The Dare Collection January 2019. JC Harroway

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       CHAPTER SIX

      Poppy

      I WALKED OUT of Xander’s office quivering with rage.

      Barely looking where I was going, I strode through the crowded streets, my head full of his black gaze and my body hot and shivery from his nearness, fury burning like acid inside me.

      I hated him. I hated him.

      The day had started off badly and things had only gone downhill from there.

      First Mum had forgotten her prescription for her anti-depressants, meaning I had to go out and get them, no matter that I was going to be late for work. Then I hadn’t been able to find any proper work clothes, which I had known was going to be an issue. But I’d hoped that if Xander had a problem with them, I’d borrow some from Mum the next day.

      But of course he’d had a problem with them.

      And, even worse, he’d forced me to admit that I had no money to buy new ones.

      That alone made me furious. Admitting any kind of vulnerability to his face felt like I was exposing a weakness and I couldn’t do that, not in the presence of an enemy like him. He was both a King and a known asshole, and he’d no doubt be as ruthless when it came to taking advantage of me as he was when managing the finances for King Enterprises.

      I couldn’t afford to be weak around him. I couldn’t afford for my armour to have any weak spots at all.

      Already he’d made me feel at a disadvantage by leaning over me, putting one hand on the back of the chair, his velvety black gaze looking down into mine. Making me so aware of how close he was and how hot. Of how his broad shoulders nicely filled out his charcoal-grey suit and how the pristine white cotton of his shirt pulled across his chest, clearly outlining the hard muscle beneath it.

      The fresh scent of his cologne, like rain, had surrounded me, and I hadn’t been able to look away from the dark, mesmerising beauty of his face, at the same time hating myself for how I responded to him.

      I’d nearly gasped as he’d flicked that button off my shirt and when he’d taken my chin in his hand a part of me had melted, my skin prickling all over at the strength of his grip and the warm touch of his fingers.

      I hadn’t wanted to tell him I had no money, yet I hadn’t been able to resist him and his questions. He was so persistent, so demanding. As if he was interested enough to want the answer. As if it mattered to him.

      I’d felt it then, the same old feeling that had gripped me the moment I’d first seen him. When I’d been ten and he’d been this tall, black-eyed teenager who’d smiled at me, the only person who’d ever smiled at me apart from my dad. And something inside me had pulled tight then strained towards him like an eager puppy towards its master. I hadn’t understood the effect he’d had on me at the time; I’d only known that it had scared me. I’d just lost my father and I was hurting, struggling with the dread that somehow his suicide had been my fault. The last thing I’d wanted was an emotional connection with another person, especially when, deep down inside, I was afraid that I didn’t deserve it.

      So I’d rejected that pull, fighting it with everything I had.

      Fighting him.

      Yet that initial feeling of being drawn to him hadn’t ever gone away, and it had gripped me again in his office, the terrible urge to confide in him. To tell him all my secrets. As if a part of me knew he could take them away and take care of me the way I wanted to be taken care of.

      But I couldn’t. I’d spent too many years making sure he hated me and there was no coming back from that, so I’d fought that feeling the way I’d fought it all those years. Yet somehow his heat and his compelling gaze had got the truth out of me all the same, and now I felt like I’d made the stupidest mistake ever.

      I stormed into one of Sydney’s big department stores, part of me tempted to find some sex shop and go and buy a whole lot of rubber fetish gear with his money instead. But I needed that fucking reference, otherwise all this humiliation would have been for nothing.

      So I sorted angrily though racks of demure skirts and conservative blouses, hating everything and hating him most of all.

      I had to do something. Get him back somehow. Exploit his weakness the way he’d exploited mine, and in such a way as to not put my reference in jeopardy. Except to do that I needed to know what his weakness was and sadly I didn’t know enough about him to figure that out.

      I knew that he was the financial genius responsible for the billions he’d made with his brothers after the demise of their father’s criminal empire. That he was cold and ruthless, and completely without a sense of humour. That he never smiled, took everything far too seriously, and yet somehow was still the hottest man I’d ever met.

      He didn’t have a weakness—or at least not one that I knew about.

       Doesn’t he? I think you know what his weakness is.

      I stared at the sheer black blouse I had in my hand, remembering the little scene in his office just before, and how he’d reached out and flicked the loose button off my shirt.

      I’d been so involved with fighting my own instinctive response to him that I hadn’t immediately taken in the flare of heat in his eyes. Or how his gaze had dropped to where the fabric gaped, and that heat had become a blaze...

      I shivered at the realisation, my breath catching.

      Was it me? Was I a weakness for him?

      I glanced down at the blouse, an idea forming in my head. It was the kind of thing my mother would suggest, which immediately made it something I’d never consider, and yet right now I was damn well considering it.

      Xander didn’t want me, not given how much he obviously despised me, but he’d certainly liked looking at my tits. Then again, most men did.

      Unlike my mother, I’d always hated my looks. Hated the responses I got from men because of them, the way people only ever seemed to see a ‘beautiful woman’, never me. And I’d never wanted to use them the way Mum did, to get what I wanted from men.

      But...this was different. I wouldn’t be using my looks to get ahead in my career; I’d be using them to drive Xander King batshit crazy, and there was definitely an appeal in that.

      So maybe I should let him see my breasts a little more. And maybe I should find a tight skirt that made my ass look great and a pair of heels that would make my hips sway when I walked.

      And wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge?

      I pulled the blouse off the rack, found a tight-fitting navy pencil skirt to go with it, then took both of them into the changing rooms to try them on.

      They were perfect. The blouse was sheer enough to give a few hints of the lace СКАЧАТЬ