by Lisa Weaver
“The water’s perfect,” she enthused. “I know you’re not supposed to swim with your injured shoulder, but you can always just splash around to cool off. Come on in,” she invited.
It was a tempting offer, but he wasn’t ready for her to see the reality of what his last assignment with the CIA had cost him.
He hesitated a moment too long before replying. Her glance bounced from his eyes to the shirt he was still wearing—in the blistering sun—and he saw the moment she connected the dots.
“You didn’t take your shirt off on board the boat, and you don’t want to cool off in the pool even though it’s baking out here?” She paused, her eyes filling with compassion as understanding dawned. “You said you were tortured. It was bad, wasn’t it?”
He nodded grimly. “Yeah. There are marks. It’s ugly.”
“You don’t have to hide your scars from me, Frank. There’s nothing ugly about you,” she refuted.
She’d see them eventually, he supposed. “Okay. I’ll go and change into a swimsuit. I’ll be right back.”
When he returned to the pool, he waded in to join her prepared to see pity in her eyes when she caught her first glimpse of the nasty scars that crisscrossed his upper back.
Anger flashed in those beautiful amaretto eyes instead, sharp and fierce, as she gently ran a finger along the raised, puckered skin.
“Those bastards,” she breathed. “What kind of men do something like this?”
“The kind that do whatever it takes to get what they want.”
“It must have been horrible.”
He brushed off her pity with a shrug. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” she countered, compassion misting her eyes. “We’ll find the men who did this to you. They’ll pay for killing your partner and for making you suffer.”
He pulled her close and brushed a tear from her eyes. “Don’t cry, Kitten. I’m tough. It’ll take a lot more than a little torture to keep me down.”
Her lips curved in a watery, yet mischievous smile. “In that case …”
With a slap of her hand against the sparkling surface of the water, she succeeded in drenching him.
Shaking the water off, he narrowed his eyes and waded closer to her. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it isn’t fair to kick a man when he’s down? If I could swim, you’d be in deep trouble right about now, lady.”
“That’s why I took advantage of the opportunity,” she laughed. “What better time to strike than when you can’t retaliate? Think of it as payback for that time in the tenth grade when you terrorized me with a frog on the school camping trip.”
Her laughter was contagious, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “A carpe diem moment, huh?”
“Exactly,” she agreed—right before she splashed him again.
This time he did retaliate, splashing back. The impromptu water fight started innocently enough, but when their slippery bodies accidentally made contact, the battle turned sensual.
He looked down to see her peeking up at him from underneath her lashes. Her tongue slipped past her lips, moistening them. Powerless, he followed the movement with his eyes.
They stood there, eyes locked, the air between them charged with erotic electricity.
“We shouldn’t.” she breathed, reading his intent.
“No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed.
But he did anyhow.
Dipping his head, he captured her mouth, urging her lips to part.
When he reluctantly broke off the kiss, she looked at him, dazed.
“I’m pretty sure there’s no one following us this time,” she stammered.
“No. This time I meant to kiss you.” Smiling down at her, he pushed a lock of wet hair away from her eyes. Pulling himself back from the dangerous precipice he was teetering on, he fought for self-control. He’d warned her about Damon Landers, but at the moment he realized he was as much of a threat to her innocence as the slimy business mogul. “I shouldn’t have, though,” he sighed.
“Why not? Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t explore the attraction between us.”
“There are dozens of reasons; all of them good. Topping the list is that I’m not willing to risk our friendship on a temporary physical attraction that could burn itself out eventually.”
“What if what we’re feeling isn’t temporary?” She took his hand, squeezing it tight. “We take risks every day, and ninety-nine percent of them are worth it. I’m willing to chance it. Are you?”
He wanted to chance it. Lord, how he wanted to. But she was crushing on a version of him that didn’t exist. She thought he was a man who could be a warrior while also inhabiting the world of white picket fences and romantic happily-ever-afters. Nothing could be further from the truth. He couldn’t straddle two worlds.
The warrior part came naturally to him, but the happily-ever-after bit was as foreign to him as the billionaire lifestyle he’d eschewed. Stephanie deserved someone who could make the stuff of fairy tales a reality for her—and that wasn’t him. She deserved forever, and he couldn’t offer her that.
“Yes, I have feelings for you,” he admitted. “But I was out of line in acting on them. I won’t let it happen again.”
What he didn’t tell her was that he feared there would be no going back, now that the damage was already done.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner at Damon Landers’s estate, Stephanie soon learned, was nothing short of an event. Damon’s chef had prepared an elaborate feast, served al fresco out on the expansive stone patio.
She, Frank, Damon, and Vanessa were comfortably seated at a cast-iron dining table. The tabletop was covered with a fine linen tablecloth and dotted with an array of candles. A myriad of decorative lights, strategically placed to highlight the surrounding gardens, cast a warm glow. An outdoor fireplace added to the festive atmosphere.
