The Intern Affair

by Roxanne St Claire

  Fin squeezed Jessie’s waist. “Yes.”

  “Holy—” Shane’s expression shifted from shock to elation. “You found her, Fin!” He shoved his fingers into his hair, laughing and shaking his head as he stared at Jessie. “You found her!”

  “She found me,” Fin said softly.

  In an instant, Shane bolted forward and circled Jessie in a powerful, spontaneous bear hug. “I don’t believe it!”

  Firecrackers of delight popped in Jessie’s head as she closed her eyes and let Shane embrace her with the unabashed enthusiasm of a favorite uncle. Like Fin, he drew back, inspected her and squeezed her again. Like Fin, he had a million questions and kept interrupting them to express amazement that she was such an Elliott and had slipped right in under their notice. And like Fin, he made Jessie feel utterly welcome and wanted.

  Then talk turned to Patrick Elliott, and Shane and Fin shared a look that spoke volumes. Volumes that Jessie didn’t think she wanted to read.

  “Give it to me straight,” she said from her comfy chair, looking at Fin and Shane on the sofa. “Is he going to hate me?”

  Neither one said anything.

  “What about your mother?” Jessie asked.

  Again, they just exchanged silent glances, then Fin folded her arms defiantly. “I don’t give a damn what either one of them says. They stole you from me—well, my father did. My mother just let him.”

  Shane placed a comforting hand on Fin’s shoulder. “So many years have passed, Fin. I can’t believe he’d hold onto old anger.”

  Fin gave him a look that said “get real.” “This is Patrick Elliott we’re talking about. Control freak and keeper of all that is Elliott and sacred.”

  “Do you think he’d flat-out reject me?” Jessie asked. “And your mother would, too?”

  Shane shook his head. “Mom will do what is best for the family, but she does take her cues from Dad.”

  “The fact that their fifteen-year-old darling got pregnant was a sore spot twenty-three years ago,” Fin said.

  “I imagine it’s still going to be a little tender,” Jessie said.

  But Fin gave her a loving smile. “I’ll watch your back. And if anyone tries to mess with you, they have to deal with me.”

  “And me,” Shane said, shooting to his feet. “In fact, this calls for a celebration.”

  Fin looked up at him. “What do you have in mind?”

  He grinned. “An official welcoming of Jessie. I think it’s time the Elliotts leave the competition at the door and put on our dancing shoes.”

  “Dancing?” Jessie laughed.

  “Precisely,” Shane said. “Dancing, champagne, black tie, the works. This is a major event in the history of the Elliott family. Like a wedding, a birth, a golden anniversary.”

  “Oh, Shane!” Fin exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight. “The official welcoming party. I love the idea.”

  Shane crouched down in front of Jessie. “You know, Jessie, we’ve lost a few members of the family over the years.” He glanced at Fin, sadness in his eyes. “Our brother and his wife were killed in a plane crash fifteen years ago. There’s been a hole in the family ever since.”

  “And in my mother’s heart,” Fin added softly.

  “What could be more worthy of a celebration than finding someone who’s been gone?” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I want to do this for you, Jessie. I want to throw a gala event that will show our family and the world that we welcome you. May I?”

  Jessie blinked and looked at her uncle. Then at Fin, who didn’t bother to wipe the teardrops that meandered down her cheeks.

  “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  “No, Jessie,” Fin whispered, picking up that pillow and hugging it to her heart. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “We need to make an invitation list,” Shane announced.

  “Everyone in the family, close friends, the executives of every magazine—”

  “No.” The word was out before Jessie could stop herself. At their surprised looks, she added, “This is just family and friends, right? Not work.”

  “Most of our friends are work,” Shane said dryly. “Or at least we pretend like they are.”

  Fin gave Jessie a knowing look. “Is it Cade, honey?”

  Fin knew, of course, that she and Cade had been together. And she’d been there when he’d accused her of spying. But Shane knew nothing of her affair with the executive editor of the magazine.

