by Robin Gideon
Faye noticed a split-second of disapproval from Mr. McClusky, just as she had expected. But beyond that unconscious display of his true feelings, he merely murmured, “Yes, Mrs. Smythe.”
As Faye led the men into her office, she knew she had made a point that had not been lost on either Radburn or Dirk.
The men took their seats in straight-backed chairs facing Faye’s enormous polished oak desk. It was not to her liking because of its grandiose size, but she had inherited it when Michael had died. She continued to use it to give employees and clients a sense of continuity now that she was in charge. She had to admit, though, that the desk held a tactical advantage. It was impossible to sit in a simple straight-backed chair and not understand that in this room, the real power rested in whoever was sitting in the high-backed swivel chair behind the massive oak desk.
“Now then, gentlemen, how can I help you?” Faye asked pleasantly.
She adjusted the position of the ink pot on the desk’s precisely arranged surface. Faye liked having a place for everything, and having everything in its place. A cluttered desk, she felt, was a sign of disorganization. Whenever possible, hers was a precisely arranged world.
The men exchanged a glance, communicated silently, and then Dirk spoke. “We had a four-year contract in place with your husband, Mrs. Smythe, and that contract is due to expire in six months. I know we’ve got time here, but we’d like to get a contract extension.”
“Yes, you men are the joint owners of McB Enterprises.” Faye had glanced at the business agreement a week earlier, but hadn’t done much more than that. With the contract expiration date months away, she had more pressing deadlines with which to concern herself. “I believe it is you, Mr. Boyd, who owns the railroads here in England, and you, Mr. McSwain, who has the tea plantations out of the Orient.”
“You’ve got us switched around, but that’s us.” Dirk smiled. “And please—call me Dirk.”
Faye smiled, although she was disappointed at her mistake. It made sense, she decided, that it was the broad-shouldered Scotsman who was the railroad man, and it was the sleekly built, dark-haired man who ventured to the far corners of the earth in search of riches. She intended to know, as soon as possible, every professional agreement in minute detail that pertained to London International Transport. Knowledge was power, and Faye was all too aware that she had powerful enemies…especially in her own family.
Mr. McClusky entered with a wheeled cart laden with a hand-painted china tea set. As he picked up the tea pot, Faye stopped him. “Thank you, but I’ll serve our guests, Mr. McClusky.”
Faye’s secretary gave her a strange look and then left the spacious office, closing the door behind him.
“I think you’ll like the tea here,” Faye said as she rose from her chair, feeling the gaze of the two men upon her. “We serve your tea, Mr. Boyd.”
He smiled at her, amusement rich and warm in his piercing, blue eyes, and Faye’s stomach fluttered. She didn’t quite understand it. She ignored it, poured the tea, and placed the iced cakes on the saucers, playing the courteous hostess while understanding full well that sometimes one took the superior position when doing what appeared to be a subordinate task.
“It’s been a profitable arrangement for all parties concerned,” Dirk said as he took the cup and saucer from Faye. “I grow the tea on my plantations in the Orient and ship it to England through your shipping company. Radburn takes possession of the tea at the docks and, through his railroads, transports it and other goods throughout England and Scotland.”
Faye took her seat again, sipped her tea, and wondered if these two men—one either a third or fourth generation of the British aristocracy, and the other a raw-knuckled, self-made millionaire from Edinburgh—were really as professionally competent and socially charming as her senses were telling her they were.
Forty-five minutes later, Faye had her questions answered. The men were, indeed, both charming and competent. Faye understood now why so many women had fallen under their collective erotic, virile spell. But once an agreement to renew their shipping contract for another year had been met, Faye really had no reason to keep Dirk and Radburn in her office any longer—yet she found herself wanting them to stay. Even though her work schedule, which she vigilantly maintained, was being completely thrown off course, she wasn’t at all interested in watching either man leave her office any time soon.
