by Maya Banks
So brutal were his words that she felt as if she’d been hit—appalled that he knew, and that somehow he’d worked out so much from so very little.
‘How—?’ The word strangled in her throat. ‘How could you know that?’
‘I can read you, Amelia.’ His low husky voice reached her ears. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not going to make you do what you want to. I’m not going to beg for something we both know you want. But think about this when you creep into that cold bed alone—just think about this as you lie there staring at the ceiling: any man you feel for could ultimately hurt you; any man who can make your body respond the way it just did could one day use it against you. So if you’re looking for iron-clad guarantees, if you’re looking to safeguard your heart against pain, you can kiss goodbye to passion.’
And even though he didn’t move, not by a hair, he made love to her all over again. His eyes were almost black as he stared down at her body, the navy obscured by his dilated pupils, scorching through the robe she gripped tightly in her trembling hand. So bold was his stare she could almost feel his hand again on her breast, feel the champagne bubbles of arousal fizzing, and she ran a nervous tongue over her lips. Only it didn’t help. The delicious taste of him was still there in her mouth. It was as if he held the remote control to her body—he pushed her buttons, turning her on at will and she only knew that she had to get out.
This time she meant it. Wrenching open the door and fleeing down the passage, she only breathed when her own door was safely closed behind her. Her body burned with dissatisfaction, her emotions utterly violated by his brutal words—and damn him, Amelia realised, he was right.
Creeping into bed, she lay there, supremely aware of him just as few metres away, on the other side of the flimsy hotel wall, her whole body burning with a desire she’d chosen to starve in the name of preservation, staring appalled at the life that lay before her.
A life without passion.
A life that was safe.
Chapter 5
‘Good morning!’ Her greeting rang out loudly as Vaughan made his way over to the breakfast table—one of the same tables they’d idly watched being laid up only hours ago.
The piano stood proud and silent now—no gentle background noise to fill this difficult moment as the restaurant area slowly filled up with bleary-eyed early risers and crisp businessmen and women grabbing a caffeine fix before they headed for the office. Melbourne was stirring into life after a long sultry night.
She said her greeting again when he sat down, and again Vaughan didn’t respond—didn’t even acknowledge the smile she’d firmly painted on this morning—instead sitting down and signalling to the waiter to fill his coffee cup.
She’d been determined to get in first and set the tone, put last night firmly behind them and resume normal services. But, Amelia realized as Vaughan sat down and scowled at his newspaper, not even bothering to thank the waiter who had promptly filled his cup, there had been no need to rush to greet him—Vaughan, it would appear, wasn’t in a hurry to talk to anyone. Sulky and broody, he stared at his paper, his only movement an occasional hand reaching out for his coffee.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Amelia attempted, ready to rip the bloody paper from his hands if that was what it took, utterly determined to get this over with.
‘No.’ Navy eyes peered over the top of his paper. ‘Are you going to try and tell me that you did?’
God, why did he have to be so direct? Why couldn’t he act like any normal person and pretend that last night’s events simply hadn’t happened?
‘I did, actually,’ Amelia lied, spooning sugar into her tea and getting most of it on the table. She damn well wasn’t going to tell him she’d spent the night pinned to the bed, simultaneously reeling at her boldness, her utter stupidity for going into his room so inappropriately dressed, for responding to his kisses with such blatant ease, yet all the while berating herself for terminating it.
His words had stung her to the core. All night she’d played them over in her mind—too terrified to flick on the kettle in case he heard her, reluctant to go out on the balcony in case he saw her. Knowing that with one crook of his manicured finger she’d run to him, that with one more taste of that decadent mouth she’d fall into his bed with nothing to save her.
‘Vaughan—please!’ Still she spoke to the sports page. ‘If this is about last night...’ She held her breath as the paper slowly dropped, his eyes frowning as he met hers. ‘If this silent treatment—’
‘Silent treatment?’ He shook his head, a mirthless smile almost evident on his taut lips, then to her utter fury lifted the paper again and proceeded to read.