  And, after all, it was an affair. Because if it had been anything else, anything more meaningful or lasting, Cade would have trusted her.

  “You know, Jessie,” Fin finally said, “I suspect Cade McMann is nursing a couple of black-and-blue shins from kicking himself tonight.”

  The thought gave her little satisfaction. “Then he’ll have a hard time dancing at our party, won’t he?” She managed a sly smile at Fin. “Sure, add him to the list. Why not?”

  In spite of everything that had transpired that day, the truth was, Jessie still ached for Cade.

  Eleven

  “Where’s the key to The Closet?” Jessie asked into the phone, keeping her voice low even though the Charisma offices were completely deserted.

  “What are you talking about?” Lainie’s voice was heavy with sleep and no small amount of irritation at the wake-up call. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at work right now, and I need the key.”

  Jessie had crashed at Fin’s on Friday night after Shane left, and Saturday too. On Sunday, she made two calls: to Lainie and to her father. Dad had been overjoyed that Fin had welcomed Jessie into her life, but Lainie had a million questions that Jessie had left unanswered. And she didn’t want to launch into them now. Not while she was on a mission.

  “What time is it?” Lainie asked, still sounding sluggish as she struggled to wake up. “What are you doing there?”

  “It’s about eleven-fifteen,” Jessie said. “I left Fin’s a while ago and I was going to come straight home, but I remembered that Spring Fling project needed to get moved into preproduction.”

  “Why don’t you do it tomorrow?” Jessie could hear Lainie shifting in bed, probably reaching for the lamp and blinking madly.

  “Fin and I are taking this whole week off. We’re just going to hang out and catch up and get ready for the party I told you about. I really don’t want to come back in here for a week.”

  The truth was, she wasn’t ready to face the whole company yet. She didn’t want to face Cade. Not yet. Her thoughts and feelings were still too jumbled and too raw. “I just stopped in here so I could handle that one production thing, so Scarlet wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

  “Jessie, you’re Fin Elliott’s daughter,” Lainie said with her best get-a-clue tone. “I think your cousin Scarlet will stop being your boss Scarlet and let you slide on this one.”

  “Lainie, don’t do this,” Jessie warned. “I’m the same person. And I still have a job to do.”

  “Okay. Fine. You’re too devoted for words. But what do you want in The Closet?”

  “That mint-green de la Renta.”

  “Oooh,” Lainie cooed. “Killer dress. And I think it’s your size, too.”

  “Fin said I could wear it to my welcoming party.”

  “Oh, man, with your eyes and body, you’re right. You need that dress.”

  “Thank you. So, where’s the key? Hurry up, this place is pitch-black and a little creepy.”

  “Open my bottom desk drawer.”

  Jessie did.

  “Reach to the far left corner in the back. Feel the leather pouch?”

  “Got it. What is this?”

  “The key to where I keep the key.” At Jessie’s exasperated exhale, Lainie defended her security system. “That de la Renta alone is worth about six grand, sweetheart. The whole closet has about two hundred thousand dollars of clothes and accessories. I don’t want just anyone burglarizing it in the middle of the night.”

  “Just your roommate.”
>
  “Well, you are Fin Elliott’s daughter.”

  “Stop,” Jessie chided. “Not another word from you.”

  “I cleaned the apartment.”

  Jessie scowled at the abrupt change of subject. “Why?”

  “Won’t I need to find a new roommate now that you’re—”

  “Cut it out, Lainie. I’m not going anywhere.” She thought she heard a sound from the hall and peered out into the darkness. Nothing. “Except in that closet. Bye.”

  Key in hand, Jessie slipped into The Closet and put on one soft light behind the curtain of a dressing area. She didn’t want to draw attention to the night security guard if he happened by. Might be tough to convince him that the editor-in-chief was her birth mother and she’d given permission for Jessie to borrow a designer dress for a party given in her honor.

  No, she’d rather avoid that conversation and the ensuing arrest.

