Lucy's smile faded a little as they waited at the elevators. She shook her head, wisps of short blonde hair falling into her eyes.
"The guy doesn't have willpower. You saw the profile—he's had sex with more people than me! No, willpower he hasn't got when it comes to having sex with strangers."
Abbey frowned but said nothing.
The mention of his mistresses reminded her of his wife… and that she was now just a statistic as far as Damien was concerned. Just another notch on his belt.
And she was the other woman, even if only temporarily.
Her stomach tied itself into a knot. The thought sickened her.
Strange thing was, she was picking up completely different vibes from Damien than what she should be. If Abbey hadn't seen his file, she would've said he was a man who got what he wanted when he wanted, but rarely let his hot-blooded emotions get in the way. Otherwise he would've jumped her bones straightaway on the couch instead of needing so much encouragement.
In fact, she wouldn't have even had to make up a story about the free massage—her outfit should have been encouragement enough for Damien Vane.
And the way he'd looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror hadn't been lustful at all. More like concern that he'd hurt her… and perhaps a little curiosity.
So her instincts told her, anyway.
But then again, she'd thought Tarken loved her, so her instincts were useless.
The elevator took them to the ground floor where the burly building supervisor—with the profile of a Neanderthal—sat at his desk reading the Herald Sun. He looked up and grinned at Lucy.
She pecked him on the lips. He groped her perfectly round bottom through the tight black hipsters.
"I'll call you tomorrow, Big Boy," she winked. "I might need this place tomorrow night again. That okay?"
His grin widened. "That'll cost you extra."
"You just name it," Lucy crooned, "and I'll do it. You know that."
The Neanderthal looked like he would drag her into his cave right there and ravage her, but he held back—hooking his thumbs into his pants, not even trying to hide the telltale bulge—as he lasciviously watched Lucy's behind as she walked away.
Abbey took note of the way her friend walked. One foot directly in front of the other so her hips swayed sexily and her butt had the right amount of wobble.
She would have to try that. Tomorrow night.
The seminar was a success so far. Nick's introductory speech had been well received, and the software was bug-free, so the demo was easy. He'd have to ring the VP of Development later to congratulate him and offer bonuses to his programmers.
Nick had never felt so relieved in his life. He'd done speeches before, taken over large corporations, rubbed shoulders with elite businessmen around the world. But he'd never given a demonstration of software.
It wasn't that hard, if you knew what you were doing and had a great program.
Maybe he could do the next one in March in the U.S.
If he did, there would be nothing for his VP of Marketing to do. Which meant he could fire him.
Good—because Vane had crossed the line this time.
Nick had put up with a lot from Vane: coming back from meetings drunk, groping female staff, turning up late every day because he'd spent nights partying. For a forty-year-old, that was a hell of a lot of partying.
Nick was tired of it. Usually he wouldn't allow anyone in his employ to treat work and colleagues with such disrespect, but Vane was good and came with a wealth of experience.
Still… enough was enough.
Skipping out just before a major seminar—where he was supposed to give demonstrations to potential clients—was more than Nick could put up with.
Nick strolled up King Street toward Collins Street and his hotel, laptop case slung over his shoulder, suit jacket over his arm. He'd taken it off and rolled up his sleeves when he left the air-conditioned Crown Complex. After being inside all day, the heat hit him like a force field.
He blew out a breath and kept walking, the heat prickling his skin, engulfing him like a blanket. Five o'clock and the sun still burned fiercely.
A typical hot summer's day. The sort of day he would've spent at the beach in his youth—catching waves, lying in the sun with a gorgeous girl beside him.
Not anymore.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to the beach… or the last time he'd felt this hot. Usually he drove everywhere in his air-conditioned BMW or sat in his air-conditioned office or North Shore home.
It was actually kind of liberating—sweating, feeling the sun on his bare arms, wanting a beer, wanting to feel a soft woman in his arms…
Nick swallowed.
He hadn't thought of Abbey all day, thank God, but now her image returned, haunting him thick and fast. He wanted nothing more than to lie with her naked on the sand, waves crashing behind them. To take her, slide over her hot body, enter her slowly, tease her before plunging deeply until she called his name…
He cleared his throat and shifted his jacket to cover his painful erection.
No one paid him any attention; everyone was bustling home from work. He drew in a deep breath.
He forced himself to slow down.
She wasn't coming back. And even if she did, he would send her packing this time.
He, Nick Delaware—investor and multi-millionaire—didn't go in for that sort of thing. And not with that sort of woman.
No. What he needed was a cool shower, a cold beer, and an air-conditioned bar. More demonstrations tomorrow. More clients to prepare for.
The sooner he got back into work mode, the sooner he would stop thinking about Abbey.
"Going somewhere, Big Boy?"
The familiar voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
His head—and another part of his anatomy—jerked up.
"Abbey?"
He stared at the woman standing in front of him, suddenly unsure what he should say.
What do you say to a hooker after an incredible night of passion?