He didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
What he wanted, he thought, finishing up and wiping his face clean, what he needed, was space. A bit of distance and time to get some perspective and figure out what was going on here. And then, if necessary, put a stop to it.
So after tonight that would be that. He’d tell her he needed a break, and tomorrow he’d make plans to go away.
If he still lived by the principles he’d had at eighteen—and right now he wished he did—he’d have cancelled this evening. But he knew how important this partnership deal was for her and how hard she’d worked for it. And he knew that despite her apparent confidence that it was in the bag, that she’d worked so hard it had to be hers, she was nervous about the outcome.
So they’d go for dinner as planned and he’d order a bottle of champagne just in case she wanted half a glass whatever the result, he’d be as charming as she was expecting him to be, and after that, as he’d done so many times before, he’d bid her goodnight and put her in a taxi.
And then tomorrow, in a bid to get that distance, he’d be off.
* * *
Celia stood on the pavement outside the restaurant from which she and Marcus had just emerged, her body buzzing and her pulse racing. Not with delight about getting the partnership, which, if she was being honest, didn’t come anywhere near the thrill of being out and celebrating it with him, but with the thought of what, hopefully, was coming next. Which was, with any luck, her.
Dinner had been sublime. The heavenly array of food, the seductive lighting and incredibly romantic atmosphere and above all, Marcus, who’d gone out of his way to make tonight special.
He’d ordered her a bottle of champagne and then asked for it not to be opened so she could keep it and drink it when she was back on the hard stuff. He’d told her to have whatever she wanted or everything, if that took her fancy. He’d asked her all about her meeting this afternoon, and had seemed more enthusiastic about the fact that she’d got the partnership than she was.
And now... Well, now, come hell or high water, she was going to take him home with her.
He wanted her; she knew he did. Even if they hadn’t spent the past three weeks communicating it with everything other than words, every now and then this evening she’d looked up to find him watching her, his eyes blazing with hunger and desire before the shutters snapped down and he made some comment designed to make her laugh and forget about what she’d seen.
But she couldn’t forget. Nor did she want to because she’d hungered for him for so long and she couldn’t stand the frustration any longer. She didn’t think he could either.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Marcus,’ she said, her voice husky with the desire that she couldn’t be bothered to hide any more.
He glanced at her, his jaw tight and a faint scowl on his face as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘No problem.’
‘And thank you for supper.’
‘Least I could do,’ he said, adjusting the collar and then tugging at the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket.
And, OK, so his mood seemed to be worsening with every second they stood on the pavement, which wasn’t particularly encouraging, but what the hell? He could always say no. She’d been thinking about this for what felt like for ever and she had to give it her best shot because she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t.
‘Marcus,’ she said, her heart thundering and her mouth dry as she inched towards him.
‘What?’ he said, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looking down at her unsmilingly in the darkness.
She stepped closer and fought the temptation to sway slightly as her body responded to the magnetism he exuded, and then took a deep breath. ‘Will you come home with me?’
* * *
Marcus wanted nothing more than to go home with her. And nothing less.
Tonight had been agony. Celia had sparkled from the moment she’d sat down at the table where he’d been waiting for her, and he’d known practically right then and there that he was doomed. That it was going to take every drop of his control to put her in a taxi alone at the end of the night.
But he’d got through it. And had thought he’d succeeded.
But dammit, he should have known that Celia would suggest something like this. He’d seen the desire in her eyes all evening, not banked as his was, but alive and burning and so very tempting.
He should have realised that excitement and the high of success would spill over into recklessness. He should have been prepared. Even better he should have cancelled in the first place, he thought grimly, mentally cursing every principle he possessed.
But as he hadn’t, right now he just had to be stronger, more resolute and more ruthless than he’d ever been before. For both their sakes.
‘Stop it, Celia,’ he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper with the effort of holding onto his control and not grabbing the next taxi that passed, bundling her in and clambering in after her.
‘Why?’