by Cari Quinn
Not even close.
Every time his mind veered to the events in the gazebo he redirected his thoughts to the task at hand. Forcibly. He worked through breakfast, then halfway to lunch. Occasionally he wandered into the store to pretend to be sociable, though he left that to his brother and his parents as much as possible. But Dillon had yet to come up for air after his romantic reconciliation, and his parents had gone shopping to prepare for their imminent cross-country move.
That left him.
Despite feeling even more surly than usual at the prospect of being friendly, he walked through and made idle chitchat about Joe Wilson’s bursitis, and Mac Connor’s new grandbaby. He hand-sold a new leaf blower, despite that also being Dillon’s area of expertise, and generally tried to act as if the burr up his ass wouldn’t do permanent damage if he moved just so.
And that burr’s name was Victoria Violet Townsend.
In several short minutes, he’d nearly allowed her to cause him to do something he never did. Namely, completely lose his mind.
Luckily seeing her orgasm—hell, feeling it through the fabric—had doused the raging flames of his libido. His ego might’ve swelled, and his cock might’ve been harder that night than the drill he’d just discussed with a customer, but his brain had reengaged and saved them both from certain calamity.
Well, that and his lack of a condom. Something he hadn’t been about to admit to Victoria. He’d been so caught up he hadn’t even realized he’d come to dig without a shovel. It had turned out to be a fortuitous thing, since they hated each other. They also worked together, which seemed to be a contradiction considering the fact that he’d selected her from a field of more qualified candidates. In this economy, he had to cut corners where he could, and she had one thing those other candidates didn’t. Or so he’d so foolishly believed.
She would come cheap.
Last night had proved that wasn’t true twice over, because if there was a gold standard for climaxes, she’d achieved it. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
He almost snorted as he waved good-bye to Doc Cranston and turned toward his office at the back of the store. Cheap? Not bloody likely. She’d set a gouging fee for her employment, and he paid it because he’d been the fool who hadn’t locked down the financial terms of their agreement before signing on the dotted line. Moral of the story? Never assume anything with Victoria, and get every damn thing in writing.
After a few more hours of work, he did another walk-through of the store since Dillon still hadn’t surfaced—lucky bastard—and he couldn’t help noticing how friendly everyone seemed to be. Lots of smiles in his direction, even a few atta boys he didn’t quite understand. He chalked it up to leftover positive feeling from the benefit and returned to his office with his thoughts on the new Carlton store and the talk about personnel issues he had to have that morning with the HR rep he’d hired. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Peterson could be a hard-ass, and he had enough on his mind without wading into fights between employees.
He glanced at his watch, then at the phone. Maybe he’d reschedule. He also had to call that worthless no-show photographer and demand his deposit back. Christ, he didn’t have time for all these petty interruptions.
The door swung open and banged the inside wall, making him raise an eyebrow. For a man who’d probably left his new girlfriend in traction after their twelve-hour-plus lovefest, Dillon didn’t look nearly as cheerful as he should.
“Seen the paper, bro?” Dillon asked, waving the object in question. “You really need to take a look at it. Now.”
Dread curled in Cory’s stomach as he reached for his coffee. He normally drank decaf but switched over to the high-octane version whenever he put in a lot of hours at work. Which, lately, was always. “Let me guess, your girlfriend put in another fancy ad. If Alexa feels her flower shop can afford splashy ads that blow ours out of the water, that’s her decision. I don’t choose to spend our money that way.”
Dillon slapped the paper down on the blotter. Dread sank Cory’s stomach as he realized that he was gracing the gossip column. And he was not alone. “Good thing you’ve been saving your dimes, bro, since I think you’re going to need to ante up for damage control.”
Chapter Two
Cory gripped the arm of his chair and locked his jaw to keep from cursing. Loudly. Neither he nor Dillon looked away from the startlingly clear black-and-white photos happily situated dead center in Miss Haven’s “community” column, aka the gossip section. Under an aptly stated, wince-worthy headline: Helping hands? Oh yes, sir!
