breath, Finn.”

Finn narrowed his eyes at Carrick. His oldest brother looked calm and controlled, but amusement flickered in his light green eyes. Finn considered, as subtly as he could manage it, flipping off his brother. At fifteen, when he’d been the biggest rebel and pain in the ass, that might’ve been his reaction. At thirty-three, he was way past acting like a child. Or he should be.

But the urge was there.

“Why are you acting like a cat on a hot tin roof?” Carrick asked, picking up his tumbler of whiskey.

“I’m fine,” Finn replied through gritted teeth. “You know I prefer to be left out of these client dinners. I’m not good at making small talk.”

It wasn’t a lie—he really wasn’t. Carrick and Ronan were able to charm and coerce, to make small talk, but Finn tended to be too terse, too abrupt. His bluntness was legendary throughout Murphy International. There was a reason why he preferred to work alone, why he buried his head in books and texts and research. He was better with art and objects than he was with people. Inanimate objects didn’t talk back, dammit.

He was the company nerd, the brain, the Murphy recluse. He had no problem with any of those descriptions. They were all, to a degree, true.

Carrick’s gaze was steady. “You are here because Cummings wants to meet you. Apparently he’s quite a fan.”

Finn snorted. “He’s a fan? You make me sound like the front man of a boy band.”

“He was very impressed that, despite being blasted by every authority on D’Arcy, you refused to cave when the art world insisted you were wrong.”

This again? Years ago, fresh out of college with a PhD in art history, he’d published a paper suggesting the painting Thief in the Night, by the celebrated French artist, was painted by one of his apprentices and not by the master himself.

He’d been called an upstart and arrogant and worse, but he hadn’t cared then and didn’t care now. He knew what he knew and was rarely proved wrong. It had taken a year, and a series of forensic tests, for the art world to accept he was right. The owner of the D’Arcy, whose painting lost millions because Finn refused to budge, was still not a fan. But as Murphy International’s head of world art, Finn’s responsibility was to the art, not to the owners.

“Anyway, Paris Cummings was impressed by your research and your steadfastness under intense pressure.”

Finn picked up his wineglass and swirled the liquid around the bowl. “I don’t regret sticking to my guns but I do regret the bad PR around that incident.”

His arrogant attitude hadn’t helped. Back then he’d been particularly impressed with himself, thinking his double degree in art and forensics, and his ability to speak a half dozen languages, made him special, and he’d liked his reputation for being something of an art genius. He most definitely hadn’t liked being questioned. Admittedly, he’d been a bit of an ass.

These days, after a failed marriage and a decade to grow the hell up, he wasn’t so quick to tell people he was better, smarter, quicker. He’d come to realize that while he was smart in certain areas—he excelled at anything book-based and was naturally sporty—he was shockingly bad with people.

Unlike his brothers, he wasn’t emotionally intelligent. Concepts were easy; people weren’t.

People, and their sticky, complicated psyches, were a complete mystery to him. He didn’t think that would change anytime soon.

Finn leaned back in his chair and glanced at his oldest brother. His brother and Sadie—the art detective he’d hired to do a deep delve into a painting that might be a lost Homer—were engaged and besotted with each other. The air crackled whenever they were in the same room and the glances they exchanged were blowtorch-hot.

Ronan, the middle Murphy brother, was also currently distracted by his, so he said, inconvenient attraction to Joa, his temporary nanny.

Finn’s brothers’ preoccupation with their women suited Finn; it took their attention off him—BASE jumping, Finn, are you mad? Shark diving without a cage? You take too many risks—and he was grateful for the reprieve. They didn’t understand his need for adrenaline, his willingness to push the envelope.

He didn’t understand why, after experiencing divorce and death, they were even flirting with love and commitment, so he considered them even.

To Finn, handing over his heart was the biggest risk of all. Allowing oneself to be vulnerable was, to him, the most dangerous thing one could do.

He’d tried love once but hadn’t allowed himself to go all the way, to risk everything, with Beah. And, not surprisingly, their marriage had crashed and burned.

Carrick pulled back the cuff to his designer jacket to check his watch. “Cummings will want to talk art with you. He’s a bit of an art history and science buff. Just go along with it. Beah and I will jump in if you start getting…impatient.”

Finn knew Carrick wanted to add irritated.

But holding an intellectual conversation with one of the world’s wealthiest collectors of art, in front of Beah—the woman who still starred in his every sexual fantasy—was going to be a challenge.