When Radburn finally glanced at Dirk and both men unfolded themselves out of the chairs that had seemed quite small with them on them, Faye experienced an unprecedented stab of disappointment at their imminent departure from her office, possibly for an entire year.
“I’d like to thank you gentlemen for coming here,” she said as she stepped around her desk. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to call on me.” Her throat tightened. She’d never before made such an open-ended offer to a client. So it was even more surprising when she added, “I’m here if you need me.”
Faye extended her hand to Dirk. He took it, and she was unprepared when he bowed and kissed the back of it. When he straightened, she looked into his eyes and was stunned at the startling blue brilliance shimmering there.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Smythe,” Dirk said, his voice fractionally softer than the conversational tone he had used earlier, the timbre richer and more evocative, which touched Faye in the subtlest of ways. “And if it isn’t out of line for me saying so, I believe that London International Transport is in even better hands now than when Radburn and I first signed our contract.”
He paused a moment, his long-fingered hand still clasping Faye’s gently but firmly, perhaps even a bit possessively. “You’re smarter than Michael. You pick up things quicker than he ever did.” He continued to look directly into her eyes, and her heartbeat accelerated. “I have a confession to make.”
Though she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to hear intimacies from this exotically alluring man, Faye heard herself ask, “Oh, and what might that be?” She had meant to keep her tone casual, but even to her own ears her voice sounded strained, her words forced through vocal chords curiously constricted by emotions she couldn’t name.
“I was worried when I first heard your husband had passed away, fearing that Derwin would take Michael’s place at the helm of London International Transport. To be honest with you, I’ve never thought much of the man.”
Then you’re a good judge of character, Faye thought, and then wondered why his assumption pleased her so.
Radburn added, “And then when Dirk and I found out that Michael’s lovely young widow was going to be taking over—I must confess that we had our doubts. But you’ve put our doubts to rest.” He took Faye’s left hand and kissed the back of it. “It’s easy to see that my partner and I are in good hands.”
Faye wondered if the last statement was a double entendre, and she suddenly felt very small with the two big men holding her hands. Small…but not insignificant, and that was a critical distinction since the Smythe family, including her deceased husband, had often made her feel superfluous—especially when she had disappointed one and all by giving birth to a girl instead of providing the requisite male heir.
Radburn and Dirk’s collective gaze was directed toward her, focused solely on her, and with an intensity she’d never before experienced—not even when Michael had made love to her. She searched for some casually witty response, needing words that would hide the fact that her heart was pounding and that the heat of their hands surrounding hers was going straight into her blood, even though the men were only touching her hands and nothing more.
Dirk, the taller of the two, kissed Faye’s hand once more and murmured, “Very good hands. Soft, delicate…but capable hands that will guide London International Transport on a very profitable course.” He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and inhaled gently, as though savoring the air as a connoisseur might the bouquet of a particularly rare and fine wine. “Hands belonging to a woman who smells of neroli, wit
h the most delicate hint of sandalwood. Unless my senses are deceiving me, your perfume of choice is Chateau du Beaux.”
The fact that Dirk’s senses were fine-tuned sufficiently for him to know her perfume, even though she used it sparingly, delighted Faye. It also opened up a whole new set of questions about this strangely thoughtful and handsome man she had considered only one more member of the idle rich who amused himself with transient sensual pleasures and pointless chatter.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Boyd. You didn’t strike me as a man who would be knowledgeable of such things.” Faye thought briefly of pulling her hands away from Radburn and Dirk, though the idea didn’t last long. “Chateau du Beaux isn’t common in England.”
“The creator, Ernest Beaux, is an acquaintance of mine,” Dirk replied casually. “He creates perfumes for the czarina and her friends. It would be remiss of me to not recognize a dear friend’s skill.”
The grandfather clock chimed the noon hour. All three people in the second-floor office looked at the clock, its pendulum arm swinging slowly behind the glass front plate with London International Transport etched in swirling curlicues, as though they were burglars who had suddenly been seen in the midst of their crime.
