by Jaci Burton
He heard Alice, Matt’s admin, greeting their visitor. When the woman responded, his reaction bounced through his chest and slammed right down into the base of his testicles as if she’d kicked him in the balls. It was her. He knew it, even though she’d only said about six sentences to him that day.
He arranged his legal pad, pen, and PDA at his chair, though he usually put everything away, anything that he might toy with and give away his thoughts. He didn’t take notes because he’d remember, if it was important. Yeah. He could see himself reporting on the smell of her perfume, the way the blond cascade of her hair glimmered when the sunshine hit it.
“Man, seriously.” Jon laid a hand on his shoulder, bringing his unusual wave of serenity with it. Guy should have been a damn guru instead of an executive suit. “You okay?”
Because it was Jon, Lucas relented. He didn’t compromise business for personal pride. “I think I know this girl. If I stumble, watch my back, okay?”
“Always do,” Jon said. “Though you’ve never asked me to do it when a woman was involved. I’m going to have to give her a closer look.”
“Just keep your hands to yourself this time,” Lucas said dryly. “I’ll handle any door opening.”
Jon Forte was laughing at something as she stepped into the room. When Cassandra had reviewed the data and photos for the K&A team on her computer, she’d knocked a lukewarm coffee off the desk. It had doused the cat, whose ire was compounded when she jumped up and trod on the poor creature’s tail. It had taken her a half-hour to get Nate back to sleep from the commotion.
Lucas Adler, CFO of Kensington & Associates, college roommate of Matthew Lord Kensington. At first, she’d try to convince herself she was wrong. In that news clipping he’d had much longer hair, fine golden strands just above his shoulders, but streaked with lighter shades from exposure to the sun. Sitting in a board room, he’d looked relaxed as he gave an interview about being part of what had been dubbed over the past years as Kensington’s wunderkind. Five young men who’d turned K&A into a global and domestic manufacturing empire out of the unlikely New Orleans base of operations, though they’d moved to this satellite office in Baton Rouge in the aftermath of Katrina. Lucas was key to identifying and pursuing acquisitions of seemingly unprofitable plants, which then had a spotless track record of becoming success stories in the team’s hands. When she’d searched for other data about him, her hope she was mistaken dropped like an elevator car with a broken cable.
Lucas Adler was also an amateur cyclist, who’d placed high enough in several marathons to be mentioned in a handful of news stories. He stated he challenged himself to break his own records, always asking more of himself. Conquering the unconquerable. The quote tied into his approach to his career, but it sent a thrill of inappropriate excitement through her vitals.
She’d been bullshitting herself on the team review. She’d recognized him in the first photo. The first heartbeat. She needed to put it behind her, once and for all. There was no reason that day should have lingered with her the way it had. She’d put it down to excessive sexual deprivation, even when she found her mind drifting to an analysis of his face, his every expression, the flickers of emotion in his eyes during their brief meet.
The Berkshires had been one of those crazy things. They were both adults, about to be thrown together for several days, the primary players in the start-up plans that would combine the resources of Josh Johnson’s industrial hoist system operation with Kensington’s. That should be her focus. Not the overwhelming disbelief that fate had delivered this guy right back into her lap. Okay, not the best visual if she wanted to concentrate on business.
Lucas Adler. A name to go with the hands, the mouth she couldn’t forget. At the time, she’d thought it smart not to allow herself to touch him. Ever since, she’d felt like a kid deprived of candy. She couldn’t listen to Foreigner at all without getting achy with need.
So he was great fantasy fodder. She could handle it. Even though his voice still stroked her nerves, running through her head fifty times a day. The way he’d realized she was getting short of breath and immediately moved to help. A man with that kind of hard-on was supposed to be oblivious to a woman’s respiratory needs. Then the crowning moment—the way he’d anticipated her bolting. He hadn’t stopped her from leaving, but he’d made sure she knew she hadn’t gotten away with anything. Damn if that hadn’t really tugged at her interest, keeping it piqued.
It was just the perversity of a woman’s heart, she knew. She preferred to control all the elements of her environment, particularly men. Yet a man who could overwhelm her, take control of the situation, bring her pleasure and compel her submission, not only terrified her but made her want him so much she couldn’t imagine ever wanting anything more. Ridiculous. A dangerous inclination she would never indulge.
Pushing all that away, she stepped into the K&A board room, dominated by one wall of windows and a conference table shaped like a lotus pool. Potted Japanese maples with their delicate red lace leaves were arranged in several places. There were Asian prints on the wall, along with several Samurai blades rumored to be there so that those on the receiving end of Matt Kensington’s displeasure could opt for ritual suicide. While the surroundings might intimidate most, they steadied her, reminded her of the job she was here to do. This was her environment, her playing field. She’d given up about a decade of sleep to make it so, and was forever grateful for the chance Steve Pickard had given her, taking the talents of a college intern and throwing her into lion dens like this one. Until she’d built a foundation for her own self-confidence, he’d assured her, over and over, that she had the gift of diplomacy and mediation. As well as an exceptional business acumen that allowed her to grasp the full range of financial, manufacturing, legal and management dynamics that made her an effective problem solver.
