Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss: Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife / Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek / Her Ruthless Italian Boss

‘You’d do anything to get a commission,’ Stears continued in a low, vicious voice. ‘And I for one am going to make damn sure you don’t get it.’ He moved away on the pretext of refreshing his drink and Cormac watched him go, his lips tightening in resolve.

Geoffrey didn’t scare him; the man didn’t even bother him. But he was a variable that needed to be considered.

He glanced at Lizzie, chatting now with Hilda, watched as her slender fingers brushed at a wisp of hair. She smiled, and he felt a tightening in his gut.

He knew a way to silence Stears and his own stirrings. Glancing at Dan and Wendy, he knew he and Lizzie couldn’t fake the real thing.

They could have the real thing.

Or close to it.

He could seduce her.

It might be just what was needed to seal this deal. Lizzie in his thrall, in his arms, would convince Hassell like nothing else could.

He smiled, suddenly looking forward to the evening a great deal more.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_a937f15d-357d-5206-8ac0-e121977dbad8)

BY THE time dinner was announced Lizzie’s nerves were starting to fray. The game was getting old. Every innocent question and remark sent her lurching upright, nerves jangling, heart beating desperately.

She was tired, hungry, out of sorts. She wanted to let her guard down, release the tension. Stop acting.

Yet she couldn’t.

Cormac moved next to her as they entered the dining room, putting his arm around her waist, curving her to him.

‘Not too much longer, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘You’re doing well.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said under her breath, and he chuckled as if she’d said something amusing.

‘The correct response is thank you.’ He moved off to find his seat, and Hilda directed Lizzie to hers. She saw with a sinking heart that she was between Wendy and Geoffrey, and Cormac was next to Lara. Neither good options, both fraught with danger.

‘The beach is so lovely here,’ Cormac said as everyone began eating the first course, ‘with a nice, shallow sandy bottom. Is the whole island so fortunate?’

Jan smiled. ‘No, the north shore is rocky and quite impossible. The south side is lovely, though…’ He paused. ‘Where the resort shall be built.’ There was a fleeting look of sadness in Jan’s eyes and Lizzie wondered again about the reasons behind building the resort.

She glanced down at her starter, a warm asparagus salad with Gouda cheese. It was delicious, yet she felt so queasy and out of sorts that each mouthful was hard to swallow.

Geoffrey noticed and murmured silkily in her ear, ‘Not feeling yourself, Elizabeth?’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘The jet lag has thrown my appetite off.’

‘Pity.’ He smiled, but his eyes were as sharp as a pair of scissors. ‘Funny,’ he continued after a moment, ‘that I never heard of Cormac’s nuptials. The architecture world is rather small in Great Britain.’

Lizzie felt a cold, plunging sensation in the pit of her stomach; she tasted bile. ‘As I think I’ve said, we’ve been wanting to keep it quiet.’

‘Very quiet.’

‘Yes.’ She took a bite of salad and realised it was a mistake when it stuck in her throat. Coughing, she gulped from her glass of water, conscious of Geoffrey’s amused gaze.

‘It’s just rather convenient,’ he said in a voice meant only for Lizzie’s ears, ‘that Cormac Douglas would suddenly get married mere weeks before this commission was announced. Don’t you think?’

She shrugged. ‘Coincidence, more than convenience, I would say. Besides, it’s not official that the Hassells require a married architect.’

‘We all know the truth…don’t we?’ The double entendre was too much to bear. Lizzie turned back to her salad.

Geoffrey watched her, his eyes glittering with thinly disguised malice. ‘Are you very much in love?’

Despite her best intentions to remain calm, Lizzie could feel a humiliating flush steal across her cheeks and stain the delicate skin of her throat. ‘Yes, of course we are,’ she replied, but by the look of satisfaction in Geoffrey’s steely eyes she hadn’t convinced him in the least.

‘Geoffrey, stop hassling my wife,’ Cormac called lazily across the table. He smiled to take the sting from his words and Lizzie looked up, startled. ‘I know she’s beautiful but she’s mine.’ His eyes fastened on Lizzie and she felt the shocking onslaught of his possessive gaze as if he’d reached across the table and touched her. Undressed her.

‘My, my,’ Jan said. He sounded pleased. ‘Consider yourself warned, Geoffrey.’ Lara flushed.

The moment passed, the conversation moved on, and yet Lizzie still glanced at Cormac—his harsh, angular profile, the way he leaned back lazily in his chair—and wondered just how much he was acting.

I know she’s beautiful… Did he actually believe that? Could she trust anything he did, said? Was anything real?

No. It wasn’t.

It just felt like it sometimes.

The appetiser was cleared and the first course—Piska Kora, a dish of red snapper with garlic and lime—presented. Geoffrey, fortunately, was talking to Dan on his other side, and Lizzie tried to make polite conversation with Wendy.

Her mind whirled, however, spinning with new, unwelcome possibilities. It was obvious that Geoffrey was suspicious. It wouldn’t take much for his suspicions to turn into cold, hard fact…and what then?

Both she and Cormac would be exposed. Ruined.

Lizzie toyed with her fish, unable to actually take a mouthful. Suddenly she was well and truly frightened. Frightened of discovery, of shame, of ruin.

She should have stepped off that plane and spat out the truth. Jan would have believed her then, but she’d been so intrigued by Cormac’s proposition, enticed by the excitement. Cormac had used that, played her mercilessly.

And she had let him.

This situation was her own fault.

Nothing was real…except for that. The fear. The danger.

‘Elizabeth, you haven’t eaten. Are you well?’ Hilda’s question was of gentle concern, but it caused everyone at the table to glance at Lizzie’s untouched plate, and Cormac gave her a quick, knowing look.

‘I’m sorry…my appetite is a bit off,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it looks delicious,’ she added lamely, flushing yet again.

‘Perhaps the dessert will tempt you,’ Hilda said with a smile. ‘But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

Lizzie nodded and smiled, knowing she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t feel better until she was safely back in Edinburgh, back in her own home, her own job, her own role.

Bolo di Kashupete, a sweet cashew cake, followed the fish, and Lizzie forced herself to take a few mouthfuls. She had drunk half a glass of the rich dessert wine and found it had clouded her head and made her dizzy.