HIS DOUBLE, HER TROUBLE

by Donna Sterling

  A smile lifted the corner of Jake's firm, wide mouth. "A common mistake," he murmured. His blue-eyed gaze shifted to Brianna. "People I've known for years confuse us."

  She felt her own embarrassment rise. He was, of course, referring to Friday night. She looked away from him, hoping he'd say no more. Ever.

  "Yes, they're virtually identical," said Cy, his voice strangely emphatic. "Which brings me to my plan."

  "Your plan?" repeated Brianna, highly aware that Jake continued to watch her—like a cat about to pounce on a canary. Why the devil was he here, anyway?

  "Jake has agreed to help us out of this crunch," Cy announced. "He's going to be your new CEO."

  Brianna's eyes widened.

  "No one but us will have to know," continued Cy. "The board will grant Jake the legal authority, but with Maude handling his paperwork the other employees need not be told. As far as the world is concerned, Evan hasn't left."

  Brianna gaped at the chairman in dismay as the others murmured in pleased agreement. Only she saw the madness in the scheme; only she sat dazed by the bomb that had just exploded. "With all due respect, sir," she began, "Jake grew up in this town. I realize he's been gone for a while and that most of our employees wouldn't know him, but some of them do! He may look like Evan, but he certainly doesn't act like Evan or dress like Evan. He doesn't know how Evan interacts with people at work…"

  "That's another reason we'll need your help, Ms. Devon," said Cy. "Evan recommended you for the job of preparing Jake for his role. He said you and Maude know more about his daily habits and relationships than anyone else. I'll be counting on you for that."

  She stuttered a reply that Cy took as affirmative. Obviously pleased with the meeting thus far, he called his secretary in and instructed that lunch be served.

  Conversation broke out all around the conference table. In pained disbelief—surely the legendary Cy Rowland couldn't believe that an inexperienced playboy could take over the corporate reins of Rowland Insurance?—Brianna roused herself out of her stupor to peer at Jake.

  It was as bad as she feared—that disconcerting twinkle was back in his sea blue gaze. And that gaze rested on her.

  "Tell me, Mr. Rowland," she finally managed to say to Jake, loud enough for his grandfather to overhear, "do you have any experience as a CEO?"

  "No," he admitted. "But everyone has to start somewhere. Beats the hell out of the mail room."

  Cy grunted a laugh as if he'd heard a good joke, then turned back to his conversation with those seated at his end of the table. Board members chatted among themselves and with Maude, while servers scurried about setting sandwiches and drinks in front of everyone.

  Jake winked at Brianna.

  Through stiff lips, she kept her voice low enough this time for only him to hear. "Do you know anything at all about insurance?"

  "Not much. But I have some corporate experience as a consultant."

  "A consultant? What kind of consultant?" She could just imagine…!

  "Are you interviewing me for this job, Ms. Devon?"

  Though he hadn't changed his tone or expression, the chastisement came across clearly. She was being presumptuous, questioning the chairman's decision. She should drop the subject. Unfortunately she couldn't. In a heated whisper, she asked, "What makes you think you can run an insurance company, even for a few months?"

  "A well-developed sense of self. And of course, the moral support of loyal employees like you."

  Her mouth went dismally dry, and she reached for her glass of water.

  "You don't have to go along with this," he reminded her. "Speak up now and put an end to it. Let the chips fall where they may. If worse comes to worst, Evan will just have to face the consequences of his mismanagement."

  Brianna bristled. "He didn't mismanage anything. He was taken in by a professional thief. A computer hacker."

  "If the scandal breaks," continued Jake, "the customers will move their money to safer ground. Stockholders will face their losses, even if it takes everything some of them have. The media will publish the lurid details, even if they have to make some up. By the way, that embezzler … I've heard she's young and pretty. Is she?"

  When Brianna didn't reply, Jake shrugged. "Just wondered. Because if she is, it would add the right flavor to send the media into a feeding frenzy. A handsome young CEO and his pretty blond financial officer." He cocked a brow at her. "You do consider Evan handsome, don't you?"

