by Alice Gaines
“Who doesn’t?” she answered.
“We’ll make some one morning,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to make hollandaise.”
“Deal.”
He went to the table and bent over his laptop. “For now, I’d like you to do some Internet research for me.”
“I’m ready.” She tapped her fingers on the counter. Not exactly how she’d thought their first encounter after that kiss would go, with each of them sticking their noses toward their computer screens. Actually, she hadn’t formed the details of how they’d continue the seduction at all, but keyboards and search engines didn’t fit with her fantasies of how to spend time with a man who would become her lover.
“You’ll want to write this down,” he said.
“Darn. I forgot my steno pad.”
He glanced up. “Do you even know what a steno pad is?”
“I’ve heard the expression. I assume you take notes on it,” she said.
“Close enough. Try the pad I’ve been making grocery lists on.” He inclined his head toward the counter near the refrigerator.
She found the pad and a mechanical pencil next to it. “Ready.”
“I want you to find the closest tire manufacturers. I prefer Northern California, but scour the whole state and Nevada as well.”
She wrote tires on the pad. “Got it.”
“Once you’ve done that, see whatever information you can get on them online. Stock prices, earnings for the last five years, reports to the stockholders.”
She scribbled quickly. Stock, earnings, reports. Not sighs, kisses, naked skin.
“I want to know who their CEOs are,” he went on. “Who’s on their boards of directors. See if they’ve had any press lately, good or bad.”
“OK,” she said. “What then?”
“Show me what you have, and I’ll give you further instructions.”
“Is that it?” She managed, barely, to keep notes of disappointment out of her voice.
“For now.” He went back to reading his laptop, tuning her out to all appearances. Fine, business. She’d already decided that if he wanted to keep things professional, she’d go along. She ought to be relieved that her life had just become less complicated. On the other hand, maybe she’d been too attached to the idea of complications. The twinges in the general vicinity of her heart sure hurt.
She grabbed her coffee, leaving the unfinished croissant behind, and headed out of the kitchen with the pad in her other hand. She’d spend her morning checking out companies that made tires. What a fabulous way to while away the hours in a restored mansion with a gorgeous man who really knew how to kiss.
“Oh, Susan,” he called after her.
She kept her back to him. “Yes, boss.”
“About last night.”
She lifted one foot and then the other until she’d turned to faced him. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d mention that.”
His expression remained bland. The guy would make a hell of a poker player. “You did start it.”
“Is this where I should say I’m sorry?” She stared right back at him.
“Not at all,” he said. “I thought we might discuss whether to pick that up where we left off.”
As seductions went, this one sure fell flat. As a declaration of undying lust, it pretty much sucked. Checking out tire manufacturers offered more excitement, when one got right down to it.
“You’ll forgive me for being so blunt,” he said. “But I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Heaven forbid.”
He leaned his hip against the butcher block table. “A man in my position—”
“You mean filthy rich?”
“I’m not going to apologize for that.”
All right, now this was getting downright ridiculous. “Why don’t we cut to the chase?”
“It was good,” he said. “Damned good, in fact.”
“As an Englishman, would you say it was bloody good?”
“That too.” He blushed. Not much, just a light coloring over his cheekbones.
The twinges turned to real excitement. He wanted more. She hadn’t imagined the heat of desire behind his kiss. They’d have each other, and she might get to experience the sensations in her dream for real.
“But I don’t want us to misunderstand our arrangement,” he said. “Overestimate its significance.”
“You think I’ll fall in love with you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Stranger things have happened.”
“I’m not a silly little girl,” she said. “I know the difference between sex and love.”
“We understand each other, then.” He made no move toward her. Surely at this point some exchange of something ought to take place. Unless she’d completely misread the situation, they’d just agreed to become lovers. Shouldn’t they at least be sealing the deal with a kiss?
“Will that be all?” she asked.
“One more thing before you begin work. I need the name of a really good women’s boutique.”
What for? Another woman? Right after he’d made her that charming proposal? Her jaw dropped, and she stood rooted to the spot, gaping at him.
“For you, of course,” he said. “I have to attend a party tonight, and I’d appreciate your company.”
“Sure. What the hell? I didn’t have anything else planned.”
“And afterward. Ah, Susan, afterward.” He approached, put his hands on her hips, and pulled her against him. As he gazed down into her face, the outline of his erection pressed against her. Even through all their clothing, it was impressive. He’d been hard for her the entire time, even while discussing tires. And she could enjoy all that hardness tonight. How could she make herself wait?
* * *
He hadn’t paid that boutique nearly enough, despite the four-figure price they’d charged him. His first sight of Susan Christopher dressed for the party at the mayor’s mansion felt like a punch to his solar plexus. She sparkled, figuratively and literally. With the insanely high heels of her shoes and the way she’d mounded golden curls on the top of her head, she stood only a few inches shorter than him. The sequined gown clung to her curves from her breasts down to her derriere. Not tightly, but as if cut using her body for a pattern. Even the slit up the side of the dress showed off a shapely calf. And the tiny straps at her shoulders hinted that he could snap them with his fingers and watch the whole confection slither down her body.
