Pat walked quickly past Alice, who looked at her nervously. Was it she? Pat wondered. She was privy to all the memos that Pat issued, and the secretary would have seen the report that had been on Pat’s nightstand. Alice hadn’t been with them all that long, and . . .
No, Pat thought, the young girl was probably just nervous because of all the excitement.
The noise from the workshop was growing as Pat swept down the long steel staircase that led from her office to the ground floor of the plant— the heart of the building, Roger had always called it. At the moment, colorfully dressed representatives of the news media, both T.V. and newspaper, were surrounding Wade Pardy, the head foreman of the project.
When they saw Pat descending the stairs, followed by Sam, they immediately regrouped and encircled her, firing questions and sticking microphones in front of her face. Pat’s head began to pound.
“What does this failure mean to the project?” “Will you be able to finish on time?” “How about money, Mrs. Hamilton? Story is that there’s no more money.” “How are you paying your people?” “Do you think this was deliberate?”
The last question hit her like a bucket of cold water, sticking out far above the rest. It had been uttered by a bespectacled, thin man who made her think of Allen. He looked as cold-blooded as her brother-in-law, seeming to relish the question he so callously tossed her way.
“No!” she said loudly, although a voice within her would not let the statement go. What if it was true? What if someone was deliberately putting in the wrong components?
“How can you be so sure?” the man pressed, smirking.
“Because I know my people,” she snapped.
Sam elbowed the man out of the way, trying to free Pat from the tangle of reporters who were swarming around her, still shouting to get her attention.
“The lady will gladly answer all your questions at the press conference she’ll be holding here tomorrow afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Right now, I’d advise you to leave before the security staff gets nervous.”
Pat looked up and saw Blaise coming toward her, parting the crowd with his words as smoothly as Moses parted the Red Sea. Behind him were some guards she had never seen before.
Chapter Four
Pat’s brows arched as she watched Blaise take control of the situation. He looked like the ideal corporate executive, dressed in his custom-tailored light blue suit, his camel-colored suede coat slung casually over his arms. Perhaps the picture was a little too masterful, Pat thought, feeling unsettled.
“When did you put him in charge, boss lady?” Sam asked, his usually expressionless dark eyes revealing a hint of surprise.
“I didn’t,” she replied quietly, her face gaining a determined look as the last of the reporters were ushered out the doors. The unfamiliar security guards looked pleased with themselves at the expulsion, as did Blaise, who strode toward Pat. The twenty or so employees looked on, a silent Greek chorus to the mini-drama that was unfolding in front of them.
“Any more dragons you want slain?” Blaise asked lightly as he joined her. He was smiling the easy, radiant smile that made her blood run hot—except that now she was growing increasingly troubled.
“I’m not sure,” she said evenly, taking a deep breath. “Who are these people?” She nodded at the two heavyset men who flanked Blaise like bullish, squat bookends protecting a finely bound edition of a beloved classic.
“I thought that in view of your current situation, your security might need beefing up. I was right,” he said.
“I see,” Pat said, growing angrier. It was an emotion she had not been familiar with before the past year. “I’d like to see you in my office, please,” she said, turning around, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of the off-white lab coat she almost always wore at the plant.
Blaise fell into step behind her but managed to be holding the door when she reached the top of the open steel staircase. “After you, Lady Pat,” he said, gesturing grandly, his eyes teasing her.
She said nothing until they were back in her office, behind closed doors. Pat was never one for causing scenes—at least, she didn’t think so until she heard the harsh sound of her voice. Her mother had always taught her that ladies did not call attention to themselves with sharp, loud words. But ladies of her mother’s era were not responsible for getting a dead man’s dream into the air.
“What’s on your mind?” Blaise asked, perching lightly on the thick arm of the wine-colored leather chair in front of Pat’s desk. His deep blue eyes watched her every movement, like a panther about to strike, she thought uneasily.
Pat folded her arms in front of her. “I’m not sure if I’m better off with the dragon slayer or the dragons,” she said tersely.
Blaise paused for a moment, as if considering her words, his eyes never leaving Pat’s. “Do I get an English translation, or do I just grow old, trying to puzzle out the mystery behind that statement?”
“Who told you to hire two security men and call a press conference?” she demanded.
Pat was tired of being regarded as a feeble-brained woman, incapable of thinking. Roger’s brothers saw her as a fool who had been manipulated into this position and who was hanging on by sheer dumb luck, while her children thought of her as a soft, sentimental idiot chained to a glowing memory of their father. She had fought hard for and earned the respect of the people directly involved in the project, and she was not about to let anyone, even Blaise, try to erode that.
“No one told me,” Blaise said evenly. “I act by instinct, Lady Pat. I always have. So far, it’s served me well. You looked like you needed someone a little more commanding than a man who probably bounced Santa Claus on his knee.”
Pat flinched at the remark, thinking of old Steven Ebbs, the current security man. He had been at the plant forever, and she could not bring herself to have him retired or even to wound his pride by hiring younger men. Maybe she wasn’t as tough as she tried to be, she thought.
