Page 2 of Enemies with Benefits

She tried not to stiffen, but didn’t quite succeed, nor could she disguise the flare of awareness in her vivid green eyes when she turned to me. She didn’t reply immediately, instead she scrambled for the jaded expression that had been her trademark in her modelling days.

I stifled the urge to tell her not to bother. Witnessing a demonstration of her fiery passion and stiletto-sharp business acumen five years ago across a boardroom table for an unforgettable fifteen minutes had etched a different Wren Bingham in my mind from the façade she wore for the public.

‘Jasper Mortimer.’

The way she said my name, striving to be curt when different textures sizzled beneath, ramped up my temperature. I wanted her attempting to say my name just like that while she was tied to my bed with silken restraints, naked and wet.

‘I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.’

Pausing just as long as she did before answering, I snagged a glass of champagne from the bar. ‘Because it wasn’t there. I’m privileged to be my aunt’s plus one. What I haven’t had the privilege of is being acknowledged by the hostess since my arrival. I’m feeling sorely neglected.’

She tried to look through me, as if that would stop the arc of electricity zapping between us. As if she hadn’t performed a quick once-over of my body as I got my drink. I planted myself in her line of vision until she had no choice but to focus on me, her nostrils flaring slightly as her green eyes—alluringly wide and sparkling with an interest she was trying to hide—connected with mine.

I barely heard her guests murmur their excuses and drift away, leaving us in a tight little cocoon.

‘Perhaps I would’ve already greeted you, if you hadn’t arrived half an hour late.’

I curbed a smile, inordinately pleased she’d noticed my arrival. ‘I’m willing to make amends by doubling my donation to tonight’s cause.’

One elegantly shaped eyebrow arched. ‘Name it.’

I frowned. ‘Name what?’

‘The beneficiary of tonight’s cause. What’s this mixer in aid of?’ she challenged.

Crap. I’d tuned Aunt Flo out when she’d mentioned it in the car, my frustrated attention on the echo of the ringing phone Perry was—yet again—refusing to answer. ‘Something to do with pandas in Indonesia?’ I hazarded.

Sparks gathered in her eyes. ‘Why am I not surprised you don’t know?’

Heat surged through me. ‘That suggests a curious level of personal knowledge. Have you been attempting to get to know me behind my back, Wren?’

She gave the smallest gasp, then tried that bored look again. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I can’t help it if others feel the need to gossip about you Mortimers.’

‘Oh, yeah? What else do they say about me? What else has that brilliant brain of yours retained?’

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘Nothing worth repeating.’

Unable to resist, I stepped closer. ‘Are you sure? I’m happy to hear you out, set a few things straight if you get anything wrong.’

She didn’t reply. After an age of trying to decipher which I liked more on her skin—the scent of bergamot or the underlying allure of crushed lilies—I looked up to catch her gaze on my mouth.

Hell yes, that insane chemistry was still very much alive and well—and sizzling, as usual.

‘Stop that,’ she said in a tight undertone.

I raised my glass, took a lazy sip before answering. ‘Stop what?’

‘That extremely unsubtle way you’re looking at me,’ she hissed in a ferocious whisper, then glanced around. Thankfully, the music was loud enough for her words to reach my ears only. ‘The way you look at me every time we meet.’

I laughed under my breath. ‘And how do I look at you, Wren?’

‘You might lure some women with those come-fuck-me eyes but I’m not one of them so stop wasting your time.’

My laughter was a little louder, genuine amusement reminding me how long it’d been since I’d enjoyed the thrill of a chase outside the boardroom. ‘Come-fuck-me eyes? Really?’ I didn’t bother to keep my voice down.

Several people stared but I watched Wren, keenly interested in her next move.

She flashed the patently false smile she’d been doling out all evening but I caught the strain beneath the thousand-watt beam. Taking in the rest of her, I sensed tension in her lithe frame, in the fingers that clutched her glass a little too firmly. For reasons I suspected went beyond our conversation, Wren was wound extremely tight tonight.

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