Whatever He Requires

by Alice Gaines

  “Thank heaven not all of us are.” She gathered up her materials and folded the portfolio shut. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll unpack so I can be of more service to you.”

  “Do you dislike me, Susan?”

  The question seemed to surprise her. She straightened suddenly and stood without answering for a moment. “I don’t know you.”

  “But you have definite opinions of me,” he said. “And they don’t seem to be positive.”

  “This is a pretty awkward conversation, and I don’t feel much like having it,” she said.

  He pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs until his foot almost touched hers. It was an aggressive move, and most people would take a step backward. Susan Christopher didn’t. Her cheeks did color, though, and a flash of anger shone in her eyes. Good. A woman with a spine. The only kind worth sparring with.

  “Once you know me you’ll like me better,” he said. “I’m not such a bad sort.”

  “Just a little spoiled.”

  Her nerve pulled a smile from him. “You do have an opinion.”

  “You asked,” she said.

  “So I did,” he said. “In what way would you say I’m spoiled?”

  For a moment, she merely stood there with her portfolio tucked under her arm. Again, he could watch the play of emotions cross her face. Shyness, which was rather endearing, actually. She didn’t know him well enough to feel sure he wouldn’t retaliate if an employee told him an uncomfortable truth. But the lift of her chin also spoke of courage. She hadn’t lived long enough to learn cowardice, and that was charming as well.

  “You have everything you want,” she said. “You’re rich enough to buy the whole city if you want.”

  “You’ve overestimated my wealth, I’m afraid.”

  “Part of the city, then.”

  “I’m rich, right enough,” he said. “But I can’t buy what the city doesn’t want to sell.”

  “Then, why are you here?”

  “To convince the city it wants to sell me property,” he said. “Perhaps even to give it to me.”

  She stared at him. “You expect the city to give you property for free, but not to Archways?”

  “I’m going to create hundreds of jobs. Good ones, so my workers can afford your houses or anyone else’s.”

  “And you can make more money,” she said.

  “So I can make cars,” he corrected. “If I do a good job of that, the money will follow.”

  One golden eyebrow went up. “It’s still the bottom line for you, then.”

  “I admire your altruism. We’re different people.” He turned back to his laptop. “I won’t need you until dinner. You might as well get into something comfortable.”

  “I beg your pardon.” She stood there, a tower of female disapproval, albeit a small tower.

  “I only meant comfortable, nothing sinister.”

  “Sir Peter—”

  “Peter,” he corrected.

  “All right, Peter,” she said. “This is a business arrangement.”

  “I never suggested otherwise. Maybe you’re reading more into the situation than you should.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “I am not.”

  “Good then. We understand each other,” he said.

  “We do.”

  “Then go get settled. I’ll see you at dinner.” He bent over the computer, his gaze fixed on the screen. That didn’t keep him from hearing the anger in her steps as she headed toward the guest rooms, nor the force of her door closing. He chuckled again for a moment before going back to the sales numbers. But instead of business, he could only concentrate on what he’d cook for her.

  Chapter Two

  Hours later, Susan was still fuming. Comfortable, huh? Sir Peter had asked for it, and he’d get it. The most comfortable clothes Susan owned were her pajamas, robe, and fuzzy slippers. Next came her old, faded jeans with the tear over one knee and a UC Berkeley T-shirt two sizes too big for her. She’d put those on, stashed all her stuff in the closet of the guest room and various drawers, and set up her laptop on the desk in the guest room she’d selected as her own.

  She’d seen this room many times, of course, but she’d never imagined she’d stay in it. Although not as ostentatious as the master suite, the guest room created a sense of luxury. In contrast to where the owner slept, here the furnishings matched the fashions from the time the house had been built. She’d personally selected some of the pieces—the four-poster bed and the freestanding, full-size oval mirror in the ebony frame. At the time, she’d pictured herself standing in front it, staring at her reflection in period dress. Silly fantasies. Still, she could enjoy herself here—long, hot baths in the claw-footed bathtub, snuggling under the covers with a book. In fact, right now she could stand on the balcony and stare at the bay and the Marin headlands in the distance.

  She did exactly that, throwing open the French doors and stepping out onto red tile. With the fog still off the coast, the air was unusually warm for San Francisco. Sunlight slanted across the city as the day drew to a close. She’d awakened in her own bed in her little apartment. Tonight she’d sleep in one of the most expensive and beautiful properties in the city. All thanks to a man she’d only met. An unusual arrangement, but one she’d better get used to.

  A tap came on the door to the guest room. “This place has a corkscrew, I hope.”

  Peter Breit’s voice, of course. She could hardly expect anyone else, and yet, to hear him from the other side of her bedroom door struck her as a little strange. Strange and intimate, but not completely unpleasant.

  She walked to the door and placed her palm against the wood. “In the kitchen and another in the sideboard in the dining room.”

  “I looked in the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll try the sideboard.”

  She put her hand on the knob. “I’ll come find it for you.”

  “You stay here. Dinner’s not ready yet.” He moved away.

