by Karen Anders
“Sure. I believe that,” he replied and left the room.
Okay, that was interesting. What could Mark have meant by his comment? As far as she knew, Mr. Herman never showed her any favoritism, nor had he particularly praised her for her work. Come to think of it. That was strange. She’d accomplished quite a bit here and had excelled in her job. No one could say that she hadn’t. So why all of a sudden did she feel as if she’d gotten something she didn’t deserve. She could handle the Spegelman account and she could pull in new business. She’d done it before. Maybe that’s what she needed to do—bring in a big client to prove to Mr. Herman that she was capable of doing this job. She might not be able to verbalize the reasons that she deserved the Spegelman account, but she could very well show Mr. Herman and Mark Dalton what she was made of.
Walking slowly down the hall to her office, she was brought up short by her breathless assistant.
“Kelly, what is it?”
“There’s a man waiting for you in your office.”
“I don’t have any appointments.” She frowned. “Do I?”
“No. Believe me. This isn’t a client.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s wearing black leather with one of the finest backsides I’ve ever seen.”
Laurel looked toward her office. Through the open door, she could see a nice view of Mac’s backside, definitely fine and definitely encased in tight black leather. He moved around her desk and sat in her chair, swiveling around to take in the view from her window. All of a sudden the dejected feeling lifted like a fog to reveal deep, breathtaking blue skies.
Just like the blue of his eyes.
She smiled and when she reached her office, Mac turned in the chair at the sound of her door closing with a snap. Her breath caught in her throat. In the short time she’d been away from him, she’d forgotten the sheer appeal of the man. He sat nonchalantly, so completely male, so powerfully sexual without any effort. His eyes held no apology. His gaze said he had every right to be there, confident in her acceptance. As if he knew she found his calm self-assurance not only a challenge but a huge turn-on, as well.
She could only imagine what he had in mind for her, but she was ready for anything. Unable to resist the pull of his charisma, she traversed the space dividing them and settled into his lap, the anticipation curling low in her stomach. His thighs were firm and muscular beneath her bottom, and the leather of his pants was smooth against her bare legs in an arousing way.
He offered her a chance to be bold and daring in a safe and sexy way. After all, if she intended to get herself a bad boy, the least she could do was enjoy him for as long as possible.
Slipping one arm around his neck, she sent her hand over the soft cotton T-shirt covering his tight abs and met his gaze. This close, she could feel the rise and fall of his wide, muscular chest, see the hot desire in his gold-flecked blue eyes and smell the musky, heady scent of his skin.
He placed his hand on her thigh. The warmth of his touch acted like a branding along the flesh he touched.
“Kiss me,” he said simply.
6
What floats your boat?
a. charm
b. flirting
c. a smart mind
d. a smart mouth
—Excerpt from Who’s Your Hottie? quiz,
SPICE magazine
HE WAITED FOR her to act. She could only guess from the short time that she’d been with him he wasn’t a man who’d let a challenge go uncontested.
After a lifetime of being sensible and practical, she was more than ready to treat herself to a little excitement and adventure with a man who knew all about walking on the wild side.
She bent her head and took his mouth, moving her lips over his in a sweet, firm movement. With a soft moan, she deepened the kiss and felt his response in the way he pressed into her open mouth.
She’d craved this kind of an experience for so long, eager to accept and savor whatever he had to offer. And she wanted to make sure he understood that she would be up for whatever he had in mind, and she wasn’t about to let him take the lead in everything.
She cupped the back of his head, her fingers caressing his thick, silky hair.
Abruptly, he ended the kiss and buried his face against her throat, his breathing coming as fast and ragged as her own.
“Damn,” he muttered, the one word explaining exactly how fiery and intense their attraction was.
She laughed huskily, knowing just how muddled he felt.
“I second that,” she said trying to hang on to a coherent thought.
He lifted his head from the crook of her neck, his lashes half-mast and a sinful grin in place. “Contrary to what you believe, I didn’t come here to throw you across your desk, hike up your skirt around your waist, and get between your thighs.”
“Why did you come to my office at 3:00 in the afternoon then? Already my Monday is so much better.”
“To entice you to something special I think you will like very much.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”
Her cheeks warmed at his blatantly sexual statement, and while temptation beckoned, other more immediate responsibilities demanded her attention—the kind of duty and obligation that took precedence over her desire for Mac.
“Late for what?”
“You told me to make it a surprise.” He leaned over and put his mouth against the sensitive shell of her ear and whispered. “Surprise.”
A wonderful sensation cascaded through her. “You’re right. I did, but I thought we were meeting tonight.”
“Surprise again. I couldn’t wait. After I heard your sweet voice over the phone, I just had to see you.” Slowly he lifted his gaze to hers. “And just for the record, that kiss was hotter than hell. I like it when a woman knows what she wants, and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
The compliment boosted her confidence in a way nothing had in a long time, and she couldn’t resist flashing him a quick grin. “Thank you.” She slid from his lap and straightened her skirt, doing her best to smooth out her appearance and regain her composure.
