Rival's Challenge Read online

  Because of a stranger’s blatantly interested gaze. God. What was wrong with her? He was probably the type of guy to hook up with anything with a—

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  Orla’s head snapped up so fast she heard a bone crack in her neck. For a second it was as if someone had just hit her. Everything receded and then rushed back. The man was standing there. In a dark suit and white open-necked shirt. He was astonishingly gorgeous up close, and he was enormous. All over. Ridiculously tall … six foot three? Six foot four?

  Orla was so stunned that she couldn’t speak. He clearly took that as encouragement and sat down opposite her, in the velvet upholstered bar chair. She could only gape at him. His sheer nerve. The fact that he was right there in front of her.

  He put his drink on the small table and that seemed to jolt Orla back to some kind of reality. She looked to the left and right and then hissed in his direction, ‘I did not say you could sit down.’

  Her heart was beating so fast she was breathless. Giddy with a rush of something that felt disturbingly like excitement. Disgusted at herself for this rampant reaction, she went to stand up but the man just said urgently in a deep and mesmerising voice, ‘Please don’t leave.’

  His voice tugged at her nerve endings, making them tingle. Orla stopped and looked at him. She felt breathless all over again. He really was huge. Broad and powerful. Even more arrestingly masculine up close, his features defined and stamped with virility. And then she realised his accent wasn’t foreign. She frowned. ‘You’re from here?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘You just …’ Orla went hot in the dim light when she realised she was giving away the fact that she’d thought about him for more than a fleeting moment. ‘You look foreign.’

  His mouth tipped up on one side, drawing Orla’s eyes to it.

  ‘I’m half Italian, half English.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘And you?’

  Almost slightly stupefied, Orla answered, ‘Irish … born there but brought up here.’

  ‘That would explain your red hair.’

  Orla looked into his eyes and wondered what colour they were. They appeared black in this light and she shivered slightly, suddenly aware of a hardness to this man she’d not noticed before. A latent sense of danger.

  And then she remembered where she was and stiffened again. ‘Would you please leave? I did not ask you to join me.’

  There was a taut silence between them and he didn’t move. Huffing, Orla made to move again. ‘Fine, well, if you can’t have the courtesy to move, then I will.’

  But his hand snaked out and wrapped around her wrist and Orla felt as if a lightning bolt of heat went straight to her groin.

  ‘Please … you’ll be doing me a huge favour if you can just pretend that we know each other for a minute.’

  Orla looked at him. Speechless and not just because of his hand on her wrist that felt hot and big. She pulled free and held her arm to her chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture. She narrowed her eyes on him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘See that woman at the bar?’

  Orla glanced over to where he had inclined his head slightly and saw the woman who had been wrapped around the other man like a vine. He was gone and she was alone again.

  ‘Yes, I see her,’ Orla supplied somewhat reluctantly.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid that I was going to be next on her hit list.’

  Orla looked at the man and her eyes widened. He had a look on his face that was downright … pathetic. Big eyes, all innocence. Orla felt a very scary falling sensation inside her chest. He was flirting with her. Outrageously. Her nipples tightened into hard tight buds and Orla crossed her arms for fear they’d stand out like beacons against the thin silk of her dress. She put on her most severe expression. The one that usually had staff scurrying in all directions.

  ‘And you’re trying to make me believe that you’re not strong enough to stand up to a little bitty woman?’

  He lifted a brow and that elevated his face from gorgeous to downright sexy. ‘Not working, no?’

  Orla shook her head and couldn’t stop her own mouth twitching ever so slightly. She saw movement behind the man and observed dryly, ‘I think you’re safe now—her current victim looks like he was just on a toilet break.’

  The man didn’t look behind him, but Orla realised when he looked up that he could see through the reflection of the venetian glass over the banquette seat as it was tilted slightly down towards the seating area. He looked back at her and smiled. ‘There goes my cunning ruse to have an excuse to talk to you.’

  Butterflies exploded in Orla’s belly. She could insist on getting up to go, but right now she was curiously loath to. This man was a smooth charmer, but he also had an intriguing rough edge too, and there was no doubt about it, but something deeply feminine within her felt like it was blossoming in the heat of his regard. Coming back to life.

  As if sensing her weakening, he said, ‘Can I buy you a drink for disturbing your peace?’

  Orla hesitated. She had the funny sense that her peace was about to be disturbed in a very profound way. And that if she pushed for him to leave again he’d go. There was something innately proud about him.

  But what harm was a drink? Feeling sensitised and more alive than she could remember feeling in a long time—if ever—she uncrossed her arms and shrugged minutely and took a mental step over a line. ‘Sure, why not?’

  As if like magic, to prevent her changing her mind, an immaculately clad waiter appeared to take their orders. The man didn’t take his eyes off Orla and the waiter left. She was feeling breathless again, all hot and liquid inside.

  A very feminine dampness was growing between her legs and she crossed them in a moment of self-consciousness. His eye immediately went to one pale thigh and Orla cursed her choice of dress. She put her hands on her leg and he looked back up, a smile making his mouth quirk again as if he knew exactly how awkward she felt.

