Singapore Fling by Rhian Cahill Page A

when everyone else they encountered on their
trip home received the same treatment he realized she’d withdrawn
inside herself.
    Whether she pulled away because she considered
them over or in an effort to protect herself he couldn’t say. He
did know he hoped for the latter. He could live with the latter
because it would mean she felt something. More than just a physical
attraction, and that gave him a foundation to work from—something
more than his own emotions and commanding nature. Her brown bag
came around and he grabbed the handle and lifted; the weight
surprised him, he’d expected it to be much heavier.
    He wheeled the two bags to where Carly waited.
She’d dressed for comfort. The eight hour flight, even in business
class, wasn’t exactly the best way to spend a night. Her sweat
pants hung low on her hips, and the T-shirt she had on stopped
three or four inches above the band, giving him a glimpse of the
smooth expanse of her belly. His fingers had itched to reach out
and touch her silky flesh so many times over the last twelve hours
it had just about driven him insane.
    They needed to be alone. Soon. If not, he’d
forget about her standoffish attitude and anyone that might see him
run his hands all over that supple skin and he wouldn’t be stopping
there.
    “Come on. The car will be waiting.” He walked
straight past her, didn’t wait to hear a protest about her finding
her own way home. She wasn’t going to her home.
    “Saxon.”
    Her voice came from behind him. He kept
going.
    “Saxon, wait.”
    She sounded winded, her voice
bringing vivid images of other times she’d been breathless. He
lengthened his stride. If he kept ahead of her she’d be forced to
follow and even though he didn’t want to bully her into a
relationship, he knew he wanted to get her alone somewhere to plead
his case. Their case. This was about both of them.
    They sailed through customs. Neither had
anything to declare and no red flags were raised, so they quickly
found themselves being ushered to the vehicle waiting for them.
Saxon got Carly and their luggage in the car without too much
difficulty and before she could voice another protest they were on
their way. Leaning back against the leather seat, she drew in a
breath, expelled the air on a sigh, and shut her eyes.
    Fifteen minutes into the drive her eyes popped
open and she turned to look out the window. The second she noticed
where they were she jerked forward.
    “Why are we going this way? This isn’t the way
to the office.”
    “We’re going to my place.” He waited for her
reaction.
    Her gaze swung to his, and the uncertainty in
her eyes made him cringe. He didn’t want to confuse her or upset
her but he couldn’t explain fully until they had
privacy.
    “We have to talk.”
    She searched his eyes, his face. Whatever she
found obviously satisfied her because she nodded and sat back
again, and those emerald eyes were slowly concealed by lowering
eyelids. Saxon didn’t disturb her again; the silence, while
strained, wasn’t uncomfortable. Miles ticked away as they got
closer to his eastern suburbs home and his gut clenched, his throat
constricted, the sensation not unlike the hours just before he won
a new contract.
    Only this would be the most important win of
his life.
     
    Carly watched the driver bring in all the bags.
She stood at the living room window, her back to the view, and
watched as Saxon pointed down the hall for the man to take his
luggage into his bedroom. When he returned and took hers in the
same direction, she spun around to find Saxon watching her with
hooded eyes.
    “I’ve been waiting a lifetime to see you in my
house.”
    His whispered words sent a shiver over her skin
and down her spine. “What—”
    He held up his hand as the driver returned.
Saxon handed him a tip then saw him out the door.
    The second it closed she spoke. “Saxon, what is
going on? Why am I here?”
    He walked toward her, slow measured steps, and
stopped a foot