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

And he remembered. Remembered the night he’d brought her home from the graduation dance because her lousy date had been too drunk to drive. Remembered standing in this very spot outside the showroom, reverting to his usual taunts to cheer her up, hating the way the first time he’d seen her vulnerable, seen beneath her outer shell, had made him feel sad rather than victorious.

He remembered the sounds of soft laughter from nearby restaurants, the distinct clang of a tram bell, the faintest wistful sigh a moment before he’d ignored his misgivings and kissed her.

It had been a crazy spur-of-the-moment thing to stop her lower lip wobbling. He’d liked teasing the Ice Princess. He would have hated seeing her cry.

So he’d had no option but to distract her.

He’d expected a kiss to do that and then some.

The part where she’d combusted and he’d lost control a little…Not supposed to happen.

Who would have thought beneath Sapphire’s glacial surface lay a bubbling hotbed of hormones?

He’d kissed a lot of women in his time, in the endless whirl of parties and fashion events throughout Europe, and dated some of the hottest women in the world, but that kiss with Sapphire Seaborn…

Something else.

Not that he deliberately remembered it, but every now and then, when a blue eyed-blonde gave him a haughty glare, he’d remember her and that brief moment when he’d glimpsed a tantalising sliver of more.

Back then she’d shoved him away and fled. Wanting to ease her mortification—and maybe rub her nose in it a little, because old habits died hard—he’d tried calling once, e-mailed and texted a couple of times.

Predictably, she’d raised her frosty walls and he’d backed off. It hadn’t bothered him. He’d left for Paris a week later.

Now he was back, ready to take the Melbourne fashion scene by its bejewelled lapels and give it a damn good shake-up on his way to achieving his ultimate goal. And if he ended up working with Sapphire he’d rattle her too.

As he took a seat at an outdoor table at the café next door and ordered a double-shot espresso he remembered her horrified expression when she’d first caught sight of him.

Shell-shocked didn’t come close to describing it.

Only fair, considering he’d felt the same. When he’d first seen her, arms stretched overhead, revealing a flat, tanned stomach that extended to her bikini line courtesy of ragged, low-riding yoga pants, he’d felt like he had that crazy time he’d leapt into the Seine on a dare: breathless, shivery, out of his depth.

He’d never seen her so casual or without make-up and it suited her—as did the layered pixie cut that framed her heart shaped face and made her blue eyes impossibly large.

Usually lithe and elegant, she’d appeared more vulnerable, more human than he’d even seen her, and it added to her appeal.

She’d been hugely confident as a kid. Cutting through a crowd or cutting him down to size. When Sapphire spoke people listened, and he’d been secretly impressed by her unswerving goal to help run the family business.

Not many teens knew what they wanted to do, let alone actually did it, but Sapphire had been driven and determined. And she hadn’t had time for a guy who plied his charm like a trade, getting what he wanted with a smile or his quick wit.

So he’d tried harder to rile her, needling and cajoling and charming, buoyed by her reluctant smiles and verbal flayings.

Sapphire Seaborn gave good putdowns.

If it hadn’t been for Biology during their final year of high school he would have thought she really didn’t like him. But being her lab partner, being forced to work with her, had shown him a different side to Sapphire—one that had almost made him like her.

Because beneath the tough exterior was a diligent, devoted girl who hated to let anyone down. Including him. Probably the only reason she’d put up with him during their assignments.

He admired her unswerving loyalty to her family, her dream to expand Seaborns. Especially when he’d had no aspirations to join Fourde Fashion and all it entailed.

Ironic how, ten years later, he was back in his home city, making Melbourne sit up and take notice of the newly opened Fourde Fashion his priority.

He had a lot to prove to a lot of people—mainly himself—and he’d take Fourde Fashion to the top if he had to wear shot silk and stilettos to do it.

The waitress deposited his espresso on the table and he thanked her—a second before he caught sight of Sapphire leaving Seaborns.

His gut tightened as she glanced his way, her gaze soft and unfocused, almost lost.

Her vulnerability hit him again. He’d never seen her anything less than über-confident and he wondered what—or who—had put the haunted look in her eyes.

She hadn’t caught sight of him so he stood and waved her over.

A slight frown creased her brows as she worried her bottom lip, obviously contemplating how to flee. He took the decision out of her hands by ordering a tall, skinny, extra hot cappuccino with a side of pistachio macaron, loud enough for her to hear.

Her eyes narrowed as she stalked towards him, the yoga pants clinging to her lean legs like a second skin, a pink hoodie hiding the delectable top half he’d already checked out.

Sapphire might be petite, but the way she held herself, the way she strode, made her appear taller. In heels, she was formidable.

He liked the grass-stained purple sneakers with diamante studs better.

‘Care to join me?’ He pulled out a wrought iron chair. ‘I ordered your favourites.’

‘So I heard.’ She frowned, indecisive, as she darted a glance inside. Probably contemplating how to cancel the order without offending. ‘Rather presumptuous.’

He pointed to his espresso. ‘I hate drinking alone.’

‘I’m busy—’

‘Please?’

He tried his best mega-smile—the one she’d never failed to roll her eyes at.

She didn’t disappoint, adding an exasperated huff as she slid onto the seat. ‘Tell me you’re not still using that smile to twist people around your little finger.’

He shrugged. ‘Fine. I won’t tell you.’

‘Does it still work?’

‘You tell me.’ He crooked a finger, beckoning her closer. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’

‘That’s because I haven’t had my cappa fix this morning.’

‘And you can’t resist anything sweet and French.’

She snorted. ‘Surely you’re not referring to yourself?’

‘I’ve lived in Paris for ten years.’ He leaned towards her, close enough to smell the faint cinnamon peach fragrance of her shampoo—the same one that had clung to his tux jacket after their kiss. ‘And you used to find me irresistibly sweet.’

She pretended to gag and he laughed.