  He sat back. ‘So … tell me, you’re here on business?’

  Orla nodded. She really didn’t want to get into anything that reminded her of the reality she faced. The inevitable takeover of her family business. So she said, ‘I’m in sales …’

  Which was pretty much true. Along with marketing, management, PR, entertainment, travel, diplomacy …

  The man grimaced and said, ‘I’m in acquisitions. It’s a grind, isn’t it?’

  Orla regarded him suspiciously. This man looked no more like a banal businessman caught up in the daily grind than Santa Claus in full flight with all the reindeer. But she sensed intoxicatingly as if they’d both tacitly agreed to pretend to be something, someone, else.

  She was about to respond when something unpalatable occurred to her. She glanced at his left hand and didn’t see a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. ‘Are you married?’

  He shook his head and the faintly sick expression that passed over his features assured her even more than when he said, ‘No …’

  Then he frowned. ‘Are you?’

  Orla shook her head quickly and repressed a shudder. No way was she ever getting married so that some man could come and take half of the business she’d worked so hard to build up with her father. She’d seen the detrimental effects a marriage had on a business. ‘No,’ she said quickly, emphatically.

  ‘Well, as we’ve established that we’re both free and single … where were we?’

  Orla repressed a shiver of awareness, of pure physical longing, and the feeling that she wasn’t in control of what was happening at all. She forced her mind to operate. ‘We were in sales and acquisitions, I believe.’ And why did that suddenly sound so … suggestive?

  ‘Ah, yes …’

  The waiter returned then with their drinks. Whisky for both of them.

  The man lifted his glass and tipped it towards her. ‘To chance encounters.’

  Orla lifted her glass too, and said, ‘To very forward men with pa
thetic chat-up lines.’

  He smiled. And so did she. They took a drink and Orla relished the smooth feel of the liquid running down her throat. Warming her up. She felt unbearably sensual all of a sudden. Languorous.

  ‘Perhaps we should exchange names?’

  Orla’s chest tightened. Names were real. They would root this in reality and she suddenly didn’t want that.

  Far more lightly than she felt, she said, ‘I think introductions are overrated. We’ll most likely never meet again. What’s the point?’

  His eyes glinted in the dim light. A tiny smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. ‘We don’t have to divulge real names if you don’t want to. But I would like to call you … something.’

  Orla went hot again. So that he could call her something in the throes of passion? The wicked thought made her pulse spasm between her legs.

  He held out a hand then, a mischievous look in his eye. ‘I’m Marco.’

  Orla put her hand in his and for a second her mind blanked when his big one enclosed hers completely. When she felt the calluses on his skin.

  ‘I’m … Kate.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Kate …?’

  Orla smiled at his obvious query as to her second name and pulled her hand free. ‘Just Kate.’

  He nodded. ‘Kate Kate, it is. And I’m Marco Marco.’

  Lord. No man Orla had ever met came close to this man. He enveloped her in sexual awareness. She felt energised. Alive.

  ‘You have a meeting here tomorrow?’

  Immediately Orla rejected another reminder of reality. She shook her head. ‘Let’s … not talk about tomorrow.’

  He went still and his eyes narrowed on her face. She could see him look at her mouth and she imagined she could feel it tingle.

  He said with a rough edge to his voice, ‘No real names and no tomorrow. You’re right. The present is so much more interesting.’

  He leant forward, glass in his hand. ‘I was about to leave when you walked in.’

  Orla’s heart hitched. ‘You were?’

  He nodded. ‘But then I saw you and I stopped.’

  Mesmerised by his dark gaze, Orla asked faintly, ‘Why did you stop?’

  ‘Because you captivated me.’

  ‘Oh …’ For a long moment she said nothing, could only look at his mouth as a tight wire of need seemed to link to the insistent throbbing between her legs.

  ‘This is where you say you noticed me too …’ Marco supplied helpfully.

  Orla’s eyes rose. She felt dizzy. She was losing it. No longer herself. ‘I didn’t see you at first…. I don’t know why.’

  The man’s mouth flattened for a second. ‘I was hidden. In the shadows.’

  Orla nodded slowly. Something touched her—as if what he was saying had a deeper resonance. ‘You were…. That’s why I didn’t see you. At first.’

  Orla couldn’t stop talking. ‘And then when I did … I couldn’t look away.’

  She blushed now and clasped her drink in two hands. ‘But I didn’t want you to think I was encouraging you.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ came the dry response. ‘You gave a fairly frosty signal to stay away.’

  She looked up, incensed. ‘I’m not frosty!’

  He got all heavy-lidded. ‘I know …’

  Orla went hot all over. Her nipples ached now they were so tight. Her belly clenched with need. She’d never been this turned on in her life.

  The bar space was like a dark decadent cocoon. Orla glanced around and noticed that the table of men had left. So had the amorous couple at the bar. There was only one other remaining older couple, and she hadn’t even noticed. She felt a jolt of shock.

  Marco lifted his glass and downed what was left of his drink in one go. For a second Orla had the wrenching sensation that he was going to leave and the feeling of rejection of that idea stunned her. She didn’t even know this man!

