A Deal With the Devil Page 7

  “Yes. How did we do with Chin? Did you get the go-ahead for Macau?”

  “We are a step closer.” Shoulders squared as he pierced her with his cool gaze. So Macau was off limits now. “I told you to wait.”

  “And in here you’re my boss, that’s fair enough. But out there … then … you weren’t acting like my boss.” She felt once more the heat of that night, the soft caress of his thumb on her cheek, the tingling in her breasts. “And I don’t take kindly to orders.”

  “So I see.” He tapped the crystal glass with his finger, a smile forming. “And in the middle of what could have been a dirty fight you ignored my instructions? He could have attacked you, you could have been hurt.”

  She’d just wanted to get away before things got too involved. “I … didn’t think about that.”

  “I did. Which was why I told you to wait. Why I kept you in my sights.” He shook his head as if somehow he’d been denied something that he had badly wanted. “Until you ran away.”

  And that was why Rey had acted so swiftly? He’d been protecting her when she’d thought he was just gunning to get involved in a brawl? She didn’t know how to feel about that. The last thing she wanted was his protection and yet … Damn and double damn … she’d bowled into this whole thing with all guns blazing, without assessing, like he did, without thinking deeper than getting revenge and a bloody good headline.

  She’d thought it would be easy to betray him a second time, but it wasn’t. She’d thought it would be black and white. But where Rey was concerned there were shadows and brightness, dark and light. She hadn’t reckoned on that and now she was lost. All her convictions were challenged and she didn’t know what the hell to do. “I didn’t run. I left because I thought it was better that way.”

  “And was it?” He put his glass on the desk and regarded her, waiting for her to answer, his question so loaded with intent.

  She turned away because they both knew what he was asking. Was it better that they hadn’t kissed? That things between them hadn’t progressed. Hell, she couldn’t answer that because it was all she’d been dreaming about. A hot and restless ache. And a shocking regret that she hadn’t kissed him, just once.

  “If ever there’s a next time, listen to me and do what I say. Dealing with dangerous situations is what I do best.” Then he was moving towards her, tilting her chin up so he could see her face. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll try not to then.” Looking into his eyes, so dark and deep she saw past the control, felt the heat between them flare into beautiful vivid life. This time it was fierce and shocking in its intensity. She tried to look away but she couldn’t, her world shifting a little as she was transfixed by the promise shimmering in his molten gaze. How could she want him so much? Him, of all men. It defied logic.

  “And tell me the truth … why are you really here? In my office suite?”

  “Just doing my job.” It wasn’t a lie—she’d told too many already—she’d just been doing her other job. Her chest constricted, her words a stammer, a muddle, like her brain. “In fact, I should go. Carlos might need me.”

  “No.” A minute shake of his head. A warning. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not telling me everything?” Again, the eyes narrowed and she felt breathless under his scrutiny. “Who are you Kate?”

  “You know who I am. I’m the same woman from the other night, the one you asked to lie for you.” The one who wanted to sleep with you, but lost her nerve at the first glimmer of danger. Adrenalin pumped through her. She wanted to tell him who she really was, to be honest, but she was scared. Scared that her feelings for him were getting in the way of her professional and personal perspective. Scared too of the ramifications of him knowing the real reason she was here. “I need to go. Carlos warned me not to disappear again. I don’t want him thinking …”

  “I don’t care what he thinks.”

  She looked down at Doyle’s hand on her wrist, surprised by the comfort of his touch, the memories mingling with new sensations until she couldn’t think of any kind of answer that made any sense. “I … have to go.”

  “What do you want, Kate?”

  She didn’t think saying I want to have sex on your desk and then break your deal of the century would go down well. Not least because she had no desire to find out what his idea of talking to someone who’d crossed him was. “Right now, I’d like to keep my job.”

  “You have it.” He nodded. “I keep asking questions and you block me at every turn. Why? What are you hiding? What are you afraid of?”

  You. Me. This. The strength and power of this attraction, falling too hard for the very wrong man. “I’m not looking for any kind of … thing with you. I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now.”

  “That makes two of us. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun, though.” His lips twitched as he curled his finger into a lock of her hair. The suspicion from before had dissipated a little—or he was suppressing it. Or playing her. She didn’t know which would be worse. “All work and no play …”

  “I can’t play.” Not with you. Not ever.

  “In that case, I will take what I do with you very seriously indeed.” His words were like a whisper over her skin. “You have my promise.”

  “I don’t want it.” She did want it. But she couldn’t want it. Reality was blurring dangerously with a fantasy of being in his arms. The heat from his hand set a fire raging in her belly that spread through her, warping boundaries, twisting her sensibility. As she looked at him she was aware of her breathing stuttering, quickening. Of the pull towards him, which seemed insurmountable, utterly overwhelming. Hopeless. Exciting. Her peripheral senses shut down, cocooning just him and her in a world of take now, or leave and don’t look back.

  She could not leave.

  Her fingers went to his mouth, she traced once more across his lower lip. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to press herself against him and have his scent on her skin, his lips on hers. She wanted him. And she let herself believe, just for a while, that she could wrap herself in this moment, with him, and nothing dangerous could ever reach them.