Guess he wouldn’t be getting his deposit back from the photographer after all. He’d wanted to “get the gala in the papers,” hadn’t he? Perhaps he should’ve been more specific.
He nearly tossed a response at Dillon, but he held his tongue. Nope, sorry, no cash for damage control. He’d already spent money on photographers. Who obviously preferred hanging in trees to take pictures of him dry-humping Victoria like a horny teenager, instead of snapping pix of plaques and smiling benefactors.
At least the man didn’t know that Cory was the one who’d enlisted his services in the first place. Nor did Dillon, who publicized the charity to spur donations and community involvement, but put the annual benefit on a de facto news lockdown every year to keep the focus on the charity and discourage showboating.
Or in this case, public lewdness.
“I notice you’re not yelling,” Dillon commented, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “Did you know about these?”
“No, of course not.” Cory couldn’t take his eyes off the photos. His instant of outrage at his privacy being violated had melted into something else entirely, and he didn’t like it one bit. So what if one of the pictures showed Victoria with her head turned toward the camera, her eyes slit and her plump lips open on a moan? Or that his lips were very clearly on a part of her below the neck, one that jutted into his mouth as if it belonged there? Or that the other photo showed him looming over her and her staring up at him as if they were communicating on another level—one facilitated by the obvious bump of his pelvis into hers?
Irrelevant information.
“That’s Vicky, isn’t it? Sure looks like her, even though the photo’s a little blurry. Did you spike her drink or something? Or maybe she spiked your drink. I suspected she had the hots for you, but this is fucking—”
Cory’s head snapped up, his eyes already aching to return to where they’d been fixed. “Yes, thank you for that clarification. I think it’s obvious what Victoria and I were doing.” As realization of the full scope of the situation dawned, he jerked back from his desk as if the thing had suddenly caught on fire. “Oh, shit.”
This wasn’t just an inappropriate moment caught on camera. He and Victoria worked together, and Value Hardware was a family business. He hadn’t ever had so much as a whiff of scandal around him, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Despite having already started—without finishing. Goddammit.
Then there was Victoria’s reputation. She’d had to fight to gain respectability for her fledgling design business in an old-fashioned town where small minds often prevailed, followed by even smaller paychecks. This would hurt her rep, if nothing else. How could she claim she’d gotten the magazine job on her own merits, though she had, while he had his tongue on her nipple? She’d be labeled some unfair names by the town biddies, and he would be labeled—
“Dude, you’re a frigging stud. People can’t stop talking about the two of you. Even at the bank, for God’s sake. Everyone thought you were the guy no woman would ever collar, and here you are, caught with your pants down with Vicky, your sworn enemy.”
“That’s overstating things a bit,” Cory said, his chest still a little too full at the stud comment. Rare praise indeed for a man who hadn’t made time for anything approximating a relationship or sex in an entire year.
Simulated versions notwithstanding.
“They’re hot pictures.�
� Dillon flipped the paper around to face him. “Seriously, Vicky looks so—”
“Can it. You have a woman. Stop poaching on mine.” Hearing himself, Cory moved back even farther. Twice in two days he’d said or done things that made no sense. She wasn’t his, and he’d never had designs on her as such. Other than the occasional fantasy when she wore thigh-high boots, which was to be expected. She rarely wore those now but he remembered when she had. Vividly.
“Ah ha! I figured as much. You must have fucking Spidey sense, because the hammer was about to come down on you.”
“Speak English. Please.”
Dillon shook his head as if he were daft. “Mom and Dad are serious about you finding a balance between work and your personal life. They were even discussing delaying their move to Arizona to help you find someone.”