  A bubble of pleasure swelled inside her, no matter how her good sense tried to pop it. He appeared to be making something special and didn’t want her to see it until he had it just right. She had no earthly reason to believe he’d planned something like that, but the smells coming from the kitchen promised a delicious meal, whether he’d set about to treat her or not.

  Though he’d told her to stay put, she couldn’t help but open the door and sneak down the hall toward the dining room. Peter must have gone into the kitchen, so she had a chance to check out what he’d done there. He’d set two places at one end of the table with a candelabra nearby. Heavy silverware—an assortment of forks and spoons—lay lined up on either side of the fine china from the hutch. Crystal glassware stood nearby, including water goblets and multiple wine glasses. All very elegant. Maybe she ought to sneak back away and change her clothing.

  Before she had a chance, he emerged from the kitchen carrying two small plates of salad. If she’d felt underdressed before, his clothes reassured her. He wore casual slacks and a polo shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest and abdomen. Studalicious, indeed.

  He set the salad plates on top of the larger dishes at the place settings. “I thought I told you to stay where you were.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I don’t take orders very well.”

  “Understatement there,” he said. “Now that you’re here, you can light the candles.”

  She’d overseen most of the details of furnishing and stocking the condo, so she had no trouble finding a butane lighter in the sideboard and lighting the wicks. With the sun setting outside, shadows had begun to fill the room. By the time they ate, the flickering light of the candles would make their meal pretty darned romantic.

  “I see you made yourself comfortable,” he said.

  “You too.”

  “It’s hard to cook in a business suit.” His gaze moved over her as palpable as a touch. The flicker of interest in his eyes ought to have served as a warning. If she had any sense, she’d return his warmth with an icy stare. Or she
could remind him she was an employee who deserved respect. Instead, she’d sit beside him, eat the salad, and wait for more courses to come.

  “Dinner smells great,” she said.

  “Roast chicken with a twist. It’s resting now.” He pulled out a chair and stood waiting for her to sit. When she did, he helped her push into the right position. His fingers never touched her, but her imagination supplied hints of the warmth of the contact and how he might linger at her shoulders. If she’d been wearing an evening gown, he would have stroked her bare skin, and that would have felt oh so good. Images crowded into her brain of his hand brushing the back of her neck and moving downward between her shoulder blades. Her heart sped up in response. Damned fantasies would get her into trouble if she wasn’t careful.

  She’d been so wrapped up in suggestive daydreams, she jumped when he appeared on her other side with a bottle of white wine. After pouring a bit for each of them, he took his own seat and lifted his glass. “To a fruitful partnership.”

  She clinked her glass against his. “So we’re partners?”

  “I hope so.” He took a sip of his wine. “Chardonnay with the salad. Zinfandel with the chicken, I think.”

  “Are we going to drink two bottles of wine?”

  “Hardly,” he said. “I don’t believe in losing control.”

  “Never?”

  He set his glass down and twirled the stem between his fingers, making the liquid inside dance. The gray-green of his eyes turned smoky. “Try the salad.”

  She did and found it delicious. The vinaigrette was light, not harsh, and just coated the baby greens. A slice of firm pear added a sweet note, and spiced walnuts made a delightful crunch. The wine paired with it perfectly, tasting almost buttery. She ate without speaking, and in a moment, she’d finished it all.

  He watched her the whole time, and when she lifted her head to meet his gaze directly, he glanced away for a heartbeat and then back, this time with enough intensity to make her breath catch. He did want her, and the knowledge reached inside her to something that wanted him right back. Oh, this was not good. They hadn’t even known each other for a full day, and they had six more to spend together in this magical place.

  Breaking the mood abruptly, he stood, picked up their salad plates, and disappeared into the kitchen. Susan put her hand over her heart and did her best to calm herself. It was pretty clear what was happening here, and she’d have to find a way to stop it. Hell, she had to find a way to make herself want to stop it. She took another sip of her wine and gathered her thoughts.

  He didn’t seem like the type to force himself on a woman. With looks like that, he’d hardly have to coerce anyone to have sex with him. He could try to seduce her—ply her with wine, for example. But that would work only if she cooperated. Of course, if he was really good, he could make her want to cooperate, maybe even initiate something herself.

  He appeared with the main course. After setting out the serving dishes, he put the tray on the sideboard and returned to the table to carve what looked like a roasted chicken, but as he’d said, with a twist.

  “Why is it all stretched out like that?” she asked.

  “I boned it.”

  “Really? You took out all the bones and left the skin intact?”

  “I made one long cut down the back.” He picked up a long carving knife and fork and made even slices through the chicken. Sure enough, he didn’t encounter a single bone. When he served her some leg and breast, each piece was wrapped around a savory stuffing.

  “You’re handy with a knife,” she said. “Should I be afraid?”

  He served himself and took his seat. “I’m skilled with any number of instruments.”

  He didn’t answer her second question—whether she should fear him. He didn’t have to. She had no reason to be frightened of him, but sitting close to him definitely sent a shiver of danger through her. He continued serving her, placing some baby potatoes that smelled of garlic on her plate and following that with green beans flecked with almonds. Finally, he held up a gravy boat. “Pan sauce.”

