by Dylann Crush
The back of his neck tightened. Damn, she wasn’t too far off base. It was too bad she’d been subjected to the pretentious attitude of the wealthy students who peered down their aristocratic noses at the “free-riders” too.
He swallowed. “Yes, we can. But it’s not like you go out of your way to attract attention. And since you went to U.Va. undergrad, does that mean you’re from Virginia?”
Her mouth––that tempting mouth––tightened for a moment and her warm expression cooled. “No, I grew up in a tiny town in Tennessee, near the border.”
The prim and proper Phoebe was from small-town Tennessee? “You don’t have an accent. Hell, I figured you were from the Northeast.”
“I left Tennessee when I was 17, so the accent disappeared. Everyone in my family is in education. I’m the anomaly. When I knew I wanted to go into finance, I may as well have said I wanted to be an astronaut.” She gazed down and adjusted her glasses.
“Yes. I hear you on the anomaly. I was the first person in my family to go to college.” No need to go into family dynamics. “I almost didn’t recognize you tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Because my hair is down?”
Damn it, he hadn’t meant to insult her. “It’s not just your hair. You look stunning.” Mouthwatering even.
“At least you got to the compliment eventually. And you look very handsome.” Her tongue flicked out and moistened her plump red lips before setting down her glass.
He gripped his glass hard and tamped down the arousal surging through him. She’d basically called him shallow, and he still wanted to wrap his hands in all that hair and see if she tasted as delicious as she looked. But he hadn’t achieved his pinnacle of success by acting like a reactionary teenager. This evening was business.
“Thanks. Now should we divide and conquer with the Samuels and Levines or play it by ear and let it unfold naturally?” He asked.
“Let’s focus on building relationships. The Blakes invited them and I’m sure the prospects have done their due diligence on the firm. At this point, let’s just make sure they have a good time tonight and if they bring up business, we go there.” She inclined her head.
He flashed a grin. “Look at us, agreeing and everything. This truce isn’t too tough.”
Her lips curved upward in the first genuine smile she’d ever bestowed on him. “We’re regular besties now. And who knows, maybe we can even extend it to work on Monday.”
He held up his hands and laughed. “Don’t get all wild and crazy on me now. One evening at a time.”
She rolled her eyes, but grinned back. “Anyways, should we head downstairs?”
Rafe pulled out his money clip and tucked some cash underneath his wineglass. “Let’s do this. This one’s on me.” He rose from the table.
She gracefully stood, almost eye to eye with him in her strappy stilettos.
Business, Cruz, don’t forget tonight is business.
3
Phoebe dug into her reserves of cool, calm, and collected as she and Rafe descended the stairs to the Jingle Balls ball. Despite wanting to take a bite out of his sinful lower lip and slide her fingers into his tousled dark chocolate colored hair, tonight she would strike the perfect balance between competent professional and friendly colleague. Somehow, one on one he wasn’t such an arrogant jerk, but that made him even more dangerous. Plain and simple. She’d submit to a full leg wax before ever admitting her attraction to him.
Even though learning he’d been the first kid in his family to go to university and he’d also needed a scholarship softened her harsh view of him a teeny bit. He was famous for his charm and in just mere minutes, her own defenses had lowered and she’d almost forgotten how rude he’d been to her since she’d arrived in California. Not to mention his sheer lack of acknowledging she was alive back in Cambridge.
Her ultra-skinny heel snagged on the broad terracotta tiled stairs and she stumbled right into Rafe’s lean muscular frame, one hand grasping for purchase and landing on firm, defined pectorals. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose––every inch of her leaping to attention. A powerful arm slid around her waist and steadied her. Goosebumps leapt up on her bare shoulders and heat flared in her belly. She yanked her hand back like she’d been branded. Holy smokes.
Rafe’s jaw clenched at her dramatic withdrawal. “Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you. And you should have brought a jacket, half this resort is outdoors.”
