Not Just the Boss's Plaything(43)

Only this woman. As she had once before.

It was funny. It was. He was certain he would laugh about it at some    point, and at great length, but first? He needed her. Back in line where    she belonged, back securely in the role he preferred her to play, and    he ignored the small whisper inside him that suggested that there  would   be no repairing this. That she would never again be as  comfortably   invisible as she'd been before, that it was too late, that  he'd been   operating on borrowed time since the incident in Cadiz  three years ago   and this was only the delayed fallout-

"I am leaving," she told him, meeting his gaze as if he were a naughty    child in the midst of a tiresome strop, and enunciating each word as if    she suspected he was too busy tantruming to hear her otherwise. "You    will have to come to terms with that and if you feel it necessary to    file suit against me, have at it. I booked a ticket to Bora Bora this    morning. I'm sorted."

And then, finally, his brain started working again. It was one thing for    her to take herself off to wherever she lived in London, or even off   on  a week's holiday to, say, Ibiza, as he'd suggested. But French    Polynesia, a world away? Unacceptable.

Because he could not let her go. He refused. And he wanted to examine    that as little as he had the last time he'd discovered that she wanted    to leave him. Three years ago, only a week after that night in Cadiz    he'd seen-and still saw-no point in dredging forth.

It wasn't personal, of course, then or now; she was an asset. In many    ways, the most valuable asset he had. She knew too much about him.    Everything, in fact, from his inseam to his favorite breakfast to his    preferred concierge service in all the major cities around the globe, to    say nothing of the ins and outs of the way he handled his business    affairs. He couldn't imagine how long it would take to train up her    replacement, and he had no intention of finding out. He would do as he    always did-whatever was necessary to protect his assets. Whatever it    took.

"I apologize for my behavior," he said then, almost formally. He shifted    his stance and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers,    rocking back on his heels in a manner he knew was the very opposite of    aggressive. "You took me by surprise." Her gray eyes narrowed    suspiciously, and he wished that he had taken the time to learn how to    read her as thoroughly as he knew she could read him. It put him at a    disadvantage, another unfamiliar sensation.                       
       
           



       

"Of course I will not sue you," he continued, forcing himself to keep an    even, civil tone, and the rest of himself in check. "I was simply    reacting badly, as anyone would. You are the best personal assistant    I've ever had. Perhaps the best in all of London. I am quite sure you    know this."

"Well," she said, dropping her gaze, which he found unaccountably    fascinating. She said something almost under her breath then, something    that sounded very much like that's nothing to be proud of, is it?

Cayo wanted to pursue that, but didn't. He had every intention of    cracking her wide open and figuring out every last one of her mysteries    until he was sure that none remained, that she could never take him by    surprise again, but not now. Not here. Not until he'd dealt with this    situation the only way he knew how.

Which was to dominate it and contain it and make it his, by whatever means necessary.

"As you must be aware, however," he continued, "there will be a great    number of papers to sign before you can leave the company.    Confidentiality agreements being the least of it." He checked the watch    on his wrist with a quick snap of his arm. "It's still early. We can    leave immediately."

"Leave?" she echoed, openly frowning now, which was when it occurred to    him that he'd never seen her do that before-she was always so very    serene, with only the odd flash in her eyes to hint at what went on in    her head. He'd never wanted to know. But this was a full frown, brows    drawn and that mouth of hers tight, and he was riveted. Why could he  not   tear his attention away from her mouth? The lines he'd never seen    before, making the smooth expanse of her forehead more interesting    somehow? It made him much too close to uncomfortable. As if she was a    real person instead of merely his most prized possession, exhibiting    brand-new traits. Worse, as if she was a woman.

But he didn't want to think about that. He certainly didn't want to    remember the only other time he'd seen her as anything more than his    assistant. He didn't want this woman in his bed. Of course he didn't.    She was too clever, too good at what she did. He wanted her at his beck    and call, at his side, where she belonged.

"My entire legal team is in Zurich," he reminded her gently. "Surely you    have not forgotten that already in your haste to leave?"

He watched her stiffen, and thought she would balk at the idea of a    quick trip to Switzerland, but instead, she swallowed. Visibly. And then    squared her shoulders as if a not-quite-two-hour trip on the private    jet was akin to a trial by fire. One that she was reluctantly willing  to   suffer through, if it would rid her of him.

"Fine," she said, with an impatient sort of sigh that he did not care    for in the least. "If you want me to sign something, anything, I'll sign    it. Even in bloody Zurich, if you insist. I want this over with."

And Cayo smiled, because he had her.





 CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIME THE helicopter touched down on the helipad on the foredeck    of the gently moving luxury yacht, Dru had worked herself into what she    could only call a state.

She climbed out of the sleek little machine only when she realized she    had no other choice, that the pilot was shutting it down and preparing    to stay on board the great yacht himself-and Dru did not fancy  spending   who knew how long sitting in a helicopter simply to prove a  point. She   was quite certain that Cayo would leave her there.

On some level, she was bitterly aware she really should have expected    he'd pull a stunt like this. Unabashed abduction. Simply because he    could.

So, in spite of the fact that she wanted to put whole worlds between    them, she found herself following Cayo's determined, athletic stride    across the deck, too upset to really take in the sparkling blue sea on    all sides and what she was afraid was the Croatian mainland in the    distance. The sea air teased tendrils of her hair out of the twist that    had been carefully calibrated to withstand the London drizzle, and she    actually had a familiar moment of panic, out of habit, as if it  should   still matter to her what she looked like. As if she should  still be   concerned that he might find her professional appearance  wanting in some   way. It appalled her how deep it went in her, this  knee-jerk need to   please him. It was going to take her a whole lot  longer to quit the Cayo   Vila habit than she'd like.                       
       
           



       

And the fact that he had spirited her away to the wrong country didn't help.

"You do realize this is kidnapping, don't you?" she demanded. Not for    the first time. The difference was that this time, Cayo actually stopped    and looked at her, turning his dark head slowly so that his hard gaze    made every hair on her body prickle to attention. She sucked in a    breath.

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked silkily. At his most    dangerous, but she couldn't let that intimidate her. She wouldn't.    "Nobody forced you to come on this trip. There was no gun to your back.    You agreed."

"This is not Switzerland," she pointed out, trying to keep her rising    panic at bay. "It doesn't even resemble Switzerland. The sea is a dead    giveaway and unless I am very much mistaken, that is Dubrovnik."