An Heir For The World's Richest Man

An Heir For The World's Richest Man Maya Blake His wealth? Infinite. Claiming his baby? Priceless! He may be the richest man on Earth, but self-made Joao Oliviera’s latest deal is personal. To ensure victory, he needs his right-hand woman, Saffron Everhart. But the undeniable tension between them is higher than ever since they finally surrendered to a one-off, emotionally-charged night together. And it’s about to sky-rocket again, because Joao’s just found out that Saffron is pregnant! His wealth? Infinite. Claiming his baby? Priceless! He may be the richest man on earth, but self-made Joao Oliviera’s latest deal is personal. To ensure victory, he needs his right-hand woman, Saffron Everhart. But the undeniable tension between them is higher than ever since they finally surrendered to a one-off, emotionally charged night together. And it’s about to skyrocket again, because Joao’s just found out that Saffron is pregnant! Enter into a world of unimaginable luxury... MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading! Also by Maya Blake (#u080e3cbe-189c-54ba-b19a-6cfd79ef7494) A Diamond Deal with the Greek Signed Over to Santino The Di Sione Secret Baby The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation Pregnant at Acosta’s Demand The Sultan Demands His Heir His Mistress by Blackmail Crown Prince’s Bought Bride Bound by the Desert King collection Sheikh’s Pregnant Cinderella Rival Brothers miniseries A Deal with Alejandro One Night with Gael Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk). An Heir for the World’s Richest Man Maya Blake www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) ISBN: 978-1-474-08807-7 AN HEIR FOR THE WORLD’S RICHEST MAN © 2019 Maya Blake Published in Great Britain 2019 by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental. 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Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries. www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Note to Readers (#u080e3cbe-189c-54ba-b19a-6cfd79ef7494) This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings: Change of font size and line height Change of background and font colours Change of font Change justification Text to speech To Dad. For passing your love of books to me. For setting me on my path to my true self. For making me what I am today. An author. I miss you. I thank you. Always and for ever. Contents Cover (#u07dc4b85-2237-51b4-911d-44da185c2541) Back Cover Text (#u591c1f2a-746c-5505-89fd-13b14cbdb941) About the Author (#uadbbda51-f18f-59f8-85e0-3ec658ca92c0) Booklist (#ued45b532-d93e-542d-8e3d-4a5f52944dbc) Title Page (#uc43cff23-0cad-518e-b196-23062d116827) Copyright (#u7d92dbc2-4889-560c-9930-ccb64dba911e) Note to Readers Dedication (#u24b6332a-ea14-5cba-8a62-1bc997a09ae4) CHAPTER ONE (#u76b09b6f-4d7e-5cde-995a-08e8ae9d392b) CHAPTER TWO (#u1300a5b9-ab98-5b6e-943a-21039cf1c9ee) CHAPTER THREE (#u17b6134f-796f-5298-99b5-1db35b6c5d14) CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo) Extract (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE (#u080e3cbe-189c-54ba-b19a-6cfd79ef7494) SAFFRON EVERHART STARED at the obscenely large, hideously expensive bouquet of flowers on her desk and her heart dropped into her stomach. This was going to be much more difficult than she’d ever imagined. Over the years she’d learned to decode the levels of hell associated with the gifts that arrived on her desk on any given day. Flowers meant prepare not to sleep for the next seventy-two hours. Flowers and a gift certificate to the most exclusive spa in Switzerland meant pack a bag and have someone water your plants because you won’t be going home for a week. The last circle of hell was reserved for flowers and jewellery. These days the sight of precious gems made her shudder. She had three diamond bracelets, a Harry Winston pink diamond necklace with matching earrings, and a diamond and sapphire brooch she absolutely hated the sight of simply because of the blood, sweat and tears they’d wrung from her. So, in a way, the flowers, as breathtaking and stomach-hollowing as they were, were a blessing simply because they had no accompaniment. Still... She set the Waterford crystal vase down at the farthest corner of her desk, curbing the urge to caress the soft petals of the hothouse lilies she knew had come from a florist who catered to a handful of exclusive A-list clientele. Just as she resisted the urge to lean forward and inhale their bewitching midnight-breeze scent, or be bowled over by the knowledge that each of the thirty long stems in the gigantic vase cost over a thousand pounds. She rose from her desk, ignoring the sensational view of London spread out in rare sun-splashed splendour below her, and pivoted to face the double doors of the office adjoining hers. The breath she took was shaky and weak, her clammy hands and churning gut a world removed from the image she strove to achieve. The image her straight spine and impeccable clothes projected. More and more, that set of doors had seemed like the summit of Everest, fraught with dangers that screamed at her to turn back. Except she couldn’t. Not just yet. But she’d delayed enough. Two whole months to be exact. It was time to take the final step. Time to put that one night, that astoundingly risky dive into temptation that had set in motion events that made her heart dip each time she allowed herself to think of it, behind her. Time to take back control of her life before it was too late. Before she could compel her feet to move, a knock on the outer door stopped her. She turned, her stomach dropping to her toes at the sight of the smartly dressed courier heading purposefully towards her. Bicycle couriers and messengers weren’t allowed above the fifteenth floor. She was on the forty-ninth, one step from the highest floor in the building owned by the richest man in the world. And the man who was heading her way reverently clutching a black velvet briefcase with the logo of the Queen’s jeweller proudly emblazoned on it was the furthest you could get from an ordinary courier. ‘No.’ The word was ripped from her throat, accompanied by several self-preserving steps backward, because, unlike the tennis bracelets and the other priceless gifts, this jeweller, this delivery signalled a whole new playing field. The kind that warned you to kiss your soul goodbye. That clammy hands and an inability to breathe properly would be the least of her worries if she gave into what was unfolding. ‘No, no, no.’ The courier paused halfway to her desk, his gaze befuddled. ‘Beg your pardon, miss? Do I have the wrong floor? I have a delivery for a Miss Everhart. Can you redirect me if this isn’t the right office? I’m afraid I’ll need a signature from her.’ She shook her head. ‘No. I mean, yes, you’re in the right office but, no, you don’t need a signature. You won’t need one because you won’t be making a delivery.’ She was aware her voice bordered on hysterical but she couldn’t help it. ‘The gift is being returned,’ she added for complete and undeniable emphasis. His nervousness increased. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. There’s a non-returnable, non-refundable condition attached to the gift.’ ‘That’s not true,’ she stated firmly. ‘I’m Miss Everhart, and I’ve dealt with your establishment before. I know for a fact that’s not the case.’ Sweat beaded on his forehead. Saffron almost felt sorry for him. ‘Well...yes, miss, in most cases it is. But not this time.’ ‘Why not?’ she demanded, but deep down, she knew the answer. ‘Because the client specifically requested it.’ She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut in panicked exasperation because...of course he did. The man could outthink the shrewdest opponent without breaking a sweat, could execute a dozen chess moves in a dozen games simultaneously while lounging behind his desk with his eyes shut. Why she’d think he wouldn’t use such a contingency on this occasion was almost laughable. But Saffron wasn’t in the mood to laugh. Her gaze dropped to the case, her stomach knotting tighter. If it’d held a nest of deadly scorpions, she would’ve been more welcoming. The courier cleared his throat. ‘If I may say so, Miss Everhart, this is no ordinary piece. I believe permission was sought, and given, by Her Majesty for her necklace to be replicated. It’s one of the most exquisite pieces our establishment has had the privilege of creating.’ His tone bordered on reverence, his bewilderment at her reaction evident. She didn’t doubt him. But the reason for its appearance in her life was blaring thunderously in her ears, blocking everything save for the fact that if she didn’t refuse this, if she delayed taking control of her life, she would be lost for ever. She’d already given four years of her life. Lived on the edge of her emotions. She couldn’t give another day. Another minute. The man in front of her wasn’t the problem, though. The man seated on his throne-like chair behind the grey steel doors twenty feet from her was. With brisk efficiency that disguised the churning mix of panic and dread inside her, she signed the delivery document and took possession of the package, knowing in her heart that she was making a huge mistake. The door shut behind the courier. Saffron remained rooted in place, the box growing heavier with each second. When she could bear it no longer, she returned to her desk, sat down heavily and opened it. The tiered diamond and ruby necklace was flawless. Breathtakingly beautiful in a way no blatant bribe from a ruthless, coldly dismissive man had the right to be. At least it wasn’t a choker. That symbolism would’ve been a step too far. She suppressed a hysterical laugh and stared, awed despite herself, at the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen in her life. Her fingers itched to caress the precious stones, to experience their sparkling beauty through touch as well as sight. She snapped the box shut before temptation took hold, and, just like the flowers, set it out of arm’s reach. She couldn’t...wouldn’t be swayed. For far too long she’d given herself a pass, let the irresistible enticements of her position, specifically her proximity to the most charismatic man she’d ever encountered, lead her towards that one final act of insanity. Well...never again. Jaw gritted in a futile effort to stop the electricity that zapped through her every time she recalled that fateful night in Morocco, she read through the document she’d redrafted a dozen times and hit print. The whirring sound of the printer spitting out the single sheet was both reassuring and terrifying. She was finally doing this, taking the ultimate step. Soon, she would be in complete control of her life. But first, there was the small problem of getting over this last monumental hurdle. Saffron had no doubt that it would be a formidable battle. She picked up the paper, folded it in two and rose. With a cursory knock, she entered the lion’s den. Just in time to hear the exclusive phone reserved for super-VIP clients ring. She froze in the doorway, her breathing nosediving as her gaze landed on the man reaching for the silver phone. Joao Oliviera. Her boss. The richest man in the world with looks far outmatching that awe-inspiring title. Despite the innumerable times she’d entered his domain, Saffron had never quite mastered the awe that possessed her in his presence. She’d just learned to disguise it to the point where she could appear almost dismissive of the endless layers of the powerful, magnetic aura he exuded, the breath-stealing vitality of his six-foot-four frame, his innate ability to strike the most influential leaders dumb with a few well-placed words. And the feverish electricity of his touch. No amount of training or self-denial could disguise the fact that Joao Oliviera, with his obscene wealth and good looks, was Midas, Croesus and Ares rolled into one sublime package. Thick dark brown hair, longer than conventionally acceptable and tipped with the faintest gold, gleamed in the May sunlight slanting through the glass window behind him. Chiselled cheekbones drew immediate, captivating attention to the olive vibrancy of his face, the uncompromising line of an upper lip neatly counterbalanced by the sinful, sensual curve of his lower lip, and the rugged outline of his faintly shadowed jaw that no amount of shaving could completely smooth. Startling whisky-gold eyes framed by long, spiked eyelashes completed the magnificent picture. Those eyes flicked up at her entrance, studied her for a piercing second before he beckoned her with long, elegant fingers. As was his habit, he’d shed his jacket shortly after his day began, leaving the pristine white shirt and Italian-made silk vest that emphasised his racehorse-lean physique on full display. It was early, barely eight o’clock on a Monday morning, so he hadn’t got around to undoing his cuffs and folding back his shirtsleeves to reveal his brawny forearms. In the giant scheme of breathless hellishness, she took that as a blessing in disguise. ‘Lavinia, I’ve been waiting for your call,’ he drawled into the phone. And just like that, Saffron was lashed by another whip of her most sinful craving. Over the years she’d battled to suppress her base reactions to almost everything about Joao—save for that one searing night in Morocco. His impressive mental dexterity, his jaw-dropping physique, his superhuman energy, the breathtaking ruthlessness wrapped around a core of unwavering integrity. But the one thing she’d never conquered was her reaction to the deep, intensely sexy, accented voice. It shot arrows of flaming lust into her during her waking hours, and, with alarming frequency lately, invaded her dreams just as shamelessly. It’d reached the point where she almost dreaded walking into his office. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to suffer it for much longer. Saffron shut the door behind her and tuned into the conversation. Regardless of her primary reason for coming into Joao’s office, she had work to do. This morning—and, she suspected, countless more to come—that work involved Lavinia Archer. At seventy-four, the head of the renowned Archer Group, an empire that comprised Archer Hotels, Archer Brewery, Archer Cruise Liners, Archer Airlines and several more offshoots, had been in control for over three decades. When rumours had surfaced that Lavinia intended to sell her company to one buyer before her seventy-fifth birthday, Saffron had known it would be catnip to her boss. She’d been proved right when Joao had immediately set out to add the entire Archer empire, valued at thirty-one billion dollars, into his already staggering portfolio. For the last three months, he’d woven an intricate web around Lavinia Archer, one involving a game of mental chess and charm that the older woman, despite courting several buyers, hadn’t been able to resist participating in. ‘I know you take pleasure in making me wait, Lavinia,’ Joao continued, the timbre of his voice smooth, dark and potent like the special blend of coffee his handpicked aficionados cultivated for him exclusively in his native Brazil. Every word oozed effortless charisma as his dark golden gaze tracked Saffron across his office. ‘I hope when the time comes, you’ll let me make the climax worth your while.’ Saffron stumbled, briskly caught herself on the edge of the sectional sofa that graced the office, and dragged her gaze from his coolly mocking one before she compounded her rare clumsiness by blushing. Sultry laughter flowed from the phone. Saffron curbed the irrational jealousy that welled inside her and attempted to maintain her composure. Even though she’d given him four years of her life, when it came right down to it, she had no rights where Joao was concerned. He didn’t care about her beyond her excellent organisational skills. Not once had he asked her what her interests were outside the office—not that she had much time to pursue any of them. Her last two birthdays had passed her by because she’d been so engrossed in making Joao Oliviera’s life problem-free that she’d missed them. And the fact that there’d been no one else to remind her—no family, friends, nor even acquaintances—and that her boss hadn’t known to treat those days differently from any other work-hard-and-then-even-harder days, had been just one of the many things that had bruised her deep inside when she’d finally girded her loins and taken stock of her life. Unsurprisingly, all the things wrong with her life had been down to one man. Joao Oliviera. So, no, she wasn’t going to waste a moment’s energy on being jealous. And when she was done with her task here, he could charm the birds from the trees for all she cared. She wouldn’t be around to see it. Wouldn’t experience that stressful little pull in her chest when he arranged an assignation with the next supermodel or socialite. Thankfully he hadn’t done that since Morocco. Not to her knowledge anyway, which in no way proved conclusively that he hadn’t— Enough! Interrupting her own spiralling thoughts, she refocused to find Joao’s gaze raking over her body, lingering for a moment on the document in her hand before rising to meet her eyes. Her heart lurched. For the last eight weeks, he’d treated her with cool indifference. He’d watched her when he’d wanted to and ignored her when it had pleased him. Saffie was forced to admit it was that detachment that had finally triggered her actions. That knowledge that she couldn’t endure much more of this, couldn’t pretend that her life hadn’t boiled down to being an insignificant satellite that orbited around his brilliance. That Morocco hadn’t happened. She pressed her lips together, fighting the chaotic sensations in mind and body as Joao let out a low, deep laugh. ‘Sim, I’ll respect you in the morning. You’ll leave satisfied that your legacy is in the best hands possible.’ Long fingers tapped the smooth surface of his glass desk, drawing her attention to its graceful elegance, its subdued power. From there it was a mere skip to unlocking memories of when those fingers made firm, deliberate contact with her skin. Stroked and teased and branded, leaving an indelible mark on her. She watched his arm rise, his fingers stretching out in silent command for the document. While Joao’s ability to multitask was another skilful feather in his cap, she hadn’t anticipated executing this task while he conducted one of the biggest deals of his company’s history. But...the order of things didn’t matter. She was here to take her life back. So, do it. Lips pressed firmly together, she handed over the paper. Perhaps her expression gave her away. Perhaps the poker face that had seen her through four long years but had begun to crack after Morocco had finally let her down. Seconds breathlessly ticked by as he continued to recite facts and figures to Lavinia in his deep accented voice, all without taking his eyes off Saffron’s face. A full minute later, his gaze finally dropped to the sheet. Shrewd eyes skimmed the document with lightning speed. Then his breathtaking face tightened. Her insides jumped as those hypnotic eyes rose to lock on hers. ‘Sim,’ he murmured smoothly to Lavinia, although Saffie heard curt edginess wrapped around the word. ‘But remember I’m not a patient man. I want your company, and I will play your games for now. But eventually one of us will grow bored and resort to...other measures. Prepare yourself for that scenario, too, meu querido. Until the next time.’ The words might have been directed into the phone but Saffie felt their impact deep inside. With a casual flick of his hand, he ended the call. Then chilled, narrowed eyes rose from her carefully crafted resignation letter to her face. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he breathed in a low, deadly voice. Saffron called on every last crumb of composure and held his stare. ‘It’s exactly as it says. I’m tendering my resignation.’ His gaze flickered with a hint of disbelief, then dropped to the page. ‘For “personal reasons”? You do not have a personal life, therefore you cannot have personal reasons. Therefore—’ he flicked a disdainful finger at the sheet ‘—this is a blatant lie.’ She didn’t want to be hurt by the caustic words. By now, she should be immune to his brand of ruthless disregard for any impediment that stood between him and whatever goal he pursued. And yet that mysterious pang that had sprung up the morning after their fateful night burrowed deeper into her heart. ‘Thank you so much for pointing that out. And while I’m at it, thank you for the flowers and jewellery, although I won’t be accepting them. I’m assuming you’re about to step things up with Lavinia, hence the need for that outrageous bribe?’ Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he acknowledge any wrongdoing in commissioning a necklace most monarchs would give an eye tooth for. ‘You’re building up to a point, I expect? Some sort of negotiation perhaps?’ he mused. ‘You’re not going to give me the courtesy of an answer?’ ‘I believe one of the first things we discussed at the start of your employment was not to ask questions you already know the answers to. Would you like me to repeat mine? Because you haven’t given me a satisfactory answer.’ ‘Every answer you need is in that letter. I’m resigning for personal reasons. Effective immediately after the requisite notice period.’ The gaze he flicked at the letter was filled with such singeing disdain, Saffron was surprised it didn’t catch fire. ‘You’re not flighty. You’re supremely efficient. Dependable. Level-headed. One of the most hardworking people I know. In the past four years, there hasn’t been a single task you haven’t executed to my satisfaction,’ he drawled, angling his body back to lounge in the high-backed, throne-like chair a vaunted French furniture designer had fashioned exclusively for him. The stance threw his gladiator-like frame into high-definition relief, the sunlight doing its part to showcase his perfect body. Saffron’s thighs snapped together as heat singed her feminine core and burrowed deep, sensuously, into her pelvis, reminding how it’d felt to have that body up close, personal...naked. Inside her. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you noticed.’ Her sarcasm went over his head. As with most things he thought beneath his regard. Why was she even surprised? ‘Which is why I’m puzzled by your need to couch your so-called resignation in such...whimsical, flowery prose. You’re “honoured by the opportunity” to have worked with me? You wish me “the brightest of futures”? Your experience with me will remain “an unforgettable experience”?’ he recited. Fine, so she’d let her nerves run away with her in the early hours of the morning when she’d redrafted the letter yet again, but did he really need to repeat it in such mocking tones? ‘Believe it or not, everything on there is true—’ ‘Everything on here is nonsense!’ His deep voice was a merciless scythe through her response. ‘Your resignation is not accepted. Especially not at such a crucial point in my dealings with Lavinia. We’ve been going about this all wrong. It’s time to flip the script. To win her over we have to show her what she doesn’t know she’s missing. Let’s take her out of her comfort zone, in the most enticing way. You think you can handle that?’ Saffron fought the urge to clench her fists and stamp her foot. That would achieve absolutely nothing. Besides, as Joao had so coldly categorised, she wasn’t flighty. She was dependable. Level-headed. Hard-working. Obedient. Qualities she’d striven for as an orphan. Everything the nuns at St Agnes’s Home For Children had assured her would secure foster parents and eventually parents who would adopt her, only for her to be passed over time and again in favour of others. She’d shed silent tears—because it wouldn’t have done for Sister Zeta to hear her crying and be disappointed in her—when bratty Selena had been chosen instead of her that week before Christmas when she was seven. She’d been overwhelmed with sorrow when eight months later another smiling couple had walked away with a child that wasn’t her. Through every heart-rending repetition of those events, she hadn’t shown any outward sign of distress or, even worse, thrown a tantrum like some of the other children. Eventually when her moment had finally arrived at the ripe old age of fourteen, she had refrained from exhibiting any outward signs of elation, lest it be misconstrued. She’d maintained that self-possession through the two happy years she’d spent with her foster mother, and then through the harrowing eighteen months when her health had rapidly declined. Saffie had kept tearless vigils by her bedside, made the solemn promise that, no, she wouldn’t succumb to loneliness, that, yes, she would seek another family for herself when the time came, no matter what. When, a week before her eighteenth birthday, Saffron had buried her foster mother, she’d buoyed up everyone at the small funeral gathering, recounting her fondest memories of that wonderful woman and drawing smiles to everyone’s faces. And she’d made sure she was completely alone before shedding a single tear. It was near enough with that same composure that she pivoted away from Joao’s desk and returned to her desk. Where she placed a call to a number she knew by heart. Once the call was done, she reached for the velvet box with not quite steady hands and returned to her boss’s office. ‘Are you coming down with an ailment?’ Joao demanded, a healthy dose of that Brazilian temper melting away a layer of indifference. ‘Would you like me to summon the company doctor for you?’ ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m more than fine. I’m seeing things a little more clearly for the first time in a long while.’ He tensed, his eyes probing deeper. ‘And those things include resigning from a job that you stated in your last evaluation was “the most fulfilling thing” in your life?’ She bit the inside of her cheek, regret for those exposing words drenching her. But again, it was one of the many faults in her life she intended to rectify sharpish. ‘Yes.’ Tense seconds ticked by as he eyed her. ‘You do realise you could’ve stated a number of reasons for resigning besides this personal excuse you’re holding so preciously to your chest?’ The observation stopped her short. Had it been deliberate? Did she, on some subliminal level, wish him to see beneath her fa?ade, to the heart of her single, deepest desire? To that yearning that had started with a deathbed promise and blossomed soon after her foster mother’s passing, when Saffron had realised she was once again alone in the world, and had known she wouldn’t feel whole again until she fulfilled it? A yearning that had momentarily faded against the brilliant supernova that was Joao, only to re-emerge invigorated, viscerally demanding fulfilment? No. One night had been enough. The last thing she wanted was to reveal any more of her vulnerabilities to a man like Joao Oliviera. A man who breathed and bled commerce. A man who dropped his lovers swiftly and without mercy the moment they harboured the barest notions of permanence. A man without a family and a blatantly stated anathema towards ever encumbering himself with one. ‘I was hoping you’d respect my privacy and leave it at that.’ ‘We have never deluded one another, Saffie. Let us not start now.’ Her breath caught at the accented way he pronounced her shortened name. Saahfie. Each time it sent electric shivers down her spine, made her breasts tingle and her belly flip-flop in giddy excitement. This time was no different despite the volatile tension arcing between them. But his statement made her breath catch for different, more terrible, reasons. She had lived through months, perhaps even years of delusion. Ultimately, that shameful realisation that she was chasing dreams, and wasting precious time doing so, was why she stood before him now. ‘Your letter threw up red flags. I’m acknowledging those flags and demanding to know what’s going on. Especially since we parted company only a few hours ago and you gave no inkling of pulling this stunt.’ ‘Firstly, it’s not a stunt. Secondly, did it occur to you that I might not want to do this for ever? You might imagine you have immortal blood flowing through your veins and are therefore going to live for ever. Some of us are more cognisant of our mortality. So pardon me if I’ve realised that I don’t want to work until two a.m. on a Monday morning only to turn around and return to the office at seven-thirty to put in another eighteen hours.’ A dark frown descended over his brows and something like disappointment shot through his eyes. For whatever reason his anger didn’t grate as much as his disappointment. ‘That’s the problem? You’re complaining about your workload? You have my permission to hire yourself another assistant.’ She eased her grip on the box, breached the last few steps to his desk and set it down. ‘I can’t accept this. Even if I weren’t leaving, it would still be too much. I’ve donated the flowers to the gala organisers for the charity dinner you’re attending this evening. Prepare for Lady Monroe’s effusiveness when she sees you tonight. She believes they’ll easily fetch twenty thousand pounds if they’re auctioned off—’ ‘Pelo amor de—enough with this lifeless performance. Tell me what you want and let’s get it out of the way so we can get back to work! Give away the flowers if you wish but the necklace is yours.’ ‘Joao—’ ‘It cannot be money. I already pay you ten times more than your closest rival. I’d offer to triple that salary but I suspect you’d say—’ ‘It’s not money.’ He gave a brisk nod. ‘Bom, we’re getting somewhere. What is it, then?’ Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t tell him. Not everything and certainly not what had triggered her decision to walk away. His indifference since their night in Morocco had said everything. At best, that disappointment on his face would deepen. At worse, he’d mock her for letting emotions get the better of her. But she wasn’t a robot. Her life was flashing past before her eyes and she’d already given him more years than she’d originally planned. And with every day she sacrificed her innermost needs on the altar of Joao’s newest business obsession, she despaired a little more. And perhaps even hated him a fraction, too. For that indifference she knew would never change. For his inability to step down from his god-like throne and deign to acknowledge the needs of mere humans. Her needs. ‘You want to know why I’m leaving? It’s simple. I’ve decided you’re not the answer to my every problem.’ His eyes narrowed into dark gold slits. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he snapped. ‘Stop playing games and speak plainly!’ Irritation bristled through her. ‘Or else what? You’re going to stop me from walking out?’ Silence throbbed between them. Slowly he rose, his impressive height dwarfing hers even from across the desk as he removed the cufflinks from his shirtsleeves, and meticulously folded them back. She didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to acknowledge that extra dose of virile masculinity that made him impossible to ignore. But she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze dropped to follow every inch of silky-hair-dusted forearms that was exposed. Tiny lightning bolts fired through her, blazing her already aggravated libido as she wondered how those strong arms would feel banded around her waist again, drawing her close to the towering perfection of his hard, muscled body. ‘What is going on, Saffie?’ The low-voiced demand, wrapped in power and authority, jerked her from her lustful reverie. Her fingers gripped the straps of her handbag. At no point had she deluded herself that resigning as Joao’s executive assistant after living and breathing the role for four full-on years would be easy. But she hadn’t anticipated it being this hard either. If he’d shown zero interest in her life outside the walls of his existence before Morocco, he’d been a million times more detached since. He didn’t know about her childhood in the orphanage, about her short, happy spell with her foster mother. About her devastation when she’d been orphaned once again. About the promise she’d made. Her heart thundered as she panicked that he wouldn’t let go until she gave him something. She didn’t realise she was slicking a nervous tongue over her bottom lip until his gaze dropped to her mouth. For a single moment, detachment vanished. Then it returned full force, bruising her with its severity. ‘Do you remember how I came to be your assistant in the first place?’ Saffie asked, needing temporary relief from this quagmire. His frown intensifying, he dropped the cufflinks in a drawer and slammed it shut. ‘I fail to see how that’s relevant.’ ‘It’s relevant to me. I was supposed to be here temporarily, while my old boss, Mr Harcourt, was on holiday. You’d just fired your own assistant, remember?’ ‘Barely. I’m still not seeing how this is material—’ ‘My point is, I was supposed to be here for two weeks. I’ve been here for four years. And by the way, is it true you offered Mr Harcourt early retirement so you could keep me here?’ Again, he didn’t so much as blink. ‘Sim. I knew by the end of your first week that you were far more suited to me. Your talents were wasted creating company retreat spreadsheets so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,’ he said with zero remorse. ‘Well... I’m glad that’s out of the way.’ His jaw gritted but a wary gleam entered his eyes. A gleam that said he was realising that this wasn’t a tantrum or a stunt. That she might actually mean it. ‘Now that we’ve wandered uselessly down memory lane, can we get back on track? What would it take for you to end this? Name your price and I’ll make it happen.’ Name your price. If only she could. If only she didn’t know the futility of naming her actual price. She stared at him, her heart hammering as it had every time she’d contemplated taking this final step. Granted, the thought that she would one day soon wake up and not be in his presence left her bereft. But then she forced herself to think of what else she would be replacing that experience with. The fulfilment her heart and soul yearned for. A true connection. A life-affirming purpose. ‘My price is my freedom, Joao. I gave you two weeks, then I added four years to that. Now I want out.’ Leisurely he leaned forward, his bronzed forearms rippling as he resettled his weight on his hands, brought that red-hot sensuality dangerously closer, and glared at her across the desk. ‘You have one last chance to give me a clear, concise reason for this absurdity, Saffie.’ The urge to tussle with him sizzled bright and urgently within her. What did she have to lose? In a few short weeks, she’d be out of his life. He planned to conquer the world, while she planned to retreat from his orbit, hopefully to embark on a lifelong project her soul had screamed for since she was a child. Since she’d tasted loneliness and vowed to make her life more meaningful. Once she was done with Joao, she highly doubted their paths would ever cross again. Ignoring the twinge in her chest, she boldly stepped forward, placing both feet on the battle ground. ‘Very well. You want the unvarnished truth? You’re a brilliant businessman, Joao. But you’re also a ruthless vampire. You take and you take, and you think throwing diamonds and flowers and unimaginable perks grants you automatic authority over my life. Well, it doesn’t. I mapped out a path for myself when I joined your company. I put my plans on hold and now I’m making them a priority again. I’m resigning because I want more. More from life. I want freedom from being consumed by you. Freedom to dream of other things besides the acquisition of your next Fortune 500 company. Freedom to dream of a family. A baby. Of turning that dream into a reality.’ She paused, her insides shaking at the thought of taking that last, intensely ravaging but necessary step. ‘I want freedom from you.’ CHAPTER TWO (#u080e3cbe-189c-54ba-b19a-6cfd79ef7494) SILENCE PULSED IN the aftermath of his executive assistant’s terse monologue. Joao, stunned into uncharacteristic silence, coldly ticked off the myriad sensations zipping through him. Shock. Banked fury. Hardened disappointment. Perplexity. It was to that last one that he returned. That feeling of being caught off guard when he’d believed them to be perfectly in sync. He stared at her, wondering whether this was her idea of a joke. But then his level-headed, capable assistant didn’t joke. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Theirs was a well-oiled symbiosis that ran on a perfect synergy of efficiency, a mutual appreciation of hard work and the heady rewards and satisfaction of success. At least it had. Until that night when, drunk on success, their basest instincts had got the better of them. But they’d put that behind them. Saffie’s work hadn’t suffered. On the contrary, things had been better than ever. Granted, the first week after the Morocco incident he’d lived on tenterhooks, wondering if she would attempt to capitalise in some way on his error of judgement. Because giving in to uncontrolled hunger had been an error of judgement. Other men might approach lust with a cavalier attitude, but Joao Oliviera was singularly ruthless when it came to his bed partners. They were chosen strictly on a mutually agreed short-term basis from which he never strayed. They weren’t chosen based on an unexpected but breathtaking desert mirage come to life, a punch of unstoppable lust that had nearly felled him and deep, dark craving that had blinded him to common sense until it was too late. The fact that it’d happened, that for the space of one night he’d been no better than the man he despised the most in his life, still had the power to sour his day. Sure, he hadn’t gone looking for it, and Saffron wasn’t a hooker on a street corner, but the acute absence of control still left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Fortunately, like him, she’d been only too happy to bury the incident in the past. And while the realisation had initially grated, he’d eventually welcomed that discretion. So what if the experience had the unsavoury ability to replay in his memory when he least expected it? What if those memories left him aroused and aching at the most inappropriate times? It had rightly stayed in the past where it belonged, never to be repeated. Except for some reason, while he’d believed his world was back on an even keel, Saffie had been making other plans. Plans that threatened to wreak havoc on the most crucial undertaking of his life. Suppressing his fury, he searched her face. Read the fierce determination on it and realised she actually meant it. She meant to leave him. To free herself so she could chase so-called dreams. For a family. A baby. She inhaled sharply and he realised he’d spoken the words out loud. Spat out, like one of the few foreign languages he wasn’t fluent in. Two terse words tossed out like the vile, bewildered curse he believed them to be because they had no place in his working day. In his life. Not since the day he’d wiped the word family from his soul. Certainly not now when his goal was so close. When the chance to shatter his enemy once and for all was a mere handful of weeks away. That off-kilter sensation deepened, that feeling of being flung unexpectedly into a turbulent ocean without a life jacket causing his gut to clench. He had countless life jackets. Endless contingencies to ensure not a single thing in his life was irreplaceable. Yachts and planes and CEOs and leaders of the free world, all at his beck and call. Except Saffron Everhart had carved out a unique place in his life, set herself up on a pedestal marked exactly that. Irreplaceable. And now that he needed her most... He whirled away from his desk, strode to the wide floor-to-ceiling windows where he usually took one of his many espressos as he juggled the demands of his empire. He breathed through the tension riding his frame, his brain already in counter-strategy mode. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re ditching your career, and the countless benefits that come with it, to what? Go on some journey of self-discovery?’ he threw at her. She took her time to answer. Time that grated along his nerves, fired up his already smouldering discontent. It didn’t help that he usually welcomed her thoughtful consideration when answering his questions. That she wasn’t the type to blurt out the first thought in her head as some people did. ‘Yes, Joao. If you want to drill it down to one oversimplified statement. I’m leaving for me but I’m not ditching my career. Far from it. You can pour scorn all you want on it but my mind is made up. I have eight weeks of accrued vacation. I can stay and help train your next assistant or—’ He whirled to face her, a savage urgency to do something ripping through him. ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t agreed that you can leave,’ he bit out. Her chin lifted. ‘Then it’s a good thing there are laws in this country preventing you from holding me in a job I don’t want any more, isn’t it?’ He smiled a smile he didn’t feel. ‘You wish to take me on in court?’ ‘If you drive me to it, absolutely.’ Again, the absolute certainty that she meant it ploughed a jagged path through him. Something about the way she was holding herself, boldly meeting his gaze where others would’ve backed down, fired up a much different sensation in him. It...drew him. Otherwise why did he find himself standing in front of her, his gaze tracing the delicate lines of her throat, when he was across the room moments ago? He smashed the sensation down and drilled deeper into the subject at hand. ‘When I said you were getting ahead of yourself, Saffie, I meant that we hadn’t exhaustively discussed the subject you just dropped in my lap. What do you mean, you’re not ditching your career? You’re going to work for someone else?’ She blinked. Attempted to regroup. ‘Well...yes, I am.’ ‘Who?’ he fired back. ‘It doesn’t matter—’ ‘Of course, it matters. Who is it, Saffie?’ At her hesitation, the churning in his gut intensified. ‘Tell me now,’ he breathed. Her stubborn chin tilted higher, daring him in ways Joao wasn’t sure he wanted to discover. ‘It’s William Ashby.’ As competitors went, this one wasn’t a worthy one. Which absurdly infuriated him further. That she would leave him for someone significantly inferior businesswise... ‘I didn’t think you foolish, Saffie.’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Do you really think I’ll allow you to take a position with my competitor, knowing what you know about my company?’ Twin flickers of anger and hurt darted across her face. ‘You think I’ll break your confidence? After...’ She stopped herself but he already knew. Wasn’t this a subject he’d dwelt on for far too long in the past few weeks? ‘After what?’ he taunted. ‘After Morocco? Or are we finally getting to the heart of this little scene?’ She blinked, shook her head, drawing his attention to the rich gloss of her hair. What it’d felt like tumbling freely over him— ‘No, we’re not. I don’t want to talk about it.’ ‘Well, I do. Tell me Morocco is not why you’ve dropped this bombshell on my day and we can move on. And no, we won’t be moving onto this so-called dream of a family or child because we both know you don’t even have a boyfriend.’ Fire sparked in her eyes. ‘What makes you think you know everything about me?’ Her spirited reply drew him even closer. He rounded his desk, closed the gap between them, felt tendrils of her light floral perfume wrapping around him. ‘You’ve been in charge of organising my life for over four years. That means I’m equally aware of yours and it isn’t that much of a secret, Saffie—’ ‘I beg to differ or you would’ve seen this coming, wouldn’t you?’ Joao took a breath. This wasn’t working. For whatever reason, his assistant seemed hell-bent on this path. This unsatisfactory desire to leave him high and dry at this most crucial juncture of his life. ‘You wish me to apologise for what happened in Morocco?’ Her eyes widened, the deep pools of blue pulling him in. ‘What? No. I said—’ ‘I’m aware of what you said. Just as I’m aware what women tend to say often differs from what they truly mean.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Sorry to disabuse you of the notion but I’m not like your other women. I’m not hiding behind some nefarious ulterior motive. And while it may bruise your ego to hear the word no for the first time in your life—’ ‘Watch it, Saffie.’ She carried on regardless. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t want to be your assistant any more. My life is my own. I can do whatever I want. You have my letter. I’ve been in touch with HR. As soon as you accept, they’ll get my termination papers ready.’ She turned on her heel, presenting him with the rigid curve of her spine that again commanded his attention to the curve of her hips, the tempting swell of her bottom. He cursed under his breath. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ The arctic snap in his voice froze her in place. Giving him the time he needed to stride over to join her at the door. They weren’t done. Far from it. He needed her far too much to let her walk out of his office. Perhaps it was their close proximity that made her pulse race in her throat as she stared at him. Perhaps it was because she sensed he was about to pull out the big guns, as he was wont to do when the occasion demanded it. Whatever the reason, he watched her drag her inner lip between her teeth, felt the unwelcome sensation deep in his pelvis. Meu Deus. He needed to put this thing to bed, pronto. ‘What?’ she blurted. ‘There’s a clause in your contract that states all future employers will be vetted and approved by me. Tell me, do you think I’ll let you run off and work for Ashby?’ * * * The demand was soft. So soft Saffie didn’t feel the warm knife slide into her ribs until it was too late. ‘Why are you doing this?’ ‘Because I wish to keep the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.’ There was a time when the flippant compliment would’ve lit up her day. Not any more. ‘I’m sure the next will do just as well.’ His nostrils flared. ‘You can have an extended vacation after we put the Archer deal to bed.’ ‘Joao—’ ‘I will get my pilot to fly you to any destination of your choosing. You have my word that I won’t ask you to return until you’re well rested and you’ve worked whatever...lingering discontentment you have out of your system. Whatever it takes to get my level-headed executive assistant back.’ Despite his more than generous offer, the words dropped like icy bullets from his lips, his body language broadcasting his extreme displeasure. The intimacy of his proximity and the sheer headiness of his masculine scent sent heat blooming through her as he continued to stare her down, reminding her that she hadn’t always been level-headed. She’d slipped and fallen from grace in Morocco. His gaze dropped to her mouth, stayed and for a second she knew he was recalling it, too. Then she realised she was full-on gnawing at her lip. Her renowned rock-solid composure was slipping and, for the life of her, she couldn’t get herself under control. ‘I told you. I can’t stay here and get what I want.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This accusation interests me greatly. Tell me on what basis you arrived at it,’ he invited silkily. ‘I’ve worked with you for four years. You might be progressive with your other employees, but I know, for instance, that the subject of families and babies doesn’t interest you.’ One eyebrow spiked. ‘You know this for a fact when you and I have never discussed it?’ ‘We may not have, but I’ve been present when business acquaintances have brought up the subject. Your eyes glaze over and you change the topic as soon as possible.’ One thick shoulder rose and fell. ‘Because the subject of other people’s children bores me,’ he stated coldly. Saffie forced herself to breathe through the sharp pang of hurt. ‘Well, if you’ll be so kind as to step out of my way, I’ll stop boring you.’ She went to move around him. His hand whipped out and captured her wrist. Heat blazed from the contact, raining sharp tingles and making her gasp, this time for a completely different reason. At the very top of her list—and underscored in indelible ink—of ways to avoid her tightly reined composure slipping around Joao was to never come into direct physical contact with him. She’d learned that lesson in one sizzling, unforgettable way. The Montcrief Pipeline deal. The months’ long negotiations for the Brazilian-Canadian deal had left her with little sleep and living on the very edge of her nerves alongside Joao. Her usually unflappable boss had been like a man possessed, his focus on securing the multibillion-dollar contract razor-sharp. It was the first time the name Pueblo Oliviera had truly registered. The first time she’d witnessed something other than the fervent need to bag the best deal. It’d been clear Montcrief was personal for Joao. It hadn’t taken a genius to connect the dots and conclude that he wanted to win against Pueblo Oliviera. His father. Joao had not only bagged the Montcrief deal, he’d signed another multibillion-dollar deal that had granted him ownership of his third premier soccer team in Brazil. The double-barrelled success against his father had triggered a euphoric celebration, Joao’s breathtaking exclusive Marrakesh villa and its grounds the scene of one of the most sophisticated parties Saffie and the entire executive staff had ever attended. It had been there, surrounded by flame throwers, jugglers and exotic belly dancers, that she’d given in to illicit temptation, one that she couldn’t recall without her stomach flipping and her skin burning with remembered excitement. She wished she could blame it on one too many glasses of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay, two thousand dollars per bottle, which had been flowing at the party. Or the singular thrill of attempting her first belly dance, dressed in the midriff-baring costume and exotic jewellery that had made her feel feminine and sexy. No. It had been the expression on Joao’s face when she’d looked up and found him leaning against a stone pillar, staring at her, the euphoric glaze of success glinting in his eyes. It had been the unfettered excitement at seeing the heat in his eyes flame brighter as she’d swayed towards him. And it had been the absolute rapture at the thickly muttered Portuguese words and searing brand of his touch when he’d jerked her close, stared down at her for a charged minute before kissing her with a sizzling intensity she’d never experienced before. The kiss, the fever it’d sparked in her bloodstream, and the urge to taste danger, just once, had been too heady to deny. So when he’d swept her off her feet, she’d willingly twined her arms around his neck. When he’d walked away from the party, marched them up to his master suite and kicked the door shut, she’d almost wept with anticipation. And when she’d finally known what it felt like to be the lust-drunk focus of Joao’s attention, what it felt like to be completely possessed by him, she’d feared her life would never be the same. She’d been right. ‘You are not other people. You don’t bore me, Saffie. Quite the contrary.’ His growled words slammed her to the present. To the reminder that the morning after that night in Morocco, Joao had greeted her with stinging indifference. As if what had happened was of little consequence to him. Then and now. Her pulse hammered against the fingers curled around her flesh. And she died a little knowing he could feel it, too. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ His gaze shifted to where he held her, to where his thumb was moving slowly, seductively across her skin. ‘You are my right hand,’ he said, his accent thickening ever so slightly. ‘One of the most important cogs in my business wheel. I would be a fool to let such an asset walk away. But if you need to hear the words, I value you for your intellect. Which is far from boring.’ Cog. Business. Asset. Cold labels that spelled out all she would ever be to Joao. From the beginning she’d known that. Somewhere along the line she’d finally accepted it. So why did the words douse her with such icy, isolating coldness? Joao Oliviera was the biggest shark in an immense ocean. And as with all sharks there would come a day when she would become his prey. When he would chew her up and spit her out without so much as a blink of his whisky-gold eyes before moving on. She had enough sense to rescue herself before that happened. Especially when she had a goal much closer to her heart. ‘You’re really determined to do this? To walk out on your career?’ he pressed. She found the strength to reconnect with his gaze. ‘To leave you, yes.’ He stared at her for a long, unblinking minute before eyes that were far too shrewd leisurely travelled over her body. They lingered at the frantic pulse beating at her throat, the agitated rise and fall of her chest she couldn’t quite control, the dark purple silk of her blouse, right down to her legs and shoes before travelling back up again. This time they lingered on her hips, then her breasts, causing her flesh to tingle. Reprieve came in the form of the phone on his desk ringing. Her inbuilt work ethic kicked in and she automatically glanced at it. ‘Leave it,’ he instructed gruffly. ‘One of your assistants can get it.’ Very early on, she’d realised the sheer volume of work Joao produced meant she had to delegate less-sensitive work to others and she’d hired two assistants who answered to her. He leaned closer, wrapped her tighter in his intoxicating scent. ‘And nothing I can say can change your mind?’ His tone had turned deadly silky, the kind that could weave spells around her. She shook her head. Nowhere on their trajectory did their interests collide. It was why it’d taken her years to summon up the strength to walk away. The breakneck lifestyle Joao led was no place to make long-term plans. Certainly not one that included her yearning for a family of her own. A baby. How many times had she booked a ski trip to Aspen only for him to ski one black run and decide he would much prefer the slopes in Switzerland, preferably that same day? Hadn’t he woken her up in the middle of the night only a month ago and ordered her to arrange a tour of the Chilean vineyard he’d just purchased on the spur of the moment for forty million dollars? She had still been rubbing the sleep from her eyes when his private jet had taken off from his Greek island fifty minutes later. And this relentless, sizzling awareness of him surely couldn’t be good for her health? No, she couldn’t put this off any longer. ‘No. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my—’ ‘I know this is about Morocco. Specifically the sex we had in Marrakesh, is it not?’ he enquired with a low, terse rumble that resonated deep inside her. Saffie sagged against the door, very much aware her mouth was agape. ‘What?’ she murmured with a voice that didn’t sound like her own. ‘You can put it out of your mind, Saffie. It was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. If you need it to satisfy you so you stay, then have my apologies,’ he continued tersely, his body held in military rigidness that didn’t in any way detract from the mouth-watering package. ‘I... No,’ she strained out. Latin temper flared in his eyes. ‘You don’t accept my apology? Or is it the veracity of it you doubt?’ She almost laughed. Joao was a great many things—ruthless, acerbic to the point of cruel sometimes, impossibly arrogant. Too damn good-looking for words. But in all his dealings, he had never spoken a word he didn’t mean. His core of integrity was the reason less powerful men envied him almost as much as they feared him. It was the reason she loved her job even when he slave-drove her to the brink of sanity sometimes. There was a synergy in their dynamic, a thrill that came from working so close to a brilliant mind that she never got bored with. ‘No, it’s not that,’ she stated. She couldn’t stay. This man was so dangerously intoxicating every atom in her body shrieked at her that anything other than walking away would be a mistake. The Archer deal would be done in three months, sooner if Joao’s single-minded determination bore fruit. But at what ultimate cost to her? Her breath shuddered out. Too high. The penalty would be too high. He nudged her chin up with one finger, compelling her to meet his eyes once more. The dual thrill of touch and stare dragged her deeper into the cauldron of temptation. ‘Three months, Saffie. That is all I ask. Stay. Finish the deal with me. Then leave if you insist,’ he urged with a mesmerising drawl. Three months. Not an eternity in the grand scheme of things, but, if she was having a hard time walking away now, how would it be in three months, knowing she’d once again put off pursuing the one thing that was so precious and close to her heart? She couldn’t. She sucked in a breath, the action bringing her far too close to his solid heat and the earthy, evocative scent she knew didn’t come from the grooming products his French parfumier specially designed for him and him alone. She knew it because one of her many, endless tasks was to pack for him and she’d given into a weak moment very early on and taken a long inhale of his aftershave. And then spent far too long after that attempting to decipher where that scent ended and his unique musk began. She would probably never know. Before the alarming weakness could totally take over her body, she turned blindly towards the door. ‘Saffie.’ Her name was a low growl. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Out for air. Or back to my desk. Either way my answer is still no.’ Her hand latched on the door but the heaviness of his silence stopped her from opening it. She fought a fierce battle against the need to turn, see his reaction to her response. But she was too scared. Silence meant that algorithm that passed for his brain was recalibrating, recalculating a way to get what he wanted. Still, she wasn’t prepared for the words that came next. ‘I need you.’ Her lips parted in a stunned gasp. In four long years she’d never heard him utter those words. To her. To anyone. Joao wasn’t a man who needed. He wanted. He desired. He took. She spun around, her stunned senses seeking an explanation on his enigmatic face. ‘Are you manipulating me, Joao?’ Feet planted apart, hands on lean hips, his stare undaunted and unwavering, ‘I want you to stay,’ he stated with that brutal honesty that often disarmed and weakened an opponent before he went in for the kill. ‘I’ll do anything to achieve that. It also helps that you know me better than anyone else will in this lifetime.’ Swiftly she added that vital little extra needed to put the right spin on his words. When it comes to business. When it came to anticipating his needs and ensuring he had every last detail of a deal at his fingertips, she was second to none. She was even exceptional at reading between the lines of his latest private liaisons and, more often than not, guessing when it was time to put together the staggeringly expensive it’s-been-fun-but-now-it’s-over package that soothed the most desolate of broken hearts. But until recently she’d painstakingly safeguarded herself against the pitfalls of deeper emotional curiosity, had deliberately stopped herself from digging into the personal details that had seen Joao Oliviera dig himself out of a favela in Brazil to become one of the most powerful men in the world. Sure, the media had endless reports on his past and his page on the company website featured a three-paragraph bio, but besides a mother who’d reportedly died at a young age of thirty-five, there was very little else. She had no idea what his favourite colour was, what had caused the deep, three-inch scar across his left palm, or where he went when he bade her a curt goodnight on Christmas Eve and disappeared for twenty-four hours. The holiday was the only day in the year when her phone didn’t ring with endless demands from him. All she knew was that Joao was driven by a rabid intensity that bordered on the obsessive. Self-preservation dictated that she take herself out of his orbit. ‘I don’t know you, Joao. Not really. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to take a different path to achieve my goals.’ A muscle rippled in his jaw. ‘You thrive on the challenges I grant you, Saffie. You’ll be bored rigid in the slow lane.’ She couldn’t lie. In the past four years he’d shown her a lifestyle that most people tried to conjure in their wildest dreams and fell far short of. She’d seen the world many times over, had watched as he’d conquered it over and over again. Not to mention earning enough money and benefits to not need to work again for the rest of her life if she lived a quiet, uneventful existence. She dismissed the dreary sensation that thought triggered, reminding herself that life would be far from dull with a baby in it. ‘My mind is made up, Joao. I’ll stretch out my four weeks’ notice period to six if—’ The imperious slash of his hand chopped off her response. ‘I don’t want you here with one foot out the door. I need you here, fully committed to the Archer deal. To me.’ ‘What if this deal drags out longer than three months?’ ‘It won’t. But be warned, Saffie. This is the last time I will ask.’ That final gauntlet snatched her breath from her lungs. Saffie couldn’t deny that the thought of waking up without the adrenaline buzz of plugging herself into Oliviera Enterprises and Joao’s world had left her curiously empty, her horizon a grey landscape with only the glowing mirage of a baby to sustain her. Granted, that glow had grown, the craving for a family she’d ignored for years suddenly rearing its head on her twenty-eighth birthday, reminding her that time was slipping through her fingers. Her emotional well had been left depleted for the better part of half her life. She’d needed to put her emotions aside to nurse her foster mother through the long months of ill health and her eventual death. After that she’d shut herself off, unwilling to delve into her grief for fear she’d never find her way back out of the dark tunnel. Ironically, it had been a terrifying incident on Joao’s private jet and the emergency landing in Canada in the first year of her working for him that had forced her to confront her grief. Joao had given her a rare day off, believing it was the incident that had left her shaken and withdrawn. She’d spent it mourning the foster parent who’d come into her life late and exited far too early. It’d also shone a very harsh, self-reflecting light on the emptiness in her life. One she hadn’t wanted to face after that first, soul-destroying glimpse. Luckily, having fallen in love with her new job, she’d been able to bury the emptiness. It hadn’t stayed buried. And with each passing year, the light had burned brighter until she couldn’t ignore the ache any more. But while she’d experienced a soul-shaking satisfaction to be finally moving forward with her dream, hadn’t a part of her also felt a little shame that the dream she’d held onto for so long no longer felt enough? That a different yearning burned just as bright and it was all her fault for nurturing it? She stared at Joao, caught the ferocious swell of determination in his eyes. They could part on acrimonious terms with a possibility of an employment tribunal in her future—depending on how difficult he chose to be. Or she could have twelve unforgettable, stimulating weeks with the most charismatic man she was likely to encounter in her whole lifetime, while guarding the deeper yearning in her heart. ‘I want to hear it, Saffie,’ Joao pressed again, spotting her weakening and going for the kill. ‘Three months of your undivided attention on the Archer deal with no talk of leaving.’ She swallowed, attempted to think through the euphoric haze shrouding her common sense. ‘Fine. I’ll stay until the Archer deal is done.’ Joao didn’t gloat. What he did was stand to his full, imposing height, his gaze raking her frame, lingering on her hips, her breasts, before reconnecting with hers. Something shifted in his eyes, a calculating gleam that sent a spark of apprehension down her spine. ‘And, Joao?’ ‘Sim?’ he prompted, intent eyes fixed on her as a muscle ticced in his jaw. ‘What is it?’ ‘I want your word that you won’t stand in my way when the time comes.’ CHAPTER THREE (#u080e3cbe-189c-54ba-b19a-6cfd79ef7494) HE HAD WHAT he wanted. She was staying. He’d bought himself the time to formulate a plan to rid himself of this issue of her leaving. His agreement was all that was required. And yet the yes that should’ve fallen from his lips stuck in Joao’s throat, his satisfaction at heading off disaster laced with something he couldn’t quite decipher. Uncertainty, he finally decoded. She had pulled the proverbial rug from beneath his feet and now he was uncertain where he stood. Perhaps he was better off setting her free so she could go and play happy families with some faceless stranger... The harsh rejection of that idea stopped him cold. Absurd. The whole discussion from start to finish was absurd. He shouldn’t be aggravated this much by the whole thing. Not when, as Saffie had pointed out, he had zero interest in most of the reasons she’d stated for her desire to leave. While he didn’t want a child or, heaven forbid, a family, since he’d permanently erased that idea out of his life’s mission very shortly after his tenth birthday and not once spent a second reconsidering it, he’d accommodated others’ desire for it, if barely. The right gift baskets and monetary bonus found their way to each employee on the announcement of a child’s birth. So why did the thought of his executive assistant taking a similar path grate so much? Why did the thought that one day in his future Saffie might exercise her right to walk away permanently trigger nothing but cold dread? The answer blazed through him a second later. Because he wasn’t ready to let her go. Her value had multiplied over the years. And what was he if not a man who capitalised on the value of his assets? He’d simply been caught off guard. He’d spent far too long putting out this fire when he should’ve been behind his desk, formulating better plans to add the Archer Group to his portfolio. Just as he’d spent far too many years moulding Saffron Everhart into the perfect right hand to release her prematurely from her role. Right or wrong, and while he knew that, ultimately, he couldn’t stop her, she belonged to him— ‘Do you agree?’ Her husky voice cut through his thoughts, retraining his focus on her. The heat that lanced his groin was shockingly brazen and had grown in intensity ever since thatnight. The one he’d spent long weeks afterwards fighting to forget without success. He’d ruthlessly disguised that hunger, enough to even take pride in his ability to watch her walk into his office without showing that he was losing his mind to that immediate groin-stirring arousal. And yes, it’d infuriated him to know his success in wrestling down his carnal demon had been fed by Saffie’s own easy dismissal of the incident. ‘Joao?’ He gritted his teeth, wishing he hadn’t insisted she address him by his first name shortly after she’d started working for him. Of course, he hadn’t divulged the fact that he detested his surname but had hung onto it purely to show Pueblo Oliviera that he wouldn’t be dismissed as easily as it’d taken him to instruct his security to throw him out of his Sao Paolo mansion that fateful day two decades ago. Never mind that he’d hated his mother for saddling him with the name of a man who’d had zero interest in assuming the role of fatherhood. ‘Are we going to discuss this or are you going to keep staring at me like I’ve grown an extra set of eyes?’ Saffie questioned briskly. He shook off the sticky vines of his past and focused on her eyes. Alternately blue or grey depending on her clothing or mood, the wide, almond shapes were clear and direct. Intelligent. Alluring. As arresting as her full Cupid’s-bow lips currently pressed into a prim line beneath her pert nose. They hadn’t been so prim when he’d tasted them. They’d been soft, supple, mind-alteringly delicious when she’d parted them beneath his, gasped her pleasure, screamed her climax— He flicked that torrid recollection away before it wreaked havoc on his groin. ‘You seem so certain of the future, Saffie. What makes you think you won’t be begging me to let you stay in three months’ time?’ Her breath caught, alerting him to the fact that his tone had been harsher than he’d intended. At his continued stare, she bit her lip just as she had minutes ago, exhibiting an agitation unlike her. Joao’s attention was once again drawn to her perfect curve of slightly reddening mouth, to the small teeth dragging over her flesh. He clenched one fist over the other as more blood rushed south. ‘I know what I want,’ she insisted, once again triggering that unnerving sensation that had arrived when he’d read that damn resignation letter and felt the searing vacuum of her loss. His teeth gritted but he saw no way to deny her. ‘Bom. Then you have my word. Now can we get back on track?’ Despite the telltale sign of her less than cool state, her eyes boldly met his as she nodded and quickly regrouped. It made him wonder how often his seemingly unflappable assistant had stumbled and corrected course without him noticing. ‘I’ll draw up the list you requested.’ ‘Good. Did you like the necklace I commissioned for you?’ he asked as she opened her door. Wary blue eyes met his. ‘Yes, it’s stunning—’ ‘Now that you’re staying, I’d very much like for you to wear it when we attend the auction of the Shanzi orchid in Shanghai with Lavinia Archer. Unless you’re going to argue with me over that, too?’ She exhaled calmly, not rising to his bait. He should’ve been glad his EA was back to her unflappable self. But he wasn’t. Not completely. ‘We’ve reached an agreement, Joao. Things will run as normal for the duration. I’ll ensure your plate is clear and Lavinia is free to be in Shanghai so you can present her with the orchid, which will bloom, for the first time in eight years, two weeks from now. Was there anything else?’ Her question contained more than a spark left over from their encounter and Joao was almost tempted to stoke it. But enough. Now he’d put out this little fire of her intended desertion he needed to refocus on his father. Specifically ensuring Pueblo didn’t come out the victor in their battle to win Lavinia Archer’s business. Dark anticipation twisted with bitterness in Joao’s gut. These days the man who’d fathered him might still call himself a billionaire but Joao’s was the Oliviera name people uttered in deference and awe. It was he world leaders turned to for business and geo-political counsel. Joao knew it stuck in Pueblo’s craw that the bastard son he’d cursed to damnation, the product of a drunken indulgence with a prostitute one wholly forgettable night, had become a man of untold power and means. It was a status his father was desperate to overturn. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48651526&lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.