One Wild Night With Her Enemy by Heidi Rice

CHAPTER FIVE

‘WOULDYOULIKE a hand with the pancakes?’ Cassie asked, trying to sound calm and casual and totally cool.

Not easy when she felt anything but.

Especially after Luke had caught her earlier in nothing but his T-shirt and her knickers. He’d been tense and guarded and off, somehow, and what had been exciting and freeing last night—a sexual adventure to be proud of—now just made her feel exposed... And unbelievably awkward.

Still, at least she had some clothes on now. Even if they did belong to someone else. She had drawn the line at borrowing his housekeeper’s underwear, but she’d managed to find a pair of jeans and a baggy T-shirt and sweater and some boots and socks.

She’d left a thank-you note on the housekeeper’s kitchen table in the annexe, with a promise to have the clothes returned once she’d had them cleaned.

With her hair tied in a knot after she’d taken a quick shower in one of the guest bathrooms, she still felt hopelessly exposed, though. She didn’t have on any of her usual armour. She didn’t even have her make-up with her... Or a bra!

Gee, thanks, Ash.

Luke sat on a kitchen stool, his head bent over something. He hadn’t heard her offer to help—probably a good thing, she decided, seeing as she knew next to nothing about making pancakes.

She took a moment to absorb the sight of him. A sight that still had the power to stagger her.

Her breathing became ragged. Again.

She still couldn’t quite believe everything that had happened...or how immense it had seemed. That a man who looked like he did, who oozed heat and passion and sex appeal from every pore, hadn’t just noticed her, but had seduced her so thoroughly, with such power and passion and such dedication to her pleasure as well as his own.

One thing was certain. However grumpy he might be in the mornings, Luke Broussard came into his own at night.

A small smile tilted her lips, but then wavered and flattened as she caught her reflection in the window glass and the awkwardness returned.

Unfortunately, while she looked less than her best, Luke Broussard, even in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants, looked drop-dead gorgeous. The smooth tanned skin on his bare chest and broad shoulders gleamed in the sunshine coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the tattoo of thorns that ringed his collarbone.

The thousand and one thoughts that had been bombarding her ever since she’d woken up that morning, to find him fast asleep beside her, her body aching and her mind a mass of confusion, began to batter her all over again.

Not one of those thoughts, though, was calm or cool or casual.

All the problems with what she’d done—what they’d done—had only increased her confusion and anxiety in the past twenty minutes, while she’d taken a shower and tried to get a handle on how to deal with the awkwardness of her first ever morning-after...

She had no doubt last night had been about chemistry and fun for Luke, but she could see now that it had been about more than that for her. And that was without even factoring in the lie she’d told him about her virginity.

She’d tried to tell herself it wasn’t a big deal. But when he’d treated her so dismissively this morning it had hurt when it really shouldn’t have. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Being stuck on an island with the guy you’d had your first ever sexual encounter with was bound to be awkward. Practicalities-wise, it was a nightmare. Not only had she been forced to borrow his housekeeper’s clothes, she couldn’t leave under her own steam. She was completely reliant on him flying her out of here.

She coughed, trying to clear the swell of anxiety from her throat.

Luke’s head lifted sharply.

What she saw on his face had her drawing in a sharp breath. This was more than impatience. Much more. His jaw was rigid with tension as he stared at her, his gaze flat and hard...

‘You’re back,’ he said.

His voice was as harsh and flat as his gaze, the husky purr which had intoxicated her all through the night gone.

‘You’ve got some explaining to do.’

The accusing words came out like brittle staccato punches, confusing her more. Until he lifted the hand he had on the counter and she spotted her smartphone.

‘Tell me, did Temple tell you to screw me while you were spying on me? Or was I just lucky?’

‘I...? What?’ she choked, shocked by the barely leashed fury in his tone—and the crude accusation. ‘I wasn’t spying on you...’

‘Cut the BS. I’ve got evidence.’

He got off the stool and stalked towards her, the fury on his face becoming thunderous. Snagging her wrist, he slapped her phone into her palm.

‘Read it,’ he sneered, the command in his voice low with disdain. ‘Then explain yourself.’

She clicked on the touch screen to find a notification of Ash’s reply to her earlier text...

You slept with the fella Temple sent you to spy on??? OMG! The dress was even more deadly than I thought.

Cassie stiffened. And wanted to die on the spot.

A thousand and one ways she could defend herself against Luke Broussard’s claims flashed past. She’d never asked him for any information about his business. She’d tried to tell him why she had originally been sent to San Francisco by her boss and he’d shut her down.

But the fury and disgust on his face and the rigid stance of his body made all the denials freeze on her tongue. Because they reminded her of all the times she had tried to defend herself against the disapproval of another man. Suddenly she was a little girl again, bullied and belittled by her father and always, always found wanting.