“I saw your email saying you are wanting to take some vacation time in a few weeks. Where are you going?” Carrick asked.

“Ice climbing in Colorado.”

Three, two, one…

“Is that safe?” Carrick asked, frowning.

Well, no. Because if it was safe, Finn wouldn’t be doing it. Half the fun of adventure sports was the risk. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk his heart, but he had no problem putting his body on the line.

Because when he stood on the knife-edge of danger, that was when he felt most alive. And, yeah, he liked the excitement of achieving something exceptional. The complete focus the sports required also switched off his washing-machine brain, and it was his way to stop thinking, analyzing, planning.

And the dopamine rush kicked ass…

“Aren’t you scared something will happen?”

Finn considered the question. Sure, it was a factor, but he didn’t let fear stop him. “You know we can’t control the future, Carrick. Bad things happen.”

Carrick didn’t reply and Finn knew he was thinking of their past, the many tragedies the Murphy siblings had been forced to handle. The world saw them as this successful, rich, we-have-the-world-at-our-feet family but people rarely remembered the hell they’d walked through, hand in hand.

But they’d stuck together and yeah, here they were. Scarred, battered, but still a unit, still stronger together than they could ever be apart.

Yet their pasts had shaped them, had molded him. All his siblings had their issues; Finn didn’t like how love made him feel vulnerable and he knew it was better, easier, less risky, to hold back than to love someone completely.

It was better, safer, to keep his distance than to love someone and lose them.

Rolling his shoulders, Finn sent Carrick a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry so much, Carrick. Nothing is certain, so we might as well live in the present and not worry about the future. Besides, I plan on being around for a long time, if only to keep annoying you and Ronan.”

“Cummings is here,” Carrick said, standing up. “Play nice.”

Finn rose to his feet and buttoned his suit jacket. He rearranged his face into what he hoped was a genial smile as he watched the tall, thin man cross the room. Catching a flash of cobalt blue behind him, Finn moved his gaze from the art collector to the bold redhead talking to the maître d’, wild curls pulled back into a ruthlessly tight chignon.

Her makeup was perfect, hiding the spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and her once-lush, curvy body was fifteen pounds lighter.

Finn felt his stomach twist. Beah looked older, sleek and sophisticated, every inch the successful London businesswoman. Wildly attractive but cool, remote…

He couldn’t help wondering whether anything remained of his arty, curly haired, impulsive wife.

Ex-wife.

You speak many languages, Murphy, you can remember she’s your ex-wife.

Two

Beah accepted Carrick’s brief kiss on her cheek, heard his low-pitched “good job” and smiled. Earlier Paris Cummings had verbally agreed to move his artwork through Murphy’s and she’d helped to persuade the billionaire Murphy International was the right avenue to dispose of some of his lesser artworks, including a small Lowry.

Sure, they didn’t have a written agreement, but in the art game, bigger and bolder deals were solidified on a handshake. Trust was imperative in the world they operated in.

Tomorrow she would meet with Finn and Paris at his Hyde Park house and they’d trawl through his collection, making the final decision on what he was prepared to sell, and give estimates on what returns he could expect to realize. Yes, that would mean another face-to-face with Finn, but to land a client as important as Paris Cummings, she’d meet with the devil himself.

Beah watched Carrick escort Paris out of the restaurant, intensely aware of Finn at her side, the fabric of his designer suit brushing her bare shoulder. He smelled like he always did, of sunshine and fresh air, sex and sin, and Beah felt her head swim.

Maybe she shouldn’t have had a second glass of prosecco.

Oh, who was she kidding? It wasn’t the wine making her head swim, it was the presence of her hunky husband…ex-husband.

Acting professional throughout their meal had nearly killed her. She’d done nothing more than move her food around, conscious of those incredible green eyes on her, of every movement he made. She noticed his strong hands and remembered feeling them sliding over her bare skin. She noticed the way the subdued lighting turned his blond hair to gold…his broad shoulders, the way his black shirt fell down his wide chest and over what she remembered to be a six-pack stomach.

He still made her feel squirmy and whirly, and his effect on her—the throbbing deep inside her, the heat between her legs—frustrated her. She was not the young, high-on-great-sex girl she’d been at twenty-one. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for him…

Not anymore.

Beah touched her chignon, checking that her curls were still under control. She hated her hair. When she allowed it free rein, she instantly looked ten years younger, wild and out of control. And her wild curls reminded her of Finn raking his hands through and burying his nose in her hair.

It was a memory she hated. And loved.

