The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart

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       CHAPTER TWO

      Neve. Two years later...

      DESPISE. LOATHE. ABHOR.

      Nope, none of them quite fit.

       I hate Damian Mortimer.

      There. That was better. I’ve hated him with every single breath I’ve taken for the last two years. Since he took my offer of relief and turned it completely against me. Since he crippled my business and trashed eighteen months of back-breaking work and sacrifice with nothing more than a few gruffly muttered words to Malcolm Cahill.

      This TV show was my one attempt to exact some payback.

      Every day since that fateful morning after, when Malcolm Cahill shattered my dreams, I’ve vowed to teach Damian Mortimer an unforgettable lesson.

      That he hadn’t even bothered to hide his part in the demise of my affiliation deal with Cahill Hotels was just the first in a despicable series of low blows that had started with his disappearance from my bed the morning after our night together. Hard on its heels had come Cahill’s phone call.

       ‘I’m sorry but I’ve had second thoughts, Miss Nolan. My partner, Damian Mortimer, believes this deal isn’t as viable as I previously thought. I’ll no longer be going forward...’

      Bruised but undaunted, I’d risen like a phoenix from the ashes of near catastrophe, rebranded myself from Cephei Hotels to Nevirna Resort and Spa Hotels and seen steady growth, with the best quarter so far under my belt. Something I hoped my grandparents would be proud of, even if my mother believed I’d made a mistake.

      My gut clenched against the dart of pain as my thoughts lit on my mother. Another area of my life Damian Mortimer’s betrayal hadn’t helped. Another area I needed to heal, despite the sinking feeling that the promise I’d made to my grandparents might never be fulfilled. They’d gone to their graves never having repaired their rift with their daughter. They’d made me promise to keep trying with my mother.

      Lately, that battle seemed unwinnable.

      Fresh from the loss I’d suffered at Damian’s and Cahill’s hands, I’d called my mother in a moment of weakness, for a shoulder to cry on.

      Her advice had been the same—sell the resort she believed was hers by birthright and give her her due share. My refusal had estranged us for six months.

      But I’d become adept at problem solving and putting out fires through sheer hard work.

      The incredible success I’d achieved in those two years had drawn the attention of the producers of Raider’s Den—a TV show I wouldn’t usually lower myself to. But the discovery that this was a Damian Mortimer project was too tempting to resist. What better way to beat the devil than on his home turf?

      If the rumours were true and he planned to return to England, this was my last chance to teach one particularly arrogant, insanely sexy Brit a lesson.

      With a deep breath, I settled into my seat and read through the pre-show paperwork one last time. The show had been separated into four segments according to specialised industries. My segment contained sixteen young contestants, each hoping for start-up funding and partnership for their business in the hospitality industry.

      I was scanning the list of contestants when the double doors to the conference room opened.

      Sunlight pouring through wide rectangular windows on the fortieth floor of Mortimer Plaza, the five-star hotel and retail tower in Manhattan, lovingly illuminated the stunning physique of the man who entered.

      He wore a suit. Bespoke. Naturally.

      For several betraying heartbeats, anger took a step back to accommodate the hot spike of lust that lanced my belly before detonating in my pussy. Even as I clawed back control and fought the urge to squirm in my seat, the traitorous dampening between my thighs mocked me.

      It brutally reminded me that the only thing better than Damian Mortimer in a three-piece suit was Damian Mortimer naked. Gloriously ripped. Utterly divine.

      His soul as dark as a tar pit.

      Remember that.

      But even the stern admonition didn’t stop my recollection of spectacular, mind-melting sex.

      I’d believed I knew what good sex was before I met Damian. Oh, how pathetically wrong I was.

      If I despised one thing more than the man himself, it was that since our night together my body hadn’t come even close to craving what he gave to me with anyone else. I only had to think about him for every cell in my body to come alive, for my needy pussy to remind me of its continued famine and for those X-rated thoughts about that arrogant bastard to hit the play button.

      The dating app my assistant had defiantly signed me up to had resulted in two mind-numbingly boring dates, after which I’d deleted it.

      Even my vibrator had taken a much-needed holiday, leaving me pent up and aggravatingly СКАЧАТЬ