Page 3 of Enemies with Benefits

And I was curiously concerned about it. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’

I shrugged. ‘You seem a little...stressed.’

Her chin notched upward. ‘You don’t know me well enough to make that assessment.’

‘Ah, but I’ve attended enough of these shindigs to see when the hostess is fretting about the vegan-to-carnivore ratio of her canapés, and when it’s something more. This is something more.’

Her delicate throat moved in a nervous swallow, but her gaze remained bold and direct, swirling with a deep, passionate undercurrent I craved to drown in. ‘Evenifit’s the latter, it’s none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’

‘Where’s Perry?’

She froze mid-brush-off, her eyes widening fractionally. ‘What?’

No, she wasn’t as carefree as she pretended.

The rumours that Bingham’s was in trouble had been circulating for a few years now. The veracity of those rumours was partly why I’d initially been reticent about joining forces with them. But, hell, call me a sucker... I’d always had a thing for the underdog.

Maybe it was a hangover from my daddy issues. Or a tool I used to my advantage when idiots underestimated me. Either way, my instincts hadn’t failed me thus far.

There were certain family and board members who considered me, at thirty-one, too young for the position I was in, notwithstanding the fact that my older brother, Damian, and my cousin Gideon had been wildly successful in their newly minted co-CEO positions of the entire Mortimer Group despite being only a few years older. Or that my cousin Bryce was acing his similar position as President of New Developments in Asia and Australia. Even my sister, Gemma, and my cousin Graciela, who’d both resisted joining the board until recently, were excelling in their chosen areas of expertise.

I was damned if I’d let Perry Bingham’s antics prove them right. Especially after going against all my business instincts and signing him onto my deal.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, Wren. Where’s your brother?’ I steeled my voice because, however much I enjoyed this erotic dance with her, Perry was at risk of tanking everything I’d worked for during the last eighteen months.

Several expressions filtered through her eyes—alarm, worry, irritation, mild disappointment. She finally settled on indignation. ‘Is that why you came?’

‘I told you, I accompanied Aunt Flo—’

‘A ruse to hunt down my brother,’ she interjected.

‘That implies awareness that he’s hiding. Is he?’

A look flickered across her face, gone too quickly but revealing enough to intensify the unease knotting my belly. ‘Tell me where he is, Wren,’ I pressed. ‘He’s been avoiding my calls for almost two weeks and it’s getting really old.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do your own hunting. I’m not Perry’s keeper.’ Her tense reply gave her away. As did the minuscule tremble in the fingers that held her glass. Both intrigued and disturbed me but before I could push for more, she added, ‘You’ve monopolised me quite enough. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Jasper.’

Just for the hell of it, and because something wild and reckless yearned for another demonstration that she wasn’t immune to me, I brushed my fingertips down her arm. ‘This isn’t over.’

She attempted to cover her tiny shiver of awareness with a wide sultry smile that diverted my attention to her luscious lips. ‘How can something be over when it didn’t start in the first place?’

With that, she sailed away, her hips swaying in that unique way that’d held male and female gazes rapt during her modelling days. Since then, Wren had gained even more confidence in her womanhood, and left a swathe of admirers slack-jawed in her wake. I wracked my brain, trying to recall if she had a current boyfriend. The gut-tightening rejection at the idea of her being attached made me grimace into my champagne.

Until my gaze fell on the woman who placed herself directly in Wren’s path before manoeuvring her away from the nearest guest.

Agnes Bingham—Wren’s mother and powerhouse socialite in her own right.

The tall, slim woman was what Wren would look like in thirty years. Except where Agnes’s beauty was classically cool, Wren was vibrant, passionate, even though she seemed hell-bent on suppressing it.

Why?

None of your business.

But I wanted to make it my business. I wanted Wren in my bed and damn all the consequences to hell. And more and more I suspected I wouldn’t get over this fever in my blood until I’d had her.

Tension of a different kind raced up my spine when mother and daughter glanced my way. The touch of rebellion in Wren’s gaze made me raise my glass in a mocking toast, even while I observed the animosity emanating from Agnes Bingham.

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