Meeting: Chapter 3

Lachlan

The storm had come up quickly and had begun to rage outside, but I barely registered the sounds of wind and rain lashing against the windows. My entire world had narrowed to the bewitching young woman sitting mere inches away.

Quinn Pearce.

The ambitious journalist who had been doggedly pursuing me for over a year, determined to unravel the truth behind my empire. I'd agreed to this interview out of grudging respect for her tenacity, fully intending to reveal just enough to satisfy her curiosity while keeping her at arm's length. Giving her the standard lines and backstory my team and I had carefully crafted over the years.

But now, seeing her in front of me with the storm raging around us, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her -- a moth to the flame.

It would be so easy to lose myself in those luminous eyes, to drown in their whiskey-warm depths. To let that lush pout of lips part for me, to taste the sweetness of her mouth...

The thought sparked a rush of heated need through my body, one I ruthlessly tamped down. Getting involved with this woman would be a dangerous proposition - one I couldn't afford. Not only was she a journalist, she had to be a good twenty years younger than me. Neither of these attributes making her a smart choice to get involved with.

And yet, I realized that some primal part of me was quickly becoming obsessed with the idea of possessing her. Of stripping away every last one of her secrets and making her mine. And while my intense focus was one of the attributes that had propelled me to success over the years, allowing this obsession could be my downfall.

The thought should have repulsed me. Instead, it only stoked the flames of a hunger I hadn't felt in years.

"Mr. McIntyre?"

Her soft voice snapped me out of my daze. I blinked, realizing I'd been boxing her in, staring at her with unrestrained intensity for God knows how long. Pulling back, I straightened and moved to take my seat behind the desk, putting a safer distance between us.

"My apologies, Miss Pearce," I said, struggling to regain my customary control. "The storm has me...thrown off. You were saying?"

A faint crease marred her brow as she studied me, clearly picking up on the shift in my demeanor. To her credit, she didn't call me out, simply relaunching into her line of questioning.

"I was hoping you could elaborate more on your background. Your rise to power seems almost...meteoric. What drove that ambition from such an early age?"

The question allowed me to slip back into a safer, more familiar role - the businessman, always in command. "I had a...unique perspective from a young age, you could say. I came from nothing, and I was determined to create something more for myself. To build a legacy that couldn't be taken away."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the vague response, that keen intellect picking up on the fact that I was holding something back. "But you didn't come from 'nothing' in the typical sense, did you? There have been rumors about your family background for years - rumblings of old money and aristocratic ties."

A muscle ticked in my jaw as she pushed against the careful boundaries I'd established around my history. She was too bloody perceptive for her own good.

"I can assure you, Miss Pearce, any rumors of an aristocratic background are just that - rumors. I'm a self-made man who clawed my way to the top through hard work and determination."

Her lips pursed, clearly not fully convinced. But she seemed to sense she'd hit the limits of what I was willing to reveal on that front for now.

"Fair enough," she said after a beat. "Then tell me - what drove those first business ventures? How did you go from a young, ambitious man to a titan of industry building a multi-billion dollar empire?"

I studied her from beneath lowered lashes as I considered my response. She truly was a captivating creature - the delicate heart-shaped face, the wide, expressive eyes. That lush pout that seemed to beg for the stroke of a man's thumb...or perhaps his tongue.

Ruthlessly, I derailed that dangerous train of thought. Getting distracted by carnal needs would only lead to ruin. I was in control here - of the interview, of my own impulses. I had to remain vigilant. Lifting my drink to my lips again, I bought myself a few moments to gather myself before I spoke again.

"It started with a few calculated gambles," I said, my voice taking on a slightly harder edge. "I had the intelligence and instincts to spot opportunities where others saw risks. And I was willing to be...ruthless in order to seize those opportunities."

Something flickered in those whiskey-warm depths at my words. Curiosity? Or a hint of trepidation at the implications behind them?

"You're saying you had no qualms about playing dirty in order to get ahead," she stated, holding my gaze unflinchingly.

A slow, predatory smile curved my lips. "I'm simply saying I understood the rules of the game from a young age, Miss Pearce. That in order to attain real power and success, one must be willing to do whatever is required."

Her throat worked as she swallowed, though her eyes remained locked on mine. "And what, exactly, did that entail? What lines were you willing to cross?"

The question hung heavy between us, laden with unspoken challenges. She wanted the truth - all of it, no matter how ugly or unsavory. I could see the hunger for it burning in those expressive eyes.

And in that moment, some deeply buried part of me felt a perverse urge to give it to her. To let her glimpse the darkness lurking beneath the surface, the lengths I'd gone to in pursuit of my ambitions.

It would be a mistake, of course. One that could threaten to unravel everything I'd so meticulously constructed over the years.

And yet, the thought of shocking her, of watching those beautiful eyes go wide with scandalized fascination, made my blood burn with dark, forbidden heat.

"Lachlan?"

The sound of my name on her lips - my first name - snapped the moment of tension between us. I blinked, feeling as though I'd been jolted from a trance.

"Perhaps we should take a break," I said, the words coming out far more brusque than I'd intended. "This storm doesn't appear to be letting up anytime soon."

Disappointment flickered across her features, but she gave a slight nod of assent. "Of course. We can pick this up again later."

"Yes," I said, rising from my chair and moving toward the window. "Later."

I stared sightlessly out at the raging storm, my mind whirling. What was this strange effect she seemed to have on me? This unsettling ability to make me teeter on the edge of baring the darkest corners of my soul?

It was undeniably reckless, and yet...some part of me craved it. Craved letting her see the truth, no matter how shocking. Craved her reaction, her acceptance or her revulsion.

The thought should have repulsed me. Instead, it only intrigued me more.

"I'll have Sims show you to back to your rooms," I said, turning back to face her. "I'm afraid you'll have to remain on the island until this storm passes and the airstrip can be cleared. It is quickly developing into a full typhoon."

Those lush lips parted, clearly wanting to protest the dismissal. But something in my expression must have warned her against it. With a slight incline of her head, she rose from her chair.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. McIntyre. I look forward to continuing our discussion."

The words were polite, professional. And yet, the look she shot me before turning on her heel fairly smoldered with unspoken challenge and something...smoldering.

"Lachlan." The need to hear my name on her lips again churned in my chest.

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me Lachlan." I turned to face her again, trapping her gaze with mine.

A faint tug pulled her plush lips into a small smile. "Okay. Thank you, Lachlan. Please call me Quinn."

The moment stretched out, one heartbeat, two, before Sims thankfully arrived to save me from myself and led the intriguing woman away from me.