Back to their supposed mandate, something else he’d had on his mind since the charity event. “Absolutely not.” Cory lurched to his feet, taking the paper with him. He’d buy up every copy in the city and put them in his safe. And maybe save one for the ceiling of his bedroom. “They aren’t delaying anything. Dad needs to be in a different climate and everything is just fine here. I’m fine.” No one had ever died from frustration. He didn’t think.
“They know that now. You dirty dog, you.” He shook his head, grinning, but Cory didn’t miss the flare of admiration in his brother’s eyes. Dillon, the king of inappropriate sexual encounters, was impressed with him, the same person he’d made fun of just days before at the bar for not getting laid since the last president was in office. A slight exaggeration, but still. “Vicky’s your secret, illicit girlfriend.”
For a moment Cory stared at his brother. Then he nodded slowly. “Yes. Victoria’s my secret, illicit girlfriend.” At least until the excitement died down, and their cloaks of respectability had been restored.
Now he just had to convince Victoria to go along with it.
…
Vicky squinted at the man standing on her stoop, his nearly black hair dotted with rain. In the weak porch light he looked drained and harried—and sexy as hell.
Since high school, Cory had frayed her nerves on an ongoing basis. Even when he wasn’t actively in her life, just the smallest interaction at some society event was enough for him to set her off again. And Saturday night’s events had definitely set her off, in every possible way. He was a distracting combination of megalomaniac and man candy, covered in geektastic frosting that wreaked hell on her hormones. She’d be damned if he knew she felt that way though.
Early on she’d seen the handwriting on the wall. Cory was too busy to be dating material. Too crunched for time to spend more than a few minutes loving a woman. Absolutely devoid of the emotional gene for anything deeper than a five-minute fuck.
With her, his five-minute fuck had even been through clothes.
Even when he did make time for a woman, it was a classy, polished one like her older sister. He’d asked out Melinda more than once and she’d always rebuffed his advances. Melly liked bad boys, and Cory definitely didn’t rank as one.
Though after their gazebo make-out session, Vicky was beginning to wonder if there was a lot more to Cory than met the eye.
She made a show of looking at her watch. “Do you realize it’s almost 10:00 p.m.?”
“Yes, the timing is unfortunate but I had to talk to you tonight. I called you several times this afternoon. And texted.” He cleared his throat. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen the paper or else I would’ve heard from you earlier. You never miss an opportunity to ream me out.”
She blinked. What was he on about? Something about Simply Home maybe? Did they have competition? Another magazine in the marketplace? “I haven’t read the paper yet.”
“You haven’t been online?”
Okay, this was getting bizarre. “I had my phone off all day. I was visiting—” She swallowed, not wanting to go there. Cory didn’t know about her mother’s situation, and she had no desire to change that fact. “I visited family out of town.”
She’d just gotten back a short while ago. All she’d had time to do since was take a shower. Luckily she’d pulled on an oversize football jersey and bikini panties before she’d hurried to answer the door. Her first thought had been a crisis of some sort. Not…this. Not him.
“Without your pants? Why doesn’t this surprise me?”
She glanced down and noted the amount of leg she was showing. Yeah, maybe she needed to go grab her yoga leggings. “I had clothes on when I visited family, smart-ass. These are my pajamas.”
More derision. The guy could’ve taught a senior-level course on it. If she hadn’t noticed the way his gaze lingered below her waist, she might’ve even summoned her usual annoyance. “Thanks for the clarification.”
She eyed him speculatively, noting that he wore khakis and a button-down shirt, his idea of casual clothes. “What about you, CEO?”
“I’ve been working.” His jaw ticked. “While you’ve been—”
“Fucking a team of baseball players,” she supplied sweetly, hoping that would crack the glaze of exhaustion in his eyes.
Bingo.
“So sorry to interrupt. Is the team waiting for you or did you sufficiently wear them out?” His saccharine tone made her hackles rise, as per usual when talking to him.
“Jeez, just get in here already,” she muttered, holding the door wide. It was pouring out and unseasonably chilly to boot. She wasn’t about to have a stodgy, hypothermic CEO on her conscience. It was overloaded enough already.