Damon’s chef served Caesar salads and piping-hot rolls for them to enjoy while he prepared their main course. The smell of steak grilling on the massive outdoor cooktop wafted through the air, tantalizing their taste buds.
Damon proved to be a congenial host, regaling them with tales of the various personalities he had encountered in the financial-planning world. His stories had them in stitches, and Stephanie noticed that Frank seemed to warm to their host as the evening wore on. She wondered if he might be revising his opinion of the man.
Vanessa was a charming dinner companion, too. Seeing the way her gaze lingered on Damon throughout the evening, Stephanie decided her initial assumption that the woman had designs on Frank was way off base. Vanessa only had eyes for her boss. But while there was definite chemistry between Damon and his PA, it also seemed they were both intent on ignoring those sparks and on keeping their professional barriers in place.
The meal was extraordinary, and Stephanie told the chef so when he delivered after-dinner coffee to complement a decadently rich chocolate mousse he served with gobs of fresh whipped cream.
“See?” she whispered in Frank’s ear at a moment when Damon excused himself to take a phone call and Vanessa was busy chatting with the chef. “Damon isn’t the Big Bad Wolf, after all. He’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s because I’m here.”
“Actually, I think it’s because if there’s anyone here he’s interested in, it’s Vanessa,” she countered.
It wasn’t until they bid Damon and Vanessa good night that she remembered she was going to be sharing the guesthouse with Frank—and that meant she’d be alone with him in this lover’s paradise. With the glow of the evening they’d just shared coloring her judgment, she knew that could be a very risky prospect.
Or possibly not. Maybe, as Lauren had suggested, she should look at this assignment with Frank as an opportunity.
Perhaps she should take Lauren’s advice to heart and mix business with pleasure. She could bring up her beyond-friends feelings for him again, after what had transpired in the pool.
On the other hand, it might be
wisest to shelve the assertive approach for the time being. She wasn’t sure she was up for another round of intense emotion so soon after their kiss earlier. Frank had made it perfectly clear, then, that he thought they were treading treacherous waters.
Deciding to focus on anything other than the man she’d be sharing a roof with for the next week, she prepared for bed. She thought she was faring pretty well in the ignore-the-male-delectableness department—a feat made far easier when Frank tucked himself away in his own room.
Her victory, though, was short lived.
Deciding to take advantage of the soaking tub in the master bathroom, she stepped into the bathroom and accidentally encountered the very specimen of male deliciousness who had been occupying her thoughts. Apparently he’d just emerged from the shower, because he was wrapped in a robe—and nothing else.
He wasn’t by any means indecent, but he might as well have been standing before her completely naked, considering the impact he immediately had on her erogenous zones.
He was so excruciatingly handsome that he made her soul sigh. The vibes bouncing between them were magnetic—their pull impossible to ignore.
What started as a lick of flame, a tiny whisper of heat, took only a second to erupt into a raging wildfire. The alluring heat dared her to draw even closer to him when she really should be distancing herself from this enticing man.
A man who, she reminded herself, only wants to be my friend.
The devilish side of her was having no part of her rationalizations, refusing to stand down when fanning the flame was far more exciting. She might be innocent, but she knew enough to be dangerous. Frank’s quickened breathing and darkened eyes telegraphed that, despite his unwillingness to admit it, was just as into her as she was into him.
But could she bask in the glow of that flame of attraction without getting singed? Deciding the answer was no, she excused herself, wished him a good night, and made her way past him down the hall to bed.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Stephanie woke early the next morning after having spent most of the night tossing and turning. The awareness that Frank was sleeping just past her bedroom door—so close and yet so far away—had made rest elusive.
After a quick shower she slipped into a short, black pencil skirt and paired it with an ivory silk blouse. She styled her hair, then added a touch of makeup to her face and sprayed her favorite fragrance on her pulse points. A pair of diamond-stud earrings and black stilettos completed the look.
A quick double check in the mirror assured her the makeup had succeeded in concealing the evidence of her sleepless night, and that she looked competently professional.
When she stepped out of the master bedroom, she found Frank getting an early start on the day as well. He’d already showered and brewed a pot of coffee.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. “Sleep well?”
She opted for honesty. “Not really. You?”
“No,” he told her, pinning her with a look that said he knew exactly what she’d suffered through—and why. A thrill of satisfaction at the thought that he wasn’t immune to the chemistry flaring between them zinged through her. It was somewhat heartening to her that not acting on that chemistry had left him equally frustrated.
“I made coffee if you’d like some,” he offered. “And Vanessa texted me this morning to invite us to join her for a light breakfast at Damon’s.”
“That sounds lovely,” she smiled, helping herself to a cup of the fragrant java.
Vanessa’s idea of a “light breakfast” turned out to be a veritable feast set out smorgasbord style on the terrace. Damon’s chef had prepared an assortment of delicacies including scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, home fries, coffee, and a selection of fresh-squeezed juices.
“This is spectacular!” Stephanie told Vanessa. “It’s a good thing we’re only here for a week. Any longer and I’d be leaving weighing twice what I did when I arrived. How do you stay so slim, eating like this every day?”