  Then her fingers touched his scar and she remembered his reaction to it the other day. Why the hell she had the sudden need to ask him this now she couldn’t fathom. She wondered if this was a line she wasn’t ever meant to cross. Whether talking to him about something so deeply personal would push him further behind those barriers he put up.

  But she crossed the line anyway—because there was so much about this man that she needed to know, wanted to know. And none of that curiosity was fuelled by revenge, or her job, or a newspaper angle. It was something else entirely, something that scared her. “The other day you weren’t entirely honest about this, were you? There’s more?”

  “It’s nothing.” He turned away but she pulled him to face her. It was something, she thought, something tragic and painful, she could see it in his eyes. Something that held him back on a personal level. Something that gave him that dark edge.

  “I don’t believe you. Your mouth says one thing and yet your eyes say something altogether different.”

  His body tensed. “For God’s sake, Kate. Really? You want to talk about this now?” He reached for her hair, wound his fingers into her curls and stepped closer. So close she could feel his heart thunder against his chest. “Because there’s a whole world of things I’d rather be doing …”

  He wanted to kiss her. That much was obvious. He wanted her and that gave her wings. And a little courage. “Call me old-fashioned, Rey, but I do like to know something about the person I’m spending time with.”

  His eyes darted to the floor as he pulled his hand from her hair, reached for his glass, downed the contents. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

  “Yes. It does.” Putting her hand on his shoulders she turned him to face her. She took his hand in hers, felt the shiver of electricity fire between them. This was real. “I’m listening. I want to know
about you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find all you need to know on the Internet.” He lifted her hands from him, moved away from her and closed his eyes. Those strong fine fingers touched the silvered line across his mouth.

  “Rey …”

  His eyes opened, but he didn’t look at her, he focused on something ahead. Something from the past. Or nothing at all. “It was my father. A long time ago. He had a gold signet ring, with an old penny in it. Turns out it could pack a punch. Split my lip in two.”

  “Oh, my God. Really?” The full horror of his life bloomed before her. She couldn’t imagine having someone you loved do such a thing, to destroy all trust, to break your spirit. In an attempt to keep him close she slid her fingers into his. “Why? Why would he do that?”

  “Because he didn’t know another way. Because it was an outlet, a pressure valve. He was always totally calm afterwards. But mainly, each time, it was simply because I was there.”

  “Didn’t someone stop him? How could he do such a thing …?” Her admiration for him was growing; deeper, more profound emotions were working in her chest. His eyes had a haunted quality to them and she ached to rewind to moments ago when she’d seen such playfulness and desire there. But this too was Rey Doyle. This man was complex. A fighter. A survivor. “How did you stop it?”

  “I left. I walked away. Living on the streets was a far better option. At least if I died there it would have been from some kind of choice. To a greater or lesser extent I was in control.”

  Which explained his pressing ambition to conquer, to be in charge. “I can’t imagine having to make such a choice.”

  “He always said he was sorry, that he wouldn’t do it again. That each punch was the last one, promised … begged for forgiveness, wept like a child … But there was always, always a next time. We lived from breath to breath, watching the minutest changes in his manner, the clenched jaw, a certain look in his eye.” Making space between them he stepped further away, guarded once more, shoulders up to his ears. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

  Feeling raw she straightened up, let his fingers slide from her grasp. Her heart was just about smashed but she didn’t pity him, not at all. “Oh my God, no. I’m in awe that you got out at all. That you got out whole.”

  He took a moment to answer her, thought about his response. “Thing is, Kate, I don’t know if I did. I have nothing to give anyone—I’m empty. A shell. Cold.”

  She took that to be more about the shield he wore, than a warning, even if he thought it was the latter. “No you’re not. Look at what you’ve achieved with your life. Look at you. Look at how you helped that street kid. Look at your amazing business success. Is that not enough?”

  “I don’t know, Kate. Is anything enough?”

  You are. She reached her hand to him and he took it, gripping it like some kind of lifeline. He looked at her then, eyes filled with the agony of his past and she held his gaze as long as she dared.

  And oh, he was beautiful. So beautiful it caught her breath. She inched backwards to take in the raw fierce energy, the scars of his life. A fighter. There was a script tattooed on his wrist. She pushed his jacket sleeve up, but she couldn’t read the words. “May I?”

  He shrugged.

  Wordlessly she shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His eyes never left hers but he let her do it. Then she pushed back his sleeve and read the italic lettering: fall down seven times, stand up eight. A boxing mantra? She ran her fingertips down it, taking the meaning to heart—whatever demons he faced, he would overcome, and would never ever submit.

  “I love it. Any more?”

  His eyebrows rose, but without answering he unbuttoned his shirt, slid it off then turned slowly away from her.

  “Oh. Wow. I mean … oh, my God, wow.” In black and white ink huge feathered wings opened across his shoulder blades, an angel down the centre of his spine, floating over the smooth curves of his back. Serene and beatific, the angel was looking down—a mysterious expression on her face; a mixture of love and despair. The words C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier… across his hips.