She reminded herself she’d had articles written about her as well, one claiming she had almost psychic insight in knowing when to mend fences and when to disembowel. Another noted she was so unflappable she could walk the floor of Congress buck naked, not a hair out of place, to deliver an address on world economics.
She could do this.
When Matt courteously gestured her in ahead of him, she schooled her face into a polite mask.
As riveting as Lucas had been that day, he was more impressive now, dressed for success in a custom-tailored gray suit. The white dress shirt and silver tie emphasized his silver-gray eyes and the gold of his hair. He’d have made any woman’s tongue tangle. When he met her gaze across the table, the shock of the contact detonated through her, leaving more than her tongue at loose ends.
It had just been sex. Not even actual sex. Just a sexual encounter. She was repeating herself. Not a good sign.
“I understand you and Jon have already met.” Matt was making the introductions as Jon came around the table, followed by Lucas. She could see the athlete in the way he moved. If she put her hands on his chest, she’d feel that hard body beneath the thin shirt. The heat of his mouth had been between her legs, his long-fingered hands bracketing her rib cage, as close and lovingly as the corset she wore now.
She shook Jon’s hand, said the appropriate things, and then there was no avoiding it. Lucas extended his hand. Smoothly, without hesitation or hurry, she put her hand into his.
A tremor. He definitely felt a tremor. Her color was up. Not enough for anyone to notice, but he did. Under a trim blue suit jacket, she wore one of those thin silky blouses. Beneath it he could see the faint outline of the corset she was wearing. This one was strapless, a faint floral pattern in a sheen of silver leaf that added to the embellishment of the shirt. The blouse’s neckline showed a modest dent of cleavage, likely because of the lift of the corset. He suspected it might also give him a glimpse of lace and flesh, if he was a cad and strained.
She had her golden hair in a barrette, emphasizing the delicate line of her throat. Pearls with a topaz amulet made those blue eyes even more stunning. Her snug bla
ck skirt had a ripple of fabric at the hem that fluttered as she walked. The skirt was just past her knees, so only shapely calves set off by her heels were visible, but the fit of the garment turned her into an hourglass. She had to be wearing a thong to achieve those smooth lines over her pretty much perfect ass.
The whole package screamed, “Beautiful woman—give her whatever she wants.”
Matt’s team had an unintentional reputation for overwhelming and charming female opponents, to the point most companies didn’t even bother sending them anymore. However, it seemed she’d turned that around, realizing that such men might be just as susceptible to an unexpected offensive of feminine wiles. Could she be that clever? As he registered her cool smile, no different from what she’d bestowed on Jon, he thought maybe she was.
Jon cleared his throat, pulling him out of his examination and making him realize he hadn’t even greeted her yet.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Adler? Cat got your tongue?”
Oh, no, she didn’t. She met his gaze with those wide, guileless eyes. But in that startled moment, like the snap of a gun stock locking into place, he had his feet beneath him again. It had been a hell of a bow shot. He almost felt like smiling.
“Would that please you, Miss Moira?” he asked. Then, before she could respond, he arched a brow. “Matt, you didn’t have her take the stairs, did you? She seems a little short of breath.”
Something sparked in the blue depths, and if they’d been standing on the deck of two opposing ships in truth, he’d have taken it as the warning strike of flame, about to be touched to a cannon’s wick. Withdrawing her hand, she turned toward the rest of the team.
“Mr. Kensington, I’m ready to get started whenever you are.”
He’d never really thought about the sheer sensual impact of a corset worn the way she wore it. He was used to seeing it on the outside, a blatant sexual enticement. But the way it hugged her body discreetly out of sight, it molded her posture so that the rounded curve of the buttocks, the long line of her throat, the high position of accentuated breasts, were impossible to ignore. Hell, it made every movement an act of careful, planned grace, if the woman worked with it. Cassandra Moira worked it to the nth degree.
He did listen. He evaluated her strategies, her approach, and was impressed by the level of homework she’d done in the short time period she’d had. She spent little time on the points she’d deduced they agreed upon, then presented resolution options for the more contentious points she’d accurately anticipated. By the time she’d worked down the nearly hundred items they had to handle for this phase of the contract, he’d marked down only ten concerns needing more work. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a negotiator do so well, and he’d been actively trying to find things to break her stride.
“If you find this suitable, we probably need to go over the legal points with the Japanese suppliers to meet regulatory requirements. We could videoconference them in tomorrow or on Wednesday.”
The regulatory step was an onerous, information-only process that Matt would typically relegate to middle managers, but Lucas inclined his head to Matt. His CEO lifted a brow, a brief flash of surprise in his gaze, but otherwise remained poker-faced as he faced Cassandra.
“That will be fine,” he said. “We’ll set it up for tomorrow. I do have some concerns about . . .”
As Matt began outlining many of the list points Lucas had on his sheet, he studied her profile, the way she held her attention on Matt. Was her focus a little too intense? Was he deluding himself, or was she avoiding looking toward him? A negotiator would be expected to shift her gaze, gauge the reaction of Matt’s CFO to his concerns. But she didn’t. Not once.
