Driving Him Wild
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Zara Cox
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HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
THERE WERE CERTAIN markers I’d come to rely on over the years. Markers that signified what sort of day was in store for me.
Opening my eyes exactly sixty seconds before my alarm went off was a good starter sign. My assistant getting my coffee at ninety-one point seven degrees, not the scalding one hundred degrees most people thought was the ideal temperature for the perfect cup of java? Wonderful.
Progression from car to lift to corner office without a single one of my three hundred plus staff interrupting my seven hundred and fifty-seven steps? Utter perfection.
Precision and order equalled harmony.
There was nothing precise or orderly or harmonious about the deep rumbling voice firing off questions at my hapless crew fifty feet from where I stood, perfect coffee rapidly cooling in my hand.
No one had approached me...yet, because I’d taught my people to handle problems well.
And also, I knew deep down to my very bones, because I was who I was.
Graciela Mortimer. The woman who went by many monikers.
Billionaire heiress.
Goddess of Charity.
Queen of Cash.
Or the most frequently used—and the one I hated the most—Bitch Ice Princess.
There was some sort of irony in remembering that here, standing underneath the distant shadow of the ice-covered Alaskan Range, on a frozen lake scant miles from the Arctic Circle while surrounded by minions poised to obey my every word. But wasn’t my life one giant fucked-up expression of the term? Prime example—hadn’t I, in my feverish attempt to not draw attention to myself, inadvertently become the public face of a global conglomerate? That in fervently wishing to be ordinary, remove myself from the harsh spotlight of being a Mortimer, I’d somehow achieved extraordinary status, earning myself, not one or two, but three prestigious magazine cover appearances and a mantel full of accolades?
Nevertheless, if the frenzied media coverage over the last year were an indication, my achievements paled significantly in comparison to the man who’d arrived twenty minutes ago in a flurry of a dozen husky-pulled sleds, sleek but weathered in all-white winter gear and reflective sunglasses, and a whole hour late.
Jensen Scott.
World famous adventure photographer.
Half-English, half-Danish on his mother’s side. And according to Elsa, my mostly efficient if sometimes too day-dreamy assistant, possessor of killer jawline, fuck-me hair, body and eyes.
In short, six foot five of extremely fuckable man.
From where I stood, I could confirm the six-foot-five stature.
I could also confirm that the man possessed a certain intangible...presence, the kind that tweaked even my jaded senses. The kind that compelled and intrigued.
With the ever-present threat of a snowstorm and precious few hours of remaining daylight, everyone had pressing tasks to be getting on with. Yet even those scouts tasked with looking out for unfavourable visits from curious polar bears and other Arctic wildlife were distracted by our latecomer.
That straying from procedure grew increasingly unacceptable, sparking my uncustomary temper. The kind normally tightly controlled and unleashed on the very deserving. Like certain members of my family.
Incomparable talent or not, right this moment, the man dressing down my project manager without so much as raising his voice higher than the cold, frozen landscape around us was jumping on my last but one nerve. Not quite the last because that was reserved. For what exactly? I wasn’t sure. But the instinct I’d learned to heed told me save that last nerve.
Because I’d be needing it sooner rather than later?
Shame I didn’t listen to that caution twenty-odd years ago, back when I’d needed it most. If I had, my life would’ve been oh, so different than it was now.
You sure about that? You think escaping your destiny would’ve been that easy?
I ignored the cynical voice in my head that sounded eerily like my mother’s and narrowed my eyes at the small gathering.
Larry, my normally unflappable project manager, was positively quaking. And it had nothing to do with the freezing wind blowing off the frozen Alaskan lake we currently stood on.
I discarded my coffee and forced my limbs to move, swearing for the umpteenth time to fire my stylist the moment I returned to London. Despite the five-thousand-dollar insulated winter gear she’d sworn high and low would keep me warm and toasty, I was freezing. And I was most definitely not in a mood for temperamental Nordic men whose broad shoulders looked as though they’d been hewn from the very glacier I stood on.
