by Kylie Brant
“I could give you the names of some interior design firms who are very reputable. And it sounds like it’s past time for you to contract with one of them, anyway.”
Resigned, Michael heaved a breath. “Just how desperate are you?”
Carla composed her features and lifted her chin. “Very,” she admitted after a long minute. “The only places that would be available are either too small or so far in the suburbs that half the invited guests wouldn’t come. The longer we wait for something to become free, the more expensive this whole thing becomes.”
“We could go ahead with the marketing plan and drop the open house idea,” he suggested hopefully.
That nail began tapping again, mirroring the frustration on Carla’s face. “And risk a drastic reduction in preliminary sales.”
He gave up. Rising, he muttered, “Fine. We’ll do it at my place.”
Carla smiled with satisfaction and rose, as well. “Good idea. I’ll get you a list of firms that might be able to help you get the house ready.”
“No thanks,” he muttered. “You’ve already done enough.”
He propped his hips against the corner of the table as she left the office and scrubbed both hands over his face, wondering just what the hell he’d let himself in for. It looked as though he were going to have to break down and hire one of those damn interior designers he’d avoided so scrupulously in the past.
Dropping his hands, he scowled at the thought. As if he didn’t have enough to do, now he was going to have to embroil himself in discussions with some long-haired, ponytailed moron about furnishings in ice-cream colors whose names he couldn’t even bring himself to pronounce. He consoled himself with the thought that if he hated the results, he could always have the whole works hauled away and start over.
His intercom sounded. “You have a visitor, Mr. Friday.” Bernie’s voice wasn’t quite as surly as usual. The next moment he knew why.
“Daddy, it’s me!”
Michael’s morose mood dropped away when he heard his daughter squeal enthusiastically into the intercom.
“Me who?” he asked, pretending to be mystified.
“Me Chloe! You know me!”
“Oh, Miss Friday, is that you? Please come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
“He’s expecting me,” she announced to the occupants of the outer office.
Trask’s voice sounded then. “Chloe, let up on the button.”
The voices abruptly went silent and then Chloe was bursting through his door, hurtling toward her father. Michael caught her in his arms and swung her around until the room was filled with her giggles. When she was out of breath, he settled her on one hip. “So, shortstuff, where have you been?”
“I just got done with my first tumbling lesson and I asked Trask if we could stop here to see you and he said yes but if you were busy we had to go home but I knew you wouldn’t be busy,” she said, the words all running together.
“I’m almost done for the day. I’m just waiting for a call from Jake,” Michael said to Trask. He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Did you learn anything at gymnastics today?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll show you.” She wiggled down from his arms and squatted on the floor, doing a series of somersaults across the room.
Michael and Trask clapped dutifully. Chloe beamed at them. “I already knew how to do a somersault, that’s baby stuff, but now I can do a whole bunch of them all in a row. I could have done more but you have too much furniture in here, Daddy.”
“You did just fine,” Michael assured her.
“And guess what Trask signed me up for this afternoon?”
Michael raised his eyebrows at Trask, who appeared to be looking anywhere except at his employer.
“T-ball!”
“T-ball?” repeated Michael blankly.
“It’s baseball, sir, for little ones. They hit the ball off a stand…” Trask’s voice trailed off and he shrugged. “They were signing up at the rec center and she seemed interested. I thought—”
“You going to be a ballplayer, champ?” Michael asked his daughter.
She nodded enthusiastically. “We have a practice on Saturday. Can I go, Daddy, please, please, please?”
“Well,” said Michael amusedly, “since Trask thinks it’s a good idea, I guess I have to agree, don’t I?”
“See, Trask?” Chloe said triumphantly. “I told you it would be okay with Daddy.”
“Your schedule is going to be so busy you won’t even be able to squeeze me in.”
She giggled. “I can’t squeeze you into anything, Daddy. You’re too big. You wouldn’t even fit under my bed.”
While Chloe practiced her somersaults, Michael ran the open house idea past Trask. “What do you think?”
“We could minimize the security risks. With the extra help we hired, there shouldn’t be any problems. I think you’re forgetting something, though.” When Michael raised his brows, he reminded him, “The house is pretty empty. How are you going to get it ready in—” He looked inquiringly at Michael.
“Three weeks.”
“In three weeks?”
“I’ll think of something,” he said, and then glared at the doubtful look on Trask’s face.
Chloe picked that moment to somersault across the room and landed at her father’s feet. Bouncing up, she hugged his leg and demanded, “Come home, Daddy. It’s lonely there without you.”
He ruffled her long blond hair. “Well, guess what, shortstuff? It’s lonely here without you.” He looked at Trask. “I’m not going to be more than a couple hours. Why don’t you two head home and plan something to eat tonight. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“And then you’ll stay home,” insisted Chloe.
“And then I’ll stay home.”
“And tomorrow you’ll take me to T-ball.”