“I think we can work with most of those,” she responded at last. “But—”
“I have a couple more, Matt,” Lucas cut in. Normally he would have interjected at the end of Matt’s, as Matt allowed a pause for him to do just that, but she’d jumped the gun a little. Another subtle sign of nervousness, unless she hadn’t expected Matt to defer to his team.
She settled back, though, apparently unruffled. “My apologies, Mr. Adler. Please continue.”
“I agree, most of these can be worked out, but we have a genuine concern about stock prices. K&A is putting a lot into the plant conversion. We want control of the company.”
“That has little to do with investment and everything to do with K&A’s desire to own the whole world.” She underlined the words with a charming smile, laced with the right touch of just-between-you-and-me banter. Now her gaze did sweep the table, pausing briefly on each of the team, before returning to Matt. “But you know you can get your return on this investment, and then some, without owning it. Mr. Johnson wishes to retain his majority interest.”
“You have very few willing to undertake this,” Lucas pressed. “Josh Johnson is not easy to work with.”
“True enough. But ‘very few’ is still more than one, isn’t it? We’ve indicated our willingness to compromise, meet you halfway on seventy-two points, gentlemen. Your demands have not been unreasonable, and I think we all know everyone stands to make a lot of money. But on this one issue, we stand firm. We will not negotiate on holding majority interest. While I look forward to the pleasure of your company for the next couple of days, if that point is a deal breaker, I shall have to go seek out more flexible—if less pretty—faces.”
A text message popped on Lucas’s PDA, from Peter, who’d been taking notes at the other end of the table.
Jesus Christ. Is anyone else hard as a rock?
Ben muffled his chuckle in a cough. Matt registered the note with a glance, but didn’t change expression as he shifted his attention back to Cassandra.
“We have a penchant for pretty faces ourselves, Miss Moira. Therefore, we’d invite you to stay. You and Lucas can work out the remaining details in here this afternoon.”
She inclined her head, though she still didn’t look toward Lucas. “It would be my pleasure.”
That was an understatement for him. Because he was as hard as a rock.
She wanted to say it would be never-ending torment. Had she pushed so hard because strategically she knew Matt Kensington appreciated strength, or because she’d hoped to escape this? Had she actually been willing to take a dive on this one? If the latter, she was already in deep trouble.
Fortunately, there was no way to know, and in times of crisis, or at least the need to regroup, a woman always had one sanctuary. The admin pointed her the way to the ladies’ room on the break. It was the last calm moment she’d have before spending the afternoon with Lucas. She headed toward the restroom without hurry, though she felt like bolting.
She reminded herself this was the very reason she wore the corset under her clothes. Controlled, precise movements, no matter that the mad fluttering in her chest was like butterflies hopped up on crystal meth.
She even leaned up against the door after she was inside, as if barricading it. There were fresh flowers on the counter. White, red and yellow roses. A vanity with a padded velvet chair, positioned against the wall, was supplied with various toiletries. Feminine products, not provided in ugly metal dispensers, but discreet baskets. On the wall, a painting showed a woman sitting at a similar vanity, the curve of her back exposed, for she wore only a towel wrapped loosely around her lower body. Elegant, sensual. Unusual for an office setting, but not a richly appointed powder room like this.
Steve had actually apologized for having to send her instead of Tim, who’d been in Seattle. She was his top negotiator, so she’d been vaguely insulted when he revealed he’d intended to send a man because most women couldn’t keep a clear focus with the K&A team. She’d bet him she would come back with everything Johnson really wanted. She’d done that, won the bet. But she was no longer insulted. If any woman could emerge from a meeting with this group without an elevated pulse and the undeniable urge to have a personal marathon with a sexual aid, she wanted to meet her and find out what libido-paralyzing drug she used.<
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On the surface, they were just five men. Exceptionally handsome, yes, and confident in distinct ways, with an easy rapport together. They listened to her, responded to her, challenged her as a business equal, refreshing and unexpected in manufacturing environments. But that was part of their seduction, she realized. It went perfectly with the contrast of what simmered below the surface. Being in their presence made her hyperaware she was a woman, as if they were a pack of wolves who’d scented her when she entered the room, stimulating the sexual radar of every gorgeous one of them. God, if she let her mind get away with her, she could imagine them putting her on the table to share her for lunch.
They’d done nothing inappropriate, not even anything overtly sexual—they just exuded sex. It was something even more than that, though. Something that swept her skin with heat and made her shy away from delving too deeply into it. Whatever it was, whatever they were, it called and connected to the base instinct of what she was.
Even the way Peter Winston had asked her if she wanted coffee. Leaning toward her, his gray eyes close enough to distract—storm cloud color, whereas Lucas’s were silver—his hand poised just inches from her arm. It made a woman want to lean in, just a bit more, toward the combat-ready physique Peter had, as an active reservist who she knew had already done at least one tour in Iraq. He had an intriguing aftershave, something clean and spicy, though she preferred the musk of Lucas’s cologne.
Okay, so there was no denying every single one of them could bait the hook, make himself irresistibly tempting to his prey. Big deal. That, and they fairly pulsed with the unspoken promise that they knew how to please a woman. Body, mind, and soul.