  She tightened her mouth. A totally irrelevant question … and a loaded one, as he well knew, since he was Evan's identical twin. "You've made your point," she mumbled. Of course the press would endow the incident with sexual overtones. Of course that would upset her to no end.

  "I didn't say I wouldn't go along with the plan, Jake," she said, anguished at her lack of options. "You know I'll do whatever it takes to protect Evan and the company."

  He studied her for a long moment. "You called me Mr. Rowland before. Is that what the employees call Evan?"

  "Most of them."

  "Then, let's set the ground rules." The humor had left his voice; the amused glint vanished from his stare. "No matter who calls me by my brother's name, I won't take it from you. Don't ever call me Evan."

  Held by the severity of his gaze—and by the memory of the last time she'd called him Evan—she heard a slight thump, and realized she had knocked over her water glass. The icy liquid splashed down into her lap. With a cry, she reached for a napkin. As she dabbed at the saturated front of her suit, Jake leaned toward her and said in a hoarse whisper, "That's not salt water, by any chance … is it?"

  Saltwater.

  A long ago memory from their high school days sizzled into her bloodstream, and her breath caught near the base of her throat. Without looking at him, she murmured a choked apology and excused herself from the table.

  She knew exactly what glint would be in his eyes now.

  She'd wanted to run away from him again, Jake knew, but she'd returned to the table with her head held high and her poise restored, although her beige suit remained water stained.

  And though she sat close enough to him for a whisper to caress her ear, close enough for her perfume to tease his senses, she resolutely ignored him.

  His grandfather hadn't yet adjourned the meeting, and the ever so correct Ms. Brianna Devon wasn't about to chance alienating the chairman of the board just because water had soaked through to her skin and the obnoxious bastard sitting beside her had resurrected a prickly memory.

  He shouldn't have done it. She was having a hard enough time worrying about her beloved Evan and his company, whose fate would now rest in his hands. So why, then, when he'd sworn to keep peace with her, had he brought up the touchy subject of salt water?

  Jake picked up his pastrami sandwich and admitted the truth to himself: he'd said it to see if she remembered. No doubt about it—she remembered that day as clearly as he, that hot September afternoon ten-plus years ago.

  He'd pulled a prank on her that morning during her home ec class. Just before her demonstration on how to grill hamburgers—a feast to which she'd invited some jerk from the swim team—Jake had paid a friend to toss popcorn kernels into the charcoal. He'd heard later that the popcorn had exploded beneath her hamburgers with perfect timing.

  That afternoon, when football practice had ended, he'd slung his helmet aside and taken a swig from his icy water bottle, only to spit out the vile-tasting stuff. Someone had salted his water. That's when he saw the handwriting in black marker on the bottle: Salt to go with your popcorn.

  It was the first time she'd ever retaliated.

  He'd spotted her then, sitting in the grass beyond the bleachers, pretending to read a book while secretly watching his reaction. He reacted, all right. He stalked toward her like a charging defensive linebacker, armed with his sabotaged water bottle. Her eyes grew wide. She jumped to her feet, dropped her book and took off running.

  He easily tackled her behind the bleachers, pinned her down in the f
ragrant summer grass and locked her arms above her head with just one of his hands.

  Breathless from the run, she struggled to break free, her yells little more than garbled yelps. No one was near enough to hear her, anyway. The old wooden bleachers and the late afternoon hour provided them a rare privacy.

  He took his own sweet time dribbling that cold salt water all over her face, her neck, her blouse.

  She had on one of those round-collared blouses that prim little schoolgirls wear. He hadn't known that the thin white cotton would cling to her skin when it got wet … and turn perfectly transparent.

  Her breasts took him by surprise. Stunned him. He hadn't seen much of them before, other than in vague imaginings of what might lie beneath her prudish clothes. He saw them clearly now, round and pointed, with nipples dark and hardened beneath her lacy bra.

  He felt himself hardening, too—quicker and fuller than ever. He forced himself to look away from those nipples, those breasts, forced his free hand to clamp down on her arms instead of touching her the way he so wanted.

