He glanced down at the unread report, but there was no place to hide from the truth: despite the fact that his instincts were screaming at him to keep his distance, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nola and her refusal to sleep with him. Her stupid, logical, perfectly justified refusal to break the rules. Her rules.
He closed the file with a snap. His rules too.
And that was what was really driving him crazy. The fact that up until a couple of months ago he would have agreed with her. Workplace relationships were a poisoned chalice. They caused tension and upset. And not once had he ever been tempted to break those rules and sleep with an employee.
Only Nola Mason was not just a temptation.
She was a virus in his blood.
No. His mouth twisted. She was more like malware in his system, stealthily undermining his strength, his stability, his sanity.
But there was a cure.
His groin hardened.
He knew what it was, and so did she.
He’d seen it in the antagonism flickering in those blue eyes, heard it in the huskiness of her voice. And her resistance, her refusal to acknowledge it was merely fuelling his desire. His anticipation of the moment when finally she surrendered to him.
He tossed the file onto his desk, feeling a pulsing, breathless excitement scrabbling up inside him.
Of course, being Nola, she would offer a truce, not a surrender. Those eyes, that mouth, might suggest an uninhibited sensuality, but he sensed that the determined slant of her chin was not just a pose adopted for business but a reflection of how she behaved out of work and in bed.
Picturing Nola, her blue eyes narrowing into fierce slits as she straddled his naked body, he felt his spine melt into his chair. But truces could only happen if both parties came to the table—which was why he’d invited her to dinner. Not an intimate, candlelit tryst. He knew Nola, and she would have instantly rejected anything so blatant. But now she knew it was to be a business dinner at a crowded restaurant, she would relax—hell, they might even end up sharing a dessert.
His mouth curved up into a satisfied smile. Or, better still, they could save dessert until they got back to his penthouse.
* * *
So this was what it felt like to be famous, Nola thought as she walked self-consciously between the tables in the exclusive restaurant Ram had chosen. It was certainly an experience, although she wasn’t sure it was one she’d ever want to repeat.
The Wool Shed was the hottest dining ticket in town, but even though it was midweek, and the award-winning restaurant was packed, to her astonishment Ram hadn’t bothered to book. For any normal person that would have meant looking for somewhere else to eat. Clearly those rules didn’t apply to Ram Walker, for now, within seconds of his arrival, the maître d’ was leading them to a table with a view a
cross the bay to the Opera House.
‘I think I may have told our guests that dinner was at eight, so it’s going to be just the two of us for a bit. Sorry about that.’
Nola stared at him warily. He didn’t sound sorry; he sounded completely unrepentant. Meeting his gaze, she saw that he didn’t look sorry either. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the uneasiness that was clearly written all over her face.
Sliding into the seat he’d pulled out, Nola breathed out carefully. ‘That’s fine. It’ll give you a chance to brief me on our mystery guests.’
She felt him smile behind her. ‘Of course—and don’t worry, your chaperones will arrive very soon. I promise.’
Gritting her teeth, she watched him drop gracefully into the chair beside her. At work it had been easy to tell herself that the tension between them was just some kind of personality clash or a battle of wills. Now, though, she could see that ever since she’d met Ram that first time, the battle had been raging inside her.
A battle between her brain and her body...between common sense and her basest carnal urges. And, much as she would have liked to deny it, or pretend it wasn’t true, the sexual pull between them was as real and tangible as the bottles of still and sparkling water on the table. So much so that only by pressing her fingers into the armrests of her chair could she stop herself from reaching out to touch the smooth curve of his jaw.
Her hand twitched. It was like trying to ignore a mosquito bite. The urge to scratch was overwhelming.
But surely walking into this restaurant with him was just what she’d needed to remind her why it was best not to give in to that urge—for Ram wasn’t just her boss. He was way out of her league.
In a room filled with beautiful people, he was the unashamed focus of every eye. As he’d strolled casually to their table conversations had dwindled and even the waiters had seemed to freeze; it had been as though everyone in the restaurant had taken a sort of communal breath.
And it was easy to see why.
Glancing up, she felt a jolt of hunger spike inside her.
There was something about him that commanded attention. Of course he looked amazing—each feature, from his long dark eyelashes to the tiny scar on his cheekbone, looked as though it had been lovingly executed by an artist. But it wasn’t just his dark, sculpted looks that tugged at the senses. He had a quality of certainty that was unique, compelling, irresistible.