Page 16 of Enemies with Benefits

He rose to join me. Despite my above average height, he towered over me, made me feel small and delicate in a way very few people could. And... I didn’t exactly hate that feeling. Which was totally absurd. I turned away as he glanced at his watch.

‘Let me take you out to dinner. We can discuss this over—’

‘No, thanks. I only eat with people I trust.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Ouch,’ he drawled without a hint of the purported affront. ‘You really are determined to make this adversarial, aren’t you?’

For some reason, the softly voiced accusation niggled, striking me with a wild urge to apologise.Stay strong.‘I’m just looking out for my family’s best interests.’

That brought a wry, twisted smile to his lips. ‘Can’t say I blame you, but I’m really not the enemy here, Wren.’

God, the way he said my name—that name I’d hated for so long—somehow sounded pleasant on his lips. ‘If you’re not the enemy, then agree to end this amicably,’ I replied.

His smile turned edgy, delivering another glimpse of the true man beneath the suave exterior. ‘I haven’t made it this far by being sentimental over business, Wren. I’m a little disappointed you would play that card. Your brother signed an agreement. I expect you to honour it. Starting on Monday, you’ll devote the required time and energy into progressing this deal.’

‘Or what?’ I dared, even though my stomach dipped wildly. There was something raw and primal in that command, something that incredulously turned my blood hotter, my skin more sensitive. With a compulsion I couldn’t deny, my gaze dropped to his lips. Mine tingled, a need to taste him almost overpowering me. It was enough to make me take a step back. But I wasn’t totally out of his reach. So when he raised his hand and slowly extended it towards my face, there was absolutely no reason not to take another step away. Out of the path of temptation. Except I didn’t.

His knuckles brushed my cheek, slowly caressing down to my jaw. Electricity charged up my thighs, making me bite back a gasp. Why the hell was I getting so wet?Dear God...

‘You say you’re looking out for your family? Then what was that in that maze last week? Was it a touch of much-needed self-indulgence? One you wouldn’t be averse to repeating?’

‘I...no.’

‘Try that once more, with feeling. But before you do, remember my promise. I intend to fuck you, Wren. Very hard and very thoroughly. In every position you desire.’

My clit throbbed and fresh flames shot through me at the thick drawled words. Suddenly, I was very aware of the sofa nearby. That all I had to do was say the word and I’d have him.

But then what? He would be just another temporary act of rebellion that could go nowhere when I should be concentrating on dragging my family’s company out of the quagmire. Perry was in rehab. The last thing I should be doing was adding flames to a roaring scandal-hungry fire by embarking on a tryst with the enemy.

‘Business,’ I insisted, even as a thick coil of regret unravelled inside me, reminding me of how many times I’d denied myself for the sake of family. ‘I’m here to discuss business. Nothing else.’

That overconfident smile returned, turning his far too gorgeous face even more spectacular as his hand dropped. ‘Good. Then do the right thing. Or you’ll leave me no choice but to fight your hot little fire with flames of my own,’ he answered, a growl of anticipation in his voice that hastened my heartbeat.

‘You don’t want to go to war with me, Jasper.’

‘To get this deal done, I’ll take you however I can get you, sweetheart.’

Much too late, I took that vital step back. Then another. ‘Goodnight, Jasper.’

‘Would you like me to walk you out?’ he asked, right after his hooded gaze circumvented my body, leaving me even hotter than before.

‘I can manage on my own, thanks,’ I replied, aware my voice was a little hoarse when I needed it snippy.

‘Okay. I’ll see you on Monday for the phase two meeting at nine a.m. Don’t be late.’

I turned and walked away without answering. In the lift, I sagged against one wall, a traitorous little tremble seizing my body as snippets of the conversation scrolled across my brain. Nothing had gone as I’d smugly predicted. If the agreement he’d shown me was valid—and I didn’t see why it would be fabricated—it meant Perry had agreed to a deal that would be impossible to walk away from without seriously crippling Bingham’s. So why had he signed it? And why had he left it out of the file?

My phone pinged as the lift reached the ground floor. I stared at the text, my heartbeat hammering as I saw the familiar-looking number. Jasper.

I’ve emailed you a copy of the agreement for your records.

I checked my email and, sure enough, the agreement was in my inbox. I tapped out a reply as I walked through his stunning atrium, once again determined not to admire its grandeur.

Email received. Thanks.

I discovered other hidden bombshells once I was back home in my maisonette in Fulham, showered and dressed in my favourite pyjama shorts set. The glass of red wine was forgotten in my hand as I read and reread the agreement, tiny waves of shock building into a tsunami as I absorbed just what Perry had committed Bingham’s to.

Besides the supply agreement, which would eat heavily into our cash reserves, Perry had agreed to being on hand, day or night, to troubleshoot any problems that arose either in London or on sites in Morocco for a minimum of twenty hours per week. To ‘help’ with that particular clause, Jasper had offered the use of his empty office in London or a suite in the Morocco hotel.

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