But these days, she always, always kept her hair pulled back. It was easier to maintain, control…

Control was important.

“You look good, Beah.”

At his unexpected compliment, Beah lifted her face and her eyes slammed into Finn’s. To the casual observer, he looked relaxed, urbane and debonair. But she knew him well enough to see the tension in his tight lips, his slightly raised shoulders. She knew Finn hated these meet-and-greet dinners and suspected the past two hours had been as difficult for him as they had been for her. But for completely different reasons.

Beah started to respond, to return his compliment, but then pulled her words. What was the point? She’d respond, he’d reply and within a minute they’d run out of conversation. Conversation had never been their strong point.

Beah lifted her fingertips to her forehead, conscious of the pounding behind her eyes. “We don’t need to exchange inanities.”

Finn’s eyes darkened with what she suspected was irritation. “It’s been a while, but you should know the one thing I don’t do is inanities.”

He made her sound churlish. “Thank you for the compliment.” She pushed the words past her teeth.

Finn gestured to the exit. “Let’s head for the bar, have a drink.”

“Why?” Beah asked, conscious of his light touch on her back. It didn’t mean anything; it was just Finn being his well-mannered self.

Except his touch made her skin sizzle, sent sparks dancing across her skin. Why was she still reacting to him like this? So much time had passed, but Finn could still rocket her from controlled to capricious in ten seconds.

Beah edged away from him, putting some space between them. Their intense chemistry was a good reminder of why they needed to keep an ocean between them, why they could never work in the same city, in the same building. On the same continent…

Finn made her feel off-kilter and off-balance and she didn’t like it, dammit. She’d worked very hard to create her calm, orderly world, but one dinner and five minutes’ conversation with Finn and she was feeling flustered.

Damn him.

On exiting the restaurant, Beah turned to Finn and shook her head. “I’m going to skip having a drink with you. I’m tired and I still have work to do tonight.”

Finn pushed his jacket back to jam his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He tipped his head to the side. “Coward,” he quietly murmured.

Beah narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m scared to have a drink with you?”

How dare he imply she was a chicken? She’d divorced him, refusing to take a cent from him, moved back to her home country and worked her butt off to claw her way up the corporate ladder. She’d never asked for any favors from either her ex-husband or her ex-brothers-in-law, and few people within the organization, especially those in the UK, knew she’d once been married to one of the owners of the company.

Rising through the ranks, using her maiden name, had taken guts and hard work…how dare he imply she lacked courage?

Finn’s green eyes were locked on hers. “Let’s think about this logically, Beah.”

Implying that he was always logical and she was not… Grrrr.

“Beah, in three months we are going to be holding the spring sales and auctioning off the Mounton-Matthews collection. The PR is about to go into overdrive and you are going to have a hundred questions for me from about as many collectors regarding the various items up for sale. We both know this is the most important collection to be auctioned in a generation, maybe two. We can carry on exchanging cold, quick emails or we can get over ourselves and try to be friends, establish a working relationship that actually works. We were married a long time ago. Don’t you think it makes sense for us to try to find a new normal?”

Beah suspected he was using the collective “we” when he actually meant her. And it really irritated her that he was acting like the attraction was all one-sided, as if his eyes never went to her lips, to her breasts…pretending he had absolutely no sexual interest in her at all.

Oh, he might be a Murphy owner, might be one of her bosses, but holy crap, he needed a reality check.

She wasn’t riding this roller coaster of lust by herself, thank you very much.

Beah walked over to the bank of elevators, hit the button and waited for the doors to slide open. She could either call him on his statement or she could sit through a drink, maybe two, and make small talk. They could discuss the upcoming auction, art, their clients and what she thought they would be interested in, what the art market was doing these days.

Yeah, they could do that…she would do that. She would not let Finn Murphy suspect she still craved him, that she missed his sexy body, that she occasionally woke up at night, her body flushed, on the edge of orgasm because a naked Finn had visited her in her dreams.

She never missed her uncommunicative, emotionally distant husband, but damn, she did miss her skilled lover.

The elevator doors slid open and Beah stepped inside, conscious Finn was right behind her, his big body dwarfing her. Two couples stepped in after them and then another couple, and she found herself wedged into the corner of the elevator, Finn’s huge body shielding her from the other occupants of the tiny space. Her breasts brushed his chest and her dress flowed over his strong thighs.

Then Beah made the mistake of lifting her eyes upward, noticing the strong cords of his neck, his soft blond stubble. His sexy mouth should be registered as a weapon. Looking into those eyes, edged with long lashes and framed by strong brows, could prove addictive.