  He put his glass down and Orla took a quick fortifying sip of hers. He looked at her for a long intense moment and she couldn’t even break the tension because it resonated within her. She wanted this man with an urgency that was completely alien. And thrilling.

  His voice was deep. ‘I wanted you from the moment you walked in. I want you so much I ache with it. And I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this badly.’

  Orla’s mouth went dry. The sum total of their physical contact so far had been his hand on her wrist to restrain her from leaving, but she knew that if he put his mouth anywhere near hers she would go up in flames.

  Something about his brutal honesty connected with her. It was so much more seductive than if he’d insisted on some meaningless patter for another half an hour when they both knew that what was happening between them was crazy. Unreal. Unprecedented.

  Feeling shaky at the thought of even contemplating what she was contemplating, Orla said, ‘I … I want you too.’

  His eyes flashed and the throbbing heat between her legs intensified and she had to fight to stay still when she wanted to move around and ease the ache somehow.

  She blurted out, ‘But … I didn’t come down here to meet someone, for a one-night stand.’

  He looked deadly serious. ‘I know.’

  His eyes on hers, hypnotising her, he said, ‘I’m going to get up and pay for these drinks at the bar. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But if you don’t …’

  He didn’t have to finish. If she didn’t … she would spend the night with this man. In his bed. After a long charged moment, he stood up, reminding Orla of just how powerful and tall he was, calling to that deeply feminine part of her that exulted in the sheer biology of a potentially strong and virile mate. She’d never met someone so intensely masculine who made her feel so female.

  Then he turned and went to the bar with a fluid grace that made Orla stare after him helplessly. Her mind went into turmoil. She had so much to think about—papers for the meeting tomorrow that she should go over. The reality of facing the demise of her family business. And yet, right here, right now, it all seemed very far away and not that important.

  Somehow she got up and grabbed her bag. She was struggling to hang on to sanity, elusive as it was. She felt hot, feverish. Excited, scared. She couldn’t just let this man take her to his room. It was crazy, ridiculous. Dangerous.

  Determined not to be led by her suddenly out of control hormones, Orla intended to leave the bar so that when he finished paying she’d be gone.

  But just when she drew level with the tables nearest the bar she couldn’t help looking up and her gaze clashed immediately with a dark one reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Her heart stopped. Her breath got short and choppy.

  His face was unreadable, those eyes so dark that she couldn’t make out the expression, but she couldn’t look away. Much like when she’d seen him first.

  She realised that he’d already paid. He’d been watching her for the past couple of minutes, waiting to see what she’d do. Giving her the chance to go if she wanted to. And suddenly, something deep inside her rebelled. Broke free. She wanted this man so badly she ached all over. So she stood there. Didn’t move. It passed between them, unspoken but there. Yes.

  Slowly he turned around and the full force of his physicality hit her between the eyes. Without a word he came towards her and took her free hand in his. Then he led her out of the bar.

  In a daze, Orla let him lead her to the lift. Once inside they were alone. To her surprise, he let her go and leant back against the opposite wall. In the brighter lights of the lift he was even more intimidating. His skin was a dark olive, his eyes a very dark brown. For a second sanity threatened to return and then as the lift ascended he said in a low rough voice, ‘Show me your breast.’

  His voice was commanding and any remaining sanity melted away and was replaced with heat. For a second Orla couldn’t take in his words and then she followed his gaze and looked down to see where her dress was gaping open slightly, showing skin.

  Infused with a heady and
hot sense of something very wicked, Orla lifted her hand and slowly pulled one side of the silk dress open, revealing one pale breast. Her fingers brushed against her tingling nipple and she had to bite her lip to stop a sound of reaction coming out of her mouth.

  She stared at him, her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and intoxification. His eyes were black, smouldering, cheekbones darkening with a rush of blood. Her nipple tightened, the aureole puckered.

  The lift shuddered lightly to a halt. Marco’s eyes glittered as he dragged his gaze back up. Orla dropped her hand and the dress went back into place. The doors opened and he took her hand again, tightly, leading her out. She almost had to jog to keep up with his much longer stride.

  He stopped at the end of the corridor and opened the door with a key card. They went in. Orla dimly registered that the room was palatial and had an astounding view. As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco let Orla’s hand go to rip off his jacket, throwing it in the direction of a chair.

  Her back was against the door. He turned to face her and she looked up at him, in awe all over again at his sheer size. He made her feel tiny, delicate. Desire pounded through her in waves.

  He stopped for a second and asked tautly, ‘Are you sure you want this?’

  Orla had made her decision back in the bar when she’d met that black gaze in the mirror. She swallowed and tried to inject her voice with as much insouciance as she could muster considering this was the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life.

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’M HERE, AREN’T I? The sparky husky words washed over and through Antonio, ratcheting up the exquisite knife-edge of arousal in his body. He’d never been brought so close to the edge before, when he’d barely touched this woman!

  For a split second something inside him contracted when he realised just how far out of his zone of control he already was, but he couldn’t focus on it. All he could see was this woman’s, Kate’s, mouth, plump and kissable.