Radburn squeezed Faye’s hand. When she turned her gaze toward him, he said, “Perhaps it would be appropriate if we celebrate our new contract by breaking bread. I know of a spectacular restaurant not far from here that serves the finest steaks in London.” He glanced at Dirk. “We have a standing table, so we won’t have to wait to be seated.”
“Where has the time gone?” Faye asked, suddenly fumbling terribly with words when she was usually so articulate. Her emotions were oddly chaotic, and it seemed as though there was very little air in the room. “I really have so much work to do and—”
“You must eat.” Dirk’s voice was a purr. The statement was innocent yet flavored with delicious carnality.
Faye’s nipples suddenly tightened, and she worried that with her underbust corset, their traitorous condition would reveal far more about her emotional state than she wanted these men to know. She felt threatened by Dirk and Radburn, though she couldn’t say why.
Radburn pulled Faye a half-step closer and said, “Certainly a celebration is in order.”
“But I must stay here,” Faye replied automatically, her voice now barely more than a whisper. It seemed as if she had stepped in quicksand and was slowly being sucked under by forces that confused and tempted her in ways she couldn’t understand. Her tone was oddly bewildered as she concluded, “I have so much to do.”
Dirk stepped so close to Faye their bodies nearly touched. He raised her hand and placed it on his shoulder. Despite her misgivings, Faye found herself pleased with the quality of the lightweight wool beneath her fingertips. How long had it been since she’d touched a man?
“Perhaps a kiss,” Dirk said, raising his left hand until he touched the underside of Faye’s chin with a curled forefinger, tilting her face up slightly so it was at a more advantageous angle, “to commemorate our agreement.”
“But—”
Faye wanted to say more. To explain she was not the type of woman who commemorated anything with a kiss. She was a widow with a young daughter, and she simply wasn’t the type of woman who went about allowing men she hardly knew to kiss her. Especially not men with a reputation for having a bevy of transient bedmates.
But Faye’s sound judgment and clear reasoning could not compete with her decidedly feminine and thoroughly treasonous body, which had not been caressed by a man in more than three years. And even then, that man—her husband—hadn’t possessed the dangerous allure that exuded from Radburn and Dirk.
When Dirk’s lips brushed across Faye’s and then sealed over her mouth more intimately, her eyes closed of their own volition. She became infinitely aware of the firmness and pressure of his lips against hers. His right arm eased around her waist, and he pulled her past that last critical six inches. She trembled softly. Her left breast, feeling overfull and tight where it was propped up on her underbust corset, pressed against Dirk.
The kiss may have lasted thirty seconds. It might have lasted an hour. Faye wasn’t at all certain. All she could say with confidence was that her body had responded more quickly, and with greater intensity, to that kiss than from any Michael had ever given her. By the time Dirk ended it, Faye’s breath came in quick, shallow gulps.
She looked up into the Englishman’s crystal-blue eyes, her mouth still tingling from the kiss, her nipples feeling jewel-hard, her clitoris newly awakened. And she felt a little dizzy, as though perhaps she’d had a second or third glass of champagne on a very hot day and the sun had suddenly overcome her.
Radburn raised Faye’s hand and placed it on his shoulder exactly as Dirk had. Touching her chin, he turned her toward him and murmured huskily, “Dirk and I are equal partners.”
Disoriented by an escalating desire unprecedented in her love life, Faye asked, “In everything? Always?”
“No. You are unique,” Radburn said before capturing Faye’s mouth with his own. The kiss ended briefly, and he added, “We never counted on you.”
His kiss was firmer, more demanding than Dirk’s. Or so it seemed. Faye’s impression might not have been accurate because reality had become a concept of which the young widow was no longer certain. Not when she had a broad-shouldered, handsome Scotsman kissing her. When his arm went around her body beneath her shoulders, and he pulled her in tight, her feminine senses became profoundly aware of his harnessed strength as her right breast compressed against the solid wall of muscle that was his chest. Faye knew Radburn had the strength to hurt her, but though this awareness caused a shiver of fear to slither up her spine, she instinctively realized a moment later that hurting her was something he would never do. At least not intentionally. Radburn’s bearish strength was the kind that protected a woman instead of harmed her.