‘Look, if this is going to affect our working relationship...’
‘Amelia, on reflection you made a very valid point last night.’ Vaughan slowly folded up his paper and placed it on the table beside him as she sat squirming with embarrassment. He stretched out her discomfort for as long as possible before finally continuing. ‘Perhaps people should get to know each other before they sleep together. Maybe people should know that just because someone chooses not to bounce across to the breakfast table squawking like a galah, it doesn’t mean that they’re ruing the fact they didn’t get their rocks off last night, but that they are quite simply people who like at least a few micrograms of caffeine in their system before they enter into a deep and meaningful discussion.’
‘Getting your rocks off?’ Amelia sneered, embarrassed at her overreaction, yet sure, quite sure, that she had been right—that Vaughan ‘in control’ Mason was seriously rattled because, unlike most women, she hadn’t succumbed to his undeniably skilful charms. ‘I made more than one valid point last night, Vaughan. And a man who refers to it as “getting his rocks off” really isn’t the type of guy I want to be sharing a bed with.’
‘And a woman who refers to sex as “it” clearly doesn’t know how to enjoy herself!’
‘So I’m frigid, am I?’
She saw the tiny upward flicker of his eyebrow, knew that she had shocked him slightly, but years spent in journalism had taught Amelia not to shy away from embarrassing subjects, to face tough conversations head-on. This was tough, supremely difficult, but she was damn well going to see it through.
‘Are you trying to say that because I—heaven forbid—chose not to sleep with you it means that deep down I can’t really like sex very much? That it has nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t want to be yet another notch on your well-worn bedpost? Does the fact I demand more of myself than to be another of your conquests mean, according to your fragile male ego, that I don’t really like it very much at all? Oh, sorry,’ Amelia snarled a correction, ‘you don’t like that word, do you? I meant to say—’
‘I get the picture.’ A hand shot up to stop her. He was clearly embarrassed at her boldness, for once looking anything other than cool. ‘Look, let’s just forget it, shall we?’
‘That’s what I was trying to do this morning,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘For your information, I’m not a morning person either.’
‘Can we please start again?’ Vaughan asked, and after a moment on her high horse Amelia relented.
‘Good morning, Vaughan.’
‘Good morning, Amelia. Did you sleep well?’
‘Actually, no. How about you?’
‘Terribly.’ He slipped in one tiny cheat. ‘I had, er, rather pressing things on my mind.’ Seeing her cheeks darken he finally gave in with an apologetic smile. ‘Would you think that I was avoiding you if I said I need to ditch you for the morning.’
‘Of course not.’ Amelia shrugged. ‘Like I said, I was surprised how many meetings I got into yesterday. Anyway, I’ve got plenty of work I should be doing.’
‘What if I also said that I need to speak with Mr Cheng alone this afternoon?’
Peeling open a croissant with slightly shak
y hands and spooning jam onto it, she gave a pale smile. ‘Then I’d be starting to think that maybe you are avoiding me after all. Not really.’ She smiled when she saw his slightly worried frown. ‘Vaughan, I always knew there would be things I couldn’t come along to. I’m not a child you have to amuse for the day. I’ll be completely fine.’
‘We could meet for lunch—’ He gave a small wince almost before the sentence was out.
‘Except...?’ Amelia said for him.
‘I’ve just remembered that I’ve arranged to meet someone.’ He hesitated for longer than usual, his frown deepening, then eyed her cautiously, as if weighing up whether or not to continue. ‘I suppose you could come, but given your career revelations, how off the record is off the record?’
‘It’s completely non-negotiable,’ Amelia replied, utterly without hesitation. ‘Your secrets are safe with me. They just help.’ Realising he didn’t understand, she elaborated slightly. ‘Help me to form a picture in my mind. But just because I know something it doesn’t mean I have to reveal it.’