“You might have checked with me,” she replied, summoning her composure. “I am, after all, in charge.” She watched his eyes for a reaction to her words, but none was evident. He hadn’t gotten where he was by wearing his emotions or thoughts broadly on his face, she reminded herself. But she, too, knew something about being a good executive.
“This isn’t Roger’s dream anymore,” she said, surprised at how calm the words sounded. “It’s mine, and I’ll fight the devil to hang on to it. Now, I appreciate your help, but if the Eagle is to be a success, we must maintain staff morale and generate as much enthusiasm as possible for this project. I’ve worked very hard to develop these things, and cannot allow them to be jeopardized by blatant undermining of my authority, which is exactly what has happened today. In the future, please check with me before implementing any ideas you might have for the management of Hamilton Enterprises. Is that clear?”
Well, that put him off, said a small voice within her.
Pat watched Blaise’s face for signs of erupting anger, but there were none. If he laughed now, she thought, it would be worse, much worse.
But he did neither. Instead, he shook his head, as if he was slightly bemused. “If this is the way you talk to a friend, I’d hate to hear how you talk to an enemy,” he said.
His unoffended manner cleared the air and made Pat feel foolish for reacting the way she had. After all, he was merely coming to her rescue the way a gallant knight would have in days of old. Except that Pat no longer believed in the existence of gallant knights.
“Your timing was indeed miraculous. But try to be more careful in the future, okay?” She paused for a moment, then admitted, “Maybe I did react a little too strongly.”
He took her hand, a gesture warm and reassuring, making Pat feel all the more sorry about her harsh words. “Look, I understand what you’re going through. It isn’t easy being in your position, and you’re right, I should have cleared it with you. But to me, the situation looked ‘hopeless, but not critical,’ “ he said
with a boyish grin that tugged at Pat’s heart. “I jumped the gun. I admit I’m impetuous. That’s one of my faults,” he confided, his eyes twinkling. “Also one of my virtues.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips, a light, fleeting butterfly kiss that for one magic moment propelled her into another world.
“See? Like that. I just can’t help myself,” he said with a wink. “Matter of fact ...”
Before Pat knew it, his strong arms were around her, and his lips were over hers, taking away her badge of leadership and everything else, reducing her to a woman who was experiencing that indefinable thrill of being in a man’s arms. She could not believe this was actually happening to her as fingers of warm, glowing fire reached into the center of her being and then radiated out, spreading thin threads of shooting flames. His kiss consumed her tenderly, lovingly, giving only a hint to the fact that beneath it was a growing hunger for her.
Pat’s eyes flew open as she roused herself from this other world. She forced herself to return to earth, and Blaise let her go, making no effort to keep her in his arms.
“What was that song when we were younger?” he asked, his eyes possessing her despite his calm outward manner. “ ‘Kisses Sweeter Than Wine,’ ‘ he recalled. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Tell me what?” she stammered, pulling her composure around her like a shield. There were a thousand details to see to, she told herself sternly. She had no time to be wooed like an adolescent, trembling virgin.
“That you give kisses sweeter than wine,” Blaise said, his voice encircling her like a warm sea.
She shook her head. “No.”
A smile played on his full, sensuous lips as his eyes swept over her, making her his. And making her very uncomfortable as well. “There’re a lot of things people never told you, aren’t there?” he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek.
She pulled back, afraid he would make another advance, afraid of having no resistance to it. “There’ll be a lot of things people won’t have told me if I don’t get back to work,” she said, her tone businesslike, or so she hoped. She felt as if she were playacting. Why couldn’t she just relax and be herself? she demanded inwardly. No one else made her search for poses to strike in self-defense.
There, that was it. Self-defense. No one else made her feel as if she were totally defenseless, there for the taking. And that wasn’t like her at all, she insisted.
Or was it?
“Ever the businesswoman,” Blaise said, his tone only slightly teasing. “Lady Pat, I’d love to have you on my team someday,” he said. He turned toward the door. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your work. But don’t overdo it,” he warned. “Leave something over for me,” he said seductively as he winked and walked out.
Pat clutched at the desk, slowly realizing that her heart was racing and her knuckles were turning white. One moment she saw him as a swashbuckling industrial pirate, ready to sabotage her production plans and zip the Eagle out from under her, and the next moment he was a handsome prince, reducing her knees to water and her brain to mush.
“You’re overtired, Patrissa, and this will never do,” she muttered to herself, going over to close the door, which Blaise had left open in his wake.
Pat stopped as she heard the sound of lowered voices. As she looked out, she saw Blaise bending over as he whispered something to Alice, who sat at her desk like a mesmerized puppy.
Pat shook her head as she closed the door. He was probably asking Alice out to lunch in order to wile away an hour or two. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. What if he was asking Alice questions about the project, questions about what was going into those specification reports? Pat spun around and went back to the door.
But when she cautiously opened it again, Blaise was nowhere to be seen. Alice looked up and blushed. Was that guilt? Pat wondered, closing the door again. She sighed, trying to put all suspicious thoughts out of her mind. She had to stop thinking that everyone was out to undermine the production of the Eagle. Blaise’s teasing eyes flashed before her for an instant, but she locked the image away and went out in search of the foreman, Pardy, and Sam.