The tip of Radburn’s tongue touched Faye’s lips, the probe paradoxically delicate considering the power of the man delivering the oral caress. Faye hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she parted her lips just a fraction, the move a clear but timorous invitation. Radburn’s tongue made a shallow approach then eased side to side, caressing the sensitive nerve endings in Faye’s lips before retreating.
She uttered a soft sigh of discontent when she was deprived of Radburn’s enchanting tongue, but she wasn’t denied for long. His second incursion was deeper, more commanding, his tongue seeking the tender and sensitive places, the most responsive tissue. Faye’s tongue danced with Radburn’s, and her soulful whimper of carnal surrender shocked her because it wasn’t a sound she had made in years.
By the time Radburn put a temporary halt to his kissing, the slick nectar of Faye’s passion lubricated the delicate, pink lips of her pussy. Her clitoris pulsed with an empty hunger for caresses that had not been delivered. Her nipples were tight, distended, tingling furiously. Her legs had gone weak, and she had become intimately aware of every place that her body came in contact with the two men.
“Wait…oh, God, please wait a second,” Faye whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead in the juncture where Dirk’s bicep pressed against Radburn’s.
“You can’t do this to me,” she said in a moan of frustration, her eyes closed, two masculine arms surrounding her curvaceous figure. “I…I’ve never done anything like this at all. And I’ve got enemies. Enemies who are trying to destroy me.”
In a low voice that carried a jagged edge of suppressed violence, Radburn asked, “Who are your enemies?”
“Tell us,” Dirk added, his words razor sharp and split-second lethal. “Tell us who they are, and they’ll never bother you again.”
“It’s not that simple,” Faye replied, thinking of how Agatha would use anything—anything at all—in order to get her hands on Michael’s fortune. But what could she tell Dirk and Radburn? The truth was too embarrassing to admit. Besides, her burdens shouldn’t become theirs.
“This is a man’s world, especially when it comes to the law,” Faye finally explained in a whisper. “When my husband’s father died, he divided his fortune three ways. One-third to his wife, one-third to his son Derwin, and one-third to Michael, my husband. Agatha and Derwin have already burned through most of their inheritance. They’ve squandered their money like the self-absorbed fools they are. But Michael took his inheritance and bought out the interests Agatha and Derby received, so he owned this company outright. Since then, it has more than quadrupled in value. With Michael’s death, I’m in control of the company now.”
“And your mother-in-law and Derwin want to get their grasping, little hands on your fortune.” It was a statement from Dirk, not a question. “I’ve got connections in Parliament, men with clout. We can—”
Faye lifted her head off the twin biceps that supported her, knowing her face had to be ashen as she looked from Dirk to Radburn. “My husband’s last will and testament states that I will inherit my share of his money and position, but only so long as I remain unmarried. If I marry anyone other than Derwin, I must give my fortune to charity or his blood relatives. They keep saying I stole their money, but I didn’t. It’s just that I’m the only one left with any.” She closed her eyes again. In a whisper of a voice she asked aloud, but to herself, “Why am I telling you this?”
“We want you to tell us everything,” Radburn prodded, an undercurrent of command creeping into his tone. He was a man who instinctively took charge of any situation. “We can help.”
“Agatha is pushing me to marry Derwin. She’ll do anything short of murder to get my money.” She uttered a short, bitter laugh. “She might even murder me. If I die, the money goes to her.” She sighed, her mind in a whirl. “I’ve got a daughter, and she’s the light of my life. Agatha and Derwin can make life absolutely miserable for me, don’t you see? And you two, being here, touching me…holding me…is exactly the kind of thing that she would use to prove that I’m an unfit mother. I…I’d rather she didn’t take my money, but I couldn’t live if she took my child.”
