Fiancée for One Night

But the annoying, niggling voice in her head refused to be captivated or silenced by the view.

You want to see if he has the same impact on you that he had three years ago.

You want to know if it’s not just his voice that makes your stomach curl.

You want to know if he’ll once again look at you with eyes filled with dark desire and simmering need.

No, no and no! She shuffled restlessly against the leather, adjusting her seat belt so it wasn’t so tight across her chest and she could breathe easier.

Dark desire and simmering need were the last things she needed these days. She had responsibilities now. A child to provide for. Which was exactly what she was doing by coming tonight, she acknowledged, latching onto the concept with zeal. She was providing for her child. After all, if she didn’t, who would? Not his father, that was for sure.

She bit down on her lip, remembering only then that she was wearing lipstick for a change and that she shouldn’t do that. It had been harder than she’d imagined, leaving Sam for an evening—the first time she’d ever left him at night—and it had been such a wrench she’d been almost tempted to call Leo and tell him she’d changed her mind.

But she hadn’t. And Sam had splashed happily in an early bath and enjoyed dinner. She’d read him a story and he’d already been nodding off when she’d left him with Mrs Willis, his little fist clenched, his thumb firmly wedged between cupid bow lips. But what if he woke up and she wasn’t there? What if he wouldn’t settle back down for Mrs Willis?

God, what the hell had she been thinking, agreeing to this?

Outside the limousine windows the city of Melbourne was lighting up. It wasn’t long after seven, the sky caught in that time between day and night, washed with soft shadows that told of the coming darkness, and buildings were preparing, showing their colours, strutting their stuff.

Just like she was, she thought. She wore a gown of aqua silk, which had cost her the equivalent of a month’s salary in her old office job, but she figured the evening called for something more grand than her usual chain-store purchases. Leo would no doubt expect it, she figured. And she’d loved the dress as she’d slipped it over her head and zipped it up, loved the look of it over her post-baby curves and the feel of it against her skin, and loved what it did to accentuate the colour of her eyes, but the clincher had been when her eighteen-month-old son had looked up at her from his pram, broken into an enormous grin and clapped his pudgy hands together.

And she must look all right in her new dress and newly highlighted hair because her neighbour had gasped when she’d come to the door to deliver Sam and insisted she cover herself with an apron in case she inadvertently spilled anything on it before she left.

Dear Mrs Willis, who was the closest to a grandparent that Sam would ever know, and who had been delighted to babysit and have Eve go out for a night for a change, no doubt in the hope that Eve would find a nice man to settle down with and provide a father to Sam. And even though Eve had explained it was a work function and she’d no doubt be home early, her neighbour had simply smiled and taken no notice as she’d practically pushed her out the door to the waiting car. ‘Have a lovely evening and don’t rush. If it’s after ten when you get home, I’ll no doubt be asleep, so you can come and pick Sam up in the morning.’

And then they were there. The driver pulled into a turnaround and eased the car to a stop. He passed her a keycard as a doorman stepped forward to open her door. ‘Mr Zamos says to let you know he’s running late and to let yourself in.’ She smiled her thanks as he recited a room number, praying she’d manage to remember it as the doorman welcomed her to the hotel.

Deep breath.

Warily she stepped out of the car, cautious on heels that seemed perilously high, where once upon a time she would have thought nothing of sprinting to catch a bus in even higher. Strange, what skills you forgot, she thought, when you don’t use them. And then she sincerely hoped she hadn’t forgotten the art of making conversation with adults because a few rounds of ‘Open, shut them, open, shut them,’ was going to get tired pretty quickly.

And then she stepped through the sliding doors into the hotel and almost turned around and walked straight back out again. It was little more than the entrance, a bank of grand elevators in front of her and a lift lobby to the left, but it was beautiful. A massive arrangement of flowers sat between the escalators, lilies bright and beautiful, palm leaves vivid green and all so artfully arranged that it looked too good to be real.

Just like her, she thought. Because she did so not belong here in this amazing place. She was a fake, pretending to be something she was not, and everyone would see through her in an instant.

She must have hesitated too long or maybe they recognised her as a fraud because someone emerged from behind the concierge desk and asked if she needed assistance. ‘I’m to meet Mr Zamos in his suite,’ she said, her voice sounding other-worldy in the moneyed air of one of Melbourne’s most prestigious hotels, but instead of calling for Security, like she half expected, he simply led her to the lift lobby and saw her safely inside a lift, even smiling as he pressed Leo’s level on the floor selection so she could make no mistake.

Oh, God, she thought, clutching her shawl around her as the lift door pinged open on the chosen floor, the keycard clenched tightly in her fingers, this is it.

One night, she told herself, it’s just one night. One evening, she corrected herself, just a dinner. Because in just a few short hours she would be home and life could get back to normal and she could go back to being a work-from-home mum in her trackpants again.