‘Problem?’ I asked as I approached.
Jensen Scott turned.
And every single one of Elsa’s proclamations zinged off in my brain.
Fuck-me eyes. Tick.
I was hit with a set of eyes so glacial and blue and transparent, the hard kick to my gut took me by surprise.
Killer jawline. Tick.
His square jaw looked sharp and solid and chiselled enough to cut diamonds, despite being covered in a dusting of dark blond stubble and snow flecks.
Fuck-me body. Tick.
Even under several layers of insulation, the Viking-god build of the man was unmistakeable. His shoulders went on for ever, as did his rangy torso and tree-trunk legs.
The fuck-me hair I couldn’t verify on account of the snow-white beanie covering him from forehead to nape. Not many guys managed to pull off a beanie. Jensen Scott managed to pull it off with extra aplomb.
Suck-me lips.
My own addendum to Elsa’s list.
Tick.
A thinner upper and slightly overfull lower, his mouth was the perfect ingredient for wet-making sex fantasies. The kind you could imagined latched onto your clit for hours while his tongue went to work.
A flash of heat blazed through me, welcome only because of its life-saving purposes. The rest of it—that sweet sting to my clit, that plumping of my labia, the slow slide of hot liquid I hadn’t felt in a while and almost convinced myself had become unimportant—I intended to ignore the same way I’d been ignoring the demands of my libido for the better part of a year. It wasn’t worth it any longer to go against what I’d denied for the better part of a decade. What I now knew went deeper than a mere proclivity—my utter and unapologetic need for complete control. A hunger I’d attempted to feed with the wrong men and the wrong choices until I’d decided, no more.
Those eyes that looked as if they were sparked with sky and snow narrowed at me. ‘And you are?’
I chose not to be offended. Hell, I was even a little glad to not be instantly recognised. ‘I’m in charge here,’ I stated.
To his credit, he didn’t do that subtle double-take some men did when confronted with a woman in charge. Nor did he look to Larry for verification. He simply accepted my word, even while his nostrils flared with his displeasure.
‘The problem is that Larry here has been less than candid with me, haven’t you, sir?’ he accused. His deep, low voice held the faintest Scandinavian accent, probably from his Danish motherland. The kind that made my ears prickle with a need to hear him speak more, just so I could hear the inflexions in that beautifully modulated accent.
Or perhaps it was that sir?
I kicked myself into touch, tightened my hold on control before even the mere idea of indulging in scandalous thoughts strayed into my consciousness.
‘How exactly have you been deceived?’ I pressed.
I trusted Larry implicitly. He’d been with me almost from the beginning of what had been a throwaway job cobbled together by my family to shut me up. A project they’d hoped would occupy my time and stop me demanding an active seat in the boardroom. Little had they known that I would breathe my very life into it until it was an equal force in its own right on the Mortimer Group business radar.
That the award-winning charitable foundation Fortune 500 companies clamoured to be a part of and the associated Mortimer Quarterly magazine named the number one for three years running would become an integral part of the family company.
These days I turned away more requests from family members eager to promote their own sectors of the family business almost as much as I turned away other public business requests.
In content and advertisement alone, the magazine was scheduled almost twelve months in advance. Which was why nothing could be allowed to get in the way of its smooth running.
Not even the man lauded as a genius with a camera. The man currently casting a disdainful eye over the assembled crew, the two heavy-duty glacier helicopters standing two hundred feet away waiting to transport us away from this beautiful-but-deadly frozen tundra once we were done, and the half-dozen tents set up around the camp, before meeting mine.
His eyes lingered a second or two longer, a touch of sensual awareness stealing into his face when his gaze dropped to my mouth. And stayed.
Two of the huskies began yapping at each other. A sharp whistle from Jensen silenced them immediately. He blinked and shifted his gaze, and that tight little frisson of awareness dissipated. ‘This isn’t what I signed up for.’
‘Let me get this straight. You turn up an hour late only to inform me that you won’t be doing the job you’ve been contracted to do?’