“Damon keeps me running, so I burn off the calories quickly,” Vanessa replied with a grin. “There’s never a dull moment. Speaking of running, I promised Damon we’d be on our way by nine. We should probably head out.”
“Where is Damon this morning?” Frank asked.
“He was called back to his office last night to handle an emergency that cropped up during an overseas conference call. I flew him in, and he decided to stay overnight, since things were pretty tense on the business front. But I chatted with him earlier and the situation has been resolved, so the meeting with the book dealer is still a go.”
Stephanie saw Frank’s eyebrows shoot skyward at that tidbit of information, but he didn’t comment.
“Ready?” Vanessa asked.
“Whenever you are,” Stephanie replied.
“Great. The helicopter pad is behind the main house.”
“Lead the way.”
Soon she and Vanessa were airborne, headed for Damon’s office. Vanessa was a competent pilot, and she made the trip entertaining by pointing out various landmarks along the route.
“So how long have you worked for Damon?”
“Two years now. As you can see, my duties go beyond your typical administrative assistant’s responsibilities. This job takes every assumption people make when they think of the tasks a personal assistant is assigned to do and turns them on their head. That’s one of the reasons I love it so much, actually. Every day is different, and there’s always a fresh challenge. Not to mention that Damon is a great boss.”
“From what I’ve seen in the short time I’ve been here, he’s fortunate to have you.”
“I’m the one who’s lucky. Damon saved me from myself. I was at a rough juncture in my life when I met him. If it hadn’t been for his kindness and his compassion, I’d probably be doing jail time instead of helping him with the day-to-day running of a multibillion-dollar corporation.”
“It seems like a twenty-four-seven kind of role. It must be hard, not having a lot of downtime to spend with your family.”
“I don’t have any family, actually. I was orphaned when I was a baby, and I grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home. The experience wasn’t a good one, and it left me with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. That chip had me traveling the wrong path, until Damon took me under his wing. He’s the first person who believed in me. He mentored me, and I owe him everything for shaping me into the woman I am today.”
The picture that Vanessa painted of her boss didn’t jive at all with Frank’s assessment of Damon’s character, but Stephanie was certain the woman’s heartfelt testimony was sincere. Emotion like that couldn’t be easily faked. Damon was looking less and less like a bad guy, and more and more deserving of a white hat than the black one Frank was convinced he wore.
But then there was the matter of his frequent appearances in the gossip pages with a seemingly ever-changing selection of beautiful women.
“I’m guessing you’ve sent a lot of ‘Dear Jane’ gifts on his behalf when he dissolves a relationship, huh?”
Vanessa laughed, waving a hand in dismissal of the notion. “The society pages love nothing more than to exaggerate Damon’s love life. The whole ‘woman of the week’ thing is a myth. He doesn’t have time for that. Sure, when he makes the rounds of the social-circuit there’s no shortage of females looking to share the spotlight with him, but that’s all it is. He doesn’t sleep with those women, if that’s what you’re asking. His work is his mistress.”
Damon was waiting for them on the rooftop of his glossy, high-rise office complex when Vanessa set the copter down on the landing pad.
“It’s good to see you again, Stephanie,” he greeted her.
She couldn’t help noticing that he looked sharp in his tailored business suit—its deep charcoal hue accentuated the richness of his blond hair.
“I’m glad you could make it. Vanessa tells me you’ve already made amazing inroads on the library. I can’t wait to see what
you’ve done with the room.”
“I still have quite a bit left to do, but I’m making progress. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like work at all. You have such an amazing collection of books—it’s like being a kid in a candy store.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Let’s go inside. We can chat before the meeting.”
Soon they were settled in Damon’s luxurious office, where he took a moment to bring her up to speed on the upcoming business transaction he was about to broker.
“I’m thinking about acquiring a book from a dealer I haven’t worked with before,” he explained. “As Vanessa told you, I’m very interested in adding a first edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island to my collection. I’d like your opinion of the one he’s offering before I commit to his asking price.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to assess it,” she assured him.
They were absorbed in amicable conversation when Vanessa buzzed Damon to announce his guest’s arrival.
Vanessa escorted the man in, and she and Damon rose to greet him. When she shook hands with the dealer she noticed that his palm was sweaty and he seemed anxious. That set off warning bells, but the book he handed over to Damon for inspection appeared, at a glance, to be of immaculate quality. She couldn’t imagine what he was so worried about.
“What do you think?” Damon asked, passing the copy of Treasure Island over to her for appraisal.
She had no doubt the book was an authentic first edition. The only factor that she thought could reduce its value was the presence of a handwritten note on the title page. It was a simple congratulatory message, unsigned, and followed by a string of dates she assumed must have some significance—perhaps they were even related to major events in the gift recipient’s life? A string of dates were penned in on the last page as well.
“The book is in exceptional condition for its age,” she noted. “The binding is completely intact, and the pages are hardly worn. It’s been cared for extraordinarily well.”