  Water glistened in inviting droplets on her face, her neck, her lips.

  "I like the way you made my water taste," he whispered against her ear. "In fact, I'm gonna lick up every drop I spilled." He tightened his hold on her and started at her jaw, beneath her ear, licking a wide, slow path up the side of her face—like he would a lollipop or a Popsicle or any other luscious treat that he couldn't get quite enough of.

  She'd been laughing a little at first, out of nervousness more than fun, and yelling for him to quit. But he hadn't. And somewhere along the way, she'd stopped yelling and gotten quiet, and all they could hear was their breathing and their heartbeats and the lapping of his tongue over her skin.

  He'd been teasing, just teasing. But by the time he got to her mouth, he'd forgotten why he'd started and knew only that he didn't want to quit.

  But she was whispering something now. "Stop, Jake. Please stop!" A soft, trembling whisper, and when he pulled back to search her eyes, he saw a deep, dark struggle going on there. Her words were telling him no, but something in those eyes urged him on. Urged him to do what he wanted.

  It took every ounce of his self-control to get off her. With his insides burning, he pulled her to her feet. Then he made some crack about having to watch his salt intake.

  He'd been a witty bastard, though, hadn't he? Keep it light. Always keep it light. His credo.

  But he hadn't been able to forget how she'd looked, breathing slow and hard beneath him on that grass, or how she'd felt, her skin smooth and tender beneath his tongue. He tried to forget. He'd gone on plenty of dates with warm and willing girls, made love to a few of them. But he'd found himself pretending it was Brianna he was kissing, Brianna he was feeling…

  Keep it light. If anyone could keep the emotional tone of a relationship light, he could. He'd mastered that survival skill at an early age. But his game with Brianna had taken a dangerous turn, and now involved something more than pride.

  Something sexual.

  He hadn't actually tasted her then, that September afternoon ten-plus years ago. The salt water had interfered. He hadn't tasted her until this past Friday night…

  Desire, hot and swift, brought him out of his musings and back into the conference room, where his grandfather was extracting vows of cooperation from the women as they walked toward the door.

  He was glad the meeting had been adjourned, glad Brianna was leaving. Because otherwise her resolve to ignore him would break down and she'd turn those expressive hazel eyes his way. He wasn't sure he could take that right now.

  The memory of the saltwater incident was just too real to acknowledge without touching her.

  Later that afternoon, Cy's corporate helicopter hovered in the gray sky above a hilly green golf course. Separated from the pilot by a soundproof Plexiglas wall, Cy pointed an arthritic finger and uttered in his usual gruff voice, "That's our new course. Evan had it built for executives and visiting clientele." As Jake surveyed the plush fairway below, Cy said, "We'll open it up to employees on special occasions." Pride sounded in his voice.

  "Looks like the company's enjoyed a lot of growth," observed Jake.

  "You're damn right, it has." Cy's gaze grew stern. "All that time you were having your fun, Evan was here building this company into what it is today."

  Jake set his teeth in careful alignment, bracing himself. He'd known it would flare up sooner or later—the bitterness over his refusal to work at the family business.

  Cy's voice shook as he sermonized, "Rowland Insurance grew by leaps and bounds under Evan's direction. I couldn't be any prouder of him. Ironic, isn't it, that the company's welfare now depends on you?" He shook his head. "If I had any other way of helping Evan, I'd take it."

  Jake was careful not to react. A show of anger or pain would only add fuel to the old guy's fire. Jake had learned the unflattering truth the previous day at their Sunday dinner meeting—Cy hadn't called for his help because of his reputation as a corporate troubleshooter. The only reason he'd called him was because of his likeness to Evan. He simply needed his face. A front man.

  "Just remember, boy—the money I'm willing to pay will keep you in women for quite some time. Just show up for work every day, keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you."

  The muscles in Jake's jaw hardened. If Cy had been any other man, he'd have put him through the helicopter window. Keep it light, he reminded himself.