She could hardly wait.

She stepped out into the lift lobby, drinking deeply of the hotel’s sweetly spiced air, willing it to give her strength as she started on the long journey down the hall. Her stomach felt alive with the beating of a thousand tiny wings, giving flight to a thousand tiny and not so tiny fears and stopping her feet dead on the carpet.

What the hell was she doing? How could she be so sure Leo wouldn’t recognise her? And how could she bear it if he did? The shame of knowing how she’d act-ed—like some kind of wanton. How could she possibly keep working for him if he knew?

Because she wasn’t like that. Not normally. A first date might end with a kiss if it had gone well, the concept of a one-night stand the furthest thing from her mind, but something about Leo had stripped away her usual cautiousness, turning her reckless, wanting it all and wanting it now.

She couldn’t bear it if he knew. She couldn’t bear the aftermath or the subsequent humiliation.

Would he terminate her contract?

Or would he expect to pick up where he’d left off?

She shivered, her thumping heart beating much too loud for the hushed, elegant surroundings.

Lift doors pinged softly behind her and she glanced around as a couple emerged from the lift, forcing her to move both her feet and her thoughts closer to Leo’s door.

Seriously, why should he remember her? A rushed grope in a filing room with a woman he hadn’t seen before or since. Clearly it would mean nothing to a man with such an appetite for sex. He’d probably forgotten her the moment he’d left the building. And she’d been Eve then, too. Not the Evelyn she’d reverted to when she’d started her virtual PA business, wanting to sound serious and no-nonsense on her website.

And it’s only one night, she told herself, willing herself to relax as she arrived at the designated door. Just one short evening. And then she looked down at the keycard in her damp hand and found she’d been clenching it so tightly it had bitten deep and left bold white lines across her fingers.

Let herself in when it was the last place she wanted to be? Hardly. She rapped softly on the door. Maybe the driver was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t even there…

There was no answer, even after a second knock, so taking a fortifying breath she slid the card through the reader. There was a whirr and click and a green light winked at her encouragingly.

The door swung open to a large sitting room decorated in soft toffee and cream tones. ‘Hello,’ she ventured softly, snicking the door closed behind her, not game to venture yet beyond the entryway other than to admire the room and its elegant furnishings. Along the angled wall sat a sofa with chairs arranged around a low coffee table, while opposite a long dresser bore a massive flatscreen television. A desk faced the window, a laptop open on top. Through the open door alongside, she could just make out the sound of someone talking.

Leo, if the way her nerves rippled along her spine was any indication. And then the voice grew less indistinct and louder and she heard him say, ‘I’ve got the figures right here. Hang on…’

A moment later he strode into the room without so much as a glance in her direction, all his focus on the laptop that flashed into life with just a touch, while all her focus was on him clad in nothing more than a pair of black silk briefs that made nothing more than a passing concession to modesty.

He was a god, from the tips of his damp tousled hair all the way down, over broad muscled shoulders that flexed as he moved his hand over the keyboard, over olive skin that glistened under the light, and over the tight V of his hips to the tapered muscular legs below.

And Eve felt muscles clench that she hadn’t even known she’d possessed.

She must have made some kind of sound—she hoped to God it wasn’t a whimper—because he stilled and glanced at the window in front of him, searching the reflection. She knew the instant he saw her, knew it in the way his muscles stiffened, his body straightening before he slowly turned around, his eyes narrowing as they drank her in, so measuredly, so heatedly she was sure they must leave tracks on her skin.

‘I’ll call you back,’ he said into the phone, without taking his eyes from her, without making any attempt to leave the room or cover himself. ‘Something’s come up.’

She risked a glance—there—and immediately wished she hadn’t, for when she looked back at him, his eyes glinted knowingly, the corners creasing, as if he’d known exactly what she’d been doing and where she’d been looking.

‘Evelyn?’

He was waiting for an answer, but right now her tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth, her softly fitted dress seemed suddenly too tight, too restrictive, and the man opposite her was too big and all too obviously virile. And much, much too undressed. The fact he made no attempt to cover himself up only served to unsettle her even more.

He took a step closer. ‘You’re Evelyn Carmichael?’

She took a step back. ‘You were expecting someone else?’

‘No. Nobody else—except…’

‘Except what?’ she whispered, wondering if spiders’ eyes glinted the same way his did as they sized up their prey.

‘I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone like you.’

She felt dizzy, unbalanced and unprepared, and there was absolutely no question in her mind what she had to do next, no wavering. She turned, one hand already fumbling for the door handle, her nails scratching against the wood. ‘Clearly you’re not ready,’ she said, breathless and panicky and desperate to escape. ‘I’ll wait outside.’