by Karen Woods
“True!” he agreed, chuckling. “It was amusing to watch a lovely lady put Bill in his place.”
“And his place is?”
“Groveling at her feet, of course.”
She took a sip of champagne, then shook her head. “My fiery Irish temper is going to get the best of me one day,” she replied.
“Somehow I doubt it. You seem to be the type to always be in control of yourself and to know what you are doing.”
“I only wish that were true,” she remarked to herself, rather cynically, in a low tone not meant to be overheard.
“You were playing with Bill. If he had posed a real threat, what would you have done?” he inquired softly.
“Whatever I had to in order to emerge both victorious and with acceptable losses,” she replied flatly. “I do believe in assuring my survival.”
“That’s a good military sounding reply.”
“Oh it is, isn’t it? I really had thought that I’d gotten all that nonsense out of my system.”
“Are you, or were you, in the military?” Hunt asked.
“Good grief, no. If I were, I’d be up on charges, for sure, over tonight’s incident for conduct unbecoming to an officer,” she said. “I’ve far too sharp a temper to ever make it in the military. I would’ve been in the brig or stockade before I even had completed the first week of basic training.”
“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Hunt Thomas. And you are?”
“My new friends call me Maggie. Maggie O’Shay,” she told him as she extended her hand for a shake. Instead of shaking her hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed each finger lightly, before he rolled her hand over and kissed her palm.
“Then I shall be certain to call you Maggie. I definitely want to be your friend,” he replied huskily. “In fact, I’d love to be more than friendly.”
She smiled warily. “Are you always so direct?”
“No. But, I have this feeling that you aren’t a game player, Maggie O’Shay. Let’s start by being friends, shall we?”
“Friends,” she said.
“So, friend, tell me about yourself. What is it that you do for a living?”
“Sales, at least until this afternoon,” she said quietly. “Now, I am between positions.”
“You play beautifully. I would have thought that you were a musician by training.”
Maggie smiled. “My mother insisted that music was a civilizing force. She thought that Daddy was intending to turn me into a certifiable heathen, so she made me take lessons. I have only a moderate talent. Nothing more. That’s one of the reasons that I make my living in sales.”
“You’re too modest, Maggie O’Shay,” Hunt said.
“No. Just honest.”
“Excuse me. You wouldn’t be the O’Shay girl who placed first in the Leeds International ten years ago, would you?” a woman bystander asked.
Maggie sighed. “That was a very long time ago,” she replied as she turned to the very polished middle-aged woman.
“I never enjoyed Chopin’s waltz in G flat, Opus 70, number 1, as much I just did your interpretation of it, a few minutes ago,” the woman said. Then she rummaged around in her small evening bag. “This is my card. We are looking for a featured soloist for the symphony. If you are interested, get me an audition tape to place into the selection process.”
Maggie looked at the card. The woman was a member of the board of directors for a well-known symphony orchestra. She smiled at the woman.
“Thank you for thinking of me. This is certainly something which bears consideration.”
“You were the featured soloist for . . . .” the woman asked sounding puzzled.
Maggie cut her off. “Yes. I simply lost the heart for it.”
The older woman nodded sympathetically. “Yes. I had heard that. It was bad enough to for that accident to have taken J. Roger from the music world, but for it to have claimed both of you is such a waste.”
Maggie smiled tightly. The last thing that she wanted was to be reminded of Jarod Clark and the fool he had played her.
“You’ve got enough maturity now to get past the naiveté which used to plague your performances,” the older woman said quietly, kindly. “You should be performing. You have too much talent to let it lie dormant.”
Maggie smiled slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to know my stepfather, would you?”
The woman looked at Maggie questioningly.
“Never mind.”
The older woman smiled. “Think about this, please?” she asked before she took her drink, and went to mingle.
Hunt looked at her, then at the card that the older woman had placed in Maggie’s hands. “Now, there’s an offer which doesn’t come along every day,” he remarked.
Maggie tucked the card up her sleeve. “That much is true,” she replied.
“A moderate talent. Nothing more?” Hunt echoed her previous words to her.
“I’ve nearly always been my own worst critic.”
“You did say that you are between positions?”
“True.”
“Then this offer should be something you’d want to pursue?”
“It might be worth thinking about if I were certain that I was good enough,” Maggie said honesty, showing more vulnerability than she would have been comfortable showing if she had been aware of how she sounded.
Hunt filed that away. Something, sometime, had robbed this woman of her confidence in her music. He looked at her questioningly. “Why are you between positions?” he asked suddenly, moving the conversation on to an easier subject.
“Upper management and I had a disagreement. I resigned in a blaze of anger,” she replied. She sipped her champagne. “Like I said, I have a temper that gets the better of me occasionally,” she added dryly. “Rarely, but when I let the temper free, it’s something to behold.”
“Sounds like a large disagreement between you and management.”
“They promoted a man whom I had trained to the position of my boss.”
“Is he any good at his job?”