Everyone around us grew still.
‘I despise subterfuge, Miss...what did you say your name was?’
‘I’m Graciela Mortimer.’ I held out my hand.
Recognition finally dawned as he slowly tugged off his thick glove. His gaze left my face, travelled down my body to my feet before rising again. His large hand engulfed mine and his expression heated up by a degree or two. Not the kind of instant appreciation I was used to but even that sent another spark of awareness through me. Drew my attention back to those lips. To everything I would’ve let myself imagine they could do. If I were interested.
Which I most definitely was not, I told myself, ignoring the slight surge of disappointment when he dropped my hand and tugged his glove back on.
‘Miss Mortimer. I wasn’t aware you would be here.’ His tone suggested what most did. That the Ice Princess of Charity only got involved with her work when it was time to throw another gala to raise money for her various causes. That, like most, he also believed not every project I put my name to was mine from inception to execution. That I merely dabbled until boredom led me elsewhere.
I glanced at Larry, who was writhing in discomfort. ‘I know you’ve been dealing with Larry, but I’d appreciate you explaining to me what exactly is going on here. What exactly were you told?’
‘I was led to believe this would be a wildlife shoot.’
His emphasis didn’t go unnoticed.
‘And that’s exactly what it is.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me, but if that’s the case, why do I see two helicopters and supermodels and stylists all around me? I’m not sure what your definition of wildlife is, but it’s certainly not supermodels in the wild.’
That untamed urge rose, the one I’d been fighting to tamp down or ignore for most of my life. The need to put him in his place in a way he would never forget. To have him on his knees. To dominate...
I chose a different route. ‘Like it or not, beauty sells, Mr Scott. Each of those models you object to is attached to a company and an article in my magazine that seeks to promote awareness of global warming. And while you might find it distasteful, together with the Mortimer Group, we’re raising almost a billion dollars for the cause. Surely the ultimate goal is what matters in the end?’
‘No, it’s not. Because all this—’ he cast a wide, irate arm at the crew ‘—does nothing but disturb the very wildlife you claim you’re here to protect.’
Irritation swelled to annoyance. ‘My people did their research and chose the course that would have minimal impact on this location. Had you turned up when you were supposed to an hour ago—’
‘It wouldn’t have changed a thing. Bears. Seals. Melting glaciers. The occasional bald or golden eagle if you’re lucky. That’s what Larry hired me to photograph. And I was late because the huskies needed a rest. Four of them are in training, a process which requires patience and time. Not unlike the very wildlife you’re here for. Turning up an hour ago wouldn’t have been a guarantee of a wildlife sighting. Especially not with the kind of commotion you and your crew are creating.’
Again, my gaze flicked to Larry. He avoided my gaze, confirming that something had gone seriously wrong, somewhere.
‘Excuse me, Mr Scott. I need a word with my PM.’
Jensen Scott held my gaze for several seconds, then he nodded and strode several steps away. Again, that urge fizzled, alerting me to the fact that it was merely dormant, not dead. I pushed it away and focused on Larry.
‘I’m sorry, Gracie,’ he blurted before I could speak. ‘All the guys I interviewed either didn’t come close to what we wanted or were booked months in advance. I heard on the grapevine that Scott had a very rare cancellation and I—’
‘You thought you’d lie your way into signing him?’
He grimaced. ‘I didn’t think he’d object this strongly. After all, he did the thing with the Danish royal family and a few high-profile people recently—’
‘We’ve known each other for almost ten years, Larry. That’s the only reason I’m not firing you on the spot. Pull another stunt like this and it’ll be your last. Are we clear?’
He paled further, then nodded gruffly before glancing over to where Jensen was petting one of his huskies. He murmured to the dog and the creature responded with rapt adoration. The few words that drifted over in the chilled breeze didn’t sound like English.
‘Do you think he’ll stay?’ Larry asked. ‘Do you want me to—?’
