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  The sting of that liquid had not only cleaned the cut but had shaken him back to reality. Yeah, okay, he wanted her. He really wanted her. But the timing sucked. His priority was getting home, grabbing some long overdue sleep, checking final figures and documentation, then preparing himself for the six a.m. conference call with Damian McBride.

  Normally, Connor would take his chances. What was one more sleepless night? Especially if he had the opportunity to share a bed with a hot woman. But he couldn’t afford to take any chances with tomorrow’s meeting. It was too important to him. He’d waited too long. He had every intention of making Damian draw up that contract pronto so they could both sign on the dotted line.

  Which meant he had to call a halt to this extremely pleasant interlude and get his ass back home. He sucked in a breath. ‘Won’t your friends be wondering where you are?’

  ‘They know where I am. They would have seen me come back here with you. If I’m not out in a reasonable amount of time, they’ll call the cops.’

  He realised he still had hold of her wrist, noticed how his hand fitted easily around the circumference of all that soft flesh. With considerable reluctance, he released her. Shit, but he really wanted to seduce his dancing queen, find out if all that bared skin was as silky as it looked. Let his hands slide easily over those sexy dips and curves as he kissed her full lips and drove them both insane.

  ‘Well, stick the plaster on, and maybe you should go back and join them. I’d just as soon not have the cops banging on my door, if it’s all the same to you.’

  She laughed, took off the protective wrapping of the plaster then bent down to place it on his neck. He deliberately kept his gaze averted as she moved closer to smooth the plaster down at the edges, but her scent washed over him. Floral and earthy at the same time. Feminine and sultry. He wanted to draw her close, breathe her in.

  Luckily, she straightened. ‘There. Good as new.’

  He was tempted to tease her, ask if she thought he’d be left with a scar. But, as he figured he had enough of those already, he declined. Some things weren’t easy to joke about.

  Since he didn’t intend delving any deeper into that aspect of his past right then, he pushed such thoughts away and kept his focus trained on her.

  He made a long, slow perusal of her as she stood there staring at his neck. Her tank top had ridden up, revealing a creamy strip of flesh around her midriff, causing saliva to pool in his mouth. And, maybe it was his imagination but the atmosphere was hot and enticingly tempting.

  In the grand scheme of things, who said a man needed eight solid hours sleep anyway? He’d existed on far less than that during his thirty years on the planet and, while tomorrow’s stakes had never been this high for him, there wasn’t much that could go wrong. The negotiations had been undertaken, the sums agreed.

  In which case...

  Connor eyed her up and down, making sure she couldn’t mistake his intention. No point wasting valuable time with unnecessary rituals and peripherals, like pretending they both weren’t interested in each other.

  ‘Since you’ve taken such good care of me, why don’t I buy you a drink?’

  ‘A minute ago, you were trying to get rid of me.’

  Yeah. And he would wonder for ever what particular brain malfunction had brought about that insane notion. There was being cautious and there was being a complete dickhead. What man with his head on straight denied himself a quick roll in the hay with a hot and willing woman?

  ‘I was just making sure we were thinking along the same lines.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘You. Me. A bottle of whatever is your pleasure.’ She bit her bottom lip again and he could see cogs turning, wheels spinning. Determined to get her agreement, he tapped a finger to the plaster and pursed his lips in a pitiful manner. ‘You can’t surely be considering abandoning me so soon? I might start bleeding again.’

  She laughed, a deep rumble of sound that shot fresh heat through his blood and promised extremely good times ahead. He leaned forward and reached out to take her hand, noticing how her fingers stiffened momentarily beneath his before relaxing. Not wanting to push things too hard too fast, he let go of her. ‘Why don’t you go and tell your friends you won’t be needing the cops?’

  She raised her eyebrows, amusement evident in her eyes. ‘That might be a little premature.’ She replaced the lid of the first-aid box. ‘But say I agreed to one drink, I’ve got a feeling you wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Am I right?’

  He knew instinctively that he needed to change tactics, maybe back off a little. Despite that she seemed to be matching him in the verbal banter stakes, it was hard to deny her tentative manner as she’d asked him what his intentions were. He hoped to hell he wasn’t making her uncomfortable.

  Not that she’d appreciate any kind of subterfuge either.

  Straight-shooter, he reminded himself. She didn’t play games. ‘Look, let me tell you where I stand. I think we’ve got this mutual thing going. I’d like to buy you a drink and see where it leads. If it leads us beyond that drink, then I’ll be an extremely happy man.’

  Her breasts hiked as she sucked in a breath. While he hadn’t shocked her, he’d pushed her off-balance. He kind of liked that. There was a certain satisfaction in unbalancing a confident woman. From nowhere came the unsettling thought that right then he was almost as desperate to get her affirmative response as he was that contract from Damian McBride. What the hell was that about? Perhaps he really had been without female company for too long.

  She didn’t respond but kept eyeing him as if she was trying to figure him out. He chanced an easy smile. When she screwed up that delicious mouth, he held his breath, willing her not to back out now. Not when he had images of her doing incredible things with that mouth.