“And tomorrow I’ll take you to T-ball,” he repeated obediently.
“Then we’ll go home and cook up a wonderful sa-prise for you, Daddy. You’re gonna love it. Come, Trask,” she said with a queenly air. Then she ruined the effect by practicing her somersaults all the way out the door.
Still smiling, Michael crossed to his desk and dropped down into his chair. Resignedly, he reached for the phone book, flipping to the yellow pages. The number of decorating firms listed, he discovered, filled more than a dozen pages. He scanned the names, but his mind was already wandering.
It wasn’t some fancy design outfit he wanted to call, it was Kate. The telephone, only inches away, beckoned temptingly. Just one call, he mentally justified to himself. Only one. A few minutes spent talking to her to find out whether she was all right. Whether she’d been thinking about him as much as he had her.
He forgot his desultory search in the phone book and leaned back in his chair. The knot in his gut seemed a permanent fixture, caused by uncertainty. He needed to know what she was thinking, what she was deciding. Their future depended on her decision, and because it did, he couldn’t call her. He’d promised Kate time without pressure. He hadn’t realized how difficult it was going to be to live up to that promise, but he was going to do so if it killed him. Which it seemed to be doing, in torturous, bloodless increments.
His intercom sounded, and he slapped his palm against it, turning it off. He didn’t want to see anyone else at his office. There was only one person he wanted to see, needed to see, and that one person was denied to him, at least for now.
His office door opened then, and when he looked up, he thought for a moment that his imagination had obligingly conjured up the woman who had filled his mind.
“Kate,” he breathed. She looked every bit the vision he’d first thought her. Her hair was piled on top of her head, probably in deference to the heat outside. She was wearing a one-piece black short outfit that ended several inches above her knees, with matching sandals. He decided she could wear sackcloth and look as if she’d just stepped off a runway.
“Hello, Michael.”
“I was at the library all day, but when I called your house, no one answered. I took the chance of catching you here.” When he didn’t answer, her gaze finally settled on him. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes.” The word had to be forced from his throat, so he cleared it and tried again. “I’ve been wanting to see you. Talk to you.”
“You didn’t call, though.”
“You asked for time.”
She nodded and fiddled with a tendril of hair that had refused to stay restrained. It framed her jaw in a soft spiral. It finally occurred to him then that she matched him for nervousness. He couldn’t for the life of him decide whether or not that was a good sign.
When he spoke there was none of the gut-wrenching anxiety he felt, none of the need, only mild curiosity in his voice. “You needed time, you said, without pressure, to think about us. What did you decide, Kate?”
His question hung suspended in the air between them, an invisible challenge. Almost as soon as it left his mouth, he wanted to call it back. If she was here to tell him it was over, he was in no hurry to hear the words. But the uncertainty he’d been living with was as vicious as any ending could be, and he was not a man to endure either patiently.
She left her position at the door and moved into the room, skirting his desk to move toward the long table where they’d sat at their first meeting. Trailing her fingers over the backs of the chairs, she finally responded to his question. “I’ve decided that I’m a coward.”
He shook his head. “No.”
One corner of her mouth curled wryly. “Oh, yes. It’s far easier to push you away than to decide what I really want.”
The air in the room was suddenly in short supply. “Are you through pushing?”
Her gaze met his for the first time since she’d entered the room. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes for a second, relief welling up inside him, so sharp that it threatened to choke him.
“I don’t know if it’s fair to you,” she continued in a low voice. “I’m nowhere close to accepting your proposal. I don’t know what my decision will be or when it will come.”
He could look beyond her doubts and see the confusion in her eyes, and the protectiveness bubbled up inside him, demanding a release. “Take all the time you need.” He wanted to wipe that worry from her lovely face, so he let one corner of his mouth quirk up. “I promised you no pressure, remember? You’re in control. You’re top dog. Head honcho. Chief banana. Do with me as you will.”
Her expression lightened a fraction. “Don’t be a jerk, Michael.”
With mock seriousness he replied, “I’ll try very hard not to be, Kate.” He savored her sudden smile and the accompanying kick in the chest it brought him.
She walked toward him and curled her fingers around his. Settling his hips more comfortably against the desk, he drew her slowly to him and rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “Me, too.”
He reached out with his free hand, skimming the back of his knuckles along her delicate jawline. He found the exquisitely soft skin below her ear and traced a fingertip there. “We’ll take it as slow as you want,” he murmured, and meant it. “You’ll get all the time you need, but not distance.” His arms closed around her then, and he was grateful when she leaned into them willingly. “I can’t stand one more hour wondering when I’m going to see you again.”
Her head tilted up so that she could meet his eyes. He fancied that he could read a slight lessening of doubt in them. “I can’t give you any guarantees.”
His answer was spoken against her lips. “Life’s a series of risks.” And then his mouth sank onto hers. Relief, hope and need tangled inside him. He let himself drown in the pleasure of touching her, letting her taste, her smell, the incredible softness of her skin combine into an explosion of sensations that stripped his mind clean. The need for her was instant, and their time apart had it honed as sharp as a knife.