He stood, too, and grimaced as he adjusted the noticeable bulge straining against the fly of his jeans. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
“But…” she started to protest.
He moved directly in front of her and clasped her upper arms in his big hands, his eyes direct and darkly sensual. Pulling her to his muscular frame, he kissed her—a hot, deep act of possession that left her weak-kneed and light-headed.
Once he released her, she skimmed her tongue along her lower lip, loving the arousing taste of him and his aggressive nature. Both thrilled her. “Okay, so where are we going?”
“Oh, no. You’re not finding out that easily,” he said, most definitely staking a claim on her and letting her know he was a man who took what he wanted—sometimes without asking. “Remember what I said when we first met. Spontaneity is my middle name.”
Anytime, anywhere. She read the tantalizing message in his eyes and accepted his challenge. Spontaneity and impulsive acts, she could handle. She’d gone looking for them and found them in that motorcycle shop and in Mac. After her fiasco in the conference room, she needed to do something out of the ordinary, maybe get back her equilibrium. She intended to add some spice and excitement to her current, sensible, straitlaced life.
Skipping work was something she hadn’t done since she’d joined Waterford Scott, but it would only be a couple hours and she justified it by remembering that she had worked through her lunch hour.
She wouldn’t mind if some of his personality rubbed off on her. The confidence he exuded. She bet he never had a problem standing up for himself.
MAC WAS LOSING IT over this woman, but he couldn’t help himself. After his meeting downtown had ended early, he wanted to see Laurel and he didn’t want to wait until tonight. The impulse of the act of changing his clothes
and going over to her place of business wasn’t lost on him. He knew how Laurel would see it and it worked in his favor.
As he escorted her out of her office and waited patiently while she told her assistant that she was taking the rest of the day off, his mind went back to that kiss. Damn, the woman had a wicked mouth on her. She’d just about burned him up in the fireball of her embrace, staking a claim on him that said their agreed-upon affair would be a balance between them and filled with amazing sensual experiences. Lots of hot, satisfying sex in any way that turned them both on.
All of a sudden this playing at being a bad boy wasn’t such a bad thing. He was enjoying stepping out of his own straid character and walking on the wild side with such an exciting woman. Slipping into his bad-boy persona was a little easier than he thought it would be. It meant breaking rules, but he found that he liked his spur-of-the-moment escapades with Laurel.
Down in the street, the late afternoon sunshine was warm. She stopped when she saw the sleek gray-blue car.
“Wow.”
He’d decided to drive his sports car, even though he knew Laurel would question how he could afford such a car. “It was a gift from my uncle who owns a dealership on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.” At least he didn’t have to lie. It was the truth and he rarely drove it, but he wanted to take her to her surprise in style and comfort.
She stood there for a moment looking at the car. Giving him a wary glance, her eyes thoughtful, she asked. “Mac, where were you born?”
“Here in Manhattan at Lenox Hill Hospital.”
“Lenox Hill? That’s located on the Upper East Side.”
He looked away. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s interesting, since that’s such a ritzy part of town.”
He shrugged. “Where were you born?”
“In Brooklyn. It was way before my father was a Wall Street mogul.”
“Modest beginnings, huh?”
“Yes, and you born at Lenox Hill. It’s really strange.”
“I’m not all that interesting.”
“Really? I’d say that you are. I like the myriad of conflicting personalities. The tough-don’t-need-anyone biker and the observant, sensitive guy who drops by my office to give me a surprise. I’d say you’re a good guy in a bad-boy package.”
He refrained from saying anything else that might have him eating shoe leather.
“The car is really nice though,” was all she said, but he saw the unease in her eyes.
And damn if the guilt didn’t come crashing down on him again. Mac was doing the best that he could to keep everything as close to the truth as possible. But showing her this car may have been a tactical error and he hated the fact that he had to worry about everything he did and everything he said.
Trying to let the guilt go and enjoy the excursion, he lost himself in maneuvering through traffic.
When they parked, she turned to him and said, “The Met? But what are we doing here? It’s not a place I would expect you to take me.”
She seemed pensive and not as excited as he’d expected her to be. “Oops there honey, your stereotyping is showing,” he said, his tone gently chiding.
She looked sheepish. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t aware of cultural events. I just thought you’d take me to a place that was…racy, dangerous even.”
“No offense taken, and racy…and dangerous are good, but I don’t consider the Met to be boring.”
“True.”
He looked at his watch and took her hand. “Come on we’re going to be late.”
LAUREL HADN’T been here since before her mother’s death. She just couldn’t identify why she felt…anxious. This had always been one of her favorite places. It could be that she was afraid that it would be too hard to be in the one building her mother spent so much time in. But she wasn’t sure that was it.
Mac’s hand was warm and tight around hers and she liked the way her palm fit against his. Her small fingers wrapped around the back of his big hand for comfort. She felt a little bit better.
