Her Enemy With Benefits: Her Deal with the Devil / My Boyfriend and Other Enemies / Blind Date Rivals

The stupid thing was, she’d expected not to sleep last night—to be so wound up with analysing and second-guessing she couldn’t—but the oddest thing had happened.

She’d had her first full night’s sleep for months. Heck, for years.

And she owed it to Patrick.

Great, even thinking his name made her flush in remembrance.

What they’d done in this bathroom…Who would have thought having pseudo-sex could be so steamy?

She might not be super-experienced in that department—being a workaholic meant she could count the number of guys she’d thought hot enough to sleep with on one hand—but what she’d done with Patrick…

Wow. Simply wow.

And she still wanted him as badly this morning.

Her theory last night—that an orgasm might take the edge off her craziness and let her concentrate on working alongside him without the desperation to tear his clothes off—hadn’t worked. It had backfired in a big way.

Now she wanted more. So much more. Both of them naked and sweaty. Going the whole way.

Stupid theories.

She should have ordered the take-out, made small talk, and let him walk out of here.

But the way he’d been looking at her…There was only so much willpower a girl could draw on.

Thankfully, it had been okay afterwards. They’d glossed over potential awkwardness, and he’d left after she’d pleaded tiredness and a need to prep for work tomorrow. Today. When she’d be seeing him again in less than an hour. Which meant she needed to apply make-up. Now.

With a groan she dragged herself back into the bathroom, took a deep breath and stared at her reflection.

Still the same tired old face, but there was a new glint in her eyes. A glint she didn’t like. A glint that signalled a little bit of lust and a lot of crazy.

She blinked, hoping it would vanish.

Nope, still there. Lord only knew what Patrick would make of that glint.

She tried to concentrate on applying foundation, mascara, eyeshadow and lip gloss, she really did, but every time she focussed on the mirror a snippet of last night would flash into her head.

Courtesy of her shaky hands she’d gone through two applicators and a mascara wand already, and she resembled a clown.

Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, she gathered up her make-up and stalked towards the bedroom. The light might be crappy in there, and her clown face could worsen, but she’d take the risk. She’d rather apply make-up in the tiny oval mirror tacked onto the wardrobe door than use the bathroom one.

Maybe she could call a glazier today and have him remove it?

Then again, Patrick had promised to bring a box of condoms next time, and her newly discovered inner vixen really had had a lot of fun watching…

Realistically, she shouldn’t want a repeat. Sex with Patrick would be phenomenal but wrong. A giant complication just waiting to happen.

But she’d felt so good last night—alive in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

The chronic fatigue syndrome symptoms had drained her mentally, emotionally and physically, particularly the latter, and it was her need to reassert her fitness that was driving her to follow through with Patrick.

Nothing like a sex-a-thon to give a girl a workout.

Okay, so she was making light of the situation, probably making excuses to go through with it too, but Patrick had made her feel sensational last night and she wanted to feel that good again.

The post-orgasmic endorphins had lasted a long time after he’d left, and for the first time in ages she’d had the energy to unpack the rest of her cases, clean the kitchen and rearrange her DVDs and books.

She’d bounced around the apartment, humming eighties tunes and shimmying between cleaning, feeling so good she could have run a marathon.

How long since she’d felt that invincible?

Logically, sex with Patrick might be a disaster. Physically? She’d help him haul that box of condoms over pronto.

Patrick needed neutral. A neutral playing field where he could work alongside Sapphire without the constant urge to rip her clothes off.

Last night had only worsened his lust for her. A small part of him had hoped it would ease. Yeah, right.

He should have known better than to believe his delusional self-talk that a quickie with Sapphire would soothe him.

A guy didn’t do what he had done with Sapphire last night and get it out of his system. Not to mention the added tension of knowing she was up for more. A whole box-worth more.

He didn’t get it. It wasn’t as if he’d been hung up on her in the past. He’d enjoyed baiting her at school, made it his mission to get a rise out of her because he’d wanted to ruffle her uptight exterior. Sure, he’d had the odd fantasy about her—what teenage guy hadn’t?

Sapphire was an attractive woman now. It figured that he’d want to have sex with her. The part he hadn’t figured out was why it was pounding through his brain until it was all he could think about.

He couldn’t afford distractions—not with so much at stake. But the thought of using a box-worth of condoms pleasuring Sapphire Seaborn couldn’t be denied, and he’d damn well better get control of his libido before he botched this business opportunity before it had begun.

‘Hey, Rick, the models are ready.’

Patrick glanced up at his right-hand man and best bud, Serge. Though they’d ripped a path through Europe’s party scene together when Patrick had needed the distraction, while Serge continued to live the high life Patrick now opted for more sedate pursuits: like making his fashion house dreams come true.

They’d grown apart over the years but Serge was still a good manager, and it helped having someone he could trust on his side. He couldn’t say that about many people.

‘Thanks, but Sapphire’s not here yet. Give us five.’

‘No worries.’ Serge spoke into a bluetooth clipped near his right ear before slipping onto the chair next to him. ‘What’s up?’

Great. Just what he needed. Serge’s legendary interrogation. He had no intention of telling anyone about Sapphire—not when they’d be working together. But he and Serge had told tall tales over beers too many times to count, and the guy could read him like the latest bestseller.

‘Not much.’ Patrick pointed towards the stack of documents in front of him. ‘This is taking up all my time.’

‘Bull.’

Patrick sat back, folded his arms and feigned ignorance. He only succeeded in making Serge laugh.

‘Work never fazes you. You took on that spring showing in Paris and hit it out of the ballpark.’ Serge tilted his head to one side, studying him. ‘Nah, this isn’t about work. This is about a chick.’

Patrick didn’t want to discuss Sapphire with Serge but he hated dishonesty.