‘No wonder you were so damn interested in my old man’s reputation,’ he sneered. ‘All part of the background check for your boss.’

She curled her fingers around the phone and shook her head. ‘I wasn’t asking for Temple. I just... It seemed so unfair. And I—’

‘Yeah, right...’ He cut her off again. ‘And to think I thought you were a virgin there for a minute.’

Cassie recoiled at the bitterness in his accusation. How had he guessed the truth?

‘That’s one hell of an act you’ve got going,’ he added.

She stepped back, away from the fury emanating off him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her—not physically...that wasn’t the kind of man he was—but she could see he was only holding on to his temper with an effort. And she couldn’t engage with it. Because it would make her feel small and insignificant and defenceless, the way she had felt so many times as a child.

‘I didn’t come here to spy on you,’ she said again, her hands shaking now. How ironic that she hadn’t wanted him to know about her inexperience, and somehow he’d found a way to use it against her anyway. ‘I should go,’ she said.

‘Ya think?’ he sneered.

She needed to get away, humiliated now by the heat and longing still rippling through her body. How could she still respond to him when he had changed from the man she’d thought she knew to someone cruel and suspicious and judgemental?

But before she’d gone five steps his voice tore through her.

‘Just so you know,’ he added, ‘when we get back to the city I’m gonna be talking to my lawyers.’

She swung round. What was he saying?

‘I... I don’t understand,’ she said, keeping her voice even while her insides were turning into a gelatinous mass. How could she have put her career, and everything she’d worked for into so much jeopardy?

‘You snuck in here to get insider dope on me and my business for your boss. No way am I letting you use what you learned against me.’

The brutal pressure in her chest increased as the heat of his fury emanated off his skin, making his biceps bulge as he planted his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. Unfortunately, that shifted the waistband of his pants lower, revealing the line of his hip flexors and the text of his tattoo—which read Laissez les bon temps rouler, she had discovered that morning, when she’d woken up in a sleepy haze and found him lying next to her.

Heat pulsed and glowed at her core. Damning her even more.

‘But I didn’t find out anything compromising about you,’ she blurted out, ignoring the painful tightening in her chest. ‘And even if I did, I would never use it against you. Not after—’

‘How dumb do you think I am?’

She heard it then—the insecurity beneath the anger—and suddenly she knew that the high school boy who had been ostracised in his hometown because of something his father had done still lurked inside this man, defensive and guarded. She couldn’t talk to this man, couldn’t make any of this right. The only thing to do now was to leave and hope she could repair what was left of her career and her self-respect. She’d fallen into his arms far too easily, given him something of herself she had never intended to give, and ended up being punished for it.

‘I’ll meet you at the plane,’ she said, feeling stupidly raw because she had given him so much ammunition... And for what? For a passing moment of physical pleasure...the chance to throw caution to the wind for the first time in her life. It had been exhilarating and exciting, and so much more than she had ever expected. But now she would be forced to pay the price for her naivete and her stupidity. ‘I think it’s probably best we leave as soon as possible.’

His biceps flexed, making him even more imposing. Dark brows lowered over those blazing green eyes, drawing her gaze to the small scar she’d wondered about several times during the night. But then the hard line of his jaw tightened.

‘At least that’s one damn thing we can agree on,’ he said.

Turning away from her, he stalked back to the kitchen island, the rigid line of his shoulders suggesting he wasn’t as calm and collected as he was trying to make out.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t much comfort for the pain digging its claws into her belly as she headed across the kitchen on unsteady legs towards the stairs.

The last of her once glorious adventure had disintegrated, the hideous reality of it revealed, as humiliation and anxiety tangled in her gut.

And one miserable thought reverberated in her head.

How on earth am I going to survive an hour in a tiny plane with him when he hates my guts?

‘We can’t leave.’

Thirty minutes later Cassie stood on the dock with her evening purse and the torn gold dress stuffed into a backpack she’d borrowed from the housekeeper’s annexe. Her whole body was shaking as she tried to absorb what Luke had just barked at her.

‘What do you mean, we can’t leave?’ she said, trying to keep the tremble of panic out of her voice.

Surely she could not have heard him correctly? He wanted her gone as much as she wanted to be gone. She needed to be gone, like, yesterday if she was going to have any chance whatsoever of preserving the remnants of her tattered dignity until this dreadful day was over.

‘The plane’s damaged. The Wi-Fi went down last night and the cell phone service went out twenty minutes ago, while I was talking to the mechanic,’ he said, his face implacable.

‘But...’

But I can’t stay on Sunrise—not with you...not now. Not after the things you accused me of.

‘Don’t you have a boat?’ she asked, becoming more frantic by the second.

Her phone had lost its service too, but she had actually been grateful for it, having no idea what she was supposed to say to Ash now.