He aimed right for her living room. “I assure you this won’t take long, assuming you’re feeling cooperative.”
She took her time joining him on the couch. He’d been to her home plenty of times to visit her in-house design studio, but it was still weird to see him in her space so late at night. The shadows did attractive things to his granite jaw and silver-tinged eyes. Gray was such a flat color to describe them, especially when they flared upon glimpsing the thigh she accidentally-on-purpose flashed as she sat down. There was no hiding her legs in this getup, but she couldn’t help shifting a bit to show them off to maximum advantage.
“What I’m feeling right now is tired.” And maybe a little horny, a state not helped by the interest on his face. “So if this is about the magazine—”
“It’s not.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes. No, his gaze drifted back to her thighs and stayed there. They were good thighs, toned from years of yoga. Still, that didn’t account for his sudden fixation. Maybe last night had affected him after all.
She snapped her fingers and his head whipped up. For an instant, he looked as surprised as she felt. “Yoo-hoo, eyes up here. I was eye-fucked enough last night at the gala.”
“And otherwise, from your claims.”
Alas, she hadn’t screwed any baseball players, let alone a team of them. “As fascinating as discussing my sex life is, CEO, maybe we can move on? I don’t want to shock you too much.”
His lips twisted into a half smile. He didn’t look as if he could manage more. No wonder, if he’d really been working all day. “You’d be surprised at what I’ve done.”
Flipping her loose curls over one shoulder, she gave him an easy smile. Keeping Cory Santangelo off-kilter was one of her greatest joys in life, even when her brain wanted to pound out of her skull via her ears. Spending time at the group home had a tendency to give her a whopper of a headache, and today had been no exception. “I have to admit I’m curious. What’s up with the urgency? And the stuff about the newspaper and online?”
Deciding to see what he’d had to say in her voice mail, she leaned over to grab her phone off the side table, but he touched her knee and she grew still. For once, Cory seemed ill at ease. He rubbed the back of his neck, further messing up his typically perfect hair. She liked the messy look on him. With that little growth of dark stubble, he might as well have just crawled out of bed.
Nope, not going there.
“I have a proposition for yo
u, and it can’t wait.” Before she could tell him to get on with it already, he popped the locks on the briefcase she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying and withdrew the newspaper. He snapped it open, folded it, and held it out to her. “Center column,” he said in a flat, clipped voice.
She grabbed the paper, scanned the page, and died. Metaphorically speaking.
Cory was kissing her. Touching her. Making her moan. And it was captured in black and white for all the world to see.
“Why—what—” She tried to breathe. “What the hell is this? How did this happen?”
“Paparazzi,” he said simply, as if he were discussing the weather.
“Why aren’t you flipping out?” She fumbled for the starfish necklace around her neck. Right then it felt like a choker, cutting off all her air. “Aren’t you embarrassed?”
“Of being spotted in a compromising position? Why, yes, it’s not ideal.”
The man was insane. Certifiable. “Not ideal? Every person in town thinks that you hate me. Now they all know that we—that we—”
“Relax,” he said in a patient tone that made her want to hurt him. “As unfortunate as this is, the situation can be turned to our advantage.” He let out a dry laugh. “Believe me, I had plenty of time to figure this out during all the hours I couldn’t reach you today.”
His complacency was really starting to piss her off. Especially since she was beginning to worry what it would mean for her. “Spill it, Santangelo. What’s your spin?”
“My parents are moving next month. To Arizona,” he added, as if she didn’t already know this. They’d only discussed it half a dozen times. “Work’s been exceptionally busy, which is part of why I hired you for Simply Home—”
“You hired me because I’m the best.”
“Be that as it may, we do have a consultant we work with at the store, and she could’ve handled the staging for the magazine if necessary. I could’ve brought on a separate layout designer to put together the photos and articles before we sent it to the printer.”
