My Boyfriend and Other Enemies. Nikki Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ she had was like that. He’d taken the trouble to search the web before coming here. Tash Sinclair had quite the reputation in art circles.

      She pushed the enormous tinted goggles up into pale, sweat-damp hair. ‘That’s not why you’re here.’

      Aiden sucked in a slow, silent breath. The goggles left red pressure marks around the sockets of her eyes but all he could look at were the enormous chocolate-brown gems shining back at him, as glorious as any of her glass pieces. And full of suspicion.

      Immediately, a ridiculous thought slipped into his mind. That they had each other’s eyes. He had his mother’s dark, European colouring and her blue, blue eyes. Whereas Tash Sinclair was practically Nordic but with brown eyes that belonged in his face. The combination was captivating.

      ‘It may not be why I came, specifically, but I do mean it. Your work is amazing.’ He wandered permission-less into her studio and examined the pieces lining the shelves. An array of tall, intricate vases; turtles and manatees and leafy sea-dragons, extraordinary jellyfish detailed in fine glass. This wasn’t where she displayed her works but it was where they were born. The genesis of her expensive pieces.

      Only her eyes followed as he moved around her space. In his periphery, he saw her lift trembling fingers to her messy hair, then curl them quickly and shove them out of sight behind her back. His eyes narrowed. Despite working on his father, she could still find time to be concerned about whether she looked okay for him.

      Charming.

      But it gave him an idea. If Little Miss Artisan here was hell-bent on hooking up with his father, perhaps the most effective weapon in his arsenal wasn’t from his corporate collection of steely glares. Or his chequebook. Perhaps it was something more personal.

      Him.

      If she was after the Moore name or Moore money, he had both. Maybe she’d allow herself to be diverted from his father—his married-thirty-years father—in favour of the younger, single model. Long enough for him to do some good.

      If she cared what he thought when he looked at her, then he had something to work with.

      Mind you, if she knew what he really thought when he looked at her she’d probably run a mile. She might work with fire every day but she didn’t look as if she regularly played with it. Not the way he had. He liked it rough and he liked it short and blazing with volatile, brilliant, ambitious women. About as far from a tiny, tomboyish artsy type with big, make-up-less eyes as you could possibly get.

      Which would make it all the easier to remember not to blur the lines. He was the toreador and she was the bull. His goal was to keep her eyes on him long enough that she’d forget her obsession with his father. To keep dancing around her in big flamboyant circles drawing her farther and farther from the family he was so desperately trying to protect.

      His mother had sacrificed her life raising him. The least he could do was repay the favour and help keep her husband faithful.

      If it wasn’t too late.

      ‘Make yourself at home,’ she mocked, one eyebrow raised, stripping off protective wrist covers and tossing them on her workbench.

      He swallowed a smile and glanced at the still-steaming bucket. ‘What are you working on?’

      ‘It was a practice piece for an ornamental vase. I wasn’t happy with it.’ She pulled the rod and the inadequate creation on the end out of the nearly evaporated water. The glass had completely shattered. She nodded to a series of coloured glass sticks laid side by side on the workbench. ‘Those will be lorikeets mounted around its mouth.’

      ‘I’ll take it.’

      ‘It’s not for sale until I’m happy with it.’ She laughed as she tossed the waste glass into a recycling bin off to one side. The two sounds melded perfectly. ‘Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who would appreciate a pink lorikeet vase.’

      ‘I appreciate quality. In all its forms.’ He lifted his eyes intentionally and locked onto hers. Classic Moore move.

      Doubt-lines appeared between her brows, drawing them down into a fine V. But where he’d expected a blush, she only looked irritated. ‘If you still like it when it’s done, I’ll make you a pair for your reception desk. At a price.’

      ‘I’m not expecting mates’ rates.’

      ‘That’s good, because we’re not mates. I don’t even know you.’ Her dark eyes shone. ‘But you know me, it seems. What really brought you here?’

      Aiden used silence to best advantage in boardrooms. The speed with which an opponent rushed in to fill a thick silence said a lot about them. But the one he unleashed now ticked on for tens of seconds and the diminutive woman before him simply blinked slowly and waited him out, serenity a shimmering halo around her.

      Well, damn...

      He broke his own rule. ‘You were watching us at the café.’

      Those eyes widened just a hint. She took a careful breath, shrugged. ‘Two good-looking men...I’m sure I wasn’t the only one looking.’

      The blank way she said it made it feel like the opposite of a compliment. ‘You met my father last week.’

      She took a careful breath. ‘Across the street from your offices. Hardly clandestine. Does your father know he’s being monitored?’

      ‘I was passing by.’ Liar!

      ‘Does he know I’m being monitored, then?’

      Aiden blinked. The woman was wasted in an art studio. Why wasn’t she working her way rapidly up one of MooreCo’s subsidiaries? For the first time he got a nervous inkling that his father’s interest in the pretty blonde might not just be connected to those full lips and innocent eyes. Natasha Sinclair had a brain and wasn’t afraid to use it.

      ‘Have dinner with me.’

      Her instant laugh was insulting. ‘No.’

      ‘Then teach me to blow glass.’

      The shocked look on her face told him he’d just asked her for something intensely personal. ‘Absolutely not.’

      ‘Make some custom pieces for MooreCo.’ That was work; she was a professional artist. She couldn’t refuse.

      He hoped.

      Those dark eyes calculated. ‘Would I be required to go to your offices?’

      It was a risk, putting her so close to his father, but he’d be there to run interference. Moreover, it would allow him to keep her close; where all enemies belonged. Win her over. And gather more information on what this thing between her and his father was all about. ‘For consultation, design and installation.’

      She wavered. His own brilliance amazed him, sometimes.

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘Will you be there?’

      Oh, that was just plain unkind. ‘Naturally. I’m the commissioning partner.’

      If a humph could be feminine, hers was. ‘When do you want me there?’

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