  Tiptoeing across the cluttered central area, she ignored the racks of clothes and shoes and a three-way-mirror, heading straight to the back where the de la Renta hung. With reverent hands, she unzipped the black cloth protector and let a million yards of pale celery silk sigh over her fingertips. From the moment she’d seen this dress, she’d been in love. The top was a simple strappy camisole, fitted to the hips, but the whole bottom half was made of about twenty fluffy, filmy layers of organza frills that cascaded to the floor.

  The man was a genius. How could she not name her horse after him? She might have to name her first child Oscar. Jessie eased the dress off the hanger, seized by a sizzling temptation. She didn’t want to cart this creation home on the subway without being absolutely sure she wanted to wear it for the party. She simply had to try it on.

  In a flash, she slid off the jeans she’d borrowed from Fin, and then stripped off the white T-shirt that she wore. She unhooked her bra and glanced down at her underwear. Serviceable, but a crime under this dress. She slid off her panties and walked naked to the lingerie cases, pulling out a whisper of peach-colored silk and lace that had only been photographed on a table for a special feature on “Undercover Agents.”

  She slid on the thong, then carefully climbed into the frothy organza, nearly giggling with delight as the magical fabric tickled her legs.

  Of course, it was made for a five-foot-nine model, so the last two rows of ruffles pooled around her five-foot-six body. From a shoe cubby, she grabbed a pair of sky-high silver sandals and slipped them on, standing in front of the three-way-mirror and grinning like a fool. Then she did one slow, graceful pirouette.

  “I love you, Oscar de la Renta.” This dress was perfect for the night she would be welcomed by the Elliott family. She’d feel beautiful, confident, glorious.

  And Cade would see her.

  Sighing, she unclipped her hair and shook it out, letting it tumble like her own Oscar’s sorrel-colored mane, imagining how she’d wear it next Saturday, along with a tiny bit of makeup that would make her eyes sparkle and match the amazing dress.

  And then he’d dance with her.

  The possibility made her tingle right down to the three-inch heels. She stared in the mirror, but instead of seeing herself, she visualized his expression when he saw her dressed like this. She imagined his powerful hands as he would reach for her to touch this dress. She practically tasted his long, soulful kiss at the end of a slow, sensual dance.

  She froze, put her hands over her mouth and stared at the agony mirrored in her green eyes. She missed him so much it hurt. “Was he the best thing that ever happened to me? Was I wrong for pushing him away?” she murmured into her hands. “How can I live without him? I love him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  With a gasp she blinked into the mirror at the image of Cade, standing in the partially opened doorway.

  She twirled around, the skirt whooshing as fast as the blood in her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Listening to you worship at the altar of de la Renta.” With his toe, he gently kicked the door open wider and leaned against the jamb, raking her with one long, hungry gaze. “And totally enjoying the view.”

  She touched the dress and speared him with a look. “No need to call security. Fin said I could borrow it.”

  “Jessie.” His voice softened. “I didn’t make any accusations.” His gaze traveled over her at a maddeningly slow pace. The room was silent and still and very, very warm.

  “That dress,” he said, his words as lazy as his wandering gaze, “was made for you.”

  “Thanks.” She plucked at a silky frill, but her attention was really on the way his black T-shirt clung to his muscles and on the temperature-rising bulge of his faded blue jeans. Silk and organza were nice, but denim and cotton had had a fine place in the world, too.

  “So, you can’t live without him. You love him.”

  “I was talking about my horse,” she said quickly. “And you seem to be very adept at overhearing me.”

  He notched an eyebrow. “I saw the light under the door and had to see who was in here. And why.”

  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “Working.”

  “At eleven-thirty on a Sunday night?”

  “I blew off the weekend,” he said with a casual shrug.

  “What did you do?”

  He crossed his arms with a pitiful expression. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  What had Fin said? His shins would be black and blue from kicking himself? “You’ll be okay,” she said, fueled by the confidence that came from wearing a beautiful dress and having a gorgeous man stare lustily at the woman in it.