And there he was––Mr. Dismissive. “That would have been helpful information before. And don’t worry, I know your usual type.” At least he thought her goosebumps came from the weather and not her reaction to his touch. She still wasn’t used to the way warm California days cooled into crisp evenings.
He hissed out a breath. “Just try to stay balanced in those stilts. And I see the Harmons in the doorway, so remember. We’re the dream team.” He bared his teeth at her in what might pass for a smile from a distance. A ten-mile distance.
She rolled her eyes. Had she really thought they could get along? “More like nightmare. But I want these clients and so do you. Go time.” She allowed her lips to curve into a small smile. She would be professional if it killed her.
The Harmons—a tall, lanky, silver-haired man and his petite brunette wife standing in front of an arched doorway—caught sight of them and waved. Phoebe matched Rafael’s long stride as they approached.
“Hello there, Rafe. And who’s your lovely date tonight?” Mrs. Harmon beamed at them.
Phoebe’s spine stiffened. Although she hadn’t met these clients yet, didn’t they know she worked with Rafe? Not an auspicious start to the evening.
Rafe threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Shannon and Steve, I didn’t realize you hadn’t met Trident’s newest advisor. This is Phoebe Hollingsworth, we were at Harvard together.”
Phoebe pinned a smile on her face. “It’s nice to meet you Shannon, Steve. I’m looking forward to enjoying Jingle Balls ball with you.” They shook hands.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. Although if I were twenty years younger, I wouldn’t mind being mistaken for Rafe’s date.” Shannon waggled her eyebrows.
It wasn’t a big deal, but just because it was Mr. Perfect, she struggled to soften her jaw and appear unperturbed.
“Shall we head inside? Our table is up front by the stage.” Mr. Perfect was smooth and charming as he guided them through the door.
When they stepped into the ballroom, Phoebe’s eyes widened. Strand upon strand of tiny lights glittered from the ceiling and chandeliers. The ballroom opened out onto a patio where an enormous Christmas tree sparkled, and more lights twinkled like stars. White-cloth-covered tables with poinsettia centerpieces and sumptuous crystal and china place settings filled out the space. The expansive room was breathtaking in all its holiday splendor.
Already the ballroom was more than half-full and black and white clad servers circled about with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Lively holiday tunes contributed to the bustling atmosphere. They crossed the noisy room to join their group already seated at the round table centrally placed next to not only the stage, but a dance floor.
After introductions, Phoebe found herself sitting to the right of Rafael. The seating arrangements were snug, so his muscular thigh was mere inches from her bare skin. Her acting skills would need to be Oscar-worthy tonight to pretend they were work buddies. Not to mention to mask her chemical reaction to him.
Rob Samuels, one half of her “assigned” couple, shouted over the enormous flower centerpiece. “So, Phoebe, I understand you’re also a Wahoo. What brought you out to California?”
Although Rafe was chatting with Ella Levine to his left, Phoebe was inches away from him and could almost see his ear perk up. Now he was curious about her?
“I was working in New York and came out here for a business trip. Let’s just say I didn’t want to leave. I was fortunate enough to connect with Mr. MacDonald and here I am.”
Between the music
and a few hundred chattering guests, Phoebe practically bellowed into the jagged crimson leaves that obscured half of Rob’s face. Whoever had designed these centerpieces obviously hadn’t considered group logistics.
“San Diego is hard to leave. Will you be flying back to the east coast for the holidays or is MacDonald keeping you chained in the office?” Sasha Blake yelled from her seat.
Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Before she could solve the issue, Rafe stood, plucked up the super-sized holiday bush, and carted it over to a banquet server poised near the arched doorway. The wide-eyed young blonde nodded and accepted the plant from him. He flashed his sexy grin and strolled back to the table. So, Rafael was a man of action.
Sasha lifted her champagne flute. “Cheers to Rafe for always coming up with a quick solution. We’d have been shouting at each other all night. So Phoebe?”
