‘You have never bored me,’ he declared vehemently.
‘So you told me earlier. Me to entertain you, Buffy to satisfy your other needs,’ she threw at him savagely. ‘So let’s just keep to the rules.’
Having hurled down that bitter gauntlet, she shoved herself out of his embrace, stepping back on trembling legs and swinging towards the stage where a man was announcing something over the microphone. She concentrated fiercely on grasping what was being said, determined on blocking James out until the violent turbulence he’d stirred could be brought under control.
‘…and the winner is…Lucy Worthington…of Bellevue Hill, Sydney!’
Stunned at hearing her own name being blared out through the auditorium, Lucy couldn’t apply any sense to it. Suddenly Josh burst through the crowd on the dance-floor, picked her up and whirled her around, laughingly crowing, ‘The Alpha Spider sports car! It’s yours, Lucy love! You’ve won it!’
The raffle!
The wish prize!
Miracles could happen to her, she thought dizzily.
And maybe—just maybe—if she threw the rules away and acted like Buffy, another miracle could happen!
CHAPTER FIVE
JAMES stood with his hands clenched, fighting the violent urge to rip Lucy away from Josh Rogan and smash his handsome face in. Never had he felt so aggressively possessive of a woman. The adrenaline pumping through him was priming every caveman instinct he had, adding to the problem of easing the hard-on that dancing with Lucy had aroused. He fiercely told himself he’d look an absolute fool if he tried any move at all.
Buffy slid out of the dance crowd and hugged his arm. ‘How lucky can you get?’ she exclaimed, heaving her lush breasts in a huge sigh of envy.
Having her rubbing against him should have been some consolation. It wasn’t. The whole sum of Buffy’s delectable femininity couldn’t turn him on at this moment. In fact, it had the opposite effect. The discomfort Lucy had left him with was instantly lowered—from a rod to a turkey in no time flat.
‘I’d love a car like that,’ Buffy purred.
And a man like Josh Rogan, James thought viciously. Not that he cared about Buffy wanting Lucy’s partner. She could have him. The sooner the better, detaching Josh from Lucy and freeing her of scruples about sticking to partners. Though James knew in his bones this wasn’t going to happen. Josh was only too happy to be with Lucy, sweeping her up on stage to find out how to claim her prize.
The band started up again, a joyous jazzy number. There was no joy whatsoever in James as he resigned himself to dancing with Buffy. He wanted Lucy back in his arms. And she was totally wrong about him not fancying her before tonight. It was just that tonight the desires she’d been stirring had zoomed into flesh and blood reality…holding her, feeling her responding to him, the sheer sensual surrender she’d given him in their dance together.
Lucy unbuttoned…not yet in actuality, but he’d certainly got the sense of what she would be like when all her inhibitions—and clothes—were shed.
A series of highly erotic scenes occupied James’ mind as he danced on with Buffy. He’d been left in little doubt that sticking to partners was the order tonight, but come Monday, when he had Lucy to himself in the office, the rules were going to change. She couldn’t put Josh Rogan between them then. Nor Buffy. And if she arrived all buttoned up tight in her secretary role…well, he’d take great pleasure in probing for button-holes.
Lucy was riding high on a rainbow of delight. She’d won a pot of gold with the Alpha Spider sports car. Of course, she wouldn’t get the full value of the flashy red convertible when she sold it back to the dealer, but she would still be able to pay a huge chunk off her mortgage on the apartment, as well as buy the furniture she wanted.
‘I still can’t believe my luck! You’d better pinch me, Josh,’ she whispered as they left the official who’d explained how the prize could be collected.
He laughed. ‘You’re definitely on a winning streak.’ Cocking a wicked eyebrow, he added, ‘Seemed to me the course of true love was running hot as you danced with your boss.’
She grimaced. ‘Hardly true love.’
‘Lust unlimited?’
‘There are limits on the dance-floor, but it was…’
‘Stimulating?’
‘Mmmh…’
‘Never underestimate chemistry.’
The dance-floor had emptied. As they crossed it towards their table, Lucy looked nervously for James, secretly hoping Josh was right about chemistry, though she couldn’t help doubting the factors that had stirred it tonight. Would she be making a fool of herself if she did give out some encouraging signals?
Maybe she shouldn’t hand in her resignation. Maybe she should wait and see if something real developed between James and herself, not just a flash in the pan fancy, brought on by unusual circumstances. If she was still the wine in his blood in the cold light of day in the office…Lucy heaved a fluttery sigh. Hope certainly had a way of worming through a whole thicket of thorny doubts.
Her heart skittered all over the place when James turned in his chair and smiled warmly at her as Josh saw her seated. ‘Congratulations!’ he rolled out with every appearance of pleasure in her winning luck.
‘I’m sick with envy,’ Buffy declared, ‘but it’s fantastic for you, Lucy. You must be tripping on Cloud Nine.’
‘I am,’ Lucy happily admitted, flicking an appreciative look at James. ‘Thank you.’
‘Here comes the red terror on the highway,’ one of the other men joked.
It spurred a string of light-hearted comments around the table.
‘You’ll have to be careful of police patrols. A sports convertible is like flashing up a speed sign to them.’
‘Great fun driving one though.’
‘And you’ll be fighting guys off with a stick. You’ll have to watch out, Josh.’
‘The sun in your face, wind in your hair…heaven on wheels.’
James laughed and shook his head. ‘I’ll bet right now none of that will happen.’
‘Why not?’ Buffy demanded.
‘Because Lucy will never drive that car.’ He looked knowingly at her. ‘She’ll make a deal with the dealer and take the money.’
It was precisely what she had planned, but hearing James say it with such smug confidence had the perverse effect of making her want to deny it. ‘Why do you think so?’ she demanded, her hackles rising over the boring image again.