He was all man, heat and sex and desire.

Finn’s eyes darkened and his hand came to rest on her hip, his fingers pressing through her dress to burn her skin. His thumb brushed over her hip bone and his eyes darkened, took on a golden hue. He wanted her.

Beah could see it in his eyes, in the way he kept looking at her mouth… Oh, and the hard ridge in his pants was a solid clue, too.

Finn lifted his other hand to hold the side of her face and Beah held her breath as his mouth descended toward hers. She needed to know whether he still tasted the same—sex and sunshine and wind and heat—and she placed her palms on his chest, her fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. If he didn’t make the connection, she would.

Beah closed the last inch of space between them, standing on her toes to close the gap. His mouth brushed hers and she released a tiny, just-for-him moan. She felt his smile, inhaled his scent and then his lips covered hers, his short beard tickling her lips. Beah felt his hand slide around her to her back, and he pulled her closer so her stomach pushed into his erection. Dizzy from lust and want and need, she opened her mouth and Finn’s tongue slid inside to tangle with hers, heating her from the inside out.

She was lost, in his smell, in memories, in the sheer masculinity of this man she’d never been able to forget…

From a place far away, Beah heard the doors to the elevators slide open, the chatter of guests leaving. She should pull her mouth off his, put some distance between them, but it had been so long and he felt so damn good.

Finn pulled his mouth off hers, half turned, and Beah peeked around him to see a family heading toward the elevators, determined to join them. She needed to get out of here, walk across the lobby and go home.

This was foolish, a special type of stupid.

But Beah couldn’t move, and not only because Finn’s bulk caged her in. She knew that if she gave him the slightest push, if she even hinted at feeling uncomfortable, Finn would back off; he would release her and let her be on her way.

But she didn’t want to go anywhere. Right now, being in Finn’s arms was exactly where she needed to be…

Finn used the side of his fist to hit a button and the doors to the elevator immediately responded, sliding shut on the astounded faces of the family heading their way.

Finn looked from her to the panel and back to her. “Three choices, Bee. I can open these doors again and you can step out into the lobby, or we can go to the bar and have a drink.”

Beah looked up at him, touching the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. “And choice number three?”

“My room,” Finn said, his voice raspy with need. He placed a finger into the band of the bodice of her dress and tugged. “And the instant you step through the doors to my suite, this is coming off. Everything will come off.”

She shouldn’t. This was such a bad idea, but she’d been a good girl for a long time. “You promise?” Beah asked, dropping her hand to his waist and sliding it under his jacket. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants and she sighed when she finally felt hot skin covering hard muscles.

Yeah, this. Finn.

“As long as you get naked, too.”

Beah saw a flash of relief in his eyes, and Finn punched the number to his floor. And then he returned to kissing the hell out of her.

Because, yes, this was the way they communicated best. The only way they could.

Keely Matthews walked out of her bathroom and looked at the huge mass of male gorgeousness lying facedown on her California king and sighed. Dare Seymour, broad back, wide shoulders, muscular legs and an ass that was pure perfection, lay with his head in his arms, asleep.

There was nothing she wanted more than to curl up beside him, rest her head on his shoulder and drift off.

She was tired, too, pleasantly so. Two bouts of stupendous sex had her feeling loose and relaxed and a little affectionate. She didn’t mind one and two; three was unacceptable.

She was not going to allow herself to go all gooey-eyed over Lawyer Seymour. He was too masculine, too attractive, too sigh-worthy, and Keely wasn’t the type to go all mushy over men.

Especially men she didn’t think she liked.

Or men she liked too much.

Oh God.

Keely leaned her shoulder into the doorframe and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. She should never have started sleeping with Dare, but resisting him was impossible. The man had superior kissing skills. His skill at French kissing was exceeded only by his skill in the bedroom.

And because sex was a fine way to catch feelings, she often found herself slipping into affection, thinking about him when she shouldn’t, spending far too much time reliving their naked time.

She had to take a step back. Keely did not want a relationship and she most especially didn’t want a relationship with someone as hardheaded, stubborn and bossy as Dare.

There was only room in a relationship for one bossy person, and that was normally her role. Keely knew she wasn’t to everyone’s taste. Her managing ways and her bull-in-a-china-shop approach frequently didn’t win her any friends. As a teenager and young adult she’d genuinely tried to be less bossy but her good intentions always dissolved after a week, or month, or two.

