More Than a Fling? (5 page)

Ross flopped back into the sand and groaned loudly. Gorgeous
and pushy...why was life punishing him like this?

* * *

She’d arrived in Cape Town yesterday and so far she’d
kissed a hot man, had a swim in the Indian Ocean and spent some time in the sun,
Ally thought, walking from her hotel room to the lift. That was more excitement
than she’d had all year.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the lift doors, she
nodded her head at her professional look. She felt a great deal more confident
in a short flared skirt and ruffled white top; talking to Ross in that tiny
bikini—the only one in her size in the hotel shop—had made her feel
self-conscious and far too exposed. She’d caught the glances he gave her and
been very glad she’d recently hit the salon for her monthly waxing and
defoliating session. Imagine sitting there with hairy legs, fuzzy underarms and
an untidy crotch—how mortifying that would have been! Ally felt herself blush
and told herself not be ridiculous.

Business, Jones. Try to act professional,
you moron.

Ally rolled her shoulders... It was back to business now and
she would be all and only business. Ross had reluctantly agreed to take her back
to RBM, where he would listen to her whole proposal for the campaign, sit
through her presentation and seriously consider Bellechier’s offer. She didn’t
know if his about-face was because he was embarrassed about his behaviour last
night or because he’d rethought his position, but she didn’t care. All she cared
about was that she’d got a second chance to do her job—a job that she was good
at—and that after this meeting she’d be able to go home to Geneva and tell Luc
that she’d given it her best shot.

If Ross said no she could go on to the next candidate feeling
utterly guilt-free—she’d tried. Luc would be disappointed—and that sucked—but he
wasn’t unfair. He knew that there were some horses—asses?—that were too ornery
and too stubborn to drink when they were led to water.

Ally stepped out of the lift and her heart bumped when she saw
Ross standing by the indoor fountain. His black shorts hit his knee and he wore
a checked orange and white button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. He hadn’t
shaved. She suspected that he left his beard to grow for days until it started
to annoy him and then he shaved again. She wondered what he’d look like in a
suit and tie. Gorgeous, she decided. He had that tall, broad-shouldered,
slim-hipped frame that would make a hessian sack look good.

Ross turned as she approached him and immediately took her
laptop bag off her shoulder and gripped it in his hand. Lazy eyes started at the
tips of her feet and ended on her face.

‘I really,
really
prefer the
bikini, Jones.’

Ally twisted her lips in annoyance but her skin flushed with
pleasure. ‘Can you at least try to be businesslike, Bennett?’

‘But it’s so much more fun making you blush.’ Ross placed his
hand on her lower back to guide her to the lifts that would take them to the
underground parking lot and Ally sucked in her breath at his touch.

Concentrate, Alyssa.

‘Are you always this serious, Jones? Do you ever cut loose,
have some fun?’

No, but she’d never tell him that, she thought as Ross jabbed
the button of the lift.

‘Well,
do
you?’ Ross pressed.

‘Of course I do,’ Ally lied. ‘All the time. I work hard but I
play harder.’

Ross’s thick eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Really? And how, pray
tell, do you cut loose?’

Damn
, Ally thought, thinking fast.
‘I dance. Latin American mostly.’ It wasn’t a complete lie—more like a very
stretched-out truth. She had taken dance classes when she was a teenager and
she’d been pretty good. Until her dance partner had declared that he couldn’t
dance with someone who couldn’t communicate and had dumped her for a tall
redhead who never shut up.

‘Okay, dance. What else?’ Ross said as they stepped into the
open lift.

Okay, now she had to flat-out lie so that he didn’t realise
that she did nothing but work. She fiddled with her watch and thought hard.
Dammit, what did normal people do?

‘I go clubbing, meet friends for supper, go to the theatre.
Movies.’

‘What was the last movie you saw?’ Ross leaned his shoulder
into the wall of the lift, half smiling.

‘Why are you interrogating me?’ Ally demanded.

‘Why are you lying to me?’ Ross countered.

‘And why would you think I’m lying?’

‘Because a person who sends e-mail messages at ten-thirty on a
Saturday night and leaves voice messages with me on a Sunday morning, Sunday
evening and at nine p.m. on Tuesday night does
not
have a rocking social life. She might even be a bit work-obsessed.
And...hmm...who
was
that person?’ The lift doors
opened with a ping and Ross grinned. ‘Oh, wait! That was
you
. So what was the last movie you saw, Jones?’