Ash’s jokey text had landed her in trouble with Luke, but she knew Ash wasn’t the one to blame for her predicament. Not even close. Eventually Luke would have found out the truth about Temple’s interest in his company and assumed the worst.

Their one wild night had been brought about by pheromones and insanity—on her part, at least—and she hadn’t stopped to think about how it would all play out because she hadn’t really cared at the time. Luke Broussard had unleashed feelings she had never known she was even capable of, and she’d ridden that adrenaline rush to its inevitable car crash conclusion.

She could see that clearly now. She should never have taken the risks she had with a man she barely knew. A man who clearly had serious trust issues she knew nothing about. But she had at least hoped she might be able to mitigate the worst of the fallout from this disaster when she got back to San Francisco.

She had come up with a course of action while raiding Mrs Mendoza’s living quarters a second time. She would simply tell Temple the truth—or as much of the truth as was required. That she had lost her objectivity with Luke Broussard, but that she knew he wasn’t interested in attracting investors.

Temple had in no way been committed to investing in Broussard Tech...this had simply been a fact-finding mission. She still had time to come up with other investment opportunities in the Bay Area, using the contacts he’d given her.

She had planned to use the flight back to the city to soothe Luke Broussard’s temper and get him to call off his plans to sue. She knew how to handle difficult billionaires after three years working for Temple—although she had to admit Temple was considerably less volatile than Luke. But she’d never been drawn to her boss the way she’d so stupidly been drawn to this man. Surely she could use that, somehow, to make Luke see he was being unreasonable? That following through on his knee-jerk reaction after seeing Ash’s inflammatory text would be expensive and unnecessary if Temple dropped any interest in his company?

But all her plans would come to nothing if she was stuck on Sunrise Island for any length of time, without being able to contact her boss or do the job he’d sent her to San Francisco to do.

Not only that, she didn’t think she could hold herself together if she had to spend any more time alone with Luke Broussard.

A surge of distress at the prospect made her heartbeat ricochet into her throat.

‘Yeah, I have a speedboat,’ he said, grinding out the answer as if she had no right to even ask. ‘But the power’s out by the boathouse, which means I’m gonna have to hand-crank the doors to get it out, and I don’t like the look of the weather.’

He thrust his fingers through his hair, then glanced up at the sky just as a dark cloud crossed over the sun.

‘It’s an hour’s ride to the mainland from here,’ he added. ‘And I’m not risking the journey just to please you when another storm could drop any minute.’

‘Right...’ she said, feeling her own jaw tightening. Really? Did he have to be quite so much of a pill? Hadn’t he given her enough grief already? ‘So are you saying we might be stuck here for another hour or two?’

His flat gaze met hers. ‘We’re stuck here until I say it’s safe to leave.’ Each word was drawn out to make it abundantly clear he was the one in charge. ‘Which could be days, not hours.’

‘You can’t be serious...’ she murmured, shock reverberating through her body.

Days? Dear God.

‘Don’t get your panties in a twist. This is a hell of a lot worse for me than it is for you,’ he said, disgust dripping from every word.

‘How can it be worse for you?’ she began. ‘You’re not the one who has been accused of—’

‘Stop bugging me and go back to the house and wait,’ he said, slicing her distressed defence right down to the bone, the way he had done earlier. Without giving her a chance to explain.

Bugginghim? How dare he?

Her temper sparked and sizzled as she opened her mouth to snap back at him. But when his eyes flared, the challenge in them unmistakable, she swallowed down the retort.

He wanted her to argue with him. So he could feel superior and vindicated and display more of his temper. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

As a child she’d always backed down in the face of her father’s disdain, and it had left her feeling hollow and inadequate. But now, as she forced herself to nod and swung round to make her way back to the house, she didn’t feel cowed—she felt righteous. Confronting him about his snotty attitude was not going to help her cause.

Unfortunately, though, the moment of righteousness didn’t last long as the truth of their situation began to sink in as she climbed the stairs from the dock. Panic and anxiety turned into a brick in the pit of her stomach as she reached the porch and stared out across her island prison.

The view across the inlet had distress churning under her breastbone.

Last night’s storm was visible in the bent and broken branches of the lush evergreens which grew from the rocky crags that formed the cove. A rainbow shimmered over the headland as the bright morning sun hit the mist clinging to the shoreline.

Her throat thickened. The staggering beauty of Luke Broussard’s home drew forth memories from the night before which had been haunting her ever since she woke up.

Luke’s hands on her, his lips, his mouth, touching, tracing, tempting, tormenting... Helping her to discover pleasures she’d never even known her body was capable of.

But it wasn’t just the sex that had seduced her, she thought miserably. It was the way he’d held her afterwards, stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense into the darkness...