  Slowly, she picked up the box and took it back to the cabinet where she bent and slid it into the lower drawer. His throat went dry at the sight of her perfect ass in those tight-fitting white jeans.

  She closed the drawer and stood. Her back went ramrod straight as she looked at the captioned photograph on the top of the filing cabinet. The one taken when he’d received an industry award last year.

  He walked over to stand next to her, making sure not to crowd her.

  ‘Look, I think you’re a woman who likes to call it straight and, since we both know there’s a strong physical thing going on here, why waste time pretending otherwise?’

  She continued to look at the photograph, then took another deep breath and turned to look up at him, making his pulse kick like a frigging donkey.

  After a brief hesitation, she placed her palm against his chest, and he swore her guarded eyes went a darker green. ‘I do like straight talking, but I also like to think around things.’

  ‘Then start thinking.’ He winked, smiled. ‘Make it fast.’

  Another hesitation, then she laughed. Shit. He really liked that laugh, the way she paused before she got the joke and then the laugh bubbled from deep in her throat.

  ‘Trust me, as much as I’m tempted, it’s not a good idea. For a variety of reasons.’

  ‘Name one.’

  She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected the question. ‘Well, we don’t know each other. Like you said, the response is physical.’

  What the fuck was wrong with that? ‘Physical responses can be the best ones,’ he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. ‘Less chance things get complicated.’

  She laughed again, her eyes meeting his for long moments. It made him wonder if she was enjoying their flirtatious banter as much as he was but was determined to hold back, to fight against their obvious attraction. ‘You may be right about that.’ Her smile was a little wistful as she reached up to tap the plaster. ‘Make sure to keep that on for a while.’

  What the hell did that mean? Was she giving him the old heave-ho? He wasn’t prepared to let her walk away
that easily.

  Maybe he really had come on too strong. She said one of the reasons this was a bad idea was because they didn’t know each other. Well, that he could remedy.

  ‘So, about that drink.’

  She was at the door, her back to him and with her fingers wrapped around the handle. For what seemed like an age during which Connor held his breath, she stood there, no doubt taking her time to deliberate.

  Then she turned to look over her shoulder at him. ‘I’ll meet you at the bar.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOLA MCBRIDE TUGGED DOWN the edge of her top so that it covered her midriff and perched on a stool at the bar. Her friends were over on the small dance floor, having fun, but Lola needed a few minutes. Away from Connor Fitzpatrick’s hormone-inducing presence, she was able to think again, to breathe again.

  She still hadn’t recovered from seeing that photograph of him on top of the filing cabinet, and the caption declaring Connor Fitzpatrick an entrepreneur to watch. Finding out he was the owner of the club and not just the manager had taken the wind right out of her sails. She’d imagined someone older, embittered, hardened, somehow. And while the man she’d just spoken to wasn’t one you’d want to mess with—the hint of steel in his grey eyes alluded to that—he’d been kind of playful, flirty and...sexy.

  She hadn’t factored in the possibility that Connor Fitzpatrick would be insanely gorgeous and that they’d share an intense and instant sexual attraction. What the devil had she been thinking, flirting with him right back, egging him on?

  That was most definitely not part of her plan.

  She’d expected to come here, suss out the joint and in the process have a little post-graduation fun with her friends. It never hurt to check things out, nor did it hurt to size up the man who would play a vital part in her achieving her goal.

  But meeting him tonight and being attracted to him hadn’t remotely figured in her plans. How was it that one glimpse of him had heated her blood and shot lurid little messages to every one of her nerve endings?

  Lola tapped her fingers on the bar. Think... She had to think.

  Damian would be in Singapore for another couple of weeks, plenty of time for her to get Connor’s agreement to her plan before her brother got wind of it. If Damian found out, he would stymie it in the same way he’d stymied all her attempts to get the Cabacal property back. Her brother hadn’t even done her the courtesy of looking at her business plan. He had just flat-out told her it wasn’t a viable proposition, that the competition was fierce and that it would likely fold sooner rather than later. He’d told her to put her first-class business degree to better use than some airy-fairy notion of running a fitness studio.

  The fact Damian had actually used ‘airy fairy’ in relation to her long-held dream had incensed Lola more than anything—perhaps even more than having to fulfil the requirements of her trust fund. She’d achieved the business degree and post-graduate qualification demanded by her late father, yet she still wasn’t able to run her own show until her twenty-fifth birthday.

  Despite pleading with Damian to hold off putting the property on the market for six months, until she would be in a position to buy it for her studio, he’d gone right ahead and entered into negotiations with Connor Fitzpatrick.

  Connor was owed, Damian had said. It was poetic justice that the property should be his. Lola knew that Connor had worked for her late uncle as manager of the Cabacal, and that he had been a victim of her uncle’s treachery as much as her mother had been. All that aside, she didn’t think Connor had as much right to the property as she did. Built by Lola’s maternal great-grandfather for his beloved wife, the Cabacal had been handed down the female line of the family, right until her mother had been cheated out of it by her only brother, Lola’s uncle.

  Now Lola had made it her mission to get the property back where it belonged.

