Blackmailed Down The Aisle. Louise Fuller

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      Space!

      Glumly, she stopped in front of the lifts.

      Romeo never told Juliet he needed ‘space.’

      Antony hadn’t said, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ to Cleopatra.

      She stared at her reflection in the gleaming steel doors.

      All men were unreliable and selfish or, more likely, she was just an extremely poor judge of character. Either way, she’d had enough. For the foreseeable future she was going to enjoy being single.

      Reaching into the large pocket at the front of her apron, she pulled out a laminated card and stared down at her brother’s face. Thank goodness for David. He was always there for her—helping her rehearse for auditions, even finding her this waitressing job.

      Swiping the card, she felt her breath twitch in her throat as the light turned green and the doors slid open smoothly.

      She owed David big time.

      And now she had a chance to pay him back.

      Her fingers trembled. But could she do it. Could she actually go through with it?

      She hesitated. But only for a moment.

      David was waiting downstairs for her in the lobby and the thought of his face, his relief as she walked towards him, propelled her forward.

      Inside the lift, panicky thoughts fluttered inside her head, darting back and forth like startled birds, but then the doors were opening and, heart pounding, she stepped into a dimly lit corridor.

      David had told her which office belonged to Rollo and, her heels clicking lightly on the polished wood floor, she walked across the reception area and came to a standstill in front of a plain wooden door. For a moment she stared at it in silence. There was no nameplate—nothing to differentiate it from any of the other doors—and for a moment she wondered why. It seemed a strangely modest touch from a man worth billions who made no secret of the fact that he considered himself not just a businessman but an empire builder.

      But then, did a man like Rollo Fleming really need any introduction? Particularly in the gleaming glass tower that bore his name.

      It felt like she was about to enter the lion’s den. But, lifting her chin, she braced her shoulders. The lion wasn’t at home. And by the time he returned, she would be long gone.

      Breathing in sharply, she swiped the card and pushed open the door.

      Everything was silent and dark. But through the window all the familiar landmarks were lit up against the night sky, and she gazed at it in wonder. Rollo Fleming must have the best view in New York. But every moment spent in his office increased her risk of being caught and, galvanised by that thought, she stepped forward unthinkingly.

      ‘Ouch!’

      Her knee collided sharply with something hard in the darkness, but her pain was quickly forgotten as she felt whatever it was she’d walked into start to move. Heart pounding, she reached out, groping blindly, trying to stop whatever it was from falling. But it was too late, and the next moment there was a thump that echoed round the empty office like cannon fire.

      ‘Good one, Daisy!’ she muttered into the taut, strained silence that followed. ‘Why don’t you just set off some fireworks while you’re at it?’

      Gritting her teeth, she reached down and gingerly rubbed her knee—and then suddenly froze as from the other side of the door she heard the clear and unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

      They slowed and stopped, and her heart began to beat with such force that she thought it would burst through her ribcage, and then she scrunched up her eyes as the door swung open and light flooded the room.

      For the longest moment she waited—hoping, praying like a child that if she couldn’t see whoever it was, they wouldn’t be able to see her. But her hope was swiftly extinguished as a voice—cool, curt and very, very male—interrupted the tense silence.

      ‘I’ve had a long and disappointing day, so I hope, for your sake, that you have a good explanation for this intrusion—’

      Opening her eyes, Daisy blinked. The words had sent a ripple of dread down her spine, but that was nothing compared to the dismay she felt as she gazed up at the face of the man standing in front of the open door.

      Rollo Fleming was supposed be in Washington.

      On business.

      But, unless she was hallucinating, neither of those facts were true.

      The shock should have felled her and it would have done so, had she not been so distracted by the reality of his beauty.

      On a screen, or in a magazine, Rollo Fleming was movie star handsome. In the flesh, however, his good looks were multiplied by ten, compounded by an intense mix of masculinity and power that made heat break out over her skin.

      Not that he was her type, she thought hurriedly. He was too blonde, too poised, too calculating. It must just be the shock that was making her want to look at him. And keep on looking.

      Golden-skinned, with a sharp clean-lined jaw and close-cropped blonde hair, he looked more like a Roman gladiator than a billionaire property tycoon. Only the very dark and obviously very expensive single-breasted suit gave any hint that he was worth more than the GDP of some small countries.

      He looked at her directly then, and she felt his gaze like cool water hitting the back of her throat. His eyes were extraordinary—clear, glittering green, like shards of broken glass. But it was the beautiful full-lipped curve of his mouth that tugged the most at her senses. It was a mouth she could imagine softening into the sexiest smile—

      Her heart jerked.

      Only it wasn’t smiling now. Instead it was set in a straight, forbidding line that perfectly matched the rigid hostility of his body blocking the doorway. Nervously she glanced around the office, looking for another means of escape. But despite it being the size of a small barn, there were no other exits. Just a lot of cool designer-looking furniture.

      She was trapped.

      Her pulse shivered. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She hadn’t come here for confrontation or explanation. But now there was no choice but to improvise.

      ‘I—I can explain,’ she stammered.

      ‘Then I suggest you begin.’

      He stood like an actor on stage, his spotlit face impassive, but there was a dangerous undertone in his voice that made her heartbeat accelerate unevenly.

      ‘Just keep it short and simple. Like I said, I’ve had a long day... Daisy.’

      He spoke her name softly, almost like an endearment, so that it was a moment before her brain registered the fact that he knew who she was. As she glanced up, eyes widening in shock, he shook his head dismissively, his gaze dropping to the laminated badge pinned to her blouse.

      ‘So it is your name. I thought you’d stolen that from some poor hapless waitress downstairs.’

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