Marrying the Enemy

‘Careful. Next time the door opens and the wind blows in, your frown will stick.’

Surprised anyone had approached him considering his determined distance from the rent-a-crowd at this shindig, he glared at the smart-mouthed blonde, dripping with enough diamonds to keep his Western Australian mine in business for the next decade.

‘What’s it to you?’

She was undeterred by his surliness, her ruby-slicked lips curving into a teasing smile. ‘The launch of a Seaborn spring collection deserves champagne and caviar and exuberance.’

She pointed at his forehead. ‘That frown you’ve got going on? Doesn’t fit.’

‘Because most of the snobs here can’t move their Botox-ed brows anyway?’

His derisive stare swept the designer-clad, immaculately coiffed, moneyed crowd who shunned him for the sins of his father.

To his surprise, her smile widened. ‘You’re probably right but you should play nice.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the undercover security doesn’t take kindly to brusque, boorish types just standing back and surveying. They’ll think you’re a thief.’

Her brash glance swept him from head to foot and his gut inexplicably tightened.

When her defiant gaze met his, he swore he glimpsed heat. ‘On second thoughts, maybe not.’

Against his better judgement, he felt compelled to match wits with the intriguing blonde. He wasn’t used to people challenging him. In business or otherwise.

He liked his women transparent and uncomplicated. The bold blonde? Anything but.

He waved her away. ‘Shouldn’t you be mingling?’

‘Shouldn’t you be smiling?’

His mouth twitched and she raised a fist in victory. ‘There. Knew you could do it. Not so hard once you try.’

Nonplussed, he shook his head. ‘Who are you?’

She screwed up her nose and poked out her tongue in a mock scary expression.

‘Your worst nightmare, Happy Face.’

The laughter spilled from his lips, alien and odd sounding. When was the last time he’d laughed?

‘A mouth like that can get you into trouble.’ His gaze focused on her lips, the glossy sheen highlighting their fullness, their sensuality, and that surprising twinge in his gut moved lower.

She cocked a pretend gun with her thumb and forefinger and pulled the trigger. ‘I’m all for trouble.’

Impressed by her audacity, he decided to call her bluff.

‘Big statement, but can you deliver?’

With a nonchalant shrug, she turned away, leaving him with a tantalising view of bare skin to her waist where the emerald satin of her designer dress tied in an incongruous bow.

She took two steps, paused and glanced over her shoulder.

‘If you stick around after the launch, you might find out, if you’re lucky.’

She sashayed away, working her hips for his benefit, the satin clinging to a fine ass.

He’d given himself thirty minutes to show Melbourne’s high society he was back and there wasn’t one damn thing they could do about it.

Until the daring blonde had crashed his resentment party for one and dangled that tempting offer.

He didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to but sticking around now held a certain appeal.

* * *

Ruby grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, needing to hold something before she gave in to the urge to rip off the rare green diamond plaque de cou necklace and have a good scratch.

How her sister Sapphie did this on a regular basis, she had no idea.

The diamonds weighed a ton around her neck and she was sure her ear lobes had lengthened by an inch with the matching earrings dangling in a waterfall of sparkle.

While the crowd oohed and aahed, admiring the pieces she’d created especially for this collection, she had to curl her fingers into her palms to stop herself from scratching.

Her oversensitive skin beneath the jewels prickled. Wouldn’t the press have a field day with that: Ruby Seaborn, lapidary and creative genius behind the Seaborn’s latest spring collection, allergic to her own inventive masterpieces?

It had to be her subconscious telling her she belonged behind the scenes rather than a genuine physiological reaction. She only used the finest metals and gems. Gems that were harder to come by these days thanks to Maroney Mine, the corporate mining giant devouring everything and everyone in its path.

If she ever got her hands on Jax Maroney, the CEO, she’d throttle him.

Speaking of getting her hands on a guy... She darted a glance over her shoulder at the truculent Adonis propped against the far wall, deliberately detached from the milling crowd.

He might be wearing a charcoal pinstriped suit, baby-blue business shirt and indigo tie, but that was where his respectability ended.

With unreadable ebony eyes, an inscrutable expression and that imperceptible curl of disgust to a very sexy top lip, the guy had bad boy written all over him.

Along with the folded arms and ominous glare, he’d been rudely brusque when she’d approached. He didn’t want to be here. Which begged the question why he’d turned up. And who was he?

The Seaborns had built their reputation on exclusivity. Every person here tonight had lineage and class and money. Money to burn.

Money her family’s jewellery business needed desperately if they were to survive.

She stared a fraction too long, her gaze locking with his, and as he slowly raised a mocking eyebrow a shiver skittered over her skin, making it prickle from more than the necklace.

Unaware she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled and saluted before turning away. She slipped a finger beneath the front-fastening choker-style necklace that seemed to have a stranglehold.

It didn’t help, his potent stare eliciting a heat that coursed through her body like a power surge.

He exuded something raw, something primitive, and she unwittingly responded on a visceral level, the tug of excitement deep inside unexpected and unwelcome.