  “Ya think so?” He took one step further.

  She had to stop this game. Before she lost. “You’ll get over me,” she said simply.

  The soft light cast a shadow over the stubble on his cheeks. She’d bet he hadn’t shaved since Friday.

  It wasn’t pretty.

  “I don’t want to get over you, Jessie.”

  “Then what do you want?” She heard the temptress in her voice. White lightning zinged through her veins and a familiar ache started low in her belly.

  “You.”

  “Cade.” His name tumbled out of her lips, but she hardly heard it for the thundering rush of blood through her head.

  He was an arm’s length away, taking all the air and space and probably the common sense right out of the room. Who needed to breathe? Who needed to move? And, to be honest, common sense was overrated.

  “Jessie.” He reached for her, settling his hands on the sliver of silk at her waist. As carefully as if he were turning a priceless Ming vase, he rotated her around, so that she faced the mirror.

  All she saw was a sea of lime sherbet silk, and Cade behind her, holding her, lowering his head to kiss her bare shoulder. His lips skimmed her flesh, his teeth nipping at the spaghetti strap that held the dress on her.

  “I made the worst mistake of my life,” he whispered, sliding his finger under the strap as though he were testing it.

  “And I want to undo that mistake.”

  What he was about to undo was the world’s most beautiful dress. Along with her reason and ability to resist.

  Wasn’t she mad as hell at him? Didn’t he break her heart, her trust, her spirit? She tried to muster anger and resentment, but not one ounce of either one would surface.

  “Listen to me,” he insisted, holding her gaze in the mirror.

  “I am so, so sorry I hurt you. I would do anything to take it back. To have another chance. To not make the mistake of losing you.”

  She tried to say his name, but no sound came out as she stared at his reflection, at the sincerity in his eyes.

  “Jessie, I won’t walk away,” he continued, his raspy tone softened by his tender hands that caressed her arms and clasped her bare shoulders. “I won’t get over you.” Easily, he glided one shoulder strap to the side, then started nudging the other one. “I won’t forget you.” Both straps loose, the bodice of the dress dropped dangerously low over her b
reasts. “I won’t stop…” He inched it down, down, down. The darkened circles of her nipples peeked out of the fabric’s edge, torturing her breasts with the breath of silk. “Unless you want me to.”

  She lowered her head back into his chest, surrendering to the sensation of pleasure and need and want and Cade.

  What she wanted was this.

  Six thousand dollars’ worth of mint-colored organza and silk billowed to the floor. To the front, the right, the left and in a million echoes of reflected mirrors, she stood naked but for a flash of peach lace and a cloud of green pooled at her feet.

  In the mirror, she watched his powerful hands close over her breasts, and gasped as pleasure coiled between her legs and nipples budded against his palms. Slowly, he circled her breasts, tweaking the darkened peaks, weakening her knees and dissolving every ounce of willpower.

  Gradually, leisurely, he slid his hands over her stomach, pulling her into him so she could feel the roughness of his bulging jeans grazing and growing against her bare backside. His fingers, so long and dark and masculine against her pale skin, reached the triangle sliver of silk and the skinny straps that held the thong on her hips.

  Jessie stared, mesmerized.

  One finger dipped into the top of the tiny triangle and stroked once over her tender mound. Her legs nearly buckled as frissons of delight shimmied up and down her thighs.

  He glided his hand to the side, and using only his index fingers, he slid the thong down her thighs, exposing the dampened curls between her legs.

  Once again, he pulled her against him, his ragged breaths warming her ear, the steady hammer of his heart against her shoulder blades, the relentless pressure of his erection right in the small of her back.

  Then he glided both hands over her stomach and dipped them between her legs, easing one finger into the slick folds and eliciting her low groan of pleasure. She rocked helplessly into his hand.

  His mouth closed over her shoulder. He sucked the concave of her collarbone and throat with the same deliberate rhythm that he used to delve his finger into her.