The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

ONE

A roadside explosion in the darkest depths of a war zone three years ago had left Blake Walker with a finely honed sense of doom. Today that doom stormed towards him on a pair of legs that wouldn’t quit and a ball-breaking attitude that was guaranteed to ruin his last day on the job.

Ava Kelly might be one of the world’s most beautiful women but she redefined the term diva.

Doing this job for her had been a freaking nightmare.

‘Blake!’

Her classy Oxford accent grated and Blake took a deep breath. He went to the happy place the army shrink had insisted he find—which at the moment was anywhere but here.

Last day, man, keep yourself together.

‘Ava,’ he greeted as she stopped on the opposite side of the beautiful maple-wood island bench in the kitchen where he was poring over some paperwork. He’d polished the top to glass-like perfection with his own two hands. ‘Problem?’

‘You could say that,’ she said, folding her arms and glaring at him.

Blake did not drop his gaze and admire how the arm-crossing emphasised the tanned perfection of her cleavage. Even if it was on open display in her loosely tied gossamer gown that reeked of a designer label and through which her itty-bitty, red bikini could also be clearly seen.

He did not think about how wet she was underneath it. About the water droplets that dripped off the ends of her slicked-back hair or trekked down the elegant line of her throat to cling precariously to her prominent collarbones before heading further south.

Blake did not look.

Blake was in a good place in his life. He was fit and healthy after a long period of being neither. He was financially secure. He had direction and purpose.

He could get laid any night of the week with just one phone call placed to any of half a dozen women. He didn’t need to ogle the one in front of him.

She was trouble and he’d already had too much of that.

Instead he thought about the month-long holiday he started tomorrow—no braving a clutch of paparazzi every morning, no twelve-hour days and, most importantly, no divas.

‘Something I can help with?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, raising her chin to peer down her nose at him in that way he’d got used to the last few months. ‘You can ask your salivating apprentice—’ she jerked her thumb in the direction of the male in question ‘—to put his eyes back in his head and keep his mind on the job. My friends aren’t here to be gawked at. They come into the privacy of my home to get away from objectification.’

Blake glanced over at the three women frolicking in the fully glassed indoor pool that ran alongside the magnificent internal open-air courtyard. They were all tall, tanned and gorgeous and if they were friends of Ava’s then they were no doubt models too. Between them there were only twelve triangles of fabric keeping them from being totally naked.

He glanced at Dougy, who was installing some sophisticated strip lighting down the outside of the glass and steel staircase that led from the courtyard to a mezzanine level for sunbathing. Ava was right: he was barely keeping his tongue inside his head. Not that Blake could really blame him. This had to be every young apprentice’s wet dream. And he was like a kid in a candy shop.

Sunlight flooded the courtyard through the open glass roof above reflecting off the stark white décor, dazzling his eyes. For a moment Blake tuned out Ava’s disapproval and admired what they’d achieved—outside a semi-detached, early-nineteenth-century terraced house, inside a vibrant contemporary home full of light and flair.

‘Well?’ Ava’s huffy demand yanked him back to the conversation.

‘Dougy,’ Blake said, in no mood to humour her as her gown slipped off her right shoulder exposing more of her to his view. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her perfect little snub nose placed perfectly in the middle of her delicate kitten-like face.

‘His name’s Dougy.’

‘Well, do you think you could rein Dougy in? He’s acting like some horny teenager.’

Blake sighed. Why was it he liked project management again? He made a note to tell Charlie no more divas. Their business was going gangbusters—they could afford to be choosey.

‘Ava,’ he said patiently, ‘he’s nineteen. He is a horny teenager.’

‘Well, he can be that on his own time,’ she snapped. ‘When he’s on my time, I expect him to have his head down and do the job I’m paying him for. And so should you.’

Blake contemplated telling Ava Kelly to quit her bitching and let him worry about his employees. Dougy was a good apprentice—keen and a hard worker—and Blake wasn’t about to make an issue out of what was, to him, a non-issue. But he figured no one had ever used the B word around Ms Kelly—not to her face anyway—and he wasn’t going to be the first.

Hell, what she needed was a damn good spanking. But he wasn’t about to do that either.

The job was over at the end of the day, they were just putting the finishing touches to the reno, and he could suck up her diva-ness for a few more hours.

Blake unclenched his jaw. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he said through stiff lips.

Ava looked down her nose at him again and sniffed. ‘See that you do.’

Then she spun on her heel and marched away. He watched as the edges of her gown flowed behind her like tails, her lovely ankles exposed with every footfall. Higher up his gaze snagged on the enticing sway of one teeny-tiny red triangle.

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

A couple of hours later Blake answered the phone to his brother. Blake rarely answered the phone while at a job site but he always picked up for Charlie. His brother might have been younger but he’d been the driving force behind their design business and behind dragging Blake out of the maudlin pit of despair he’d almost totally disappeared into a few years back.

Blake owed Charlie big time.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Joanna rang. She’s really upset. One of their biggest supporters is pulling out due to financial issues and she’s freaking out they won’t be able to continue to run their programmes.’

Joanna was their sister. She’d been widowed three years ago when her husband, Colin, a lieutenant in the British army and a close friend of Blake’s, was killed in the same explosion that had injured him. They’d been in the same unit and he’d been Col’s captain. And he’d promised his sister he’d look out for her husband.

That he’d bring him home alive.

Not a promise he’d been able to keep as it turned out.

She and three other army wives had started a charity soon after, which supported the wives, girlfriends and families of British servicemen. They’d done very well in almost two years but fighting for any charity backing in the global financial situation was hard—losing the support of a major contributor was a real blow.

And losing Col had been blow enough.

Blake understood that it was through the charity that Joanna kept him alive. It kept her going. It was her crutch.

And Blake understood crutches better than anyone.

‘I guess we’re in a position with the business now to become patrons ourselves,’ Blake said.

‘Blake!’

The muscles in Blake’s neck tensed at the imperious voice. He took a deep breath as he turned around, his brother still speaking in his ear.