She hesitated, her hand suddenly slippery on the phone. It was just dinner, she told herself. With a very sexy man. And something about Alex Diaz, about his cold sense of purpose...well, scared wasn’t quite the word. But close to it.
He was a man, she realized, who would take absolute control. And she was the one who needed to be in control, who insisted on it in all of her relationships, no matter if it was the man who fixed her dishwasher or the one she took to her bed. She called the shots. Always.
Somehow she didn’t think Alex Diaz would play by her rules, with her in charge.
And yet she wasn’t ever one to back down from a challenge. “All right,” she finally said. “I have a standing reservation at Le Bernardin—”
“Very nice, but we’ll do this my way. See you tomorrow.”
And then, to her immense irritation, he hung up on her. Chelsea stared at the telephone receiver for a full ten seconds before slamming it back in its cradle. She cursed aloud. He’d only hung up on her because he knew exactly what she was trying to do—and he wouldn’t let her do it.
Her irritation turned to amusement, even a grudging admiration. Maybe she’d finally met her match.
Twenty minutes later she received a text on her phone: Your place. 7 pm.
She wondered how he’d got her private mobile number, but then realized that Alex Diaz could probably get any information he wanted. He owned the most respected news network in the country. She suppressed the twinge of alarm that thought caused. She had far too many secrets to have a man like Alex Diaz curious about her.
It would, she acknowledged reluctantly, be safer to nip this one in the bud. Say no to dinner, no to any possible opportunity on his network, and definitely no to sex.
How would Alex Diaz be in bed? As arrogant and assured as he was in person? She pictured those strong, capable hands on her body, that mobile mouth on her skin. He would dominate in the bedroom, she thought, but he would do it so wonderfully that the woman in question wouldn’t care.
Desire coursed through her in a hot rush, doused quickly by the ensuing icy shock. Just what the hell was she thinking, getting excited by a man like Alex Diaz? He was arrogant, controlling, and he could potentially be her boss. Three strikes against him already. And yet she couldn’t deny that she wanted him, and she wanted him the way he was: in charge. Commanding. Dominating.
Good Lord.
Slowly Chelsea shook her head, disgusted with herself. Had she learned nothing in ten years? Hadn’t three years of humiliation and heartache, not to mention a significant stint in intensive care, been enough?
She might consider working for Alex Diaz, she decided, but she definitely wouldn’t think about sleeping with him.
Or perhaps vice versa.
Shaking her head, annoyed with her own flip-flopping thoughts, she opened her laptop and turned back to her work.
The next evening she stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom and inspected her reflection. She’d put her hair back in a tight, sleek bun, and wore discreet pearl studs in her ears. Her makeup was smoky but understated: nothing come hither about just a touch of mascara and lip gloss. And the dress was definitely on the modest side, while highlighting her assets. Made of cream cashmere, cinched at the waist with a gold link belt, it covered her up from neck to knee. It looked subtly sexy, but still professional. And that’s what she needed to be tonight...because she still wasn’t sure what Alex Diaz wanted with her, or what she wanted with him.
In the twenty-four hours since their phone call, she’d thought about canceling their dinner, just not going in that direction at all. As tempting as the possibility of working for Diaz News was, and possibly having a respected news show on his network, she also knew Alex wasn’t promising anything and it would be far safer, far saner to stay away from a man who already affected her too much. But walking away was weakness, and Chelsea never let herself be weak.
No, she’d go to dinner with Alex Diaz, find out if he really was considering her for something on his network, or if, like so many other men, he was just trying to talk her into bed.
And if he was?
Well, maybe she’d take him up on it. The thought made alarm and excitement churn inside her, an unsettling mix. Alex Diaz was so, so different from the men she normally took to bed.
But that made him exciting. A challenge. If she could control him, make him weak with wanting her...
Hell, if that wasn’t the most potent aphrodisiac in the world.
The phone connecting her apartment to the lobby rang, and answering it Chelsea told the doorman she’d meet Alex in the lobby. He wouldn’t come upstairs unless she invited him.
This evening, like everything else in her life, would be on her terms...no matter what Alex intended or thought.
Alex was inspecting a modern sculpture on display in the lobby when she came out of the elevator. Dressed in a charcoal business suit, cheeks flushed with cold and a faint five o’clock shadow drawing attention to the hard line of his jaw, he was too gorgeous for words, damn the man.
“What do you think this is supposed to be?” he asked and Chelsea tore her gaze away from him to glance at the twisted iron-and-copper monstrosity she’d never bothered to notice before.
“I don’t know. A tree?”
“Some tree.”
Her lips twitched in a sudden smile. “Not a fan of modern art?”
“Not this kind.” He swept his gaze over her, leaving warmth in its wake. “But I am an admirer of the art of understatement.” His gaze lingered on her figure in its close-fitting cashmere dress. “Definitely that.”
She tingled. Everywhere he looked, she felt her body treacherously, wonderfully respond. Melt and ache and want.
She smiled coolly, forced all those feelings away—and almost succeeded. “So where are we going, if not Le Bernardin?”
He placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the building. “Le Cirque.”
Chelsea slid into the limo idling at the curb, every nerve ending tingling from his light touch. Alex followed her inside, stretching his arm out along the back of the seat so his fingers just barely brushed her shoulder, as they had the last time she’d been in his limo. He looked completely relaxed and barely aware of what he was doing, but Chelsea knew right down to her bones that the little touch had been intentional. And it had had, she suspected, Alex’s intended effect. She felt edgy and aching, restless and uncertain.
Not the way she wanted to start the evening.
“Le Cirque?” she repeated. “Now, that’s a bit predictable.”
He glanced at her, his expression inscrutable in the dim interior of the car. “How disappointing for you. I suppose I’ll have to try harder next time.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to try hard at all,” Chelsea answered flippantly. “I’m sure you expect women to fall at your feet.”
He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “They’re not much use to me there.”
“Oh?” She let her gaze sweep over him in lingering assessment, and felt a fierce stab of satisfaction at the sight of the heat flaring in his eyes. “Where are they of use to you, Alex?”
“Oh, in a variety of places. And positions.”
Chelsea arched an eyebrow. “How intriguing. Care to specify?”
His lips curved in a cool smile, his gaze locked on hers. “Not at the moment.”
“Perhaps later?”
“Perhaps.”
She