Defiant Mistress, Ruthless Millionaire(2)

Finally, she approached the green canvas awning that heralded the  entrance to the restaurant. It was one of Auckland's longest-standing  and finest eateries-mind you, she didn't expect anything less from Josh  Tremont. A man like him commanded the best at all times, and he wasn't  afraid to pay for it. She should feel flattered, she supposed, that he'd  requested a meeting with her. Obviously, he thought her integral enough  within Palmers that her leaving would cause more of his signature range  of trouble.                       
       
           



       

Callie paused at the threshold to the restaurant lobby. Her reflection  in the highly polished glass door showed that, aside from the  recalcitrant strands of hair and the slight shine on her nose and cheeks  from her power walk to the venue, she looked just fine. She drew in a  deep breath and tucked her slim brown Vuitton document case under one  arm.

The sudden gloom of the entrance forced Callie to push her sunglasses up  onto her head and she scanned the dining room beyond for a sign of  Tremont.

"Can I help you, madam?"

Callie fought back a smile at the hoity-toity demeanour of the maitre  d'. She doubted he'd be as polite if he knew that twelve years ago she'd  dined frequently from the Dumpster at the back of this kitchen and  others like it, but then the insides of places like this were all about  appearances, and she knew all about how important such appearances were.  She arranged her features into a screen of patronising calm before  responding.

"I'm meeting Mr Tremont."

"Ah, yes, you must be Ms Lee. Please, come through. Mr Tremont is already waiting."

His implication that she was late and that Mr Tremont wasn't in the  habit of being kept waiting was painfully clear in the disdainful glance  he cast her. Callie followed the stiff-backed maitre d' as he preceded  her through the nearly full dining room, toward a private alcove near  the rear. She fought the urge to poke out her tongue at the man's back.  But at the sage old age of twenty-eight she knew better than to give in  to impulses that could lead you into trouble.

"Ms Lee for you, sir."

Callie had seen pictures of Josh Tremont in the gossip columns as well  as in business magazines, but she was unprepared for the sizzling power  of being pinned by his electric-blue eyes when he lifted his gaze from  the PDA in his hand. Now she knew what people meant when they referred  to that "caught in the headlights" moment. That time in space when you  froze, unsure of whether to flee or fight.

She'd come prepared for the latter, but face-to-face with the man  himself she wished she'd been in a position to have refused his  invitation outright. A flutter of something she didn't want to admit  might be attraction shifted in the pit of her belly.

"Mr Tremont," Callie said, deciding to take the initiative and offer her hand.

Josh Tremont uncrossed his leg and placed his PDA on the crisp white  linen tablecloth in front of him before standing to accept her hand.  Callie's heart jumped a beat as his long fingers closed around hers and  irrationally she wondered how his hands would feel on other parts of her  body. Strong, capable, warm. Another tiny pull threaded through her  body and yanked, hard.

No wonder the man featured so widely in all the papers. His allure was  overwhelming and, she realised, he'd yet to utter a single word.

He let go of her hand and gestured to the seat opposite, waiting for the  maitre d' to pull out her chair and see her settled before he sat again  himself.

The dark silver-grey suit he wore, teamed with a black shirt and tie,  befitted his outlaw-type dark good looks. And, even though it was only  one in the afternoon, already he'd begun to sport a shadow on his  cheeks-just enough to take the completely polished edge off the man who  she knew was ranked right up there on New Zealand's rich list.

"I'm pleased you could make it, Callie Rose."

Callie stiffened in her chair as his deep voice washed over her like a brush of warm velvet.

"Only those close to me call me Callie Rose," she said firmly,  determined to draw her line in the sand as quickly as possible. "You may  call me Callie, or Ms Lee."

The slow smile that spread across his face was mesmerising. Genuine  humour sparked in his eyes, tiny lines appearing at the corners, before  the corners of his sensually shaped lips pulled into a curve. He bent  his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Callie," he smiled fully now, the full strength of his charisma aimed  front and centre. "Can I offer you something to drink before lunch?"

"Just iced mineral water, thank you."

She kept her posture upright, her features schooled into an expression  of polite disinterest. She would not smile back at him. She. Would. Not.

The man was unscrupulous. Unscrupulous and highly intelligent, and with  every business coup he successfully completed he threatened Palmer  Enterprises just that much more. She would have to work hard to make him  believe he would be using her as his latest stepping-stone to usurping  Palmers' position rather than the other way around.

He placed their order for drinks-to her surprise, ordering the same beverage for himself.

"You don't need to drink water just because I am," she said.                       
       
           



       

"Oh, don't worry. I don't do anything just to make someone else  comfortable," he answered, pinning her with that gaze once more. "Unless  absolutely necessary, of course."

The way his voice dropped an octave on the last few words sent a shiver  across her skin and Callie had no trouble imagining what situation  "absolutely necessary" encompassed. A visual image of bare skin against  bare skin, of the warm touch of a gentle palm, of legs entwined, burned  across her eyes.

Heat gathered deep inside her, slowly unfurling through her lower  extremities and making her want to shift in her seat. Instead, she  reached for the mineral water that had thankfully been promptly  delivered, and took a long cooling sip.

"Thirsty?"

There was an edge of humour to Tremont's voice that slid under her skin to irritate.

"Yes, actually," she answered. "I had quite a walk to get here, and it's warm outside."

"Oh? No parks left?"

"No. Someone in an overpriced set of wheels took the last space." A cold  finger of caution traced a line down Callie's spine but she already  knew it was too late, darn it. Inwardly, she sighed. "It was you, wasn't  it?"

"Guilty as charged." He put both hands up in a gesture of surrender.  "But if I'd have known I was putting you out I would have left it for  you."

"No problem. I'm not afraid of a bit of exercise."

She hadn't meant her words to be an invitation to him to check her out,  but he did. His gaze gliding over her shoulders, her breasts and lower  to where her long legs were crossed to one side of the table.

"No," he said softly. "I'm sure you're not. But still, it would be a  shame to damage those pretty sandals you're wearing. Manolos, right?  I'll drop you back to your car after lunch. Think of it as atonement."

"Really, that won't be necessary."

She was taken aback that he'd recognised the brand of her shoes. Shoes  were her greatest weakness, and considering the years she'd gone either  barefoot, or clad in ill-fitting shoes purloined from clothing recycle  bins, it was a miracle her feet were even in any kind of condition to be  showcased in such extravagant splendour.

"We'll see," he answered enigmatically. "Now, I'm sure your time is  precious. Why don't you choose what you'd like for lunch and we'll get  down to business."

When she was ready, he summoned their waiter over. Callie requested a  Caesar salad and he ordered steamed salmon with glazed asparagus tips.

"Tell me, Callie, how long have you worked for the Palmers?"

Tremont sat back in his seat, one arm slung across the wide back of the  chair in a move clearly designed to be casual and to invite confidence.  The look on his face, however, was anything but. Callie recognised the  keen perusal he gave her as he assessed her body language and prepared  to process her response. She finally allowed herself to smile as she  leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands  lightly together. Let him make from that what he wanted, she thought.

"Since I finished my communications degree," she answered, deliberately not being specific about when that had occurred.

Tremont nodded before speaking again.

"I understand you completed your master's with honours-that's no small feat."

She fought to conceal her surprise. Given his response he knew full well  when she'd attended university. He was just playing her. It was really  no more than she'd expected, she reminded herself, and she was prepared.