“Is it all right?” She held her arms away from her and turned in a full circle.
“Mere words wouldn’t do you justice,” he said.
“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I imagined our conversation this morning.”
“Because I didn’t immediately jump your bones?” he said. “We didn’t hook up before lunch?”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I wouldn’t have put it exactly that way.”
“There’s something to be said for anticipation.” He wouldn’t mention how his mind had wandered to her all day after she’d given him permission to know her body. He’d lost count of the times he’d almost risen from his chair to search her out in her bedroom only to have his cell phone ring or his e-mail notification go off. All that had ended for the day now. He couldn’t afford interruptions while socializing with the head of the Planning Department, and after the party he had even more pressing business. Back here, with her, in his bed.
“You look pretty darned good yourself.” She walked to him and pressed her palm to the chest of his tuxedo. Her fingers looked small and delicate, in contrast to the light of victory in her eyes. Claiming back a modicum of control, he took her fingers and kissed each tip. When she giggled, he licked the pad of her thumb.
“Pervert,” she said.
“You taste like sugar.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
“Shall we get out of here before I muss your hair?” he said.
She moved to a chair and picked up a tiny purse that matched her gown and her wrap.
Gentleman that he’d been trained to be, he took the shawl and draped it over her shoulders. As it whispered down her arms, a cloud of scent invaded his nostrils. Spice and citrus, it tempted him to bend until his nose brushed her hair.
A small taste. He could sample a bit of her soft skin and still maintain enough control to guide her down in the elevator and out into his car. Just there…a spot behind her ear where her pulse beat beneath her skin. He pressed his lips there and felt her answering quiver.
Not enough. Perhaps he should have indulged himself earlier in the pleasures of her flesh. That way, his appetites wouldn’t run roughshod over his good sense. Kneading her shoulders in his hands, he pulled her back against him and went for the base of her throat. She let him continue, making no move to put distance between them. To the contrary, she leaned backward, tipping her head to the side to expose more of her flesh.
The knowledge hit him in the gut. She was becoming excited. She really did respond this eagerly. He hadn’t imagined it the night before. He could lift her into his arms and carry her to his bedroom. They could miss the party and spend the evening and night lying naked together.
But no. He still had business. So with a moan of frustration, he put her away from him. “You’re potent medicine.”
She laughed, a throaty sound that said she understood her womanly power over him. On the other hand, when he ran his fingers along the length of her arms, she trembled. The electricity ran in both directions, obviously. This promised to be a stimulating night.
He kept his palm at the small of her back as they left the condominium and rode the old elevator slowly to the ground floor. He’d keep his hand there the entire evening, partly because a gentleman did that for his lady and partly to leave no question about who she’d come with and who would take her home. Possessiveness was new for him and, on balance, not a healthy sign, given how superficial this affair would remain. He could chalk it up to the fact that he hadn’t made love to her yet, perhaps, but had wanted her all day.
When they slid into the backseat of the limo and Dolph closed the passenger doors, he placed his fingers just above her knee. They pulled off into San Francisco traffic headed toward what, on the surface, was a party but beneath served more for greasing palms. No direct bribery. Government agencies didn’t deal in that kind of corruption any longer. But savvy politicians and municipal operatives still operated on an informal structure of tit-for-tat. You give me city land for my manufacturing complex, and I promise to employ thousands of your citizens. Then, when election time comes around, we both exploit our “partnership” for political gain.
All that and a night of tangled limbs and multiple orgasms to follow. No wonder he was smiling as the limo descended Nob Hill.
* * *
Susan should have asked Peter what the party entailed. If she had, she might have discovered earlier that she’d spend the evening with exactly the city officials Archways had been trying to network with for months. The director of planning and the head of the housing authority in one room, and she’d arrived on the arm of the most powerful recent arrival to the city. If her outfit hadn’t turned nearly every eye, and it had, the fact that Sir Peter Breit was her escort would have earned her enough attention to get in the faces of some important people. If she kept her wits about her, she could accomplish something.
She’d limited herself to one glass of champagne. So delicious, it could go down too easily, leading her to accept another. She enjoyed the hors d’oeuvres, even though she’d have to run them off on Nob Hill the next morning. Thank heaven she’d thought to pack her jogging shorts and shoes.
Peter had hardly left her side the entire evening. She ought to feel crowded, but he had an old-world way of making her feel that his attentions came naturally to him and were no attempt at trying to smother her. With the dress, the limo, the mayor’s mansion, and all the rest of it, she could easily imagine herself as Cinderella at the ball. Only she didn’t have to disappear at midnight. Unless, of course, Peter decided that the two of them would evaporate together and reassemble back at Hawthorn House.
Peter bent to her ear. “I say, there’s someone you ought to meet.”
