Page 3 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

So he sat back and watched, aware that he was seeking a specific reaction. Perhaps even projecting. He wanted her to fight for what she wanted. The way no one had ever fought for him. The way he was fighting for what felt like a lost cause every day.

‘You’re the head of this house,’ she said eventually with that huskiness to her tone that tunnelled more unsettling sensation through him. ‘I stand behind the work I’ve done. And I’ve made my sentiments clear. It’s time for you to choose.’

Her challenge was also clear. Teo held up his hand as Cristobal wound up to launch another voluminous objection. Genius or not, the older man had fallen far short of expectations .

‘You’re right, this isn’t working. We have four months until the pre-season shoot is scheduled to start. You each have six weeks to finalise your collection. The collection that doesn’t make the cut will be excluded and the director fired.’ His tone was a blade, his intent unwavering.

Domene X might be secondary to his rabid devotion to the revered House of Domene haute couture brand, but they both carried his name, represented the legacy he drew pride from, despite everything his mother had done to make him and his twin detest their surname.

To make them feel worthless simply because they’d had the misfortune of being born after the heir.

Despite every detestable slur she’d bandied about to make them ashamed of who they were, how they’d come to be born.

A situation which she’d puzzlingly clung on to and luxuriated in materially with every bone in her body.

He pushed those chaotic thoughts away as his flamboyant creative director rounded on him, face florid with outraged horror.

‘You are pitting us against each other, like some common reality show?’ he spluttered, his thick accent turning his words hoarse.

Teodor’s jaw gritted. ‘Against my better judgement, I’m giving you one more chance to do the job you were contracted to do. If you find that objectionable, the door is behind you.’

The older man’s gaze flickered to the door, then jumped away, as if alarmed he would be transported through it against his will. Teo hid a tired smirk as he waited for inevitable capitulation. Cristobal had few options, and they both knew it.

Sabeen on the other hand…

The quiet pride she wore as close as her gorgeous dark honey-gold skin might get in the way of her accepting his terms. If that happened, he had other cards up his sleeve. But while he was almost looking forward to the challenge, he wanted her easy capitulation too.

He watched her already formidable posture straighten further as she finally locked her gaze on his.

The battle he’d anticipated had arrived.

Parry and thrust. Her rancorous expression of How dare you and You’ll regret this as sharp as that look of contempt she’d meted out that evening on the palace terrace.

Groin heating, he met it with an arched Take it or leave it brow.

She capitulated with an infinitesimal nod, faint colour staining her cheeks and giving away her own recollections of that evening.

He laid out his expectations to them both, barely waiting to finish speaking before his gaze returned to her.

To see her eyelids dropping as if hiding her true expression from him, right before the tiniest flutter of her delicate nostrils and unwavering stare ended with a brisk but husky ‘Accepted.’

Then she rose fluidly to her feet.

The burnt orange clung to every perfect inch of her. The hands she smoothed over her slim, supple thighs the very essence of elegance.

Teo’s belly tightened all over again. Right before he cycled through his mental list of which of the beauties to summon tonight. Because he needed this years-long preoccupation with Sabeen El-Maleh to end. Now!

This little professional storm in a teacup was over. Time to put it in his rearview.

Time to bring out the playboy.

Entrench himself in the comfortable skin of the persona that had been his lifeline since his mid-teens.

Part of him freely accepted that yes, he wasn’t averse to being fussed over by members of the opposite sex.

That far from tarring all women with the same brush that his mother fully deserved, they were the solution to the deep hollow in his soul.

He wasn’t like Azar before his oldest brother had found his soulmate. He didn’t despise all women simply because of the failing of one.

So what if the most important one had turned out be a vile manipulator? He’d used his mummy issues to his advantage. Sought solace where others would’ve avoided it under the cowardly banner of trauma transference. And it’d worked a treat. Hadn’t it?

Acutely aware that he was staring at the only woman who’d called their one sizzling kiss a mistake , then proved she was resistant to his charms by treating him like a plague in their brief meetings since his brother’s wedding; that his gaze had strayed unprofessionally far too many times over her svelte body; and that Cristobal was still in the room, watching Teo’s unwilling attraction unfold, he shot the other man a sharp look.

