I feel my pulse pick up as I remember it all too vividly. Replay it in quick succession and then remember him not twenty minutes ago as he took my hand in his.
The carefully groomed hair with its definite curl, the square cut to his jaw, his clean-shaven skin, full lips, chiselled cheekbones and his eyes...they were so dark that night, dark and intense. This afternoon I could take in their vivid blue, but it wasn’t just the colour on display, it was the past too, the memory of what he witnessed as they seemed to project that wild heat back at me, right there in the boardroom.
And he’s a man-child.
A man-child with an ego the size of Narcissus, quite clearly.
He’s young, he’s in PR, and he doesn’t just walk the talk, he struts it. Slick and confident in his vibrant blue suit, his perfect hair that took time to sculpt, those eyes so sharp and astute and in command. There’s a slash through one brow that tells of some misadventure long ago and instead of damaging his flawless exterior, it adds to it. Making him roguish and charming and disarming in one.
And his voice...even now it shivers through me. Deep, raspy, practically hoarse. Who even talks like that but an aged smoker? Which really should make it a turn-off, not an almighty, knicker-wetting turn-on!
And, to cap it all off, I want to feast over the whole damn package when he’s already rejected me. Rejected me when I was at my most vulnerable, most exposed—Bloody hell, I was naked and chained, for fuck’s sake!
Not that I can blame him for the latter. I put myself in that position on my knees, wanton, willing, teetering on the edge of climax.
I swallow past the wedge of humiliation as I navigate the pavement outside, careful to avoid the pooling water in my heels. Heels that match the vibrant red of my trench coat and lippy. An attempt at injecting colour into the grey office that has always been just that—grey, uniform, orderly, pristine. It was how we wanted it and it’s never bothered me before, but this last year... I don’t know. I want to change it. I want to change it all. I have no one to please, to acquiesce to, but myself now.
Unless you count the board, of course, and they can take—
‘Olivia!’
I stumble and curse, one foot landing squarely in a puddle, sending mucky water right up my legs. Dammit!
I don’t want to look behind me. In fact I don’t seem able to do much under the influence of my name being called in that gravel-like tone.
I can hear his hurried footfall on the pavement, catching me up, and I close my eyes, take a breath.
Valentine Boretti isn’t running away now. He’s chasing me down.
Could this day get any worse?
CHAPTER FIVE
Valentine
‘I’M SORRY, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Her ponytail sashays down her back as she shakes her head to the heavens and gives a high-pitched laugh. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
She lifts one leg to eye her splashed calf and assess the damage, and I force my eyes up to the tip of her umbrella. This woman and her extremities do things to me that I need to have under control.
‘You could have fooled me.’
It comes out under her breath, but I hear it, every grumbled syllable. And I know she’s not referring to the puddle incident; she’s referring to the whole damn lot. Today, four weeks ago. Any doubt that she remembers me departs with the fresh weight in my gut.
‘Look, can we talk?’
She’s busy eyeing her other calf now and I don’t want to look at her angled leg with the strips of red that start at her ankle and work their way down her foot, the daring colour and height of the stiletto heel sparking a fire that contends with the heavy guilt.
‘Talk?’
Her prompt comes out sharp and I realise her eyes are on me now, and I’m... I’m staring. Shit. I clear my throat, snap my eyes up to scan the street in search of shelter. The rain already has my suit turning navy, my hair starting to drip.
‘Yes,’ I say, squinting against the rain as I look back at her. ‘Please.’
‘I told you, talk to my PA and we can arrange—’
‘No.’ I frown as I cut her off. ‘I want to talk off the clock, away from the office.’
She eyes me as though seeing me for the first time. ‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘You realise you’re getting soaked?’
‘Am I?’
‘Your locks aren’t going to look quite so perky if you stay out here much longer.’
I feel the oddest impulse to laugh. ‘Like your legs?’
She purses her lips, her eyes narrowing. Clearly a tease too far...
‘Are you trying to wind me up more?’
‘No.’ I blow out a breath. ‘I’m trying to fix things so that we can have a positive start to our working relationship.’
The high-pitched laugh returns, her brows arching over her eyes that sparkle and blaze and bring back that crazy fire deep within.
‘A positive start?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have to be joking!’
The wind picks up, whipping the rain into my face, and I duck beneath her umbrella, my only thought to escape it. Big mistake.
She scurries back, losing her footing on those silly, impractical heels—Now you say silly, but what you really mean is...
‘Careful!’ I clutch her elbow to steady her and quit the inner spiel that really isn’t helping.
‘Don’t you...’ She snatches her arm back, glares up at me. ‘A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?’
She eyes the umbrella now shielding us both and I sense she’s fighting the urge to move away fully and take it with her. ‘Why would I share my umbrella with a man...a man...?’
‘Olivia!’ I blurt out, my exasperation getting the better of me. ‘Will you stop behaving like a child and just listen to—?’
‘I’m behaving like a child?’ Her eyes widen