Ally just scowled at him.
Note to self:
Ross remembers small details. Dammit.

‘No comeback?’ Ross asked as he escorted her across the parking
lot to a clump of motorbikes next to the lift.

‘I’m thinking of a polite way to tell you to a) mind your own
business and b) that you are talking rubbish,’ Ally replied in her coolest
voice—the one she used when she wanted people to back the hell off. Desperate to
change the subject, she looked around. ‘Where’s your car?’

Ross walked to an over-large, stygian black motorbike and
fiddled with a box on the back. Flipping it open, he removed two black helmets.
‘No car—just this. Put this on.’

‘Of
course
you wouldn’t use
something as normal as a car for transport. Too pedestrian for you.’

‘I like bikes,’ Ross said mildly.

‘I like cars.’ Ally glared at the massive bike. It was muscled,
sleek, oozing testosterone...just like its owner. ‘This is the motorbike
equivalent of one of those stupid, oversized petrol-guzzling SUVs...’ She
snapped her fingers in impatience. ‘What are they called? Those stupid big cars
that take up half of the road?’

Ross named the vehicle she was thinking of.

‘That’s it. So,
this
bad boy is the
motorcycle equivalent of that humming car.’

Ross lifted his hand in confusion. ‘What are you talking
about?’

‘When men buy hugely powerful machines like this, psychologists
think that it’s a way of them reassuring the world that they’re not...
ahem
...undersized.’

Ally lifted both shoulders at Ross’s shocked face. It was a
little bit of payback for his earlier comments.

She widened her eyes to look sincere. ‘What? It’s true. I did
psychology as part of my MBA in marketing.’

‘You’re nuts. Men don’t think like that.’ That sexy mouth
quirked up at the corners. ‘And I’ve never had any complaints about the size of
my penis.’

‘The opinions of two old ladies in a lift don’t count,
Bennett,’ Ally quipped, and immediately thought that she’d gone too far.

This was not an appropriate conversation, but Ross had a way of
bringing out her inner Crazy Girl. Dear Lord she hoped that he had a sense of
humour or else she was up the river Caca.

His loud laugh told her he did. His eyes crinkled as he slung
the computer case across her chest and plopped the helmet over her head. ‘You
have a smart mouth, Ally.’

‘I really do.’ Ally tried to push the helmet off but his hand
held it on her head. ‘And it’s trying to tell you that I am not getting on that
bike. It’s big and mean and dangerous. And my skirt is too tight to get on
it!’

There—that should stop the argument. She’d be a civilised
person and take a taxi to RBM and meet him there. And she’d do it without
flashing her panties.

Ross held her hands in his. ‘The bike is just a machine and I
control it. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. As for your skirt...’ he gestured to
the deserted parking lot ‘...nobody will see you get on. It might hitch up an
inch or two. So what? You have great legs that deserve to be shown off.’

‘Flatterer.’

‘C’mon, Jones, it’s a stunning day.’ Ross straddled the bike
and shoved the key into the ignition. ‘Cut loose. Prove to yourself that you
can.’

The sound pounded through her system and Ally licked her lips.
God, how would it feel to have that power beneath her, between her legs?

And the motorbike would be just as good.

‘You won’t regret it, I promise. Stop being uptight and prissy
and get on.’

‘I am not uptight and prissy,’ Ally muttered, knowing that she
was and wishing she wasn’t. Dammit, was she really going to do this? It seemed
she was—if only to show Mr Cool that she could be cool.

Although she guessed that he wasn’t that easily fooled.

‘Don’t peek.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Ross assured her. ‘Throw your leg
behind me and put your arms around my waist. When we’re on the road just move
with me. Don’t fight me or we will crash. I move—you move. Got it?’

Ally heaved in a breath. ‘Got it.’

‘Trust me?’

Funnily enough, she did. ‘Yes. Eyes forward and don’t
peek!’

Ally hitched her skirt up and threw her leg over the bike and
sighed as the leather made contact with the inside of her thighs. Then she slid
down the bike and her thighs gripped Ross’s hips as her breasts slammed against
his broad back. Lust and heat and warmth instantly dialled her panties up from
warm to fire-hot.

‘Jones?’