  While she appreciated the tenacity that Connor had shown in outbidding two other serious buyers, it didn’t make things easy for her. So, denied using the front door to achieve her goals, she had no option but to go around the back. That meant ensuring that, if Connor bought the property, she could convince him to sell it to her as soon as she had the money from her trust fund. She’d need to show him that her need to own the property was greater than his.

  It was a long shot, of course, but she could hopefully sweeten the pot with an excellent financial incentive. Whatever it took, she was going to get her late mother’s inheritance back, and in doing so would right a cruel wrong, rebalance the books and put the universe back on its axis.

  She’d come close to jeopardising her plans by falling into lust with Connor, but how in heaven was a girl supposed to resist those eyes, or the way his dark hair brushed against his very kissable neck? Not to mention the impressive width of his shoulders, or the breadth of a quite spectacular chest.

  Tempted to break her non-drinker status, she eyed the cocktail one of the bartenders was currently making and wondered if she should order one.

  Despite her spontaneous dance routine—thanks to an equally spontaneous game of truth or dare—she hated the nightclub scene. It was in total contrast to what she loved. Keeping fit, active, healthy. Eating the right foods, nurturing her body, making sure she treated it so that it would serve her well.

  During her enforced academic studies she’d moonlighted as a fitness instructor, taking part-time courses in health and wellbeing and massage therapy, eventually qualifying as a yoga instructor.

  It had been her mother’s dream. Now it was hers.

  Deep in thought, Lola sensed a ripple of something around her and became aware of Connor a moment before he slid onto the stool next to hers. Her whole body responded sensually as his scent and his aura washed over her. ‘What’s your poison?’

  As if by magic, a bartender morphed before their very eyes and was waiting expectantly. ‘Virgin mojito, please.’ When Connor raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. ‘I’m not a fan of alcohol.’

  As the bartender went off to fill the order for their drinks, Connor swivelled his stool towards her. ‘You said there were a variety of reasons this was a bad idea,’ he said, leaning his forearm on the bar. ‘The first was that we don’t know each other. What’s the second?’

  Distracted by the brush of his thigh against hers as he swivelled towards her, Lola swallowed. She didn’t want to feel his muscular strength against her legs, notice the way his shirt collar flirted with his amazing neck or glimpse the light sprinkling of dark hair escaping the V of his opened shirt.

  ‘I don’t do one-night stands.’

  She blurted it out, as much for her own benefit as his. If she kept that particular mantra at the front of her mind, she might just make it through this conversation without making a grab for that shirt opening and hauling him against her for a blistering kiss.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sometimes it pays to broaden your horizons.’

  Not right then, it didn’t, Lola thought with a degree of desperation, trying hard to keep hold of her withering resolve. Thankfully, their drinks arrived, and Lola took a healthy swig of hers. Her body was doing the most incredible things. Her breasts felt so tender they actually tingled, and her nipples were hard buds scraping against the fabric of her top. As for between her legs...well, talk about achy and throbbing.

  She glanced to where Connor’s fingers leisurely stroked his glass, unable to keep from imagining just what kind of damage those fingers could inflict on her. If just the thought of that could turn her on, what would the reality do?

  Okay, men had turned her on before, and a couple had turned into lovers. Neither one of them had made her body feel as if it was being twisted inside out.

  ‘Why don’t we backtrack here?’ Connor said after taking a swig of his beer. ‘What’s your name?’

  Lola couldn’t think of any reason why she couldn’t tell him. If by the slimmest possibility Dam
ian had mentioned her to Connor, he would have referred to her as Louise, and not by her nickname.

  Even so, she kept a careful watch for any hint of recognition. ‘It’s Lola.’

  He gave a slow nod. ‘Sexy. Like you.’

  Remembering that she wasn’t supposed to know his name, she raised her eyebrows. ‘And you?’

  ‘Connor,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Lola.’

  She slipped her hand into his and felt a definite punch of reaction from her breasts to her core.

  Still playing along with the pretense that she had no idea who he was, Lola sipped her drink again. ‘So, this is your place? You’re the owner?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said matter-of-factly, but there was caution in his eyes. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Lola shrugged. ‘Of course not. You must be quite the entrepreneur, though. The location alone makes this place a prime piece of real estate.’

  His expression morphed from caution to amusement. ‘What are you? An estate agent?’

  With a smile, she shook her head. ‘Just been doing some research. I’m planning to start my own business.’

  He took another drink of beer. ‘What kind of business?’

  It was on her lips to tell him, but this question put her on shakier ground. Damian might have let it slip that his sister wanted the Cabacal property with the view to opening a health studio, but she couldn’t imagine that was really a possibility, seeing as her brother barely acknowledged her dream. Still, it didn’t hurt to be circumspect. She didn’t want Connor putting two and two together, at least not until she’d had the chance to figure out his plans.

  He leaned forward, obviously sensing her hesitation. ‘Come on, it’s only fair. Tit for tat. You know I own this place.’

  She huffed. ‘That didn’t take much working out. You might not have owner emblazoned on the door of your office, but I would have guessed from the way your security chap sprang to attention when I scratched you, or the way the bartender popped up from nowhere as soon as you appeared, even when I’d already been waiting a full five minutes to be served.’