“Not as good as I was at mine. He made a living, not a good living, but a living. I was the top salesperson in the company for several years running, in spite of having used connections to get the job.”
“What was the product line that the company sold?” Hunt asked.
A mischievous streak overtook her. She answered in one word, “Drugs.”
She should have said ‘pharmaceuticals’, but she always had liked to see the shocked look which passed over people’s faces when she announced her occupation.
“You aren’t serious.”
“Deadly,” she quipped, trying not to smile. Since he thought that she was into street drugs, she’d just play along with him. It was the best way to tell what his sense of humor was really like.
“I see,” he remarked softly. Too softly.
Maggie saw a flash of indecision as she knew that he wondered if he could or should break off this conversation. She could almost formulate the thoughts she believed that he was having: What would Chuck and Natalie have to do with a drug dealer? Is that why Chuck was so upset when Bill came on to her?
“You aren’t all upset by the legalities of the situation?” he finally asked.
“Not particularly. That’s what we pay the attorneys to worry about,” she retorted with a grin. “I just make certain that I move product.”
“The penalties for dealing in illegal substances are stiff,” Hunt commented harshly.
“I’m vaguely aware of that. But, I’m not anticipating any major difficulties along that line.”
“You’ve got everything under control, right?” Hunt asked.
“I think that I can handle almost anything that comes along,” she countered.
“Somehow, Maggie O’Shay, I do believe you. You are a strong woman.”
“Thank you,” she said looking away from the warmth, and humor, in his eyes.
“How did a beautiful woman like you get involved a b
usiness like that, anyway?” Hunt asked.
“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked with a smile.
“Very.”
“Thank you. That was the nicest thing that I’ve been told this evening.”
“How did you get your job, Maggie?” Hunt asked.
“Family connections. The CEO is a half-brother to my stepfather.” She watched the expression on his face become very strained before continuing, “Several years ago, after my fiancee was killed . . . .”
Why did she almost tell him about Jarod? That was none of his business. She shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Some things are better left in the past.”
He nodded in understanding. “Yes, some things are.”
Silence stretched between them. Hunt cleared his throat, said, “So the argument between you and management is not only professional, it’s family?”
“More or less.”
“That’s rough.”
Maggie shrugged. “I’ll live.”
Hunt smiled at her. “I know that you will,” he said gently. “You strike me as a survivor. So, now that you are unemployed, what are you planning to do with yourself?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve got a covenant not to compete clause in my contract. So, unless I want to risk a hefty lawsuit, I’m going to have to work in a field that couldn’t possibly be construed to infringe on that clause for the next two years,” she explained, frustration clear in her voice.
“That’s very businesslike of them,” he remarked.
“Of course. They should be businesslike. We aren’t talking about a tiny operation here. I’m sure that you’ve heard of it, even though it is a privately held corporation, Faulks Pharmaceuticals.”
A half grin went across his face. “Pharmaceuticals?” He chuckled. “You did that to me on purpose!”
“Everything that I told you was correct. I can’t help what assumptions you walked into the conversation with,” she remarked softly.
“I take back what I said earlier about your not liking games. I think that you like some games, especially semantic ones, quite a bit.”
“As a matter of fact, I do like word games of all kinds.”
Hunt smiled at her. “I thought so.”
“Hunt Thomas, I like your style,” she said with a laugh. “Not everyone could take being put on like that with such good humor. I like a man with a sense of humor.”
“Maggie O’Shay. I rather like the cut of your jib, myself,” he replied with a small, incredibly sexy, grin which sent a wave of warmth through her. “Do you think that we could find someplace a bit more secluded. I’m dying to kiss you and have been since I saw you walk in earlier tonight.”
“I wouldn’t want such a handsome fellow to die for the lack of a kiss,” she teased lightly.
She merely brushed his lips with hers, yet it was the most moving sensual experience of her life. She pulled away as if she had been shocked.
Hunt smiled at her and nodded. “Don’t deny that there is something there between us. It’s magical.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Hunt, we barely know each other. Let’s take this a little slower. I’m acting totally out of character tonight. I guess that my resignation must have affected me more strongly than I had thought.”
“That or all the champagne that you’ve been drinking,” Hunt offered quietly. “You’ve had, what, five glasses in the last hour?”
“I didn’t count them,” Maggie replied, with a smile. “But you obviously have. I wonder if I should be flattered that you’ve been paying that much attention to me.”
“Flattered or frightened?” he asked softly.
“I’m not frightened of you,” Maggie said firmly. “It takes more than a man keeping an eye on me to frighten me. Men have been watching me all my life.”
Hunt smiled. “That I can believe. I wonder what it would take to frighten you, Maggie O’Shay,” Hunt said thoughtfully.
“I think that the last time that I was really scared witless was a couple of years ago.” Maggie’s face took on a faraway expression.
“What happened then?”
“I took a week’s vacation. An old school friend loaned me her house in Martinique. You might recall Hurricane Henry. It was late in the season. All the hurricanes were supposed to have been over and done with. But, Henry put them all to shame.”
