The Royal House of Karedes: One Family: Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress / The Desert King's Housekeeper Bride / Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen. Carol Marinelli

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ flecks had lit in his eyes.

      ‘You know it was too good an experience not to be repeated,’ he said softly.

      Oh, she knew. She also knew he was ready for a repeat right now. And despite his blinkered vision of her, she couldn’t refuse. Her body softened, her muscles ached to move. She quelled the delicious urge to stretch out every limb and curl her toes, savouring the tension as it knotted inside. And frankly she’d be more than happy to forget the party mess for a few more moments.

      His fingers traced over her shoulders. ‘You don’t do serious.’

      He wasn’t asking. Apparently it was a given. Who said she didn’t do serious? Admittedly up till now she hadn’t. But things could change. Someone could make her feel differently about that. Lots of things felt unstable right now.

      His gaze lifted from where he’d been watching his hand slide beneath the sheet along her breastbone, and he seemed to ensure he had her attention. ‘I don’t do serious either.’

      ‘No.’ But she didn’t quite believe him. While he could flirt and be fun James was intense and focused and diligent and he’d do serious—with the right woman. It was just that she wasn’t the right woman and he was making sure she knew that.

      Fine. She wouldn’t want serious with him anyway. He was too much the boss, too much in charge—mostly of himself. She itched to address that one.

      ‘So, later today we work.’ Both his gaze and hand dipped again. ‘Right now, we play.’

      What else was there to say? ‘OK.’

      He rolled onto her, claiming the dominant position, and she lay back and let him—for now, she reckoned. Just once more.

      She’d always known James worked hard. Now she knew he played hard too. After another hour in bed—not sleeping—and half an hour in the shower—with barely time to soap—she was ready for a nap, but he was at the desk, hard at work.

      Given what he’d asked her to do, she knew she had to knuckle under too. But she wondered if she was ever going to be able to keep up with him—in any arena. She wandered out of the bedroom to get set and discovered James had had her bags moved up from her room downstairs.

      ‘We’re going to be working night and day,’ he said within earshot of the porter in the process of unloading the luggage trolley. ‘It’ll be easier for you just to crash in the other room.’ His eyes were glinting and she was half amused and half maddened by the arrogance in his organisation of her. And she was alerted to the way he was protecting their reputations. He didn’t want people talking either, huh?

      ‘It’s true,’ he muttered, drawing her close after the porter had left. ‘We don’t have any time to waste.’

      She didn’t want to analyse what time they had, but did it anyway. Was it only the night? Only the week? Or only until he tired of her and sent her away?

      She pulled away from him, quickly unpacked her clothes into the second bedroom, making the point that she still had her own space in the suite. Even if she did spend every sleeping moment in his bed, in his arms—and she badly wanted to—she also needed to keep some sense of independence. And she didn’t want him breathing down her neck while she tried to get this party off the ground. Seeing he’d set up office in the main lounge, she moved her gear around the corner to the glassed-in balcony that gave spectacular views across the island.

      She eased her stiff body into one of the large soft seats, powered up her laptop and pulled the portable phone nearer on the low table in front of her.

      She could hear James already deep in conversation with some contractor or other on his mobile. How quickly he could switch from lust to business. She needed to learn that one too—pronto.

      The first thing she had to do was organise the damn media. She wasn’t going to be forgetting that one again. She typed up a list: glossy mags, newspapers, TV—she wanted all three. Plus photos on the hotel website. Podcast perhaps? He wanted coverage? He’d get coverage.

      She’d get them in here early in the morning—or the night before if necessary. She’d ensure the hotel assigned them rooms all on the same floor—well away from any other guests. While the guests might court the media at the party, they needed their privacy too. Then the media could take a tour of the facilities during the day with the hotel manager and then be on hand for the party that night.

      Rough plan in place, she started pulling together the contact details for all of them. Over an hour later, list complete, it was time to start making the calls. Summoning courage, she dialled the first and gave him her spiel.

      ‘But I heard there was a big bash there last night—extremely exclusive and no media present.’

      She winced at the newshound’s tone. She should have foreseen this kind of questioning. But she tried to gloss over it—inventing excuses wildly on the spot. ‘There was a small function—the practice run, if you like. But this is the big one—the high-society event in the exclusive hotel that we’re ready to show to the world.’ Practice run? How ironic. And how on earth was she going to dig herself out of this?

      ‘Little late for invites, isn’t it?’ Smart Alec journalist wasn’t going to make it easy.

      She knew he could smell a story, but she wasn’t going to give him the tale of her humiliation. ‘Things happen fast around here. If you’re not interested…’

      ‘We’ll be there. Cameras can access all areas?’

      ‘You won’t be able to film the actual party, but certainly the set-up beforehand and the arrival of the guests. Still shots are fine inside the ballroom but obviously after a while we’d like you to be able to relax and enjoy the party.’

      She was able to use her name to speak directly to the best photographers and journalists working for the best magazines. The magazines all wanted an exclusive but she refused to agree to it. They were all welcome—it was up to them to get the unique angle.

      She repeated the conversation twenty times over. And was mighty glad there were only that many at that tier of media that she had to deal with directly.

      Other paparazzi photographers would come anyway once news was out there was a media junket—local and foreign freelancers would camp out, hoping to get the ‘shot’ of the party that could be sold on to the exclusive magazines, even though they might have had their own photographers in place. It was all about that one shot.

      It took hours—factoring in time differences and the fact it was the weekend. Then, as she got each to agree, she had to organise flights and email through the details for them. It took many hours.

      With a sigh she sat back and stretched. She’d spent a whole day working on the party—promising something amazing—and hadn’t even started planning it?

      She choked back the nausea. And realised she’d only had orange juice all day. Never in her life had she sat so still and worked so hard for so long.

      But it wasn’t enough.

      She tried to feel better about it. The bones were there. Good bones. The hotel was incredible. The chef would put something marvellous together. Aristo itself was beautiful… but these people were expecting something else again. And she had no idea how she was going to do it.

      The СКАЧАТЬ