The group immediately felt more cohesive and Phoebe relaxed into the comfortable chair before responding. “I usually spend Christmas with my family, but this year I’m staying here.” Although she’d never spent the holiday alone and hated not seeing her parents and brothers, her desire to excel at Trident Wealth took precedence.
Conversation now flowed naturally around the table and she grudgingly admitted to herself that Rafe’s charm and expertise impressed her. Without their personal feelings complicating matters, they bounced around ideas about everything from holiday plans to market predictions seamlessly between the current and prospective clients.
“I can’t believe you’ve only been with Trident a few months, Phoebe. You and Rafe are natural partners, like you’ve been working together for years. Were you close in business school too?” Ella Levine leaned over and asked.
Phoebe froze and Rafe stiffened next to her. She waved a hand in the air. “Rafe’s easy to work with for anyone, I think. But I was a year behind him at Harvard and I’m afraid he didn’t know I was alive.” Her tone was light, but her shoulders tensed––why did that still bother her?
Rafe patted her arm and chuckled. “I doubt if either of us knew everyone in the program—too busy with study groups and books. But I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Phoebe.”
Phoebe bit the inside of her lip to prevent snorting. He always had an answer for everything––“enjoyed getting to know her”––yeah, right. He’d never even called her by her first name until today, if he’d even known what it was. And in Cambridge he’d been too busy flirting with every woman except for her.
She smiled and sipped her wine. There were eight other people at the table to focus her attention on. Time to dig deeper with the Samuels and establish more rapport. She’d simply ignore Rafael. Because she’d been doing such a spectacular job so far.
“So Rafe, have you been able to buy that restaurant for your talented father yet? If you’re looking for investors, we’re definitely interested.” Tim Blake said and his lovely wife Sasha nodded.
Phoebe whipped her head toward Rafael. “You’re buying your dad a restaurant?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. A flush crept up the back of his neck, but even in the muted light from the chandelier, it was visible. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know.”
Something melted in her chest. Okay, that was seriously sweet. To not only be the first one in his family to attend college, but to buy his chef dad a restaurant. Not exactly a token gift. Perhaps she’d been hasty judging Rafael and assuming all his relationships were as superficial as his love life.
The evening began to fly by in a blur of delicious wine pairings with each increasingly decadent course of the meal. Phoebe found herself laughing and joking with everyone, even Rafe. Especially Rafe. Awareness danced along her skin from their proximity.
Listening to his intelligent conversation, enjoying the smoothness of his rich voice, and trying not to jump out of her skin each time they’d brush against each other––fingers grazing on the bread basket, his sharp intake of breath when she’d turned at an angle to answer the waiter’s question and her hair skimmed against his face. Maybe Rafael Cruz had a lot more depth beneath his polished easy-going exterior than she’d given him credit for.
Which made the unwilling attraction she’d held for him since graduate school rise to the surface. But their boss had ordered them to act like they enjoyed each other’s company and maybe it was a revelation just how much she liked him. She studied his handsome profile, admiring the strong line of his nose, the carved-from-granite jawline, and those kissable lips. She’d wager her year-end bonus that he knew how to use that mouth.
Phoebe crossed her legs and drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to soften her defenses where he was concerned. At the end of the day, she didn’t have the bandwidth for emotional entanglements, especially not with a man who was her career competition. But the temptation to explore her attraction to him was undeniable.
Rafe’s skin heated from Phoebe’s intense gaze, but he continued talking to Ella about the almost legendary enormous waves she and her husband had seen in Nazaré, Portugal. Sitting next to Phoebe had been exquisite torture. Ice Queen was gone and in her place was a fascinating, witty, interesting woman. He’d never seen this side of her––and yes it was his own damn fault for judging her unfairly––but, damn. She effortlessly volleyed questions with the clients and if he’d met her tonight for the first time, he’d never believe she had a cold bone in that smoking hot body of hers. He’d been rock hard most of the night, on the brink of taking a bite of her creamy bare shoulder.
