The Dare Collection January 2019 - JC Harroway Mills & Boon Series Collections

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over something on the desktop. There was no one else around.

      The desk was positioned in front of my office so she had her back to me. She didn’t turn around as I came out, completely absorbed in what she was doing.

      I moved up behind her silently, a little trick I’d learned from Ajax after finding out what my father had been doing with my talent for numbers. I’d never been overly interested in physical skills the way Ajax was, but after that I’d wanted to know how to defend myself, not to mention how to attack. Leon had told me that Ajax had taught him and so I’d wanted to learn. And he’d shown me all kinds of useful things. Such as how to stalk someone without them knowing you were there.

      Poppy remained oblivious as I came nearer, enough to see over her shoulder and catch a glimpse of what she was working on.

      It looked like she was...drawing something.

      She shifted in her chair, giving me a better look, and, sure enough, she was drawing what appeared to be a house in a hardcover notebook.

      The house was on the edge of a cliff with what looked like the sea beneath it and lots of trees all around it. But it wasn’t simply a picture of a house. There were plans too—floor plans. Sketches of rooflines and angles, accompanied with various measurements. On the page opposite were small photos that had been stuck in, of houses that looked similar to what she was drawing, inspiration pictures from the looks of it.

      For a second I forgot my anger, fascinated by that house.

      Numbers and money had always been my forte, but I’d been in the property development industry for five years and I knew a good building when I saw one. And I was looking at one right now.

      It was simple, functional and yet there was a certain clean elegance to it that appealed to me very much.

      Had she designed this? Was this her work?

      Then she moved again, a shift that drew my attention to the flare of her hips and the curve of her butt in the chair, and all my anger and fierce desire abruptly came flooding back.

      So, not content with playing me, she was now taking time out to draw when she should have been working. Had she finished the tasks I’d given her? I didn’t think so, not when I’d made sure to give her enough work for the whole day and then some.

      Clearly drawing houses was more interesting.

      Well, that wasn’t happening. Not on my dime.

      I closed the distance without a sound, putting my hands on the back of her chair and gripping it tight.

      Then I swivelled it around to face me.

      ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Poppy?’

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       Poppy

      XANDER’S VOICE WAS HARSH, his black eyes boring into mine. He was bending over me, six foot three of broad-shouldered furious male, his hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in.

      I couldn’t speak, shock still ringing through me, my heartbeat wild and out of control.

      I’d been so absorbed in drawing I hadn’t heard him come up behind me. But then that was what happened when I was designing—I tended not to be aware of what was going on around me.

      It was stupid to have taken out my sketchbook, but I’d finished most of the tasks he’d set me and thought I’d take a little time out to finish sketching the roofline on my house.

      It was the only way I could stop thinking about him and that kiss, and the feel of his warm fingers around my throat; about his mouth on mine, hard, demanding and hot; about the taste of him, rich and dark, like the spiced rum I’d stolen from Augustus’s liquor cabinet one night during a party.

      ‘Well?’ he demanded, fury pouring off him. ‘Explain to me why you’re drawing on company time.’

      I wanted to say something snarky, but my brain had temporarily short-circuited. He was so close, those long-fingered hands that had been around my throat now wrapped around the arms of the chair.

      His face was inches away, the planes and angles of it strong and powerful, fitting together so beautifully. A perfect structure.

      I wanted to touch it, run my fingers over his cheekbones and nose, his forehead and jaw, the deceptively soft curve of his bottom lip.

      Stupid. He was furious with me and I wasn’t sure why. Sure, I’d been drawing, but only for about five minutes, not long.

       Nothing to do with kissing him in his office, nope.

      But why would that have made him so angry? I shouldn’t have done it, responding blindly to the challenge he’d thrown at me, but it was just a kiss. A kiss that had shaken me down to my bones, yet surely not a big deal for him.

      Except the glitter in his eyes now... It couldn’t be just because I was sketching, surely?

      I forced myself to answer calmly. ‘I’ve done most of that list you gave me so I thought it wouldn’t matter if I finished something personal. I’ve only been doing it for five minutes.’

      His gaze went to the desktop where my sketchbook was and instantly I wanted to reach for it, to hide it from him.

      It was deeply personal that book, my collection of favourite buildings and the designs for a house I’d been dreaming of since I was a teenager. A house that I’d designed just for me.

      It was based a little on the Kings’ family home, where I’d gone to live at age ten and had loved because it was built on a clifftop and looked out over the sea. But it wasn’t mine and I’d never got over the feeling that I didn’t belong there.

      I’d never belonged anywhere.

      There had only been one occasion where I’d felt at home and that had been one morning when the Kings had all been out and I’d been at home alone. So I’d gone for a swim in the pool—naked since there wasn’t anyone around—and imagined that the house was mine. That I’d belonged there.

      It had been such a good feeling that afterwards I’d gone out and got myself a sketchbook and I’d started designing a house that one day I would build for myself.

      That house was in that book now and if there was one person I didn’t want to show it to, it was Xander King.

      I couldn’t stop myself, reaching for the book before he did, but he was too fast, snatching it off the desktop before I could get hold of it.

      Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

      ‘It’s just a few sketches,’ I forced out, trying to sound calm and not claw the book from his hands. ‘No big deal.’

      The book was open but he didn’t look at it, his dark eyes on mine instead, gauging my reaction.

      I couldn’t let on how much that book meant to me. I couldn’t let him see my dream home, all laid out on the pages like the innermost parts of my soul.

      But I must have looked too desperate because he snapped it shut suddenly and said, ‘Get into my office. I want you to explain to me why drawing in this book is so much more important than doing the tasks you are paid to do.’

      Anger sank its claws into me, sharp and painful.

      ‘Why are you being such a bastard?’ I burst out, unable to help myself. ‘Like I said, I’ve done most of what you told me to do. And I’ve only been sketching for five minutes.’

      His eyes glittered coldly. ‘If you want to see this book again you’ll get your ass into my office now.’

      The word ‘now’ was like an electrical current, shocking me, and I could almost feel the pressure of his fingers around my throat again, pressing lightly against

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