‘No.’ My objection emerged much stronger than I’d anticipated. ‘I’ll deal with Mr Scott. Just alert the crew that there might be a change of plans.’
He nodded immediately, his certainty that I’d get what I wanted infusing me with confidence as I approached Jensen.
Sensing my approach, he straightened and speared me with those glacial eyes. ‘Well?’
I shrugged. ‘It does appear a few...liberties were assumed about your hiring.’
His lips firmed, but he didn’t reply.
‘So, what will it take for you to stay?’
Something glinted in his eyes. Something that tugged at a vicious need inside me. Then he shook his head. ‘Nothing. I would never have signed up for this.’
I swallowed a swell of irritation. ‘Seriously? You’re that opposed to what I’m doing?’
‘Not what you’re doing. Just the way you’re going about it.’
Patience. Don’t lose your shit on him.
‘There are sixteen-wheelers trundling along the highways of this state every hour of every day of the year so deeper mines can be excavated and more oil can be drilled. Amongst other things. And you have a problem with a twenty-four-hour shoot over a small area to bring more awareness to a growing problem? A shoot that you’ve delayed by turning up late, I might add.’
He shrugged, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile before he grew serious. ‘I have a problem with those trucks too. And the mining and drilling, if that makes you feel better.’
‘Let’s talk hypothetically. Or better... I’ll give you one minute to pitch me your version of how this would go if you were in charge.’
Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Perhaps I was imagining it. Or perhaps that lance of searing awareness that tunnelled through me was really a result of that look I’d caught on his face. The look that tugged at that desperate need again. The one that said were I to put him on his knees, Jensen Scott wouldn’t mind. That perhaps he would even...welcome it?
My heart leapt, even as I tried to throttle down its wild sprint. What if my instinct was wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d misjudged a potential suitor. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d wholeheartedly trusted my instinct only to end up with ashes.
Still... I stared at him. Watched his face tighten with rejection. But not before I caught a look that treacherously resembled...longing.
Perhaps longing he resented me for?
He turned away, breaking eye contact to lean down to pet the nearest husky. ‘I’d pick one person to be the face of your campaign. Find a way to feature everyone else in another capacity. Your cause might mean something to every one of your crew, but they don’t all need to be here to make it count. One person can represent a million.’
For some reason his sound argument made my mouth dry, my heart beat just a touch faster. ‘And who would you pick—again, if you were in charge?’
This time I saw a tangible reaction to my deliberate choice of words. His jaw clenched, his nostrils thinning. ‘You want to make an impact. Pick the person who has the biggest voice.’ He stared at me in that direct and pointed way that left me in no doubt who he meant.
‘Me.’
He shrugged. ‘You decide.’ Glacial eyes met mine. ‘I’m not in charge.’ You are.
It was a silent gauntlet thrown at my feet. A brief relinquishing of his control as his eyes deliberately dropped.
Was this a test? Would he dare?
Something heavy and profound unfurled inside me, threatening to unleash that forbidden yearning I’d kept in chains. Again, he turned away, this time to check the reins attached to his sled.
Look at me when I’m talking to you.
I bit back the words, took a steadying breath. ‘I’ve spent a considerable amount of time and money to make this shoot happen. Leaving empty-handed would make me very unhappy.’
He tensed for a moment, but he didn’t look up.
My heart beat faster. ‘Do you want me to be disappointed, Mr Scott?’
‘Jensen,’ he offered with a low but distinct rasp, still without looking at me. ‘Call me Jensen.’
A surge of blood roaring in my ears made me dizzy for a moment. Then a peculiar elation rushed through my veins. One I desperately wanted to deny but found I wasn’t quite ready to. Not just yet. Not until I was absolutely sure this man who effortlessly blended into this landscape as if born to it was what...who my instincts were screaming him to be.
A submissive.
‘Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to send everyone but the most essential crew away. And you’re going to stay and deliver the shoot you promised me.’