She couldn’t help it if she saw issues clearly, if the solutions to problems just popped into her head. And yes, maybe she could keep her opinions to herself, but why should she watch the people she cared about suffer when she had the answers?

Keely knew she was difficult; she’d been told that many times on many occasions. And all her relationships followed a similar pattern—her lovers told her they could cope with a strong woman, that her assertiveness turned them on, and she took them at their word.

But after two months, three, they all started complaining, telling her she was too over-the-top, too managing, too much.

And they packed up their stuff and walked out of her life, leaving her not-so-tough heart shredded.

After many tears and having her heart dented and dinged, she’d learned to keep all her love affairs on the surface and bed-based; that way she couldn’t get hurt. And Dare Seymour, her lumberjack-looking lawyer, was not going to be the latest in a long line to drop-kick her heart.

Walk over to him, wake him up and kick him out. C’mon, Keely, you can’t let him sleep over…

“Let me guess—you are about to kick me out.” Dare’s words were muffled but she heard his aggravated mumble. He rolled over and pushed his way up in the bed, looking ruffled and sexy. Keely fought the urge to straddle him, to place her mouth on his and taste him again…

Dare ran his hands through his hair, his blue eyes sharp. “We’ve been sleeping together for six weeks, Keely. Surely I can sleep over without the sky falling down?”

Keely stared at her bare feet. Sure, he could, but sleepovers were for people in relationships, not for casual lovers. And she had to keep Dare very casual indeed.

Keely lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I don’t like people in my space.”

Dare linked his arms across his flat stomach and Keely was grateful the sheet covered his groin area. A bare-chested Dare was distracting enough; Dare in all his glorious nakedness would be too much to resist. “Cut the crap. You’re just scared.”

Keely forced herself to lift one, just one, arrogant eyebrow. “Nothing about you scares me, Seymour.”

Dare had the temerity to smile. “Oh, honey, everything about me scares you.”

Keely tipped her head to the side and ignored her tumbling heart. “Are you experiencing a rush of blood to your head? An aneurysm? A little brain episode? Because you’re acting weird.”

“You’re using sarcasm to avoid the subject. You’re scared of me because I’m strong enough, man enough, to cope with your sharp tongue and pushy personality.”

That’s what they all said, and she’d trusted them enough to believe her previous lovers. Then they bailed. They always bailed.

She wasn’t stupid enough to believe Dare would be the exception to the rule.

Keely placed her hands on her hips, annoyed with him and equally annoyed with herself for wanting to believe him. Keely made herself wave at the bed, dismissing their lovemaking with her hand. “It’s just sex, Dare. You’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

Dare flung back the sheet and gracefully rose to his feet, supremely confident in his nakedness. He loomed over her but Keely met his hard stare with one of her own. “You can BS yourself, Keely, but don’t try to BS me. I see your eyes when I touch you, I hear your moans, the way your voice softens when you say my name.”

“That’s what women say in the heat of the moment,” Keely protested. “Don’t take my words seriously.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Dare responded. He cupped her chin in his hands and Keely narrowed her eyes at him. “I can read you, Keely, and you’re not half as tough as you think you are. Something is bubbling between us and it’s more than sex.”

Keely’s stomach rolled over. Oh God, not again. She couldn’t do this again. “It’s only sex, Seymour. You’re getting the physical and the emotional confused.”

“The hell I am,” Dare muttered, dropping his hand. He took a step back and sent her a slow, sarcastic smile, lifting those incredible shoulders in a small shrug. “Cool. Then find someone else who can give you the same buzz.”

Horror at the suggestion must’ve jumped into her eyes because Dare’s expression turned from sarcasm to satisfaction. “Not keen on that idea, huh?”

Keely placed her hands behind her back and pulled an implacable expression onto her face. She would not let him get the better of her in this argument. He won most of the arguments they had, usually by using logic to get his point across. It was very annoying.

“This conversation is ridiculous and it’s time it ended,” Keely told him, walking across the room to pick up his suit pants from the floor. She tossed them onto the bed and plucked his dress shirt off the occasional chair, resisting the urge to put the fabric to her nose, inhaling his unique smell.

Dare found his boxer briefs, pulled them on and reached for his pants. Keely didn’t like the contemplative look on his face, knew that his sharp brain was working a mile a minute behind those gorgeous navy eyes. Yeah, he was up to something and she suspected it wouldn’t be anything she liked…

She hated to be kept waiting. “Just spit it out, will you?” Keely demanded.

