Marrying the Enemy

And their close father-son bond only made what his dad had done all the harder to accept.

He released her, annoyed she hadn’t lost the horrified look.

‘That’s not very charitable. How did we go from coffee to get out?’

She gnawed on a gloriously full bottom lip, eyeing him as if she half expected he’d ransack the entire showroom contents and abscond.

‘On second thoughts, you’re coming with me.’ She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards a black filigree wrought-iron door with a winding staircase behind it. ‘You need your butt kicked and I’m just the woman to do it.’

For someone who hadn’t had much to smile about lately, he found himself unable to stop the slow grin stretching his disused facial muscles.

He’d like to see her try.

* * *

Ruby was a spontaneous, roll-with-the-punches kinda gal but dragging Jax Maroney up the stairs and into her apartment for interrogation threw her.

From all accounts the guy had fled Melbourne years ago, eager to escape the fallout from his father’s incarceration.

While there’d been no hint of criminal behaviour tainting Jax, how much had he seen and done?

Rumours had been rife during the trial. Had Jax known about the embezzlement? Had he laundered money like his dad had? Had he stashed away a small fortune untouchable by the law? Had he helped his mum disappear?

She hadn’t followed the news but her mum had been outraged by the thought of a renowned criminal like Denver Maroney having access to high-society money, friends’ money, and swindling the lot.

As for Jackie, Jax’s mum, Mathilda Seaborn had raised her nose in the air and forbidden either of her daughters to speak of her again. Being duped by a criminal was one thing. Being betrayed by one of their own another.

How Jax had ended up CEO of a profitable mining company in Western Australia, a mining company driving her family business into the ground, was what she had every intention of finding out.

Learning his identity, she now understood the hint of danger emanating from him—and understood her unlikely attraction.

She’d always had a thing for bad boys.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and flung it open, giving him a none too gentle shove inside before slamming it and whirling to face him.

Stepping into her sanctuary comforted her: the funky Indian floor cushions in turquoise and tangerine, the fresh fuchsia gerberas stuck in mismatched coloured bottles serving as vases, the aromatherapy candles littering every available surface.

Not tonight. Tonight, she had every intention of screwing over Jax Maroney the same way he’d been doing to her family business.

‘If that’s how you treat all your guests I’ll pass on the coffee—’

‘Zip it.’ She pointed at the lowest chair, wanting him at a height disadvantage. ‘Take a seat. I’ll be back.’

He shrugged and surprisingly did as instructed, folding his six-three frame into the soft chintz. ‘Just for the record, I don’t take kindly to orders.’

His gaze started at her feet and swept upwards, deliberately lingering in places it shouldn’t. ‘But considering you’re about to slip into something more comfortable, it may be worth my while staying around.’

‘You’re obnoxious,’ she said, the sting taken out of her words by an irrepressibly smug grin at his backhanded compliment.

‘And you’re spectacular.’

Wow.

That zing of attraction between them? Zapped her in a big way.

Annoyed by her body’s betrayal when she had a business score to settle, she flounced out of the room. Not that she’d ever flounced in her life but going up against Jax Maroney brought out the worst in her.

She wanted to rattle him as much as he rattled her but something behind those coal-black eyes, an inner resistance combined with formidable will, told her she wished for the impossible.

Propping open her bedroom door with a shoe, she kept an eye on him through the slit while grabbing the nearest change of clothes she could find.

‘Don’t make yourself comfortable—you won’t be staying long,’ she said, slithering out of the emerald satin, kicking off her stilettos and gratefully slipping into a zigzag-patterned strapless jumpsuit.

‘And here I was, thinking the renowned Seaborns would be hospitable and gracious.’

As she tugged the ruched elastic bodice of the jumpsuit up, her blood chilled. He knew about her family.

The question was, how much?

Did he know her dad had died when she’d been in her early teens? That her mum had carried on the family business ever since, building it into Australia’s premier jewellers? That Sapphie had juggled modelling and spokeswoman duties while studying for a business degree and master’s part-time? That she’d loved being the younger sister with less responsibility and more recreation time?

The familiar guilt at her extensive social life while her sister had borne the burden of making Seaborn’s flourish niggled at her once again.

She’d been irresponsible and carefree while Sapphie took on too much and ended up sick.

No more.

She snatched out the clip holding her loose chignon in place and ran her fingers through her hair. She liked loose and muss. She didn’t like uptight and controlled. Like her unwelcome guest.

When she stepped out of her bedroom, her wary gaze collided with his, the instant ping of attraction zapping her synapses, making a mockery of her self-professed dislike.

‘Zebra stripes? Interesting outfit.’ Amusement quirked the corners of his mouth and she resisted the urge to tug at the bodice again. ‘Rather fitting, what with zebras being an endangered species and all.’

Like Seaborn’s hung unsaid between them and she glared at him.

‘You’re not here for a fashion critique.’ She marched across the room and sat opposite him, tucking her bare feet beneath her. ‘And you’re skipping the coffee.’

His deliberately blasé expression didn’t flicker but she noted coiled tension in his fingers digging into the chintz.

‘Then why am I here?’ He instilled enough innuendo into his silky tone to make her pulse leap.

‘That’s easy.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘So I can tell you exactly what I think of your business practices and to ensure you stay the hell away from Seaborn’s.’

Jax settled into the prissy chair, draping an arm across the back and extending his legs, crossed at the ankles.

If his silence didn’t provoke Ruby, his deliberately relaxed posture would, and he scored a direct hit as her eyes narrowed, sparking green fire.

He’d learned from managing a variety of workers in the outback that it was easier to let angry people rave, purging it from their system, rather than interrupt or stem the flow and exacerbate the situation.