‘Since you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re on board too?’

Cristobal struggled to his feet, thrusting out his double chin in pitiful defiance. ‘If there is no other way, then I’m on board, as you say.’

Teo waved at the door. ‘Shouldn’t you get on with it, then?’ He couldn’t halt the snap in his voice, his fingers drumming the desk as Cristobal exited.

Proving her insultingly easy aversion to him, Sabeen pranced away on six-inch heels, throwing over her shoulder, ‘I’ll get on with it too, shall I? See you in six weeks.’

Fresh irritation sparked in his belly. She did that to him. Every. Single. Time. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

She froze, then turned in a pirouette he’d seen a thousand times on the catwalk and yet still made his blood rush through his veins.

A small crease dissected her smooth forehead, right before one elegant brow arched. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘The Fashion America Gala is in two days. You’re coming with me.’

Her frown melted away, replaced by displeasure. ‘Wasn’t Cristobal going to be representing House of Domene? With your blessing?’

Was there censure in her voice? He refused to acknowledge it. ‘I had plans to be in Milan, but since your antics have brought me here instead, I’ll be attending. With you instead of Cristobal. Do you have a problem with that?’

‘And if I have plans of my own?’ she parried.

Tension tightened, an unwelcome dissection of what those plans could be, attacking him.

What the hell was wrong with him? ‘Cancel them. And before you object further, remember what you have to gain. Or lose.’ He allowed himself a ruthless smile that made her stiffen ever so slightly.

‘Need I remind you that earning a permanent place as my creative director isn’t just about compiling a collection?

That it’s also about being a team player for the brand as a whole? ’

The threat hung between them, as he’d fully intended.

His passion for creating exquisite designs might be his driving force, but he was also a businessman.

One determined to win at all costs, but specifically for this vital next project.

His chance to earn the rightful respect he deserved and his place in the Domene family tree.

Several seconds of tense silent contemplation later, she nodded. ‘I’ll attend. If you insist.’

‘I shouldn’t have to. It’s your job, so I expect you to be there.’

Her lips pursed, and Teo was astonished by how much that display of temper pleased him. Dios mio , she would be glorious in full rage. Not that he planned on stoking that sentiment in her any time soon. Or ever.

That moment on the terrace where he’d nearly lost total control was an aberration. Never to be repeated.

He skimmed feverishly through that mental list of available women again, sucking in a disgruntled breath when not a single name snagged his interest.

‘I know it’ll sound annoyingly cliché, but since you’ve sprung this on me at the last minute, I hope you won’t need me tomorrow. I’ll have to hunt around for something since I have nothing to wear.’

Absurdly that, too, pleased him. He really needed to have his head examined. ‘No need for a hunt.’

‘What?’

He sagged deeper into his chair, his eyes coasting professionally, he assured himself, over her once more.

Now the idea was planted in his head, he itched to see her wearing his latest one-of-a-kind creation he’d been working on.

‘I’ll have something overnighted from Milan.

I’ll send a car for you in the morning. You can try it on then. ’

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

This was supposed to have been a short, decisive meeting.

Meet with Teodor Domene. Deliver the unequivocal ultimatum she’d been withholding—and dreading—for months. Leave.

Instead she’d been locked in a room with him for over an hour.

Forced to breathe him in. To listen to that rich, raspy sensuality that dripped with every syllable that fell from his too sexy mouth.

Forced to parcel out the handful of times she’d allowed herself to look at him—because any more would seriously risk her equilibrium.

Relive that exquisite, mind-shredding kiss.

Berate herself severely when she’d failed.

She’d tuned both men out just to try and collect herself, catching words like fortnightly and contact , then regretted it when ignoring him had only drawn his attention, a question clear in his narrow-eyed look. She’d nodded and said yes stupidly without knowing exactly to what she was agreeing.

Her belly churned now as she walked in painfully measured steps to the door, the deplorable weakness she’d experienced since their very first meeting on the night of her retirement party—a reaction that had sparked a heated argument—evoking a sense of fury and helplessness that made her yank the door handle far too hard, risking him seeing the further deterioration of her composure.

Damn it!