Dare pulled on his shirt and left the sides unbuttoned, pushing the tails back to slide his hands into the pockets of his pants. He sent her a steady look. “Do you want to stop sleeping with me?”

“No! Hell, no!” Okay, maybe she should not have responded so quickly, been a little cooler, played a little harder to get.

“Good to know.” Dare’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “The thing is, Keely, I still want to sleep with you, too, but I also want more.”

More? How much more? Oh, crap. Keely lifted her hand to her throat, feeling her windpipe constrict. “Uh…what…um…”

“I’ve rendered you speechless. I’m impressed,” Dare commented. He lifted his hand at her hot stare. “Okay, here’s the deal…”

She didn’t like the determined look in his eyes, the tension behind his genial expression. “I’m a guy, so obviously, I don’t want to stop sharing your bed and exploring your amazing body…”

“But?” Because an enormous but had just strolled into her bedroom and plopped itself down, looking expectant.

“But, if you want to sleep with me, you’re going to have to give me something first.”

Ah, like what? Did she even want to know? Keely wasn’t sure she did, mostly because she suspected there wasn’t a hell of a lot she wouldn’t do for sex with Dare.

Damn him.

“If you want sex, then I want a date.”

A date… What?

Keely wrinkled her nose, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dare tucked his shirttails into his pants, did up his expensive ostrich-skin belt. “For every hour we spend in bed, I want two hours where we talk, dance, interact.”

Keely’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Do you dance?”

“I can shuffle.” Dare walked over to where she stood, gripping the back of her chair for support. He picked up her hand, skimmed her knuckles with his lips. “You look like I’ve just asked you to experiment with whips and chains and leather chaps.”

“I… I…” Dammit. Where had all her words gone? She was never at a loss for words.

“You are determined to keep our relationship bedroom-based, Keely. I’m determined to take it up a notch.”

“How much more?”

“I want to marry you and for you to have my babies.”

Shock must’ve jumped into her eyes because Dare laughed, his blue eyes turning softer, gentler. “Okay, the look on your face was priceless. I’m just kidding, Killer.”

Keely narrowed her eyes at his use of the nickname, but then quickly turned away, hoping he couldn’t sense her disappointment at the quick retraction of his marriage-and-kids offer. Because it was her dearest dream. Marriage and a family were all she’d ever really wanted.

A proper place to belong…

Dare rolled his big shoulders, looking pensive. “We’re not kids anymore, Keely, and the enemies-with-benefits thing is getting old. I just want to see if the spark can build into a fire.”

She’d experienced many sparks, a few fires, but they’d been quickly smothered or doused by her strong personality or her partner’s inability to deal with it.

No, she couldn’t do this. Not with Dare. Not with this man who would, she was convinced, make mincemeat of her heart. “It won’t work, Dare.”

Dare slid his thumb over her bottom lip. “Of course it will, Keels, just trust me.”

She couldn’t; she had too much to lose. Her heart had already taken far too many knocks. She had to protect herself.

Keely pushed steel into her spine, stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around her torso. She made herself shrug. “Okay, no deal.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Dare had the temerity to grin. He took her hand and yanked her into him, his lips sliding across hers. Keely was about to sink into the kiss when he pulled away. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You want what I do, you’re just too stubborn and scared to admit it. I bet you won’t last two weeks before you call me up and invite me to dinner.”

“When pigs fly.”

Dare kissed the tip of her nose, still openly amused. “And I expect you to pay for dinner and for us to talk, Keely. Only if I think you’ve tried will I allow you to have your way with me.”

Keely wanted to slap him senseless. “You are such a jerk!”

“Because I’m done with you dictating the parameters of this relationship?” Dare asked, and she saw the hint of the ruthless lawyer he was. “Because I want more than just your body?”

“Because you’re pushing me.”

“I’m pushing you because you are braver and better than this, sweetheart.” Dare bent down to pick up his shoes and sent her a tight smile. “I’ll wait for your call.”

“When hell freezes over.” Keely tossed the words at his back.

Dare stopped and looked over his shoulder, sending her a slow, sexy smile. “Is that before or after pigs fly? I look forward to seeing both.”

Argh. Keely released a wail of frustration and noticed her hairbrush on the side table. By the time she picked it up and launched it in his direction, the infuriating man had left her room.

She would not call him, buy him supper, spend hours talking to him. He was out of his mind if he thought she was that weak…

But dammit, the thought of not seeing him again made her heart feel empty, hollow and cold.

But that was better than having her heart broken.

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