‘You’re quite sure about that?’
He’d really piqued her interest now. For the first time he was cagey and hesitant, and it only served to intrigue her more, but Amelia knew when to hold back, knew when to feign uninterest—at least when it was about work. ‘Look, you do your lunch and I’ll catch up with you later this evening—tomorrow, even. It really isn’t a big deal.’
‘I’m meeting with one of the directors of a children’s hospital.’ Vaughan grimaced slightly, as if he regretted even saying it. ‘Every year I give a small donation.’
‘So small that they take you out for lunch when you’re in town?’ Amelia said shrewdly.
‘Okay, a significant donation,’ Vaughan admitted reluctantly. ‘The thing is, Sam, he’s the director, is doing his best to persuade me to go public with my support.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Amelia asked, her tone completely matter of fact. ‘Almost every celebrity I’ve ever interviewed has done the rounds of the children’s wards to soften their image.’
‘Exactly,’ Vaughan replied, his voice suddenly curt. ‘But I’m hardly a celebrity.’
‘But you are, Vaughan,’ Amelia pointed out. ‘You’re good-looking, impossibly rich, reeking of scandal and still single! Take it from a woman who knows—you’re a celebrity! Why don’t you want me to use this? Heaven knows, a piece of good publicity couldn’t hurt you right now.’
‘So I should ask a couple of sick kids to pose with me?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first,’ Amelia responded. ‘And you would be doing some good—it might make a few other business magnates dig deeper.’
‘So why not get the mileage?’
Now it was Amelia feeling shallow, all of a sudden uncomfortable with the conversation.
‘Those children don’t know me, Amelia. I’m not some popstar they adore, waltzing onto the ward for a photo shoot. I’m just a guy in a suit...’
‘Who donates a lot of money.’ She saw his lips tighten. ‘Come on, Vaughan. A significant amount to you would be a fortune to most people. And maybe the children won’t know you, but their parents will...’
‘I’m sure if their child’s sick enough to be there they’ll have other things on their mind. Amelia, this is something I do because I want to—something just for me. That’s what I’m going to explain to Sam today. He’s hoping that if I go public it might trigger a few more in the business community to get involved.’
‘Which can surely only be a good thing?’ Amelia answered, still not entirely convinced.
She’d heard too many celebrities insisting this was something they wanted to do, been to too many contrived charity dos for a cynical edge not to have evolved. And if that sounded hard, she didn’t care. At the end of the day the hospitals needed the money and Vaughan needed the positive publicity—it was win-win as far as Amelia was concerned.
‘If you’re so intent on it being kept private, then why are you asking me along? Why are you asking a journalist to an intensely private lunch.’
‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ Vaughan smiled almost reluctantly.
‘I don’t like being fed a line.’ Amelia shrugged, happier now they were on safer ground. She was back—maybe not back at the driver’s wheel, but at least up in the passenger seat, shoulder to shoulder with this complicated man.
For as long as it took for her second up of coffee to be poured!
‘I listened to what you said about the bigger picture. I figure that an hour in Sam’s company might bring you on board, and an up-and-coming journalist on side can only be a good thing for the hospital.’
‘Oh.’
Placing a hand over his cup, he refused a refill, waiting till the waiter had walked away before standing up.
‘Can I let the restaurant know to expect one more?’
* * *
An extremely significant donation might have been a better description, Amelia decided as she handed over her jacket and stepped into the restaurant. Wafts of herbs and garlic filled the air, along with the pop of corks, and there was the luxurious feel of deep carpet beneath her feet. Small donations surely didn’t merit this five-star treatment.
A frown formed as Amelia glanced over to Vaughan’s table and then at her watch. Vaughan had specifically told her one p.m. and she was five minutes early—yet already he and his companion were clearly at the coffee stage.
‘Amelia.’ The consummate host, Vaughan stood up and greeted her, introducing her to Sam and guiding her to a seat. ‘I’m sorry about this, but something came up and we had to switch times.’