  "And if the money isn't enough to make you see this thing through," Cy rasped, "do it for the family name. Or for your brother. He'd damn sure do it for you."

  "You seem to have misunderstood our agreement, sir." Jake kept his tone amiable. "I didn't accept this job for my brother or for the family name. I'll bill the corporation for my services, just as I would any other client. This is business. Just business."

  Cy's blue eyes glittered like agates as he stared at Jake in affront.

  "And about my showing up for work every day," Jake said evenly, "I set my own schedule. Work at my own pace. Go where the job takes me."

  Bushy white brows drew together over a frown.

  Jake shot him a challenging stare. "And if you expect me to wait for your orders before I make a move, then you've hired the wrong man. I'll do what I can to pull the company through … but I'll do it my way. If you find you don't like my methods, you can always fire me."

  They stared at each other in unblinking silence as the helicopter landed. Before disembarking, Jake paused. "I've got other commitments that'll keep me occupied until Friday. Consider that my first day on the job."

  * * *

  4

  « ^ »

  "Reserve Friday for me. I'll need you all day." The message had been on her voice mail that Monday afternoon when she'd returned to her office. The deep resonance of Jake's voice had started her heart pumping a little too hard.

  I'll need you all day. The message had been brief and uttered without inflection of any kind, yet Brianna responded with a secret rush of warmth, of dread, of anticipation. How could a simple message affect her so? He'd done the same to her at the conference table. "That's not salt water, is it?"

  That particular memory had engulfed her like a steamy bath—Jake's strong, muscular body pressing hers down into the grass, his mouth hot against her skin, igniting a new, dangerous hunger within her. Which led her to remembering more recent encounters. Like last Friday night.

  She couldn't allow herself to think that way about him!

  Tuesday morning, Chloe called. Casually she mentioned that Jake had bought drinks for everyone at the corner pub the previous evening to celebrate his last night in town. A young blond waitress, an older brunette and Chloe herself had accompanied him to the airport, where he'd kissed all three good-bye. Chloe had considered the evening great fun.

  Just hearing about it annoyed the hell out of Brianna. Grudgingly she understood why he'd left with such fanfare—too many people had known he was in town. By making a spectacle
of his departure, he could then return a couple days later as Evan, with Jake out of the picture.

  Brianna wondered where he'd gone. She wondered how he'd kissed the women at the airport. Pecks on the cheek? She couldn't picture that. Slow and deep was more his style.

  Thoughts of him tormented her throughout the week while she scanned résumés, checked references and scheduled performance reviews. She couldn't help wondering where he was. Why would he be out until Friday? How did he plan to make his entrance? And of course, the worst question of all, would his impersonation work?

  To lessen her anxiety, she turned her attention even more than usual to her "venting" duty—lending an ear to troubled co-workers. Not an official part of her job, actually, but she considered it important nonetheless. They'd come to her, off the record, to talk about conflicts they faced. Long before she'd become director of human resources, co-workers had gravitated to her with their problems.

  "She's wearing it again," an underwriter had whispered at the water cooler, speaking of her manager. "That cologne that gives us all headaches. She won't take a hint."

  A sales rep had charged into Brianna's office to warn, "If Pete doesn't get off my back about those reports, I'll go over his head. Let the big wheels see the numbers I'm bringing in and have them decide how many reports I have to do."

  A service manager stopped by to confide, "I don't know what to do with Ellie. She fell asleep in her chair, snoring! But she's been our receptionist for decades."

  Brianna had given each her full attention. Sometimes that alone was enough to defuse the tension. At other times she tried to help with advice or a word in the right ear. She took pride in being the peacemaker, the arbitrator, the confidante to whom clerks and executives alike would turn.

  Many squabbles lately centered around computer errors. Those errors, she realized, had probably been caused by the embezzler's manipulations.

  Oh, Evan, how could you have allowed her to get away with the theft? Immediately she squelched that traitorous thought. Evan wasn't to blame. He'd had no way of knowing the embezzler's intentions. She wished she could talk to him, but she had no idea where he was and Cy had forbidden communication with him.