She followed his gaze and discovered he was referring to the head of a large, local family charity. Angelica Hartman resembled a supermodel who’d married well and aged even better. Sable hair fell in perfectly coiffed curls to her shoulders, and the jewels at her neck and earlobes—emeralds a deep moss green—appeared a hell of a lot more expensive than mere diamonds. She wore a long-sleeved, satin dress that fell to her ankles, showing off a gym-perfected figure.
When she spotted Peter, Mrs. Hartman made her way over to the two of them. After an air kiss at each of Peter’s cheeks, the woman patted his lapel. “Thank heaven. Someone interesting to talk to.”
“Ciao, bella,” he said. “How have you been?”
“Continental tonight, are we?” the woman said. “An Englishman and two Americans? At least, I assume your friend is American.”
“Excuse my rudeness,” he said. “Angelica, this is Ms. Susan Christopher. Angelica Hartman, Susan. She’s every bit as nice as she is important.”
“Good to know I have one person fooled,” the woman said. “On both scores.”
“I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Hartman.” Susan extended her hand.
“Please. Angelica.” Angelica studied her as they shook. “What a pretty, fresh face. I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these soirees before.”
“Susan’s an architecture student,” Peter supplied. “She helped in the renovation of Hawthorn House.”
“Really.” Angelica had seemed cordial enough before. Now her expression brightened, showing real interest. “I understand someone’s done a marvelous job restoring that old beauty.”
“My company, Bay Vista Properties, did,” Susan said. “I’d be happy to show it to you.”
“I’d love that,” Angelica said.
Susan took a second to bless her habit of always, always carrying business cards as she pulled one from her purse and handed it to Angelica. She, in turn, tucked it into her equally small handbag. “I’ll call you later in the week.”
“Please do.”
“Susan’s even more than an up-and-coming young businesswoman,” Peter said. “She also works in the community.”
Susan did her best to hide her surprise at that declaration. He could easily have remembered their discussion of the affordable housing community, but who in his right mind would describe her as a businesswoman? She hadn’t even graduated from architecture school yet. She recovered her composure quickly but still found both of them waiting for her to elaborate.
“Archways San Francisco,” she said. “We’re hoping to develop properties in low-income areas of the city.”
“I’ve heard of them. They do good work,” Angelica said.
“Thank you. We’re currently working on a project for quality low-income houses. If the city becomes too gentrified, we’ll lose our diversity, and that’s our greatest strength.” Susan stopped babbling. After all she was addressing the exact gentry she’d disparaged in the person of Angelica Hartman.
Still, Angelica gave her an indulgent smile and touched her hand. “Let’s talk when I tour Hawthorn House.”
Susan couldn’t help but flush with excitement. Not only would she end up showing the property to the sort of person who could afford it, but she could pitch the neighborhood project to someone with pull at a large charity. Even if Angelica didn’t take an interest personally, she might provide connections to people who would. She’d have to thank Peter…um…beyond the obvious plans she already had for making him happy later.
“Now then, darling, when are you going to build me one of your beautiful cars?” Angelica snuggled under Peter’s arm and stroked the backs of her fingers along his chin.
“Have Robert order one for you,” Peter answered. He neither stepped away from her nor removed her hand from his face, and suddenly, their easy affection with e
ach other took a deeper turn. This could become awkward. If it did, she could fade into the wallpaper quickly enough if necessary.
“That tenor drove one all over the south of Italy last year. Very publicly,” Angelica said. “Made me very jealous.”
“Frenelli was great promotion for me,” Peter said. “You can do the same for me once we open the factory here.”
“Here?” Angelica said. “Actually in the city?”
He smiled. “I’m looking at a property now.”
“I want the first Dynamik out the door,” she said.
“It’s yours, bella,” he said.
Angelica glanced over her shoulder at a tall man with gray at his temples. “Robert. Looks like he’s ready to go.”
“Don’t keep him waiting,” Peter said.
“Never. I’ll call you, Susan. And you…” Angelica planted a real kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Start building my car.”
Peter returned the favor, his lips lingering near Angelica’s ear. He whispered something that made her giggle and then gave her a gentle nudge in the general direction of her husband. After a second of watching Angelica go, Peter turned his attention back to Susan. “Angelica’s a good soul.”
“She certainly seems to be.”
He stiffened ever so slightly. “You don’t approve.”
“Your…” She stopped herself before she added the word affairs. “It’s none of my business.”
“That’s right, but I’ll tell you anyway. She wasn’t married at the time.”
So, he’d confirmed they’d been lovers. Better than to have him lie, for sure. “She’s older than you.”
“And I’m older than you,” he said. “Does it make a difference?”
Put that way, probably not. She wasn’t going to marry the guy. They were going to hook up, and if that kiss bore any relation to the quality of the sex they’d share, she ought to enjoy it and not ask questions.
“Thank you for introducing us,” she said. “She is nice.”
He rubbed her back, his fingers stroking the skin between her shoulder blades, just as she’d imagined their first night at dinner. Odd how that innocent part of her body could suddenly become so sensitive.