From her delicate floral scent assaulting his nostrils, to the moment she’d tossed that wild mane of hair against him, to the surprisingly adorable hint of emerging Southern accent as she consumed more wine, she was driving him nuts. If someone had told him he’d find Ms. Hollingsworth cute and funny and sexy, he would have coughed up a lung laughing.
And somehow throughout the endless courses and wine, the scarlet stain of her lipstick remained in place. Which caused his imagination to short-circuit considering what activity would wipe it off. He checked his watch. The charity’s chairman was scheduled to speak in an hour and then they’d wrap up the evening. Although Cliff had scheduled a limo to drive them home at 11:00, the visual of sliding into a dark leather backseat with her was a little too appealing. He needed to get it together before then––tonight was about business, not seduction. And definitely not about seduction and Phoebe in the same breath.
He needed some air.
He thrust back from the table and stood. Between the heavy meal and rich desserts and the tease of this now intriguing woman, he needed to cool off before he did something stupid.
Like stroke a hand up her silky thigh to see if her ivory skin was as soft as it looked. Because of course her cut up-to-there slit was on the shapely leg mere inches from his own. Too much temptation.
She angled her head up toward him in surprise. “Are you okay?”
Well, maybe he’d moved a little abruptly. “Fine. I’m just going to grab some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
One brow winged up in a now familiar gesture and she rose and turned to smile at the table. “We’ll be right back, everyone. Don’t have too much fun without us.”
He retreated a few steps. “What are you doing?” A hint of panic snaked down his spine.
She smiled and looped an arm through his, leading them away from the table. “Don’t act weird. Tonight’s been going great. We’ve both had a lot to drink and I could use a few gulps of fresh air myself and we can compare notes.” Her accent was definitely a Southern drawl now and she was too damn close to him.
“Compare notes about what?” He made the mistake of tilting his head down and caught another whiff of heavenly scent from that tempting mane of hair.
“About the prospects, silly. What did you think?” Her eyes widened.
He shook his head. His brain urged him to run, but the sensation of her long slender fingers wrapped around his forearm superseded pesky logic. Damn it.
They avoided the crowded terra
ce patio and stepped into the relative calm of the hallway. But it was December, after all, and Phoebe was in a strapless gown, so seeking another of Rancho Valencia’s many open-air spaces wasn’t an option. Although right about now he needed a dip in a Nordic Fjord to douse this over-the-top reaction.
His feet kept marching. “The Wine Cave isn’t reserved tonight, so we can step in there and catch a few moments of quiet.” What are you doing Cruz? The Wine Cave is dark and secluded. Like the limousine’s back seat.
The massive mahogany wood doors stood ajar, but the brick-lined wine room was empty. Perfect. Dangerous.
Phoebe released his arm and strolled into the spectacular private space, those sexy heels echoing along the wooden floors. Reserve wines were showcased in glass cases framing each wall, with ancient oak barrels beneath. The modern chandelier over the long dining table filled the room with an ambient glow. She continued to the back of the room and paused in front of a large mirror which was flanked by two black leather wingback chairs. She shook her titian mane away from her face and leaned closer to stroke her thumb along her plump lower lip.
Rafe sucked in a breath, hauled the doors shut, and stalked to where she stood with her back to him. He stopped mere inches behind her and together they stared at their reflection in the mirror. Those rosy lips parted, her eyes were wide behind her glasses, and the pulse at the base of her neck fluttered against her delicate skin.
Unable to resist any longer, he wrapped one arm around her narrow waist and pulled her back so every inch of her slender back and firm ass plastered against him. She gasped when he splayed his hand across her abdomen and tugged her closer, leaving her no illusion to just how turned on he was. Their eyes remained locked in the mirror and still she remained silent, the only sound in the room their shared heavy breathing. He slid his other hand up to her soft throat and tilted her ivory-skinned neck to one side.
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he bent his head and raked his teeth against the spot where her neck and shoulder met. Goosebumps erupted on her silky skin, she moaned his name, and her head dropped back against his chest.