“You were there?”
“Unfortunately. There I was, alone, during the storm in a beach front house, at least a mile from my nearest neighbor. I like storms, don’t get me wrong. A storm that blows free is a wondrous thing to behold. But, Henry was an experience that I don’t believe that I wish to repeat.”
“You could have been killed.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been living on borrowed time for a long time, Hunt. I just got through that without having the loan called,” she replied. “One of these days, my luck will run out.”
Hunt nodded. Borrowed time? He forced a smile. “You are quite a woman, Maggie O’Shay. Getting to know you is going to be an experience.”
Maggie laughed. “Hopefully a more pleasant one than Henry.”
“Hopefully,” Hunt replied gently as Maggie put down her empty glass on the bar and picked up another.
He frowned as she sipped the effervescent liquid. “Don’t you think that you’ve had enough?”
“I have a hollow leg. Alcohol seldom fazes me.”
Hunt laughed lowly. “You think that you could pass a sobriety test?”
“Are you a cop?” Maggie asked lowly.
“Not hardly.”
“I could pass any sobriety test that you wanted to give, then,” Maggie replied with a smile.
“Count backwards from ninety nine by threes,” Hunt suggested.
Maggie smiled broadly. “99, 96, 93, 90, 87, 84, 81, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Not meaning to sound like Yul Brenner in The King and I. Satisfied?”
“Not by a long shot, Maggie, not by a long shot,” Hunt said softly. “I doubt that I will ever be totally satiated where you are concerned. No matter how long we know each other, Maggie, I am always going to crave your company.”
Maggie looked at him and sighed. “Let’s not rush this, Hunt,” she said, sounding almost desperate, as if it were herself that she were trying to convince.
“I’ve always believed in letting things proceed at their own pace,” Hunt replied, with both gentleness and firmness in his voice. “I never rush things, or prolong the inevitable. You and I, Maggie mine, are inevitable.”
Maggie looked at him for a moment before speaking, “That sounds almost like a threat.” Her voice held the slightest bit of hesitation.
“More like a promise,” he said quietly. “Sooner or later, Maggie O’Shay, we are going to be much more than friends to one another.”
“Well, now you know all about me,” she replied quickly, changing the subject.
“Not hardly,” Hunt replied with a small smile.
“Tell me about yourself, Hunt? What do you do?”
“I’m what the British call a merchant banker. I put together financing for businesses. And my company provides consulting and support services,” he said quietly. “I’ve been active in putting together joint ventures between firms from different countries.”
“Should I have recognized your name?” Maggie asked.
Hunt smiled broadly. “Only if you move in finance circles.”
“Sounds like you keep busy.”
“I do. I travel a good deal. I’m in Europe mostly. This is the first time that I’ve been home in almost six years.”
“Where in Europe?”
“Most countries,” Hunt said. “I’ve been putting together some joint ventures in the former Soviet Union during the last few years as things there began to open up. I’ve also got some ventures going between English and Spanish companies, as well as some between French and Italian companies, Swiss and Danish organizations, Belgium and Irish firms, and Dutch an
d German corporations. I keep offices in London, Paris, Bonn, Madrid, and Zurich.”
“Sounds like a busy life.”
“Let’s just say that I am seldom bored,” he responded with a genuine smile. “Although, some times, often, I would like to have the luxury of boredom.”
She laughed. “I can identify with that. In sales, you are always scrambling for business. No matter how good you were today, there’s tomorrow to think about. It’s not a field that easily lends itself to complacency.”
“I know the feeling. The bad part about working for yourself is that the work isn’t feast or famine. It is often feast followed by famine, at least during the early years. You get so busy with whatever deal you are working on that you can’t prospect for business. So, you are left scrambling for work after the completion of the contract. I know that I found that to be the case when I first went out on my own.”
“You do business in several countries. I take it that languages are no problem for you, then.”
“I usually have a good translator with me,” Hunt said with a large smile.
“Yourself?” she offered, reading his smile.
“I am something of a linguist,” he stated.
“Why do I think that is an understatement?”
“I knew that you were a woman of rare understanding,” he said.
“So, how do you know Chuck and Natty?” she asked changing the subject, uncomfortable with the warmth of his tone.
“Chuck and I go back a long ways. We were college roommates.”
“You weren’t at their wedding.”
“No. I was, ah, tied up at that time.”
“There’s a story behind the way that you phrased that.”
“Maybe when we know each other better, I’ll tell you.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Hunt.”
“Well, Maggie O’Shay. Where did you learn the moves that you put on Bill?”
“Oh, here and there. I was an army brat. It’s amazing what you can pick up when you’re around Special Forces people during your formative years,” she said. “I learned to defend myself, climb mountains, swim, scuba, survive in the wilderness, sky dive, and shoot. Those were Daddy’s hobbies and he insisted on including Momma and I on his outings. Occasionally, even my brother, John, would join us on camping trips.” She smiled at the memory. “That was when he could get leave.”