  Mesmerised, Kate ran her hands over the words, over the sculpted muscle and ink. Her mouth was dry, her heart beating a ferocious rhythm. “What does it mean?”

  “‘That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything …’” Rey’s voice fractured. “She is my mother.”

  “I see.” It was a strange quote, a strange idea of love. It was stunning, but haunting. Desolate. Kate’s hands continued to explore the contours of his back, traced the artwork reverently, the muscles, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades. “Watching over you?”

  He shrugged, and for the first time she noticed he had that French way of shrugging, a kind of nonchalant I don’t give a damn what you think. She also knew instinctively that the tattoo and quote were deeply personal to him and he was trying hard not to show it. “Something like that.”

  “It’s … astonishing. Amazing. I love it, I really do.”

  “I didn’t write it—it’s by Victor Hugo.”

  She’d meant to say that she loved the angel, not the words, they were too raw for her. “The French writer? I have to say, though, it’s pretty sad if that’s what he thinks love’s all about.” She thought about her own mother and how much she’d given up for her children, but had endlessly said they’d been the light of her life. Kate knew that there’d been sacrifices but a lot of happiness too. Love had enriched all their lives. “There is a give-and-take thing that happens in proper love.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Kate wanted to ask him more about his mother, but sensed he’d given enough. For a second Rey closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he smiled, made a pretence of checking her over, turning her round and round, pushing up her sleeves. “No tattoos?”

  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” She smiled. He was back.

  “You do know that’s an offer I’m not going to refuse?” His palm was on her neck now, sending heat shimmering through her, reaching to her core and stroking. “You’re not going to run away again?”

  Oh, she knew she should. Run fast away from here and never look back. But it was as if some mysterious magnetic force pulled her towards him. She couldn’t have staggered, let alone run. Her feet seemed determined to stay exactly where they were. She also knew that this was her call, that he would not take without consent. And if she didn’t say those words out loud she would regret it forever.

  “No. I’m not going to run.”

  “In that case …” He cupped her face in both his hands and slid his mouth over hers. Gently at first, as if he sensed the tension coiling through her. Crazy thoughts buzzed through her head. That she should not be here, that he would use her. That this was wild and foolish. And yes, it was all those things, but it was so much more. As his tongue ran over her bottom lip she opened to him, her belly tightening in response to his heat. To his taste of liquor, and man, and an exciting impossible risk.

  Snaking her hands over his bare skin she traced the delineated curves of his biceps, the bunched taut pectoral muscles punctuated with scars that made him more, so much more. When he dragged his mouth from hers and pressed it against her neck she curled into him, surprised at the moan in her throat. When he pressed closer she felt the full thick hardness of him against her belly causing her already unravelling control to disappear altogether. She wanted this enthralling man. Wanted all of him.

  His hands grazed her nipples, first over her blouse, then under her bra, the heat of his skin against hers sending ripples of sensation through her. With confident fingers he undid the buttons on her blouse and ripped it from her. With a flick he undid her bra, then his mouth was on her nipple, suckling hot and wet and hungry. She dug her fingers into his untamed hair, twisting the soft strands in her fingers as every breath on her skin stoked the furnace in her gut.

  Her words were ragged
and rough. “God, please don’t ever stop.”

  “No? Is this what you want, Kate?” Then he was laying her down on the desk, running his hands up and down her body. He stopped at the hem of her skirt and pushed it up, fingers finding her panties, the wetness he’d created. The intensity and desire in his eyes ablaze. There would be no stopping. His fingers brushed over her clitoris. “This?”

  “God, yes.” Her body craved his closeness. Dragging him to her she slammed her mouth against his, taking what she needed. But it was not enough. She wanted to feel him inside her.

  And then, from nowhere guilt ripped through her once more. He had shared so much of himself and she was living a lie, making him believe she was someone she wasn’t. It was time to be as honest as him. But what to tell him? All of it? Part of it? Wrenching her mouth from his she made a start, “Rey, there’s something I need to say—”

  His mouth brushed hers to silence her. “Shhh … no more talking.”

  “But—”

  “No more pasts. I’m through with that.” He was still hard, pressing against her. Still hungry. His fingers on her mouth, tracing her lips. “I want you, Kate. I want you now.”

  “God, yes. I want you, Rey. So much.” So much that she wouldn’t break this moment—she might never have it again.

  She would tell him the truth. She would. She would lay everything open to him. Later. Soon. When he was ready to hear it, when all this urgency was no longer a deep distraction that needed to be fed. For now she lifted her face to his and melted into his kiss, gave herself up to him, as honest and as open as she could be. She told him, without words, that she had nothing but admiration for him and what he’d survived. That she wanted him more for knowing about his past. That he was enough.

  Rey had come back to life with her kisses, a gnawing, desperate need. No one knew the full trauma he’d suffered, and no one ever would, but saying just that small amount out loud to someone who wanted to hear it had set something alight in his chest. Something had shifted, there was light there in the blackness. Pushing her on to the desk he looked at this woman and something stirred deeper within him, something base and feral. And he wanted nothing more than to be inside her.