  She took the sauce from him and poured a bit over the chicken. “It all looks and smells fabulous.”

  “Enjoy.”

  The food was beyond fabulous. The chicken skin crunched under her teeth, while the flesh remained silky and moist. He’d added just enough garlic to the potatoes to perfume them, but not overwhelm. The beans tasted as if they’d been picked that day. When he poured the red wine and she swirled some in her mouth before swallowing it, the notes of fruit and fermentation made the whole meal complete.

  “Do you cook like this every day?” she asked.

  “I don’t always have time. I felt inspired this afternoon.”

  “By…”

  “This building,” he said. “You wouldn’t exactly open a tin of beans in such a beautiful place. Then, of course, there’s the kitchen.”

  She lifted her glass to him. “We at Bay Vista are glad you like it.”

  “And the company.” He clinked his glass against hers before lifting it to his mouth to take a sip.

  She shouldn’t have found the declaration so flattering. It shouldn’t have made her heart beat a little faster nor bring heat to her cheeks. As daylight disappeared completely, leaving no illumination except for what came from the candles, his eyes took on a darker hue. As much as she searched, the actual color eluded her. After a moment, she realized she’d been staring at him, and she rested back against her chair. She ought to have apologized, but that would only draw attention to her rudeness.

  “Dessert?” he asked.

  “I suppose you have yet another wine for that.”

  “I have a wine for everything.” His voice dropped to a deep baritone on the last word. If they’d been flirting before, now they were skirting something more dangerous. Out and out seduction. She had all kinds of reasons for resisting that, and if she tried really hard, she could probably conjure up one or two.

  One thing did come through. Too fast. She’d met this man only hours before. They might have some tremendous chemistry going, but there couldn’t be anything more this soon.

  “Another time,” she said. “I have to keep my girlish figure.”

  “Women,” he said. “Why is it you all want to resemble sticks?”

  “I have a long way to go before I’d look like that.”

  “Well, don’t. You’re more than attractive the way you are.” Heat flared in his eyes again, making the silver color appear molten.

  Enough sparks for one night. Enough warmth. And more than enough wine. She set her glass down. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He quirked a brow. “Going to bed so soon?”

  “I have a lot of work to do.” True enough, but she wouldn’t do any of it. She couldn’t imagine concentrating on much of anything. She could, however, soak in a hot bath and read one of her books about rakish English lords and the women who incited their passions. Oh yeah…great idea when she was sharing a condo with the modern version of a rake. How else was she going to make it through the night?

  She stood. “I want to be rested and alert to act as your assistant in the morning, so unless you require something now…”

  He leaned back in his chair, his posture open as if inviting her to crawl into his lap. “Nothing for now.”

  “Good night.” She headed toward her room. His gaze followed her, almost as palpable as a physical touch. A week of this. How would she get out sane at the end?

  * * *

  How could one small woman take up so much room? Peter had shared space with Geoffrey for years, and the man stood well over six feet and had the body of a rugby player. They never got under each other’s feet, but every time Peter turned around, he discovered he’d almost bumped into Susan Christopher or she was reaching for the same thing he’d extended his arm for. They constantly brushed up against each other in innocent and sometimes rather less than innocent ways. She had his libido lurching first one way and then another until he h
ad to retreat to his bedroom for a few minutes to catch his breath.

  It wasn’t that she cluttered things up. She didn’t. She kept her work as tidy as he did his and put everything away at the end of their day together. Her own drawings and architectural materials stayed in her room, where she retreated every night after dinner. Still, her presence lingered after she disappeared. He’d catch a whiff of her perfume or a zing of excitement over something she’d said or the way she’d laughed at a remark full of sexual innuendo. Whenever she ran water in her bathtub, he’d have to imagine her getting undressed and easing her naked body into the water. Three days into their week together and he was ready to send her away so he could get something done. But if he told her to leave, she would, and he wouldn’t get to enjoy the glorious madness of having her around.

  Today she sat at the other end of the dining room table, out of touching distance, thank heaven. Even their feet couldn’t reach each other. She was staring at the screen of her laptop and tapping the end of a pen against her lips. Each contact against the soft curves of her mouth hit him like a punch to his gut or a jolt of something more pleasurable somewhat lower. Though he ought to be reading through the draft of his company’s annual report to the stockholders, he couldn’t look away from her.

  “I think I have the letter right now.” She glanced up and found him staring. Not for the first time that day.

  He hunched back over his own keyboard. “E-mail it to me, won’t you?”

  “You’re sitting less than ten feet away.”

  Yes, and if he went to her and read it over her shoulder, he’d have to stop himself from burying his nose in her hair…again. No thank you. “E-mail.”

  “Whatever you require.” She typed a bit, and the letter appeared in his inbox, where he could read it safely.

  Smart as a whip, she’d caught on quickly to what he’d wanted. Her English was better than his, given that he’d grown up speaking German…something he hadn’t shared with her yet, if he planned to at all. On the whole, if Geoffrey hadn’t been willing to travel to the United States, he would have hired her more permanently. And made his life a delightful chaos.