Instinctively Ally glanced over his shoulder to his left side
mirror and her eyes connected with his warm, heated gaze. ‘What?’

‘I really, really like your red panties. Colour suits you.’

Ally punched his shoulder blade. ‘You sod! I told you not to
peek!’

Ross laughed, and the rest of her protests were lost under the
roar of the motorbike.

FOUR

‘No.’

Ally, who’d finished her presentation, run through the figures
and answered Ross’s many questions, wasn’t surprised by his refusal. From the
moment she’d met him and decided that he’d be perfect for the campaign she’d
known that he’d be a hard sell. He was one of those men who really didn’t need
the ego boost the campaign would provide and, honestly, there wasn’t much of an
incentive for him to do it.

Win! was doing stupendously well anyway, unlike celebrities he
didn’t need his face on billboards and the small screen to keep his profile up,
and he certainly didn’t need the cash they’d pay him.

To be honest, she wasn’t in the least surprised that he’d
turned her down.

What else could she say? Do? Offer her body again? It was
tempting...

Ally scratched the top of her head with her pen and swivelled
her head round when the door to Ross’s office opened and a creature she
fervently hoped was a dog entered the room.

‘He’s all yours, Ross.’ A young man wearing sunglasses and
baggy shorts dropped a leash onto the coffee table next to Ally as the half-dog,
half-cow trotted over to her and shoved its snout into her crotch.

Well, hello there.

Ross and the young man lunged forward to drag him away but Ally
shook her head, grabbed the jowly face and lowered her face to look into the
dark mischievous eyes.

‘You are a big, big boy and it’s very rude to get that fresh on
a first date, mister,’ she crooned, gently rubbing his ears. ‘But you
are
beautiful—even if you are the size of a
spaceship.’

The dog put a ginormous paw on her thigh and Ross saw Ally’s
wince at the pressure. He issued a sharp command and the paw dropped back to the
floor. ‘Sorry. He’d climb up into your lap if you let him. He’s a big baby,
really.’

So this was a surprise, Ross thought. Most people—men and
women—would have pushed themselves into the back of the chair to get away from
sixty-five kilos of muscled, slobbery dog. Ally—supposedly uptight and tense—had
just melted as she instantly bonded with his dog.

Exactly the opposite of what he’d expected her to do.

Ross watched as she pulled her nails along the front of his
chest and was certain that Pic’s eyes rolled back in pleasure.

‘Mmm...either you don’t get any love and attention here or
you’re a big, fat slut,’ she murmured.

‘He’s a slut,’ Ross confirmed. ‘If I’m not around he begs for
affection—and snacks—from anyone and everyone in the building.’ Ross glanced up
at the young man who was still standing at the door. ‘Thanks, Guy. Can you run
him tomorrow same time?’

‘Sure,’ Guy agreed.

Guy’s eyes had widened at the love-fest happening between Pic
and Ally and Ross shrugged. They both knew that Pic took his own sweet time
warming to people, so this was very unusual behaviour indeed.

‘What breed is he? Some sort of mastiff?’ Ally asked as Guy
shut the door behind him.

‘Neapolitan mastiff,’ Ross answered, impressed. ‘A blue,
because his coat has that blue sheen.’

‘Does he have a name?’ Ally asked as Pic rested his jowls—and
there were many of them—on her bare knee.

‘He has many, but the breeders named him Piccolo. I mostly call
him Pic.’

Ally took a moment to make the connection and when she did she
laughed out loud, dimples flashing. ‘Piccolo is Italian for small. Somebody’s
idea of a joke?’

‘He was the runt of the litter,’ Ross explained. ‘They never
expected him to be half the size of his siblings, but he’s turned out to be the
best of the bunch. The breeders keep hinting that they’d like him back.’

Ally covered Pic’s ears so that he couldn’t hear his words.
‘Don’t say that in front of him,’ she chided. ‘You’ll make him feel
insecure.’

Ross laughed at her goofiness. ‘He’s a dog, not a child,
Jones.’

Ally stroked his crinkled face and Pic sighed. ‘Ignore him,
darling, you and I both know that you are a fur person. You said you
mostly
call him Pic? What else do you call him?’

‘It varies and very much depends on whether he’s eaten another
pair of my shoes, the carpet, or the pipes in the pool.
Some choice swear words
usually spring to mind,’ Ross said on a
smile.