Laurel didn’t know what to make of this man. He was such an enigma. Hot black leather and the cerebral Met? The two didn’t seem to mesh. But he obviously had such a rich personality. And what was it with the sports car? It fit him to a T, but she wondered about his roots. Lennox Hill hospital was definitely the place wealthy people went to have their babies. Maybe Mac’s car-dealership uncle paid for Mac’s mother to have her baby at that hospital. What did she know?
He took her through the museum to the Grace Rainey Rogers Auditorium. She pulled him to a stop when she saw the sign outside: Melanie Graham, consultant for design and architecture, Department of Modern Art, MMA, Art Deco: Form and Functionality—Jacques-Emile Ruhlmann, Monday, 4:00 p.m.
“You couldn’t possibly have known that this is my favorite furniture designer.”
“I guessed that he might be important, since he was your mother’s favorite. Something may have rubbed off there.”
There was a small silence; then Laurel met Mac’s ardent gaze. It was as if he looked into her soul and saw the need there, the desire to take what she had been exposed to her whole life and create. Try to capture, at least, in her own small way the brilliance of some of the art deco designers and craftsmen.
Something she couldn’t hope to do. She didn’t have that much talent.
A host of feelings nailed Laurel right in the chest, and she shifted against them. The words wouldn’t come, but the feelings were there, potent, catching her off-guard. How had he done that? She couldn’t believe that he’d been so observant the night he spent at her brownstone.
“Hey, babe. Everything okay?” he asked and she nodded even though those feelings in her chest refused to budge. “It’s just that you are so intuitive, that’s all.”
“I thought you’d enjoy this lecture and exhibition.”
“I will. Very much. Thank you.”
“You looked like you were having a bad day back there at the office.”
“I was. Until you showed up.”
“Boss riding your butt?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You know. I’m not really sure. I was promoted last month to senior analyst and ever since I took the job, I feel that Mr. Herman has it in for me. I don’t understand why he promoted me, if he feels that I can’t do the job.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t do very well with confrontations. I was just coming back from a staff meeting where my boss took away a really big account.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
Of all the things he could have said, nothing could have thrown her more. Her father and brother always tried to fix everything for her, but not Mac. His confidence in her bolstered her even more.
He caught her under the chin, forcing her to look at him. When he saw her eyes, his softened and he caught her by the neck and pulled her into his embrace—a warm, safe embrace. “Come on, Laurel,” he cajoled. “I know you’ve thought about it.”
Mac tucked his face down against hers and tightened his hold, then slowly rubbed his hand up and down her back.
She shivered and pressed herself against him, feeling on the edge of some serious feelings for this man. “I have. I want to get a new client and rub it in Mr. Herman’s and Mark Dalton’s faces,” she responded in a firm, tight voice that even surprised her.
He hugged her tighter and laughed, “That’s my girl.”
She laughed, too, releasing a lot of tension in her chest. When she looked at him, at the spark of amusement in his eyes, she fell a little deeper in like with him. Laurel told herself that it would be stupid on her part to get involved with a guy like Mac. Temporary was written all over him and that’s how she wanted him. Right? Right, she said firmly to herself. He was oh-so-charming though, the kind of charm that would make it very easy to fall in love with him.
“Do you ha
ve a plan, yet?” he asked.
She moved out of his embrace, trying desperately to keep some emotional distance. “No. Not yet.”
“My brother Ted, he…er…told me about this big company he has as a client.”
“What’s the name of it?”
“Coyle and Hamilton.”
“Wow. That would be big enough. Does Ted know if they’re satisfied with their current accounting company?”
He turned to look at her, but dropped his gaze. “I think he said that they were looking for the best, that’s why he was always trying to find bigger and better ways to serve them.”
I guess it can’t hurt to contact them,” she said. “How do you know so much about corporate business?”
“I always go with my instincts. And it’s always served me well in my…ah…life. I don’t think it’d be any different for you.”
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending our lecture. Without further preamble, let me introduce to you our curator, Melanie Graham.”
A lovely, blond woman came up to the podium. She set some notes down and spoke into the microphone. “Good afternoon. Thank you all for attending this lecture. Don’t miss the exhibition here at the museum after my talk concludes.
“The nineteenth century arts and crafts movement concentrated on a return to good craftsmanship, plain design and high-quality materials. Later art nouveau introduced the concept that art was not confined to the fine arts but could also be applied to functional objects like furniture. After the First World War there were great social changes which influenced the kinds of furniture required. There was also an emphasis, for those who could afford it, on well-designed decorative furniture which also included a high degree of functionality.
“Amongst art deco designers there were two clear schools: The first was the direct inheritor of the two earlier movements. These designers concentrated on individual pieces made by highly skilled craftsmen and could only be bought by the very rich. On the other hand, some art deco designers sought to take advantage of mass production. These designers also tended toward a severely geometric look which emphasized the functionality of the object.”