When she tore her mouth from his, his lips followed demandingly. But her words stopped him. “There’s one more thing.”
He took a deep breath and consciously loosened his hold. “More conditions, Kate?”
“You might think so.”
Because he didn’t trust his hands not to fist, he released her to grasp the edge of the desk in back of him. “Okay, let’s have them.”
She fumbled with her purse, and he took great satisfaction in noting that her hands were inclined to tremble. But that small measure of satisfaction was wiped away when he saw what she was taking out and handing him.
A check. He read the amount but didn’t reach for it. His gaze met hers, and he observed the determination there.
“Take it. There will be one every month until I’ve paid you back for those improvements you made at my condo.”
Temper threatened to shred the earlier vows he’d made about patience. “Why would you pay for security measures you never wanted in the first place?”
Her eyes were clear and her gaze steady. “My house, Michael. My responsibility.”
Responsibility. He’d learned the hard way how she felt about it, how she felt about maintaining control over her own life. The thought of her having to strain her budget to pay him back for his stupid blunder made his jaw tighten. She would insist that he accept it because she wouldn’t be obligated to anyone. Another thought occurred to him then, and he flicked the check with one finger. “Maybe this won’t be necessary.”
“It’s very necessary…” she started tartly, and he laid his fingers against her lips.
“What I’m thinking is that we can sort of trade services.”
Her eyes above his hand narrowed suspiciously. He smiled at her, slow and engaging. God, she was lovely. “I kind of got myself in a bind today, and I could use some help.”
She pushed his hand away. “I’m not much good at corporate takeovers.”
“But you’re great at decorating.” Quickly he told her about the upcoming open house.
“Michael, that’s only three weeks away. How are you ever going to find a firm that can get things ready that…oh, no.” She put a hand up to ward off his wheedling smile. “You can’t possibly expect me to—I don’t know anything about decorating a house!”
“There really wouldn’t be that much to do,” he said, trying to convince her. “The rooms are painted, the floors are ready, I mainly just need furniture. We’d concentrate on the downstairs rooms that the people would see.”
“But these things take time. Ordering furniture, having things upholstered…”
“I’ve found that if you wave enough money, vendors are willing to do the impossible.” He leaned forward to place a kiss on her lips, stemming her next protest. “Do you know how much money I was prepared to flush for a designer? Knowing that I’d probably hate what he or she came up with? This is a chance for you to wipe out your ridiculous notion of owing me and help me make my house into a real home while you’re at it.”
The thought appealed to her, he could tell as he watched the emotions flit across her expressive face. Pressing his advantage, he murmured, “I already know that I like what you’ve done to your condo, and it would give us some time to spend together. You could take me to see the pieces you’re considering.” His arms slid around her waist, drawing her to stand between his legs. His lips went to her neck.
“I suppose we could get a few rooms done in time,” she mused. “But it’s going to be time-consuming. And you’ll have to tell me what you like.”
“Okay.” His lips cruised up to her ear, and he whispered several colorful suggestions.
“Michael!” The hue in her cheeks deepened and she brought her palms up to press against his chest. “I meant your taste in furniture, not your lurid fantasies.”
“You should be more specific.”
“And you should be caged.”
“That sounds fun, too,” he said agreeably. He nibbled at her neck until the shudders started in her. Then he brought her closer and swept one hand up inside the loose pant leg of her shorts. His fingers explored, and then he touched silk encasing firm, rounded flesh, and he wanted.
He’d spent his life wanting. As a child his wants had been simpler—a better place to live, enough food on the table and more money for his mother. As he’d matured, they’d changed, as well. A home, money, a family and the ability to protect those he cared about.
He was used to the wanting, but the craving was new. It clawed a deep, ragged furrow through him, twisting aside any attempt to harness it. It was the craving for one woman, this woman, and he knew nothing could ever tame it, and no one but she could slake it. It should have been frightening, but instead, bursts of exhilaration dragged in its wake.
He heeded the last semblance of sanity still swirling in his head and tore away from her, striding across the room to lock the door before returning to Kate.
“Nosy secretary,” he said by way of explanation, and crowded her against the desk.
Her hands went around his neck without urging, one hand sliding to tangle in his hair. He debated searching for the pins that held the mass of curls on top of her head, but instead he lost himself in the smooth white curve of luscious neck the hairstyle bared.
The need reared up in him, raging and fierce. He went still in her embrace, struggling to control it. There had been too much at stake here today, too many emotions racing beneath the surface, colliding and careening inside him. Control was necessary, because without it his emotions would consume him, consume them both.
Kate’s mouth found his and made a mockery of his struggle. Her mouth was avid and heated, and his tongue stabbed its satiny warmth. The kiss was long, deep and wet, and long before it was over he’d forgotten the need for control.