Pat spent a long day at the office, grabbing a sandwich at her desk for lunch and washing it down with her tenth cup of coffee. She was beginning to think she ran on coffee and stale sandwiches. She did not see Blaise for the remainder of the day.
Pat sank back into the velour seat of her car, watching old Luis pilot her Mercedes back home, thinking about her brother-in-law. Jonathan was not one to take defeat or humiliation easily. Losing to Pat had been humiliating for him. Pat knew that Jonathan had thought that with his older brother gone, he could assume the mantle of power with Mother Rose’s blessings and do what he wanted with Hamilton Enterprises. It was common knowledge that he had intended to sell the factory to a firm that was interested in manufacturing airplanes—solid, dependable, old-fashioned airplanes.
Pat picked up a scrap of paper wedged against the back of the front seat and unconsciously began making a paper airplane. A smile flickered across her lips. Who would have thought that at her age she would still be playing with paper airplanes? She was thinking more of the Eagle than the tiny thing in her hands. She was supposed to be resting and enjoying life now, not struggling against all odds and experiencing— Her thoughts stopped short before they went on to Blaise, which was forbidden territory. She was too tired to think about him.
But yes, yes, she was enjoying life, even if she was dead tired. Enjoying it for the first time in a long, long time. She was about to contribute something important to the world—something absolutely wonderful.
Maybe two something “wonderfuls,” a tiny voice suggested before Pat cut it off.
The Mercedes approached the huge black iron gate of her estate, and Luis, who was one of the two domestic staff members Pat had kept after Roger’s death, fumbled with the electronic gadget that opened the lock.
“Dios mio,” he mumbled into his white stubble of a beard, which never seemed to advance past a five-day growth.
“You have to press harder,” Pat reminded him softly.
She heard his dry chortle as he followed her instructions, given for the thousandth time, and the gates sprang open like Olympian guards, clearing a path for the queen.
The car snaked its way up the winding white path, which shone in the moonlight. Every bone in Pat’s body cried out for her bed, the ache in her body far outweighing the hungry rumblings in her stomach.
Even climbing the five steps up to the double doors seemed impossible tonight. Three mini-crises, with the gnawing information that the money Roger had left was evaporating faster than she had anticipated, had sapped all of Pat’s strength. That, and the burning sensation that refused to leave her lips had shot teasingly into her conscious mind at the strangest occasions all through the long day. If she wasn’t careful, she admonished herself, she was going to crack up before that Eagle soared.
Pat stood in the doorway, looking down at the three steps that led to the living room with its airy, vaulted ceilings. This house had too many stairs for a one-level house, she thought. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that before? Her feet felt like lead as she kicked off her high heels at the door.
Because of the hour, she hadn’t expected to find anyone up, except possibly Angelica.
But Angelica was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there in the living room, with his back to her, was Blaise, sitting comfortably on her sofa as if this were his house instead of hers. He could look comfortable anywhere, she supposed, even in hell. Except that he’d never get there, no matter what his deeds. Instead, he’d undoubtedly glibly talk St. Peter into letting him keep the keys to the gates of heaven.
A small smile played on Pat’s tired lips as she thought of the little scenario. She saw Blaise glance up in her direction, as if surprised by her sudden appearance. It was then that she noticed he was on his cell phone. He hung up quickly, and she wondered if he was trying to hide something from her.
She was
really getting paranoid, she told herself. The man was into high finance all around the world. Of course he would need to be on the phone sometimes. Pat froze for a moment, too tired to make a decision about Blaise.
His warm smile appeared seductive as he came forward. He wore a sapphire-blue shirt, which was unbuttoned at the top, exposing a chest that would have made a body builder envious. At forty-three he was as trim and taut-muscled as he had been at twenty-one. He had the natural grace that the gods bestowed only on those they loved most, Pat thought absently, noting his panther-like stride as he crossed the room.
“You look bushed,” he said sympathetically, helping her out of her fur coat.
She involuntarily reacted to the feel of his fingers as they brushed against her neck. Tiny pinpricks danced through her as she closed her eyes.
“I am,” she said, opening them again, aware that she had sighed rather loudly.
His smile grew even more sensuous. She knew that in a second he would reach for her, and she was not up to that right now. She did not want to open up a font of emotions that could only play havoc with her. There was enough on her mind as it was.
“That’s what you get for working overtime,” Blaise chided playfully, casually tossing her coat onto a nearby loveseat. His voice was soft and she could almost feel it. Different words would have fit the tone of his voice better, words that spoke of love. . . .
“If the boss doesn’t think enough of her project to stay late, how can she expect her people to?” Pat said defensively, and Blaise surprised her by nodding. Or maybe that was just his way of throwing her off balance. She wondered how many women had been disarmed by the light that shone in his blue eyes.
“But any principle carried to the ‘nth degree becomes fanaticism. And you’re much too pretty to be a fanatic,” he teased, reaching out to touch her face.
Pat stepped back, nearly tripping against the step behind her. Blaise was not slow in catching her in his strong, powerful arms.
Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One Page 31