‘My fault, I’m afraid,’ Sam apologised, while not looking remotely sorry. ‘I’ve got an afternoon appointment which means that I’m going to have to wrap this up.’
‘Now that you’ve got what you wanted,’ Vaughan said dryly, and Amelia frowned at the rather obvious irritation in his voice.
‘You’ll be great, Vaughan.’ Sam grinned. ‘It’s for the kids, remember?’ He smiled over to Amelia. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jacobs. Hopefully we’ll see you at the charity auction on Thursday.’
Glancing briefly over, she saw Vaughan shake his head, his eyes demanding her to say no. But in a curiously defiant gesture she smiled at the rather pushy Sam.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘It certainly is.’ Sam beamed. ‘We can use all the publicity we can get. Don’t worry, Vaughan—’ his wide smile wasn’t reciprocated ‘—you’ll be just fine. Oh, and before I forget—do you have those tickets you promised?’
Unclipping his briefcase, Vaughan pulled out a stiff white envelope, handing it over to Sam before shaking his hand and bidding him goodbye.
‘Well, that was enlightening,’ Amelia said with more than a vague hint of sarcasm as Sam walked off. ‘I’ll certainly get a lot of mileage out of that lunch.’
‘Bloody salesmen,’ Vaughan snapped at the departing back.
‘I thought he was one of the directors from the hospital.’
‘He’s in the wrong job, then,’ Vaughan clipped, but he didn’t elaborate further.
Amelia’s curiosity was seriously piqued. She felt as if she’d rushed in at the end of something and missed the important part—like watching her favourite soap without knowing what had happened last week.
‘What was in the envelope?’ Amelia asked, but Vaughan didn’t even attempt an explanation.
‘Have something to eat.’
‘I’m actually not that hungry, Vaughan. If you didn’t want me here, you should have just said.’
‘Sam rescheduled at the last moment,’ Vaughan argued.
Amelia fished in her bag, frowning as she pulled out her mobile. ‘I can’t see your message here, Vaughan.’
‘Because there isn’t one,’ Vaughan
responded easily, completely ignoring her sarcasm. ‘There isn’t one because I knew if I tried to reschedule then you’d assume I was making excuses and wouldn’t come.’
‘You were right,’ Amelia clipped. ‘But only about the fact I wouldn’t have come. Vaughan, I do have an article to write. I’ve dragged myself through the city for a meal I don’t really want to sit with a person I’ll no doubt be seeing this evening.’
‘I thought the entire purpose of this exercise was to get to know me better,’ Vaughan retorted, flashing a triumphant smile.
‘Attempting to get to know you better,’ Amelia corrected. ‘You don’t exactly give much away. It’s like pulling teeth without an anaesthetic, trying to extract information from you. Everything I manage to glean you counter with an “off the record” reminder.’
‘Oh, come on, Amelia.’ Vaughan gave her a look that showed her he was anything but moved. ‘If you can’t fashion a story after all the meetings you’ve been in, then you’re not the journalist I thought you were. You don’t have to name names all the time.’
‘It’s not them I’m interested in, though,’ Amelia retorted. ‘I meant what I said last night. It’s a portrayal of you that I want to do, not a bloody business piece.’ She took a deep breath, shook her head as the waiter handed her a menu.
The truth of the matter was she was struggling with contrary emotions. As much as she wanted to get to know him better, as much as she needed more information to write the piece she really wanted to write, she was terrified of being alone with him again—had been secretly relieved at the chance to spend a day licking her wounds and hopefully fashioning her brain into some sort of order before the next onslaught of emotional torture Vaughan so easily generated. She’d needed the space to get her head together, to ring a girlfriend and beg for sensibility before she surely caved in. A business lunch she could just about have dealt with, but an hour or two up close and personal with Vaughan Mason was way too much for her shredded emotions right now.