Anything but Vanilla... Read Free Page A

room.
    Alexander West was considerably taller than her, but not so tall—thanks to her four-inch heels—that she was forced to crick her neck to look him in the eye. A woman in business had to learn to stand her ground and, if she were ever to be made Chancellor of the Exchequer, her first act on taking office would be to make four-inch designer heels a tax-deductible expense.
    ‘Actually, I do,’ he said.
    Terrific. A businessman would understand, be reasonable. Alexander West might be a travelling man who could, no doubt, make himself understood in a dozen languages, but he wasn’t talking hers.
    Never mind. She hadn’t got this far without becoming multi-lingual herself...
    ‘Please, Mr West...’ she began, doing her best to ignore his disintegrating T-shirt, his close-fitting jeans, the scent of warm male skin prickling her nose, loosening her bones...
    It was tough being a woman in business. Tough running events. A woman had to use whatever tools came to hand. With banks it was her ability to put together a solid business plan; with clients it was her intuitive understanding of what they wanted; with uncooperative staff at hotels she occasionally had to resort to the sharp edge of her tongue, but only as a last resort. The most effective tool in the box she’d always found to be a smile and this wasn’t the moment to hold back. She gave him the full, wide-screen, Technicolor version she’d inherited from her mother. The one known in the family as ‘the heartbreaker’, although in her case the only heart that had suffered any damage was her own.
    ‘Alexander...’ She switched to his first name, needing to make an ally of him, involve him in her problem. ‘This is important.’
    She had his attention now and his smile faded until all she could see was a white starburst of lines around those hot blue eyes where they had been screwed up against the sun. Like a tractor-beam in an old science fiction movie, they drew her towards the seductive curve of his lower lip, pulling her in...
    ‘How important?’ he asked. His voice, dangerously soft, grazed her skin and mesmerized; her breath snagged in her throat as the warmth of his body wrapped around her. When had she moved? How had she got close enough to feel his breath against her cheek?
    Bells were clanging a warning somewhere, but her mouth was so hot that she instinctively touched her lower lip with her tongue to cool it.
    ‘Really, really...’ her voice caught in her throat ‘...important.’
    Even as her brain was scrambling an urgent message to her feet to step back his hand was at her waist, sliding beneath the skimpy top, spreading across her back, each fingertip sending shivery little sparks of pleasure dancing across her skin. Arousing drugging sensations that blocked the danger signals and, as he lowered his mouth to hers, only one word was making it through.
    ‘Yes...’
    It murmured through her body as his lips touched hers, slipping through her defences as smoothly as a silver key turning in a well-oiled lock. Whispering seduction as his tongue slid across her lower lip, dipped between her teeth and her body arched towards him wanting more, wanting him.
    She lifted her arms but as she slid them around his neck he broke the connection, lifting his head a fraction to look at her for a moment and murmur, ‘Not raspberry...’
    Not raspberry?
    He was frowning a little as he straightened so that he was looking down at her. Five-inch heels. She needed five-inch heels...
    ‘And not that important.’
    As his hand slid away from her she took a step back, grabbed behind for the freezer for the second time, steadying herself while her legs remembered what they were for. And for the second time that morning wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
    ‘Not important?’ No, not that important...
    Oh, God! Forget raspberry—if she ever blushed she wouldn’t be raspberry, she’d be beetroot. It was the skirt all over again, only that had been him looking.