Nonsense he probably said to every woman he slept with.

She blinked and blocked out the staggering beauty of the landscape, attempting to block out the memories still torturing her, too—memories that were all false. She’d imbued last night with a significance it had never had. It had been about sex and only sex. Nothing more than a cataclysmic physical connection which had blindsided her because she had no experience whatsoever of physical intimacy.

She’d been much more vulnerable than she’d realised last night—which had to explain all the foolish, reckless, wrong decisions she’d made. Decisions which, ultimately, she had to own.

Yes, Luke was behaving like a domineering, bad-tempered jerk, but she needed to suck up her disdain and make the best of it. And hope like hell he could find a way off the island quickly... Because spending another night here with him was not something she wanted to contemplate, let alone actually negotiate.

At least with him busy she would have a little respite from that judgemental glare—and super-snotty attitude.

Her stomach grumbled as she dumped her borrowed backpack in the entrance hall. She pressed her hand to it. Her rising irritation was not sitting very well with her hunger and her anxiety. First things first: she needed to eat.

Opening the fridge, she spotted the pancake batter he’d made earlier but never had the chance to use. She blinked away the sting in her eyes, stupidly reminded of his offer to make her breakfast—before he’d spotted Ashling’s text and turned into Cro-Magnon man.

Ignoring the sealed container, she reached for some cold cuts. She’d never been very good in the domestic sphere. She’d never had to learn more than the absolute basics when it came to home catering—cereal and takeaway—so making pancakes was out. Which was a good thing. Because having a congenial breakfast with the man was also not going to happen now.

She poured herself a cup of the lukewarm coffee dregs sitting at the bottom of the state-of-the-art coffee maker on the counter. Terrific. She was probably going to need an engineering degree from NASA to figure out how to use that, too.

After hunting down some sliced rye bread, she began slapping pieces down on the countertop with a lot more force than was strictly necessary, while indulging in a stress-busting fantasy of slapping the bread against Luke Broussard’s granite-hard skull.

But then an idea occurred to her. And she seized on it for no other reason than it allowed her to feel a little more in control... A little more herself again after twenty-four hours of losing herself and becoming someone she didn’t even recognise—that crazy lady who had decided to take a motorbike ride and then a plane journey with a guy who fired her senses but had the manners of a Neanderthal.

The only way to take back control of this disaster was to be the bigger, better person. She was not going to rise to Luke Broussard’s outrageous accusations, or lower herself to the level of having a temper tantrum over something that could not be changed.

And, to prove it, she would have a magnificent sandwich waiting for him when he came in. Because they would both need to eat before they could take a boat to the mainland...and never see each other again.

The charm offensive she’d planned for the plane journey was not a good idea until they actually got on their way, because it was going to be a titanic effort to maintain it while he was being so difficult. And, knowing him, he’d probably misconstrue her motives and think she was using her nefarious seduction skills to prise precious information about his company out of him.

The jerk.

She scoffed loudly, knowing that no one could hear her. For goodness’ sake—if he only knew how ridiculous that scenario was. How the heck could she be Mata Hari when she had so little experience of sex and no experience of seduction whatsoever? But she’d be damned if she’d defend herself against those ludicrous accusations.

And the truth was, on careful consideration, she would much rather he cast her in the role of scheming femme fatale than simpering virgin. How much more compromised would she feel right now if he knew she had chosen him to be her first lover? Or how much those moments had meant to her?

The guy already had an ego the size of Oregon.

She slapped slices of baloney and cheese onto the bread, then slathered the sandwiches in mayonnaise and mustard, even more determined to take the moral high ground and extend this olive branch to him—thus treating his snotty attitude with the contempt it deserved...even if it killed her.

Swallowing her temper now, in a way he had been unable to swallow his, wouldn’t just make her the better person, it would show him he hadn’t rattled her or upset her—far from it... Unlike her father, he didn’t have the power to hurt her. All he had the power to do was infuriate her. And if she didn’t show him how infuriated she was, he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of doing that.

Ultimately, by rising above his sulky behaviour she could take a huge chunk out of his superiority complex. And on a professional level her strategy was a win-win, too. Because saving her job mattered. Stopping him from suing her or Temple Corp mattered. What had happened last night and what he thought of her did not.

She finished making his sandwich, then left it with a curt note on the countertop before taking her own sandwich to eat in one of the guest bedrooms.

She would learn from this experience, and next time she got offered a ride on a seaplane to a private island for one wild night of pleasure, by a volatile, super-hot, brooding billionaire with a chip on his shoulder the size of a redwood, she would run full-tilt in the opposite direction.

Her stomach continued to churn, though, as she forced herself to consume every bite—while the brick in her belly resolutely refused to go away.

Please, please, don’t let me be stuck here for another night.