‘Poor baby.’

Ross let her words drift over him. ‘Thank you. I’ve got about
six left flip-flops at home. Why can’t he eat the flip of a pair if he’s already
eaten the flop? Why does he have to start on a new pair?’

‘I was actually speaking to Pic, not you,’ Ally said, her hand
on Pic’s massive neck.

‘Oh.’

Pic yawned, flopped to the ground at Ally’s feet, rested his
massive head on his equally massive paws and closed his eyes. Ally felt like
doing the same. Instead, she tossed her pen onto the coffee table between them,
stood up and stepped over Pic and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass
wall, past the walkway that meandered around the four sides of the building and
gave access to the offices on this floor and the craziness of the main floor
below them.

To her, his office set-up was utterly bizarre. In the indoor
quad below there were couches and huge TV screens playing music videos.
Headphoned people played video games in front of another enormous wide TV
screen. Very few people worked at desks, laptops seemed to be the popular
choice, and his staff lounged in couches or chairs tapping at their
keyboards.

The occasional mini rugby ball sailed across heads from one
side of the light-filled room to the other, and weirdly dressed people with
bright hair, tattoos and piercings sat at a bar in the corner, drinking coffee
and chugging energy drinks.

A pot-bellied pig snored at the BDSM-booted feet of a girl with
bright pink hair and tattoos—she looked about sixteen, with Goth make-up—who was
having a ferocious argument with a Sheldon-lookalike nerd.

It was a crazy set-up and she’d go nuts if she had to work
here. It was too busy, too chaotic, but it seemed to suit Ross perfectly.

‘How do Pic and the pig get along?’ she asked.

‘They’ve learnt to tolerate each other,’ Ross answered.

‘I think Pink-Haired Girl is about to stab Sheldon Lookalike
with a letter-opener.’

Ross stood up to see where she was looking and shook his head.
‘No letter-openers. We are mostly a paper-free environment. And Kate and Hardy
always argue—that’s why they are really good partners. They bring out the best
in each other.’

Ally shook her head in disbelief. ‘She just threw her can of
soda at him.’

Ross shrugged. ‘He must like it since they’ve been married for
three years.’

‘
Married?
You’re kidding me!’

‘Nope. They are also two of the most exciting game designers I
have ever met. Kate is stunningly creative and she pushes Hardy to get him to
translate her visions, characters and stories for a game into code. He says he
can’t do it and she nags him until he does.’

Ross picked up her Bellechier fountain pen and rolled it
between his fingers.

She couldn’t work in an environment like this. She liked quiet,
class, structure. This would be too weird—too ‘out there’ for her. The noise,
the movement, the fizzing energy would drive her nuts. ‘How do they
concentrate?’

Ross leaned his shoulder into the glass. ‘When I hire new
people I find out how they like to work. Some people like privacy and quiet, and
some—like these lot—need noise. If I need the skill and they need quiet I make
that happen. Next to the refreshment bar is a door that leads to another wing of
this building where there are a series of offices where quietness and sanity
prevail. My second-in-command and my quiet-loving staff, and the accounts
people, work out of there. They have their own entrance so that don’t have to
deal with the rabble.’

Ally couldn’t help smiling at the amusement in his voice. ‘You
love the craziness, the rabble?’

Ross lifted a shoulder. ‘I admire anyone who thinks outside the
box, who isn’t scared to be themselves—even if that self is a pink-haired,
potbellied-pig-loving, tattooed creature with more holes in her skin than a
sieve. Everyone just wants a place where they can do what they love to do and be
who they are. For these people RBM is that place.’

Ross’s look heated her skin.

‘And
you
love the corporate
world.’

‘I do—probably as much as you hate it,’ Ally agreed.

She walked back to the desk, shut down her laptop and closed
the lid. Pulling herself back to the reason she was there, she sucked in her
bottom lip and thought she’d try once more.

‘Is there anything I can do or say that would get you to change
your mind about the campaign?’

The words danced between them and Ally squeezed her eyes shut
when she realised what she’d said.

She held up her hand as heat spread up her neck and into her
face. ‘I cannot believe I said that...again.’

Ross’s laugh was low and perfectly suited for the bedroom. ‘I
try not to repeat past mistakes.’