He stopped toying with the reins and turned around. When his gaze met mine, his face was carefully neutral, making me doubt my instinct. ‘You don’t have the right equipment to travel over long distances and different terrain. Your PM was very vague with my agent—now I know why. I came here to find out more about what you need from me...from this project before I started. Even with what you deem an essential crew, you’ll have to wait for more sleds to arrive from Utqiagvik. That’ll take the better part of half a day.’
I raised my eyebrows as, for whatever reason, my heart banged even harder against my ribs. ‘So you’re suggesting no crew at all?’
‘At the most, I can make room for one more on the sled. Any more means more weight on the sleds and more weight for huskies to pull.’
Just you and me... ‘You want me to stay here on my own. With you?’
His eyes glinted before they blinked back into careful neutrality. ‘Have you been keeping an eye on the weather reports?’
Someone on my crew had. ‘Of course.’
He looked sceptical. ‘Then you’ll know that in less than three days’ time the sun will set for the next couple of months. Today and tomorrow are your only chances to get the variety of photographs you want.’ He waited a couple of beats, no doubt for his words to sink in. Then he took a breath. ‘What’s it to be, Miss Mortimer?’
Call me Graciela.
It was an automatic invitation to new acquaintances and potential donors. Call me Graciela was so I wouldn’t be reminded that I was a Mortimer. That the blood of an unfeeling, dysfunctional dynasty ran through my veins. It reminded me of the many times I’d attempted to correct that dysfunction, when I thought I knew better, believed I was different. A misguided, cruelly awakening time I would wipe my brain clean of if I could.
The words hovered on my lips but never emerged.
Because I wanted clear, definitive boundaries between myself and this man.
Boundaries I was curious to see whether he would breach. Whether he would prove me wrong.
Or...right.
Dangerous, forbidden boundaries. The kind that had the power to wreck my sleep, turn my daydreams inside out with dark yearning.
‘Larry,’ I called out without taking my eyes off Jensen. His gaze stayed on my face, dropped to my mouth for a charged moment before returning to mine.
I heard Larry hurry over. ‘Gracie?’
‘Tell the crew to pack up.’
‘We’re leaving?’ The disappointment in Larry’s voice was distinct.
I gave a single shake of my head. ‘Everyone else is. I’m staying.’
‘Oh? For how long?’
‘As long as it takes. What will I need, Mr Scott?’
He didn’t correct me this time or invite me to use his given name. ‘I have a satellite phone, but if you wish to keep yours, two is better than one. A couple of changes of clothes, in case you get wet.’
‘Food? Water?’
He shook his head. ‘I have enough to get us through the day.’ A hint of hard smile tilted the corners of his lips. ‘Be warned, it’s more utilitarian than gourmet.’
I let the mild insult bounce off me. If my instinct was correct, he’d learn his lesson soon enough. ‘I can rough it for a day or two without expiring from the horror of it all.’ I looked past him to the covered trailer attached to his sled. ‘Speaking of roughing it, where will I be sleeping?’ Thoughts of my warm hotel suite back in Anchorage filled me with longing for a short moment before I pushed them away.
Did he just swallow? ‘I have a tent if we decide to stop for the night. Or my cabin is a couple of hours’ sled ride away.’
Larry cleared his throat. I glanced at him to find him frowning. ‘Are you...you’re really staying here on your own?’
The veiled ‘Are you mad?’ in his tone drew equal amounts of irritation and amusement. But more than that, it drew intrigue and possibilities directed at the man standing tall and delicious in front of me. Twin emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in a long time. Because inevitably both had led to painful disappointment.
‘There’s a chance to salvage something from this debacle. Or would you rather I scrap it and call it a failure?’ I asked Larry.
‘Of course not. I just meant...’ He paused, casting a dark glance at Jensen.
‘I think your PM is worried about your safety,’ Jensen said with a trace of amusement.
I didn’t smile back. I was a Mortimer after all. And as with most individuals with nine or more zeros attached to their bank balances, I’d been at the receiving end of a few security scares. I couldn’t afford to be blasé about it, even in an icy wilderness like Alaska. ‘Should he be?’ I tossed at him.