‘Now that you’ve seen what is involved and what we want, any
suggestions about who else we can approach?’ Ally slumped back down into a
chair. ‘Because if you’re not going to do it then I am utterly stuck. Up the
creek without a paddle.’

‘C’mon, Ally, there must be tons of people who can be your
face.’

‘You’d think,’ Ally said glumly. ‘But Luc wants “different” and
you were our bad-ass CEO.’

Ross laughed at that. ‘Seriously? Jeez!’

He linked his hands across his stomach and watched her with
those intense eyes.

‘You have a tiny frown that appears between your eyes when
you’re stressed or thinking.’ He rubbed the area between his own brows to
demonstrate. ‘Why is this one campaign so important? Surely this happens
often?’

Ally took her time answering his question, deciding how much to
tell him. ‘It’s the first campaign I’m fully in charge of—the first since my
promotion to Brand and Image Director a couple of months ago—and I’d like it to
be fabulous. Secondly, this is a brand-new line and it’s crucial that it flies.
Bellechier hasn’t launched a new line in years—new products yes; an entire new
brand, no. We suspect that we’ve lost our younger clients to trendier labels and
this is our way to get them back.’

‘So no pressure?’ Ross said, deadpan.

‘No pressure.’ Ally, not wanting to leave him just yet, looked
for a way to keep their conversation going. ‘Tell me about your think tank.’

Ross explained how the project worked—that designers and
inventors from all over the world submitted their ideas and concepts to a panel
of experts and if, after investigation, a project seemed feasible, they were
invited to Cape Town to spend some time on the top floor, working on their
project. The foundation picked up their salaries and living expenses and
provided them with the specialised equipment they needed for a limited time.

‘It’s a damn expensive exercise, though; I need to go looking
for additional funding as some of the projects I’d like to explore need
equipment we don’t have and I can’t fund through RBM,’ he added, wincing. ‘I
hate fundraising... I’d rather have my legs waxed.’

‘Hmm...’ Ally touched the top of her lip with her tongue as an
idea took shape in her mind. His think tank needed money. She knew of a
foundation that had money. He just had to do one little thing for her...

* * *

‘So let me get this straight... You will talk to your
foster father, who heads up the Bellechier Foundation, and tap him for funding
for my think tank if I agree to be the face for your campaign?’ Ross asked,
after she’d explained that she had a solution that would work for all of
them.

Ally smiled at his grumpy statement. ‘Pretty much.’

‘Blackmail is still blackmail, even if it’s wrapped up in a
sparkling bow, Jones.’

Ally grinned. Blackmail? What a harsh word! ‘I call it
scratching each other’s backs,’ she replied.

Ross looked sceptical. ‘And what chance do I have of getting
funding from the Bellechier Foundation?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell them it’s a condition of you being the face. Luc
wants you; I want you. You want funding and the foundation funds. The foundation
is family-run, and if Justin likes the project he’ll fund it. Lucky for you that
he loves technology,’ Ally said blithely, feeling like a serene swan on the
surface of the water but paddling like hell underneath.

She was so close—so damn close...

Ross pushed the pads of all his fingers into his forehead. ‘Are
you going to pull any other rabbits out of your hat today?’ he demanded,
sounding irate.

‘You never know.’
Just say yes, Ross. Come
on. Three letters, one syllable...

‘You secure the funding. I’ll do it.’

Ross named a figure and Ally forced herself not to react—not
because the figure was sky-high but because it wasn’t. Jeez, that wasn’t even
half
of what they’d pay him to be the face.
Despite his many offers of co-branding it was clear that Ross had never got as
far as discussing how much his game and his face were worth...which was far more
millions than he thought.

And if the foundation didn’t cough up, then Bellechier itself
would. Ross simply didn’t understand how valuable he was to them. His appeal was
enormous: to women because he was hot, to men because he had the cool factor,
and to the intellectuals, geeks and nerds because he was so damn smart.

‘I’m sure we could push that figure up,’ Ally said to sweeten
the pot. ‘Like double or triple it.’

Ross’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. So, do we have a deal?’

‘You secure me the funding and then we have a deal.’ Ross
glanced at his watch and walked over to his desk. He scribbled something on a
piece of paper and picked up his razor-thin laptop. ‘I have a conference call in
ten minutes with Japan...in the boardroom. When are you flying out?’