Every trace of humour vanished. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you. You have my word.’
For a taut stretch our gazes locked, unspoken words arcing between us. ‘Instruct the crew,’ I told Larry without taking my eyes off Jensen. ‘No need to freeze here if you don’t have to. Tell Elsa to pack me a change of clothes and get going. I’ll check in tonight.’
He knew better than to argue with me. Barely ten minutes later the small camp was all packed up and aboard the helicopters.
The apprehension I should’ve felt at being alone with this...captivating stranger was curiously absent as I watched my crew leave. Behind me, Jensen stashed my bag under the tarp covering the trailer then approached. I didn’t look his way as he stopped next to me.
‘I spotted a mother bear and her cubs feeding about half an hour from here near a broken ice floe. We can start there if you want?’
I shifted my gaze from watching the choppers turn into dark specks in the sky. ‘You’ve had that information since you got here and chose not to share it?’
He shrugged, drawing my attention to one broad shoulder. ‘It wouldn’t have helped if you hadn’t been inclined to see things my way. In the time it would’ve taken to gather your crew to get there, they’d have been gone.’
Neat answer while delivering the punch he no doubt intended to. ‘You don’t think very highly of me, do you?’ There was a distinct sting to that knowledge, one quite different from the dull throb of pain I’d experienced over decades of holding my emotions inside.
‘I don’t know you. I’m only going on what I’ve seen so far.’
‘Are you? Then why do I get the impression you’ve already made up your mind about me? Is it perhaps because you believe you know me despite us having only just met?’
‘Are you accusing me of something, Miss Mortimer?’
I studied the profile he insisted on presenting to me. There was a tightness around his mouth and jaw that spoke to more than the face-value conversation taking place. ‘Yes, I am.’
His delicious lips pursed for a second. Then he exhaled. ‘The dogs are rested; we can probably make it in time if we leave now.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m accusing you of?’
His gaze finally turned my way, and the endless depth of icy emotion swimming within nearly made me sway. ‘No. My statement goes both ways. You don’t know me either, so whatever you think of me is most likely flawed.’
‘Ah. So that’s how we’re going to proceed, is it?’ I asked softly. But he caught the steel I hadn’t disguised. ‘First, we skirt each other warily, assessing weaknesses before we land the first punch?’
This time his lips twisted in a cynical twitch. ‘I’m sure you have far better things to do than to waste time delving into what makes me tick.’
His tone suggested he applied a very heavy vice versa to his statement. And despite the icy weather, my blood heated up. I reined in sweet, exhilarating control with a subtle clench of my fingers.
‘You’re right. But I wouldn’t have needed the time anyway. I know exactly who you are, Mr Scott.’ This time the gleam in his eyes was fairly mocking. But before he could tailor words to that look, I added, ‘And I also know exactly what you are.’
The gleam faded as if extinguished, his face settling into an inscrutable mask. And even though his gaze stayed on mine, everything about him bristled with restlessness. An almost visceral need to...deny.
Except he couldn’t. Not without denying a vital part of himself. Not without perhaps...letting himself down? But he strained against exposing his true self to me until his struggle was as real as the snow beneath his feet.
God, what had happened to him?
An equally visceral need to know attacked me, punching right through my defences to that secret vault I’d sealed shut once and for all.
Five seconds ticked by. Ten.
After twenty, his head snapped forward, his jaw jutting out with aggression that spoke of his turmoil. An aggression I wanted to wield beneath my fingers. To test and twist and mould into something sublime.
My breath shuddered out, astonishment at my train of thought nearly overwhelming me.
‘The day needn’t be wasted. Or we can waste time and your money on a hypothesis that leads nowhere.’
I allowed myself a small laugh, saw a slight tensing of a different kind in his frame as he heard it. ‘My hypothesis is definitely leading somewhere. Otherwise why else would you be so wound up? But by all means let’s change the subject.’ I waved a hand at the vast white tundra. ‘Take me to your mama bear, Mr Scott.’
